1. I went to see New York City Ballet's performance of "Variations Pour Une Porte et Un Soupir" at Lincoln Center
Last week I had a few hours of uptown avant guard glamour "old skool style ... even old hat!" ...when a friend took me to the New York State Theater in Lincoln Center to see the NYC Ballet's Centennial Celebration of famed choreographer George Balanchine. It included four of the ballets he choreographed; "The Steadfast Tin Solider," "Ballo della Regina," "Variations Pour Une Porte et Un Soupir" (aka: 'Variations on a Door and a Sigh') and "The Four Temperaments." My friend's main reason for taking me was to witness "Variations Pour Une Porte et Un Soupir," which was choreographed by Balanchine and scored by modern composer/musique concrete-ist Pierre Henry, and performed with a remarkable costume/set piece designed by Rouben Ter-Arutunian. I've had an interest in Pierre Henry's music for a while, particularly the music he did for this ballet.
Premiering in NYC in 1974, Pierre Henry scored the Balanchine two-dancer ballet entirely with the sounds of loud creaking doors and a few electronically manipulated bells... nothing else. I have been a fan of this CD for a long time (which has his famous 'Psyche Rock' and related songs, some spooky electronic landscape pieces, and then the entire score for 'Variations...') The score was actually premiered at a large church in Paris by Henry in 1963, and after the "Variations..." ballet debuted in '74, was originally released as a one-sided vinyl album. It actually gained some notoriety within American popular culture at the time as "that creaking door record." My guess is that it was used a lot for school and church haunted house fundraisers.
So it was nice to see the ballet it was actually intended for. The actual choreography consisted of two dancers, one female (the door) and one male (the sigh). The dancers this time aroud were Maria Kowroski and Tom Gold.
Maria was dressed in a kind of 1920's flapper-esque outfit and wig, which then had a huge and I mean huge cape streaming from her back (simultaneously attached to her and stretched across to the back wall, covering the dimly-lit stage and then reaching all the way up to the ceiling). The cape was made of very light, shimmering black material (think of playing with a parachute in grade school gym class) and was operated by her and what must have been at least ten or so stage hands behind the back wall, invisibly pulling the cape this way and that with ropes... depending on which way the giant thing was intended to sway. It was pretty dramatic and nostalgically surreal, and the whole set up made me thing of trying to capture on a live stage what is only possible in animation. At times she kind of reminded of the scene at the end of Disney's "Sleeping Beauty" when the Evil Queen erupts with her massive cape into a gargantuan dragon.
Tom Gold was doing kind of "modern" Martha Graham/Mummenschanz moves all around her... but let's face it, her cape (an inanimate object) stole the show. Which makes me realize how perfect the creaking door soundtrack was... music made from inanimate objects (doors). Which then makes me then realize that musical instruments are inanimate objects too, just brought to life by living beings. Does one inanimate object take precedent as a musical instrument over the other because it's more traditional? Can flowing material get credit for dance in the pages of a ballet program? Aren't the nerves and cells and atoms that make up the living beings sitting in the seats of the New York State Theater watching "Variations..." just inanimate objects themselves, when you break them down to their most base molecule?
What makes one molecule inside a living being stay as part of the whole, and another get evacuated? Why do the "good" and "healthy" molecules in a living body stick around to form functioning cells and nerves and muscles and neurons? Why do the "bad" and "unhealthy" molecules get pooped out of the body with the other waste, or just stick around causing confusion, mutation and disease? If you consider the entire history of music as a living body, and instruments as the most base molecules of that living body... then I think a violin is considered "healthy" molecule, while a sample of a creaking door is considered "unhealthy" molecule. Am I stoned?
So... that's just the long way around of saying that the avant garde in culture is a disease that causes change only when it's threat is so great that it forces the healthy culture to try and "cure" it... or better yet, adapt to it. Everything else gets flushed down the can (eventually). One has to wonder with the medium of ballet, which is so tradition-bound, how "Variations..." will be remembered. With Balanchine and Henry's reputations both solidified within their respective fields however, I think "Variations..." can safely be said to have made the cut (however, the countless techno and rap artists who have sampled Henry's music in their dippy records may eventually be headed for the cultural sewer... but we'll have to see).
I was beginning to suspect that the audience in the seats of the New York State Theater last Sunday were molecular inanimate objects after all, as their applause after "Variations..." seemed politely enthusiastic in comparison to the hearty cheering and shouts of "Bravo!" that followed the other three performances. I think "Variations..." is seen as a fascinating oddity in the history of ballet more than anything else. Although, I did hear a few young children in the audience gasp and giggle in wonderment at the crazy lady and her giant cape moving robotically to the sounds of creaking doors on the massive stage... and naturally, why not? Afterwards, I heard the woman next to me explained to a friend; "...I like unusual music... but that this was a little extreme for me. I need something to grasp onto... some sort of melody or harmony or structure." Not to sound mean... but do ballet aficionados, when not attending performances at Lincoln Center, spend all their other time living underground, in caves, with their eyes closed and their hands clasped over their ears?
I remember all the while the dancers were up on stage and the wild cape was doing it's thing, all I kept thinking about was the music. In the beginning I kept wondering how they were going to perform the sounds... recorded... samples... or possibly even using microphoned creaking hinges? I actually got really excited at the very beginning when someone's seat next to mine creaked when they moved. Alas, for this 2004 performance... the score was obviously a recording, or triggered samples (the other three ballets, which were more traditional, had live symphony scores). Hearing it projected so loudly in such a grand hall in front of a formally sat-down audience was the real mind-blower.
Sitting in my creaky seat, I must confess though, I felt like a bit of an inanimate object myself... as this was the first ballet I had ever attended. It's logistics and characteristics were impressive, but were alien to me... and of a realm I'm naturally inclined to view from a distance. I had been a fan of this Pierre Henry score for years... and seeing the ballet it was meant for was a treat... but an alien treat. I loved getting to experience it all. But I felt like it was a trip down other people's memory lanes.
2. RateMyVomit.com
Yes... it is what it
sounds like. You know those rating sites like HotOrNot.com? Well the concept
is spreading to other ...areas. Here's the link to RateMyVomit.com.
You have to rate each photo before you can move onto the next one, so you
may want to get your clicking finger working because, trust me, the less
time you see some of these photos... the better. Here's one (above) who
looks suspiciously like Thurston
Moore.
3. The spooky
and mind-blowing "Gukanjima" - a once densely populated, now completely
deserted Japanese island
"This is probably
the closest chance you'll ever get to inhabit a life-size recreation of
your favorite 'Twilight Zone' episode, in this lifetime and on this planet
and in this dimension at least."
Yes, besides relating
to this story, this above mantra is actually my daily affirmation that
I say to myself every morning, as I have my first cup of coffee. Trust
me... say it out loud in the AM, before you walk out the door... and your
whole day will fall into place like a Hans Arp collage.
Nevertheless... hidden
off the westernmost coast of Japan, there sits a giant, long rock island
called "Gukanjima." Apparently it was nothing more than a reef until 1810,
when massive amounts of coal were found in the area. The hoards moved in
and it became a hugely populated mining community, with a population of
5,300. Because the rock this artificial community was built on was so densely
populated, and skinny... people built buildings upwards... way upwards.
Hence the island's looming, maze/labyrinth-like streets twisting and turning
all over the place. Because of the high, skinny structures and elongated
shape (one kilometer long), from the distance it looks like a battleship,
hence the name "Gukanjima" which translates to "Battleship Island."
By 1974, the coal had
dried up... and slowly but thoroughly the most densely populated island
of it's kind, and everything on it, became
completely deserted.
Amazing. Inhabiting or exploring the island is now forbidden, but many
people have visited and documented it's existence from time to time. Lots
of that information can be found here:
Here's a link to some
photos
taken recently Here's a link to some explanation
from that photographer. Here's a glut of photos taken on the island right
at 1974,
when the last of the last was still there. The site is translated from
Japanese, and is a little awkward... but here is the main
page, and if you just go exploring around you can find all kinds of
images and explanations, much like actually being there I suppose.
(Found
out about this on BoingBoing.net)
Courtney Love as Red Skelton
"Sad Clown Face" painting
Courtney Love as Alien Autopsy
4. Courtney Love's
latest court paparazzi photos... worse than the Nick Berg beheading video
Fabulously apocalyptic klutz Courtney Love quietly drifted like a yabber-mouthed
specter into court in Manhattan two weeks ago, making an appearance regarding
that microphone bashing thing that that fag sued her for. She didn't disappoint,
as usual, searing shut the eyeballs and ear holes of anyone within a one-mile
radius. Simultaneously channeling Ruth Buzzi and a possessed Linda Blair
(and everything in the kook-ball spectrum in-between) the cameras sometimes
caught her face muscles breaking down momentarily as her brain impulses
told them to relax between rants about Cameron Crowe, her house being leined
and "stealing candy from babies." And at these chemically-induced moments
of neuron gaps, her faced looked almost normal... and showed all the resignation
and naive wonderment that a child might display in the headlight of an
oncoming train. A similar "mood" can be found in a Red
Skelton clown painting. Of course at all other times she was her "normal"
self... and we LOVE to love her for it.
The commentary on Whatevs.org
about the spectacle was pretty funny, which compared her persona to "Joan
Rivers shedded skin that decided to visit Jocelyn Wildenstein's make-up
artist for a quick rouge bath..." Here is the collection of photos from
the AP
wire. She's weirdly chameleon-like in the series... at some angles
she looks good... but others make her like like a wicked witch that's been
hit full speed in the face by a Boeing 747 filled with powdered sugar and
cherry pies.
Of course you can't hear what the microphones caught here (which was all
over the local news that day - FOX used it in their ads to boost ratings).
She rambled on and on and on and on and on through lipstick-covered teeth
about absolutely anything that passed through her mind... sometimes seeming
to change whole personalities within seconds. My God, this fantastically
weird neutron bomb of a woman is a walking high-rated reality show... when
is it going to happen? I might actually buy cable!
Speaking of beheading...
5. Nick Berg
beheading video conspiracy theory web site... a growing trend
Of course if Courtney Love's recent paparazzi photos were worse than the
Nick Berg beheading video that same week... what if the Nick Berg beheading
video was not real and was actually some sort of secret propaganda?
Could the same be said of her? Maybe her career is Alien Autopsy.
Here
is a great conspiracy theory web
site about the Nick Berg beheading video... one of a growing number.
6. Jimmy Kimmel
as Jabba the Hut
Late night comedy host Jimmy Kimmel was rushed to a hospital in an on-air
medical bloating during a live interview on ABC-TV two weeks ago. His face
began to swell, his voice went raspy and his eyes swelled shut. Immediately
after the show he was rolled to a Hollywood-area hospital (where all the
nurses are glamorous vixens no doubt) where he was administered treatment
and is said to be recovering from an undisclosed allergic reaction. The
cause? Too much Advil.
I kind of like the look... celebrities are getting way to boring
these days. Famous people need to experiment more extremely with new and
exciting human body shapes, like Kimmel here did.
Speaking of stretched out...
7. Anal magic
has "stretched out" my friends!
Yes! If you're a regular
reader of my site, you know how I worship at the alter of Anal Magic.
Yes... that is the
name of artist Kenny G.'s
weekly radio show on the excellent WFMU. Kenny's ear-splitting radio stunts
are WAY ahead of their time, depending on who you ask, and two weeks ago
he once again topped himself (hmm...). Amid the frenzy of mediocrity that
was swirling around the finally final episode of the TV show "Friends,"
Kenny decided to broadcast the audio of the entire episode, including commercials,
stretched over his entire three hour block of time. While watching "Friends"*
may have been the equivalent of eating marshmallow fluff covered in sprinkles,
listening to Kenny G.'s "Friends"
show is the equivalent of eating marshmallow fluff covered in quaaludes...
while under water. I highly recommend it. As usual, just the pure concept
of stretching out the audio to three hours isn't enough for Kenny... as
he adds all sorts of odd details here and there.
Listen to Kenny G.'s
"Friends" show here.
Whilst I'm on the subject,
in addition to Kenny's weekly show, I (again) highly recommend, as a starting
points (that will cling till the end) the shows of:
1. The electric, multitasking
shape shifter Brian "the
Nikola Tesla of WFMU" Turner
2. The fantastic diorama
of phab-oo Pseu "sweet 'nsizzlin"
Braun
3. My latest 'FMU obsession...
woozy sound garbologist
The
Cosmic Cowboy
4. Your great, great,
great grandparents were right! It's the Antique
Phonograph Music Program alt. w/ Thomas Edison's Attic
Aren't I like one of
those hopeless nerds at a party who won't stop quoting "The Simpsons" episode
lines to pretty guys? Why do people always run away from me? Although there
is much, much, MUCH more to discover at the infinite WFMU
(listenable from anywhere in the world via the web). So if you aren't as
addicted to it as I am... I recommend caving into peer pressure and taking
that first hit. It's a gateway drug!
*
Was
the TV show "Friends" a swirling, engulfing, black hole of irrelevance?
An abyss? According to early
test screenings (posted on TheSmokingGun.com) it most definitely was.
But who knows, the totally great "Gilligan's Island" failed in front of
test audience screening after test audience screening, long before it was
reluctantly debuted on CBS in 1964.
8. M-o-o-o-o-r-r-r-e-e-e-e-e
Ed
Shepp!
More "bling" I say!
If you were familiar with Ed Shepp's work that last phrase would make a
lot of sense to you. Ed's work causes me to think that things I thought
were "uncool" are actually transcendant. Ed warps my mind and makes me
smile... much like shock treatment. I've tried
to convince a few magazines around town to let me write a glowing article
about the mind-bending genius of Ed Shepp... but they've been pretty aprehansive.
Maybe I'll have to get in a time machine and go forward a few years when
Ed's warped vision has had time to infect popular culture.
The excellent Ed Shepp
(yet another WFMU discovery) is about to plop out another CD/mp3-collection
(already has, and I just don't know?) on the unsuspecting minds of the
sleepy world. It's title is "Ed Shepp Exposes" and Ed has put a few of
the pieces up online already ('Back to the Crack Shack' and 'Ed Shepp Exposes:
Christina Aguilera'). Here is a link
to the mp3s of his new CD which is called "Ed Shepp Exposes" or maybe
it's called "Ed Shepp: Radio Friendly" - I'm actually not sure. Here is
a link to Ed's blog. Don't let
the techno rap effects, futuristic Freudian slips and nightmarish Butthole
Surfer-esque voices fool you... take the plunge into Ed Shepp (if you're
new to his work I recommend 'Girl of Convexitude'). If you want to take
a stroll down memory lane, here are links to mp3s of Ed's "Bling"
and "Images of Rapture From the Boggle
Woggle."
Try him... he's another
gateway drug!
LEFT PHOTO: performance artist
Chris Burden after getting shot in the arm by a friend at F-Space gallery,
in "Shoot" (Chris Burden, 1971)
RIGHT PHOTO: Chris Burden
documents shooting a plane in "747" (Chris Burden, 1973)
9. The gun-toting,
body bag getting-into, violent side of left wing, free-spirit, tree-hugging,
dolphin-riding, moon minds
I bet YOU thought this
entry was going to be about Chris
Burden. I love the work of Chris Burden, the above photo (right) of
Chris Burden shooting at a Boeing 747, is one of my favorite images of
all time. But, I don't feel like writing about him right now. Any artist
who placed himself in a body bag and positioned himself in the middle of
a busy highway ('Deadman' - 1972) doesn't exactly inspire writing,
you know? Performance artists shooting each other in the arm and getting
in body bags in the middle of busy streets are like carte blanche for carpe
diem... and make me realize that you only live once, so I should really
get out more. But I've been everywhere. How about the moon? Can you fire
a gun on the moon? Can you? Will it work?
What will happen
to the fired bullet in low gravity?
Speaking of inspirational
violence...
here
and here
are some interesting write-ups on artistic suicide. Here's some more thought-provoking
performance
art.
Actual photo from my weekend
10. A ripe trip
to the country... and a rare trip inside my mind
This last week I went
to visit Jim at his new, new, newest digs in the Catskills. It was a wonderful
trip, I actually worked with Jim on some stuff. We had a really nice time
together, riding bikes, playing with wild cats (we named one 'Snobby'),
watching movies, sleeping. We spent a lot of time on Jim's fantastic back
porch in his wildly overgrown back yard... swinging in his hammock and
sipping wine and talking. I had my camera with me and took a few photos.
But for some reason lately I'm very ho-hum about my camera. I did take
this
and this photo
of dandelion seeds wafting in Jim's backyard one afternoon. But really
that was about it. For some reason I'm finding it hard to get excited about
capturing things on binary "film" as I experience them. Maybe I'm just
getting lazy about it. Maybe I'm turning Amish and consider the camera
to be the "devil's eye."
Well somebody in Jim's
town obviously does (above), although I don't think he's Amish.
The above photo was taken just an hour before I left to come back to NYC...
literally across the street from the train station. It was taken just seconds
after I snapped this
photo (for some reason I thought the indian sign and my reflection were
'interesting'). After I snapped the slanted sidewalk, I walked back over
to Jim and he gave me that "look" that lovers use to silently communicate
with each other. It's a "look" that Jim and I often use on each other...
it means "Look behind you there is a really freaky person." Jim and I give
each other this look all the time.
When I turned around,
I saw... to the left of what I had photographed... a kind of chunky, older,
kind of filthy, possibly black man sitting on a ledge with a lunch box
next to him. According to Jim, he had quietly placed his jacket over his
head when I came within 50 feet of him with a camera (with the lens pointing
nowhere near his direction). Jim thought he looked like that special kind
of "odd" that we both idolize... so he brought my attention to him. As
I had missed his quick attempt at camouflage (it worked!) I decided to
add gasoline to the kindling by walking back into the street and pretending
to take a picture of something else, then, at the last second... quickly
turning the camera in his direction to snap a photo of this lovely small
town kook.
I of course chickened
out a bit, as I didn't get close enough to really capture him on film.
Plus, this person with the jacket over his head seemed to radiate a very
"angry" vibe that was kind of intimidating... it kept me at bay. I mean,
how mentally balanced is a person who puts their jacket over their face
when someone 50 feet away from them is taking a picture of something nowhere
near them? It's like gratifying your ego by seeking out and manipulating
a situation so you can feel persecuted... and if imaginary persecution
is your main source of ego gratification, then you're my kind of person
to photograph (but not become friends with - trust me).
What was weird is that
I naively thought the man couldn't see anything because of the jacket over
his head. But I was wrong. He must have been looking through a little hole
in the jacket (it was pretty tattered). The second I did the old switcheroo
and turned my camera in his direction to hit the shutter button, he reached
up to pull the jacket off of his face (captured above) and... do what I
don't know. Scowl at me? Pull out a gun? Shoot fire out of his mouth? Neither
Jim nor I found out because as soon as we saw this happening, I snapped
the picture above and we turned and walked calmly but quickly away towards
the train station entrance.
I mean, normally I'm
kind of obnoxious at times, but this guy seemed to radiate an aura of scary
violence that kept me from getting right in his face. Sometimes the most
vicious bloodbaths can occur on the sleepiest of small town streets. Jim
said he chose to look away before he saw his face because "...he didn't
want to add to the oncoming hideousness" that I had caused. So... the two
of us, not feeling any bullets or poison darts in our backs... walked into
the train station without having ever seen his face. Whew... it was over.
But it didn't stop
there, at least not in our heads. As my train was an hour and a half late
(which caused me to miss a client in NYC - thanks Amtrak!), Jim and I had
all kinds of time to sit and paranoid-ily ponder. What if he was waiting
for the same train I was? What if, because of his paranoid-al, anti-social
nature, he decided to wait across the street for the train? What if I had
now become his new target in some kind of paranoid delusional anti-camera
violent world that he lives in and takes lithium for? What if I had committed
the ultimate offense in his secret value system and now must pay the price?
What if he was just some drifter who didn't have a ticket for the train,
but knew I did, and had no qualms whatsoever about just hopping onto the
train when it arrived... murdering anyone who asked for a ticket or got
in his way... with the eventual goal of murdering me? Train murder. We've
seen it in a million horror movies... it's quite a good plot device! It's
terrifying!
Ahhhh... how the country
air can really clear your mind. When my train finally did arrive, Jim and
I said our good-byes, and I boarded the rather sparsely populated car.
I didn't see jacket-headed man anywhere... at least I didn't think
I saw him.
Jim waved from the
station as I settled into my seat. I looked around... hmmmm, I thought
my car had a few passengers. But apparently not... as I was the only one
around. The gorgeous green countryside and Hudson river passed outside
my window as the sunlight shone into the roaring, rumbling car windows
and flickered in strobe patterns all over the carpeted walls and cushioned
seats. I started to read the book Jim had loaned me about haunted houses
in the New York area. Suddenly... I heard a rustling way in the back of
the car. I turned around and peaked my head over the seat.
Way in the back of
the car was... a dark shape. It looked like a pile of filthy gray laundry
piled onto the back seat. But as soon as the train came out of a clearing...
the sunlight flickered through the window onto the pile and the reality
of what... or who... it was became chillingly clear. It was HIM. He sat
all the way in the back, his jacket still pulled over his head, his lunch
box still next to him. I quickly turned around and sat forward, my breathing
increased and my palms got sweaty. He hadn't been there a minute ago! How
did he get on the train? How did he get in this car without me knowing?
Maybe it's all just a coincidence... maybe he is indeed on the train going
to New York City, and what happened earlier with the camera was all forgotten.
Maybe he suffers from some horrible face-disfiguring disease and covering
his head with his filthy jacket is just his way of dealing with it. Maybe,
maybe... everything will be okay. I have a two hour ride ahead of me...
I think I can make it all the way without letting my imagination get the
best of me.
I toss my haunted house
book onto the floor of the aisle, pretending I dropped it. I bend down
to pick it up and... as I do, I take a quick peek backwards to see if he's
still in the back seat. All I see is the sun flickering on the oddly patterned
fabric that covers the back of all seats on Amtrak trains. But no him!
He's
not there! Did I imagine it all? Am I letting my own fears get the best
of me and play tricks on my eyes on this beautiful, sunny, train ride through
the countryside? Well, even if I did let paranoia warp my senses... it
doesn't matter. I'm on a train moving towards the city and the scary, no-face,
camera-hating man with the jacket over his head is way... way back in that
small town I just left (gosh... I hope Jim is OK!). I sit back up, still
looking backwards... exhaling a sigh of relief.
As my eyes lock with
the rest of the seats behind me... I get that feeling that you get when
you jump into water that is way too icy cold. Your breath chokes... your
skin starts to get prickly... and every muscle tenses. This is because...
unbeknownst to me, the creepy man is now several seats ahead of where he
was! About five rows behind me and on the other side of the aisle. How
did he move forward without me hearing or seeing him? He just sits... his
jacket still pulled over his head... the sun still flickering patterns
onto him as the train moves along. I quickly turn around and try to pretend
that I'm not petrified. I open the book in my shaking hands and pretend
to read it. God I wish someone else was in the car besides me and him and
what could be my possible murdered. Where is the conductor looking for
my ticket?
I make the decision
to move to another car, with more people. Whatever this guy's intentions
are... I don't think they're good... and I think he may mean me harm. I
need to get within sight of others in case my worst fears are realized.
Even if it is all just a coincidence... and he's not angry that I took
his photo, even if he keeps his jacket over his head because of some grotesque
deformity, and even if he didn't sneak onto the train to kill me... even
so, better safe than sorry. I almost smile as I think how silly I'm being,
and reach under my seat to grab my bag. I have to look under the seat to
get it out and as I do... I see them. The black, worn, muddy boots. The
boots of the person sitting in the seat right behind me ...the aluminum
lunch box placed right next to them on the floor. It's him.
I explode out of my
seat and race for the sliding door to the next car. I run into the next
car... it's ...no... it can't be... empty? I run all the way to the other
end... forward, into the next car. All that greets me is the rumbling car,
cushioned seats, flickering sunlight and amazing countryside moving past
the vast windows... but no one, not a soul. No conductor, no one. I keep
moving forward in the train through empty car after empty car. Where is
everyone? eventually I see a restroom and I run inside and lock the sliding
plastic door with the "occupied" handle. I decide I'll just hole up in
here until I hear the voice of a conductor pass by, and then I'll tell
him about the jacket-over-his-head wearing, camera-hating manic that has
snuck onto the train and is trying to kill me. The conductor will help
me!
I wait for what seems
like minutes or maybe hours. The train keeps lobbing along... the blue
water in the toilet keeps swaying back and forth as the train vibrates.
But... I never hear the sound of anyone... not even the conductor's voice
coming over the intercom.
Suddenly... my cell
phone rings! It was in my pocket the whole time! I forgot I had it... my
God... whoever it is... I have to tell them to send the police! I hurriedly
take it out and answer it. "Hello! Hello! Oh whoever this is! My God
I don't know who you are but listen to me! I'm on a southbound Amtrak train
going through the New York countryside on route to NYC and someone... someone
who didn't want me to take there picture... they're trying to kill me!
THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!" ...I stop, almost sobbing. I realize the
other person has said nothing. My mouth shuts, my forehead relaxes and
amy wet, fear-filled eyes look towards the phone as I press it closer to
my ear... listening for anything. After a few seconds I hear a voice...
a voice that sounds like Fat Albert... a voice that sounds like it's muffled
by a jacket held over the mouth. The voice says slowly... two words; "N-o-o-o-o-o
photos."
I scream and drop my
phone as I jerk the bathroom door open and run with all the speed I can
muster to the front car. The train engineer! Someone must be driving the
train! Drastic situations call for drastic action! I'll tell him what happened
and he'll stop the train and we'll go for the police! I race through car
after car... all empty. I reach the doorway into the lead engine car and
slam it open with all my might. I see a figure at the controls of the train,
his back to me. Next to him I see a coal oven with a pile of coal and a
big shovel. The room smells of hot, burning metal. Funny... I didn't know
Amtrak trains ran on coal these days. I yell to the engineer to help me
please. He turns around... no... NO! The jacket-headed, no-camera man has
killed the engineer and is now driving the train!
All I see is the jacket
over his head as he lunges at me... shrieking in his muffled Fat Albert
voice "N-O-O-O-O-O-O PHOTOS!"
He grabs me and I try
to fight him off but he's too strong. I'm jittering and flailing all around
in terror. He lifts me over his jacket-covered head and I look out the
front window and see the train approaching a high, curving bridge at top
speed. He reaches up and grabs my digital camera out of my pocket, yanks
it away and puts it on the control panel. Then, with no hesitation... he
uses both arms and plunges me right into the doorway of the glowing orange
hot coal oven... the hot coal hits my skin and I scream in terror and pain...
but not before my melting eyes look and see the head of Jim inside the
oven as well... slowly roasting and melting. Jim! Jim... nooooo! Jim aaauuugghhhh
noooo!! He got you too!
He shuts the door with
my and Jim's bodies inside the coal oven, powering the train that is heading
towards a rickety bridge at top speed. Just as the hot coal is melting
the skin off my bones and I stare into Jim's severed, flaming head... I
feel the train dislodge from the tracks of the bridge and begin to plunge
deep into a canyon. I hear the subtle *click* of my digital camera outside
in the control room... it's the jacket man taking a picture out the front
window, with my camera, of the speeding ground as it comes closer and closer
as the derailed train hurls towards the earth. I guess he does like
photography... as long as he's at the controls. I scream and scream and
scream and scream...
In case you were wondering,
these are the kinds of things I fantasize and think about while in the
country.
Mark Allen's Top Ten for May 10th, 2004:
Hopperstad
Stave Church, built in 1130AD, Vik, Norway
1. The Stave
churches of Norway - objects of fantastic earthly beauty... co-opted by
Christians... targeted by Norwegian Black Metallers
Aren't these photos so alluring and spooky?
Don't you just want to step into them? Step with your feet right over those
tall, white "Copyright by Thu Data" letters and right onto the lush
green grass, gentle breeze and amazing-looking, 12th-century, made-entirely-of-wood,
Viking "Stave" church? These otherworldly photos are of the Hopperstad
Stave Church, located in Vik, Norway... which is one of many Stave churches
left standing in Norway.
I think that Winsor McCay
was looking at structures like these when he began to dream up his
lavishly illogical (and often architecturally-centric) "Little Nemo: Adventures
in Slumberland" comic strips.
Fantastic art and architecture can have that kind of delayed, domino effect...
it's like a quiet, invisible, radioactive emission that slowly infiltrates
and mutates things in it's vicinity, challenge people's value systems without
uttering a single word. Norwegian
black metal music followers have obviously noticed the power that seems
to radiate from these ancient Stave churches... some band members and sects
have attempted to burn them down on numerous occasions (sometimes succeeding).
So whether it inspires whimsical cartoon characters or Satanic pyromania,
great art's lasting influence wields it's highest concentration of power
in people's subconscious, and is indeed a bitch to be reckoned with.
In Viking times, (when dragons, conquest and survival ruled the consciousness)
boat construction and home building had developed the technique and tradition
of combining art with wood working, hence these structures' weirdly subtle
but kind of also elaborate sculptural techniques and angular spires and
steep roofs reaching towards the heavens. Named so because most of them
have corner posts, or "staves," that support them (kind of like stilts)...
these stilts lifted the walls from the ground to prevent rot (which destroyed
some of the Viking's earliest attempts at wooden homes). These places of
worship were constructed mostly during the 11th - 13th centuries. Probably
about 500 stave churches were built all throughout Norway, but when Christianity
was introduced to the region (around the year 1000AD), most were destroyed.
Somewhere around 25-30 remain standing today. A large portion of the wood
surfaces on the insides of the churches have elaborate carvings (especially
the doors), and many of these carvings depict animals, specifically dragons,
in various fantastical forms (which were a bit frustrating for Bible-thumpers
of the time to associate with The Holy One).
Even though these fantastic churches were co-opted by Christians in the
12th century, the finely honed Viking tradition of wood carving is the
hidden worship here. I mean... you just look at these buildings and you
can kind of feel the passion that many of these people felt about the characteristics
and subconscious symbols of this malleable building material. Wood was
an element that came from nature all around them, growing out of the ground,
birthing unstoppably out of Mother Nature. Removing it from the ground
and learning to tame it's habits to suit one's needs in such a commanding
manner, was one small way of chipping away at, and attempting to solve,
the great scary mystery that was nature (religion in a nutshell). The Stave
churches of Norway almost seem like man-made, fetishistic temples constructed
to pay homage to, and celebrate man's domination over, the properties of
wood ...and making a peace offering to the oozing, violent natural world
that wood comes from. Culling, shaping, treating and bending wood to fit
your needs in such a "primitive" time is akin to our greatest nanotechnological
and gene-splicing technologies today. And to do this with such remarkable,
subtle and unique
beauty... way back then, is the mark of an advanced
race.
The simple arrival at such an economically beautiful and remarkably unique
design back then seems to have less to do with wanting to achieve intellectual
status and shake the eyeballs and minds of one's fellow man (the aesthetic
of my generation), and more to do with pleasing the Gods. Or perhaps
pleasing the Gods within oneself. Which makes me wonder... was Marcel
Duchamp the anti-Christ or some kind of mentally disturbed pervert? How
come when things were so rough for people... they were having to eat rotten
meat covered in bugs and drink hot milk right outta cow's boobs, and scabies
and death-breath were a state of normalcy, and the life expectancy was
like 30... did people make art and architecture so grand and perfect and
beautiful? And with such limited resources? Now we have every convenience
known to man and life is all la-tee-da for most people and Duchamp
is suddenly all "...a toilet is brilliant!"
I mean, how did we as an advanced society end up here?
Modern churches, obviously controversial,
can nevertheless be breathtaking. I mean, look at this
and this.
When the scientists of today finally reveal the first nanotechological,
gene-spliced human clone... I'll travel forward in time twenty centuries
and look at it's corpse... just to see how it stacks up compared to how
the old Viking Stave churches or Norway still look today.
MORE ON STAVE CHURCHES IN NORWAY:
Lots of info on these hearty structures' history can be found here.
Some great photos can be found here.
A great database/list of many of the Stave churches of Norway can be found
here.
And, here's "Stave churches" Googled.
MORE ON NORWAY:
Because of Norway's extreme(ly), beautiful, rugged terrain... it is a haven
for extreme sports enthusiasts. Did you know Norway has what is commonly
called "Freedom Camping Laws" which are part of a bigger theory called
"Everyman's Right." Everyman's Right is loosely translated to mean that
everyone has the right to walk freely in nature, and also natural land
even if it is owned... as long as they don't bother people and leave things
unharmed. There is actually a law that says you can camp anywhere you want,
on land public and private, as long as you are 300 meters from a dwelling,
you clear out in 24 hours, and you don't leave anything (campfires are
not permitted). But it's not a total free-for-all. You cannot pass a fence
unless there is an unlocked gate, you cannot disturb people's garden's
or arranged rocks, you can't let domesticated animals run loose on someone
elses property, etc. It's like the people in their houses are wildlife
you can observe from your tent with binoculars.
Also... pack light! Basically, it is not explicitly forbidden by Norwegian
law to take a swim in the nude or to be naked in the sun in a public place
(however, 'indecent behavior' will be prosecuted).
Norway, as you may already know, is also home to a huge, sometimes frightening
and often uncompromising black
and death metal music underground.
However... there's no free lunch... Norway is one of the most expensive
places to visit in the world (when you're actually buying food and travel
tickets, rent, etc.), so if you go... be an adventurous billionaire satanic
grindcore fan in search of fantastic old Viking churches and snow boarding
and naked Aryan boobies.
Speaking of all three subjects...
bad church
web site design
2. Do you have
what it takes to make a fucking kick-ass web site for your church?
Very helpful web site that gives guideline for "how to make a great church
web site" ...and also offers some examples of really bad church web site
design (one pictured above) ...which is a sub-genre of web design that's
examples' urls could fill the Old and New Testaments themselves. Here's
the link.
This is not the ad photo
for the upcoming CBS TV movie "Helter Skelter," but I think it should have
been... I made it myself:
3. TV movie "Helter
Skelter" - May 16th on CBS... Sunday 7/8 central!
Slowly-paced, overly-styled, awkwardly edited scenes of brutal murders
portrayed in G-rated fashion? Pouting, model-y actors with no clue as to
the diction and manor of 70's American etiquette? Mind control cult product
placement? Savage murders safe enough for Nabisco and Maaco ads to be spliced
in between them? I'm so there. This Sunday, 7/8pm central, on your
local CBS affiliate! The newest made-for-TV movie about the Manson murders.
For all info, follow this link to CBS's
web site about the movie. The CBS press release about this Sunday's
broadcast reads:
"Jeremy Davies stars as convicted killer Charles Manson in this new television
movie based on the true story of the August 1969 Tate/LaBianca murders,
as chronicled in the best-selling book Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi.
It was almost 35 years ago, late in the summer of 1969, that Manson's followers,
at his instruction, brutally massacred seven people over two consecutive
nights in Los Angeles and scrawled bloody messages on the walls of the
crime scenes. The first night, director Roman Polanski's wife, eight-month-pregnant
actress Sharon Tate, was murdered along with coffee heiress Abigail Folger,
Jay Sebring, Voytek Frykowski and Steven Parent. The second night, supermarket
chain president Leno LaBianca and his wife, Rosemary, were found stabbed
to death in their home. In 1976, CBS broadcast the mini-series "Helter
Skelter," which was the highest rated two-part made for television movie
ever. That movie chronicled the grisly murders focusing on the investigation
of the gruesome slayings and the trial of Charles Manson. This new adaptation
focuses on who Manson was, why he did what he did and how this morally
corrupt ex-con was able to persuade the members of his Family to commit
such horrifying acts."
As mentioned above, the apocalyptically obnoxious crimes of Charles Manson
and crew have gone the TV movie route once before. CBS (again) aired a
two-part mini-series on April Fool's Day in 1976, also called "Helter
Skelter" (linked here at the excellent TerrorTrap.com site), which
was based on the same book, and was broadcast in the middle of the night
in some markets because of it's touchy subject matter (the murders and
book were still fresh on everyone's minds). This original 1976 TV adaptation,
despite having all the trappings of a 70's TV movie, has acquired a following
due to an effectively ominous quality, and an apparently memorable performance
of Manson by Steve Railsback (the film also stars 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'
star Marilyn Burns) and is now available on DVD.
I remember when I was a very small child, the infamous "Helter Skelter"
book was on every bookshelf (except ours), in every house in our neighborhood.
When over at friend's houses, me and my friends used to leaf through it's
creepy pages of white silhouette-ed victim crime photos, and dare each
other to open it to the center where the famous wide-eyed photo of a crazed
Manson was in full two-page spread. We would actually dare each other to
touch the picture.
Be there this Sunday the 16th! Don't miss it! It'll be Spahn-tacular!
Ricky Gervais as office manager David Brent, social disease victim number
4,910,587,206 and counting...
4. Ricky Gervais
as David Brent on BBC's "The Office" - our private bitch
Seeing as how I tend to latch onto the latest and most popular cable TV
shows at the 11th hour (I don't have cable) I must now be the tardiest
messenger in the world. My great, great, great grandmother (who's been
dead for eons) has just now telephoned me from the afterworld to tell me
that this cool new British comedy (which has been popular amongst high-concept
comedy connoisseurs for years now) has finally reached her plane of existence,
and I simply "must" watch it. I now will tell the perhaps 3 or 4 people
left on Earth who have not seen the British comedy show "The Office" ...to
watch it immediately.
It's an ingenious representation of the obliterating banality of modern
office life... it captures the skewed, diagonal reality that exists in
day-to-day business work... and the air-conditioned, industrial-carpeted,
potted plant, fluorescent lighted, "No Exit"-ed Hell that it's doomed prisoners
secretly wail and gnash their teeth at from behind partitioned drywall.
Also, the series captures perfectly the perpetual dilemma of most people
walking around in a state of social retardation... with even the most casual
human interaction immediately rotting under the spreading plague of the
often hi-LAR-ee-us social diseases that infiltrate our every interactive
moment. If you've ever worked in an office job you loathed to the point
of secretive, murderous rage (haven't we all?) and swore you would never
work in one again (haven't we all?), or if you have ever been a helpless
victim of the embarrassing stigma of awkward social moments once or even
a billion times (haven't we all?) ...then by all means rent the now-available
2 seasons of "The Office" on DVD
(or tune into cable... it's still running on the BBC channel). I highly,
highly
recommend it.
Of particular note is a remarkable performance by actor and show co-creator
Ricky Gervais... as the obliviously asshole-ish, ineptly friendly and disastrously
buffoon-ish office manager David Brent. Gervais' portrayal of Brent's ability
to put his foot in his mouth every three seconds to the degree that it
almost seems to stop time ...is excruciatingly real, and hysterically
funny. Trust me, you've never seen an act like this... it's like you identify
with him, but are simultaneously mortified. His character's smile-veiled
blame tactics and hostility stumble out under the slightest mishap (which
for him is every five minutes), all the while he keeps his carb-heavy face
stretched into a grinning-death-mask, wrapped in a greasy glow. His character
is a reluctant scum bag who is constantly painting himself into a corner
and dragging everyone along with him, but at the same time, you love him,
feel
for him, because you can shamefully see parts of yourself there ...from
deep-buried recollections of your most unspeakable, darkest moments. He
is a pariah for our social diseases, our collective subconscious' patient
zero.
BBC's official "The Office"
site.
this weird toilet thing has nothing to do
with the anti-Bush rant linked below
5. Funniest,
most kooky, most cracked-out, surreal-iest anti-Bush "editorial" EVER!!!
-
go here.
Hands down winner in a competition of which there are a zillion new entries
every day... this is the prize-taker (so far). To be experienced here
(it has nothing to do with the all-American toilet picture above). Thoughts
anyone?
air head?
5. Fly-away hair
choppastyle
My friend Marc
Charbonnet is always sending wacky things to his buddies in group emails.
This was included in one recent one that had all kinds of photos of amazing
"ghetto" style. Isn't it great? I assume the attached wire means that the
blades rotate.
air ass?
6. What in the
HELL is this woman doing? (with "guest" commentary by Tony Lagarto)
Rotten.com
posed the question first. I saw the picture and was baffled... but rather
than ponder in binary black and white right here, why not let someone else's
earlier thoughts (which I read via a newsgroup) ponder for me (and you)?
Tony Lagarto, creator and maintainer of the absolutely brilliant and vital
Tony's
"Strangers With Candy" Companion web site, left no tiny cavity un-searched
when he offered these thought provoking and exploratory theories:
Tony Lagarto's Top 10 explanations for what this woman is doing:Thanks Tony!
10. Blowing up Ricky, her inflatable imaginary baby
9. Doing the latest kind of fad liqueur shots at Namibia's hottest new club
8. She ran out of diapers, so she's using that old gasoline-siphoning technique she learned back in the late 1970's as a pre-emptive strike to clear out the baby's pooper
7. She's Uganda's greatest Jazz baby-bunghole player
6. Someone told her to close her eyes and French-kiss Christina Aguilera
5. CPR: Colonary Poohole Resuscitation
4. Getting an Angola Spa facial
3. This is the Sudanese version of the Atkins diet
2. She saw the face and decided she'd rather kiss this end instead
1. What does it look like!? She's giving the baby a rim job
7. I actually
made a cheese ball
Speaking of Tony's "Strangers
With Candy" web site... while tooling around it, I ran across an
interview with Amy Sedaris from Bust magazine in which she talks about
her ongoing cupcake and cheese ball making business (in addition to everything
else she does). She actually gave one of her trade cheese ball recipes
in the article. It was then that the all-American, carb-faced, breast-loving
male lying deep inside the "normal" me suddenly craved lots and lots
of cheese. Okay, I crave cheese all the time... even when I'm asleep.
According to the article, Amy says she likes making and selling cheese
balls because no one makes them anymore. Strange because you would think
typically super-sized, over-fed Americans would love them... they're so
delicious and decadent! Maybe it's because you actually have to
make
it ...they aren't readily available in stores... or maybe the fact that
they look like something out of one of those creepy old 1950's cookbooks
keeps people away.
Plus I think it may have to do with the actual name itself... which has
left the realm of the serious English language, as far as the original
meaning is concerned. I mean... can you see me striking up a conversation
with that Spanish lady I always see next to me on the leg press at the
gym? Finally breaking the ice and turning to say to her, huffing and puffing
and sweating; "Yep! Gotta do some more repetitions to work off that
cheese ball I ate for lunch!"
I found the ingredients (according to Amy's recipe) cost around $20...
although many of them I could use again. It was also extremely quick and
easy to make. And even though I have seen Amy demonstrate how to
make this exact cheese ball for Conan O'Brain on "Late Night" (in which
she wore an old wig as a hair net) I suspect that she may have been leaving
out a trade secret or two in the recipe she is releasing to the public
(like that they are the perfect size and consistency to smuggle a shiv
in).
Mixing the ingrediants was very... visceral. When I was rolling the giant,
slimy, wet ball of cheese in the plateful of crushed walnuts (which I decided
to toast beforehand) and the pale goo was oozing between my fingers, I
kept thinking of that scene in "Fantastic Voyage" where the giant white
corpuscle engulfs Donald Pleasence when he's trapped in the shrunk-down
ship. It ended up being about the size of an abnormally large-headed baby's
head (that's a lot of cheese!) and I felt a little Jeffrey Dahmer-ish handing
it. Domenic walked in on me doing this and was laughing so hard he just
had to snap this middle photo (above).
The verdict? It's superb (I used twice the amount of A-1 steak sauce that
Amy recommends though, and I burned my crushed nuts) ...and it will literally
last for a week or more (cooling nicely in the fridge). It's so rich that
you can't eat more than four or five cracker-fulls at a sitting. I think
it would be really good with red wine, or old grape Kool-Aid that has been
fermenting under a radiator. Oh boy is it delicious and so, so, so fattening.
It looks like I've got dinner set for a week all for me and my five
new chins. No, silly... not on my neck... my new Chinese neighbors
who moved in across the hall! The Chins! They moved in next door to the
Hips. HAW! HAW! HAW!
8. Eric Drexler's
new nanotechnology web site
Mind-blowing reading at e-drexler.com.
It's a more straightforward and simple layout of information than the ever-growing
Foresight.org, and an even easier read than Drexler's excellent book "The
Engines of Creation." If you've never had an overview of nanotechnology
and what exactly it's capabilities are, and the potential it could hold
for the future, then this is the best place to start.
say
it loud!
say
it proud!
9. Floccinauccinihilipilification
Pronunciation: \'flO-chI-'nE... uh, flO-chI-'nE ...oh fuck it\
Function: noun
Definition: The act or habit of estimating something as worthless.
- eg. floccinauccinihilipilification.
10. New York
City street robot shell
....it's obviously changed forms.
Mark
Allen's Top Ten for May 3rd, 2004:
1. Conceptual
surrealistic photography through the ages:
2. Revolutionary
avant garde performance art photographs through the ages:
3. (United States
government funded) homoerotic S&M photography through the ages:
4. "The surreality
abounds..." *
...as
does the hilarity! This is possibly the most mind-blowingly ripe situation
for the best Monty Python sketch ever in the history of British slapstick...
but personally I've never gotten English humor (lie). Although the very
Dali-esque
photo (above left) is of American soldiers "torturing" Iraqis, the spark
that ignited the controversy about this creepy crime was centered around
the
British
military.
Couldn't you just see The Flying Circus troupe milking this whole scenario
for the funniest situation comedy since "The Meaning of Life" or "Monty
Python and the Holy Grail," or some of the countless Hitler or gay-themed
sketches they brazenly broadcast on the BBC in the 1970's. I mean, I know
Monty Python's glory days are way in the past, and other more current English
comedy minds have far and exceeded their influence, but something about
John Cleese, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, Michael Palin and the rest of the
troupe doing this (along with maybe some of Terry Gilliam's rubber-limbed
special effects) ...or maybe in front of a live British in-studio audience,
roaring with guffaws ... it just feels right. The Python's could
be the U.S. soldiers (with their trademark American accent parodies) ...maybe
some of them even as the short-haired women soldiers, pretending that they
aren't getting off on it... getting less and less in denial about the turn
on until it turns into a total gay empowerment thing (think of the 'I Am
a Lumberjack' song) while Iraqi characters are getting tortured in the
background and maybe turning the whole thing around somehow (think of the
stoning scene in 'Life of Brian').
I mean, could this war get any funnier?
Even more photos of this amazing, mind-wobbling series can be found
on a specific page here
at Russ Kick's excellent MemoryHole.org
site. More images are also available at The New Yorker magazine (witty
black & white ink drawing cartoon anyone?) online here
(click on the 'view the images' in the 'related links' box on right).
