Summer Movie

I always resist the urge to talk about my movie going experiences. Well, except "The movies I should have already seen, but that's different! There are about one jillion other blogs that do that and an equal amount that seamlessly mix their regular content with these "out of context" posts. While I resist, sometimes I just have to wax methodically about some movie. And that movie is...

TRANSFORMERS!!!!

Yes, that's me as a cartoony Optimus Prime. No, I didn't make it. My lovely gf Amanda made it as she is too amazed by this movie. That is her as Bumblebee. We are about to destroy Wal-Mart because it is the closest thing one can get to Unicron.

I must admit that I was never really a part of the Transformers band wagon. Like a lot of those 80's cartoon shows*, I was just a baby when they were in their first run. I saw the original cartoons as re-runs and only saw fresh versions during the subsequent 1990's~2000's spin-offs. I watched the hell out of Transformers: Beast Wars as a a kid in the mid 90's. And I really wasn't into the toys either. I was much more of a GI Joe fanboy. I do remember having one Transformers action figure that I won at some carnival at my sister's high school. It turned into a fire truck, which for a little boy, epitomized awesome.

I even made fun of the live action movie when I first saw the teaser trailer last year. It looked so dumb, built purely on nostalgia for something that never really had a message except big bucks. But, as usual, I was wrong.

First, the movie was the most fun I have had at the movies in a long ass time. As a summer blockbuster it had to appeal to the lowest common denominator and show some broad appeal, but there was a real sense of wonder. As a Star Wars fanboy, I hear plenty about people having the same sense of wonder at the release of the original movie back in 1977. I am not comparing Transformers to Star Wars, but I know understand what the feeling was and is. Amanda and I have seen the damn thing three times. THREE TIMES! Now we look for Transformers everywhere. The weekend after we saw it the first time, we happened to find ourselves in Trumansburg, NY driving past the Grassroots Music Festival. And there we saw a Pontiac Solstice**. As soon as we saw it, we both said, "Hey, look! It's Jazz!"

Shia LaBeouf, who played the protagonist Sam Witwicky is my new hero. He is a beleivable loser teenager and, well, if you have ever read this blog, I relate to that. And while it had some of the usual Michael Bay holes (What the hell happened to Barricade!?), it was wonderfully slick. The movie had the full support of the military, which made sense because it made me want to sign up! Those guys had all the coolest military toys like dune buggies, gunships, and vertical take-off aircraft. No desk jockeys, defense contractors, or red tape here. Just ass kicking. I was half expecting Tyrese Gibson to scream out "FUCK YEAH" whenever an air strike happened. All the hardware made it seem like a Tom Clancy novel, just with none of the subterfuge and that pesky Jack Ryan. And no soldier dies. Except the Puerto Rican one, of course.

And thanks to all the slick advertising, now I want the damn 2009 Camaro featured in the movie. I understand the idea of the military-entertainmnet-industrial complex, but I am not made of stone, damn it!

Peace!


*If any show was 80's it had to be Transformers. An entire show and mythology based exclusively on toys. Big money, no whammy!

**I don;t know why a Pontiac Solstice happened to be at Grassroots. When I think hippie, zydeco music fests, I think sports cars.

Stand by for action!

I write plenty of pieces that I can describe as "verbal still life's." Something about a deer sitting underneath our porch. Something about a stream in mid-April thaw. These little pieces have very little action in them and that is because action is hard to do. I remember hearing some interview with Quentin Tarantino about Kill Bill and how action is one of the hardest genres to do. It is very easy to slip into the excessive and gratuitous. How does one toe this line? Well, I don't know. Here are some brief little action snippets I whipped up during my lunch break at work.

• As "Double F" Steff asked me to go get her some iced tea, I flicked out the scrape from beneath my nails. I shuffled into the kitchen and poured a highball glass for the patient. The ice cubes snapped out of their tray and nestled into the soft bend of the glass. The glass hissed as liquid poured into the cracks between the cubes. I brought her the glass, still crackling, feeding the patient liquid spark storm.

• The cop's billy club flew by my head all whirly-twirly. I ducked, then throwing myself into a puddle on the alley floor. Stale coffee from a crushed cup swirled into my nostrils. Bhutes runs at me, jerking the cop's gun out of the belt holster. He struggled with the leather snap, gritting his teeth and pumping his hand up and down. He said something between his teeth before I heard the loud pop. I slammed back into the coffee-water, seeing Bhutes fall to a knee with his hand still around the trapped pistol.

• Vinnie had a dream last night where he imagined his pet guinea pig, Santiago, driving his sister's Power Wheels Jeep around the cul-de-sac. He imitated Santiago's voice, while I whipped up eggs for breakfast."And, he went....BEEP! BEEP! Who has got the key's to the jeep!"I imagined the guinea pig perking up its nose, holding his white streaks to the sky. I inserted, "VROOM!"

Eh? Peace!

Moving Water

Here is a little something something I imagined while reading a biography of Mark Twain entitled, well, Mark Twain. I have gone on about water before, and here is some more of it.

____________________________

Trying to decipher the language of moving water, I lost my watch. The frayed nylon strap seemed to react at the slightest moisture and snapped off. It fell to the river bottom in a falling leaf motion. First through the shallow layer of blue and then into the sooty auburn of the middle layer. It slid into a cloudier shade of brown, lost into the bottom even though it had not hit the end.
I cursed. "Well, Goddammit!" My tongue pressed against the back of my teeth. I gritted through another noise, a whirring grunt.
"Hey!" said Captain Dale from behind the plexiglass at the wheel. "Language, OK?" He turned his head back and smiled to the passengers behind him. He shrugged and they smiled.
Dale gives the throttle a tiny push and inches the boat further down river. The soft eddies around the hull spun faster until the spun themselves into mild jets of foamy water. They squeezed out from underneath the hull, down the side of the boat, and back into the river.
"OK, folks," said Dale into the scratchy microphone. "We are almost near the ocean, so look for those changes in scenery and life. Look for the mangrove trees with the spider legs."
Everyone turns their heads around, except for Dale who keeps looking forward to the horizon. I look towards the bottom, hoping moving water swirls my watch to the surface.

_____________________________

Peace!

Co-op of Justice #1

I realized that I had not written anything about the COOP OF JUSTICE since those initial line-up posts. So here is a little something, something.

Now, before we start, I hate doing this because it shows you are a weak storyteller. But, dammit, I am also not afraid to admit that!

Please understand this is all in jest and in good fun. So, I am sorry Dryden, but someone had to get the shaft. I mean, why do all these stories happen there?! As someone said on Craigslist, in defense of Dryden, "Crazy people live everywhere." Well, true, but, the damage has already been done. I'm not saying Dryden is the county's version of the Wild West, but if I am going to send my crime fighting team somewhere in Tompkins County, well, then, I only got a few options. Besides, this story is set on The Commons.

Onward...

_______________________

The July heat comes off from the cement surface of The Commons. I stay in my half-crouch atop the Bank of America building, eight stories above all the perps and civvies. The whole team is off in Dryden, because, well, it's Dryden and something is always happening there. Sitting here in the sun, I realize I have hung around those kids too long. Made me soft always having to bring Flutter always back to reality or keep Clancy from blasting into the Common Council meetings during each public comments section.

It feels nice to work alone. To have the entire heart of a great Central New York city under your care. I give back to this community every time we bring in a perp to Pete or Lauren, sometimes both. Just for the hell of it. I give back every time I teach the kids on the team something about a back-alley switchback or that Crazy Ivan I pulled in a commandeered IPD cruiser. I give back to the community every time that....

A SCREAM!

From down below, I hear a tussle in the Bernie Milton Pavilion. It's hot, but it's still early morning. To early for the goth-skater punks and the hackey-sack kids. I took one of those hackey-sacks in the solar plexuses once. I was getting over the flu and the kid caught me off guard. Flutter later told me the best hacky-sacks have small beads. They handle better. That one must have been a small-bead one. I still took the perp, even though Dawn had to pop in with her shape shifting at the end. It was a lesson for both of us.

I jump off from my half-crouch and unfurl the cable line from my belt. I swing it into the locust trees in front of me and send three dozen Starlings flying away in fear. I feel the rope. Nice and tight, around a heavy branch. Then I fly.

The IPD SWAT does some repelling from the building every year for Christmas. One of the guys dresses up like Santa Claus and scoots down delivering presents to kids. I got no problem with kids. Did a bunch of work with Make a Wish and GIAC. It's the "scooting" I hate. It's a quick drop from the building and since it's morning I don't have dodge the lunch time crowd under the trees.

I hit the Commons running and hear some whispers from behind me.
"Captain Gorges!"
"I thought he was only an urban legend!"
"Someone call the paper! NOW!"
I ignore them. I hope I don't appear callous, but I see the trouble. She isn't hard to miss.

FG-1000 has the tourist couple cornered. That android from Elmira has been ravaging the city since 1989. Screaming and yelling, she has all the time to complain and intimidate. I always found Dr. E's evil creating ingenious. Using the city's progressive label against it. She's everywhere. Every rally. Every pow-wow. Every discussion group and drum circle. FG-1000 is there. My portfolio for the IJ has dozens of pictures of her. She is usually holding a cardboard sign.

The android's voice carries clear and strong. It's a bit raspy, probably from lack of maintenance. The FG-1000 can't operate any vehicle besides a bike. And Dr. E knows never to show up in Tompkins County since "the incident."

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE YOUR WATER BOTTLES OUT IN THE SUN!?" The FG-1000 screams this to the tourist couple. The couple cowers in a corner of the pavilion, a Dasani bottle at their feet and in the sun. From their clothes, I can tell they are financially well, but don't want to show it. Some smart khaki shorts and polo shirts. Teva sandals over their feet. The husband has a ratty Boston College cap. The wife's polo is the BC colors. Probably some folks passing through looking at Cornell or the wineries. FG-1000's perfect prey.

"DON'T YOU KNOW WATER BOTTLES IN THE SUN CAUSES CARCINOGENS!?" She continues. "INSANE! MADNESS! PEOPLE!"

The wife speaks up. "Hey, why don't you mind your own business!?"

Bad idea. The FG-1000 is inflamed. "WHAT!? I LIVED IN THIS TOWN FOR 18 YEARS!"

Luckily, she can't see me in her state. I unfurl an escrima stick from my side holsters. Never had to use it against her, but then again, she has next to nothing in hand-to-hand training.

"Hey!" I scream. "Leave the nice folks alone, FG."

"WHAT!? YOU!? I DESERVE YOUR JOB! I SERVE ITHACA BEST. CORNELL DID THIS TO US. THEY BRING THE CRIMES WITH THE STUDENT'S DRUGS!"

She swings at me with her yellow bike helmet. This is a first. Dr. E. must have sent new protocols to her. However, she swings from the shoulder. Swings hard and clumsy. I dodge it easily. However, she keeps on coming. "ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!"

I duck another helmet swipe, bending forward as I were picking up some change. Unsnapping the strap for my shield, I whip the old girl onto my wrists. The helmet strikes the face of the shield. A low thud fills the air around us. "NO STUDENTS ON COMMON COUNCIL!"

My shield is made of recycled-ceramics pulled from discarded terracotta pots and treated to be high-impact machine grade. It then has a thin layer of recovered plastic, designed to be ablative and diffuse the impact. I really wanted a shield made of metal, but some folks at Greenstar got a wind of it and protested. Some kid from IC was at the presentation, listing off air pollutants saved by going with the ceramics. They won. I deal.

FG-1000 follows through with her swipe and I come up to slap the helmet out of her hands. I just tap it, using the same strength I would if I were yawning. Just with a bit more grace. my shield just taps her in the chin, but it sends her reeling. FG-1000 is pear-shaped, a design I always assumed was poor. What did she keep down there? Speakers. She wobbles before hitting the pavement.

I turn to the tourist couple, who blast down the Commons Bank Alley. The wife turns her head back and smiles at me. Gives me a wave. The husband just pulls her farther away and closer to her car.

In the meantime, FG-1000 waddles away down the Commons. I am always surprised how fast she actually moves on those legs. A kid comes up to me and asks for my autograph.

"Are you really Captain Gorges?!"

I see FG-1000 jump on her bike. It's parked where the Commons Bug uses to be. They got rid of them when they made me. I kind of missed them today. She pedals away, but she screams, "NO MOPEDS IN CITY PARKING LOTS!"

But I also hear the kid say, "Excuse me, but are you really him?"

"Yeah," I say, grabbing his pen. I sign the autograph, "Captain Gorges. Giving back to the city."

________________________________

Peace!

Nerds with swords

While I am talking about books that I am currently reading...

A few months back, I picked up a copy of Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash. I got the book at one the area's (I don't remember if it was Trumansburg's or the county's) Friends of the Library book sale and all I could surmise from reading the back cover was that the book was cyberpunk.

I am not a huge fan of cyberpunk. The whole-grungy hacker culture thing just never did it for me. In theory, I could train really hard and become something like Paul Atreides from Dune or even Spiderman. But the whole hacking thing just felt so dense and foreign. Reading something like Neuromancer, or any other cyberpunk, I felt like I was the idiot being hacked and not the guy being saved. Call me a sucker, but I want to like my heroes. Even my anti-heroes need to have a sense of picaresque nobility. Like Huck Finn. Or Captain Malcolm Reynolds!

However, I am pleasantly surprised by Snow Crash. I like the cyberpunk concept (Hell, actually reality) that corporations will control everything. However, I don't think these concepts would do it in the Shinra or Umbrella way. They would be Walmart.

I like how Snowcrash also creates political/municipal divisions. Everything is deregulated and privatized. Cities are actually little city-states composed of self-enclosed suburbs called burbclaves. Each has there own police and laws. I like that Snowcrash has female characters that aren't ninja sexpots. I even dig the hero a bit, who has the clever name of Hiro Protagonist. He seems like what a real hacker would be like, some guy with mad skills that can never use them. Instead he delivers pizza.

Of course, he does have samurai swords, because it wouldn't be cyberpunk if you didn't give the guys some swords. And inexplicable training as to how to use them.

I might be the only nerd out there saying this, but I don't like swords. There used to be a time when I reached for this low-hanging nerd fruit and slapped swords on folks. Ever read that story I have on her called Temperature. I once submitted it for a class project and even admitted to the professor that I only stuck the sword in there because I had just finished reading the original Dune books and were pretty crysknife'd out!

If you are writing some Arthurian legend then go crazy with the swords. Hell, I'll help. The pointy end goes in the other guy. But, unless it's that, you go to try really hard to get those swords in there. Star Wars did it. So did Dune. Cyberpunk, well, I guess not so much, but I ain't no cyberpunk scholar.

Peace!

Rediscovering Writers

The other day I picked up Bret Easton Ellis' Glamorama. Ellis is one of my favorite writers, and I believe Glamorama (Glam) best exemplifies that.

The books combines both the Ellis of American Psycho(AP) and the Ellis of the Less than Zero (LTZ). American Psycho is one of my favorite books because of the sheer weight of all the description. The colors of everyone's clothes, the makeup of the food they are eating, and the brand names of every shower product. Here is a sample of the writing. For setup purposes, the protagonist, Patrick Bateman, is getting ready to got out on date at a posh Manhattan restaurant.

"I worked out heavily at the gym after leaving the office today, but the tension has returned, so I do ninety abdominal crunches, a hundred and fifty push-ups, and then I run in place for twenty minutes while listening to the new Huey Lewis CD. I take a hot shower and then afterwards use a new facial scrub by Caswell-Massey and a body wash by Greune, then a boday moisturizer by Lubriderm and a Neutrogena facial cream. I debate between two outfits. One is a wool-crepe suit by Bill Robinson I bought at Saks with this cotton jacquard shirt from Charivari and an Armani tie. Or a wool and cashmere sport coat with a blue plaid, a cotton shirt and pleated wool trousers by Alexander Julian, with a polka-dot silk tie."

Of course, then there is the sheer action. For those of you that haven't read AP, the violence in it is sheer pornographic. It is the first book to ever make me un-comfortable and is certainly not for the faint of heart. Particularly vicious scenes, with a gruesome obsession of violence against women and animals. I won't include a sample of any of those snippets, but you can find some descriptions online and can always read reviews. The movie is, surprisingly, an excellent interpretation of the book.

However, unlike a weaker writer, unlike me, Ellis never uses the exposition as a crutch. He combines it with his satirical sense to lampoon the yuppy 80's culture of getting rich and looking good while doing it. Of course, I am biased. Ellis received numerous death threats and negative reviews when AP came out in the early 90's. I see everything as Ellis does through the fan lense, which means, everything is satirical, everything attacks our celebrity culture.

Then there is the Ellis of LTZ and all the other :going nowhere" kids. Descriptions are actually very low key here, but Ellis never fails to portray these characters as empty or unlikable. He satirizes the yuppy culture, the LA nihilism, and the selfishness not through violence, but through portrayal. He makes airheads scary, because, well, they really are.

When I finish Glamorama, I would have read every Ellis book yet. Makes sense. In Glamorama, Ellis paints every aspect of posh Manhattan celebrity culture brightly, but never fills it in. Maybe the empty, pretty boy model protagonist will learn something by the end of the book, which would be the ultimate attack on celebrity culture. That it can grow and change. Like we are all supposed to do.


Before I go, I must say that I adore the covers that Vintage Contemporaries puts out for the recent runs of Ellis' books. The hazy, empty image of a city or bed over a white background. There are no people in these shots, which adds to the haunting feelings. We expect someone to be in the bed or milling about in the city, but they are hollow. Vintage recently put out a new printing of The Informers, a collection of Ellis short stories. It is a personal favorite, and I, unfortunately, could not find a picture. However, imagine the LTZ cover pictured except its a creepy metallic gray and the picture is a hotel pool with lounge chairs and striped beach umbrellas. Incredibly evocative for an Ellis book about several LA kids back from college on break.


Peace!