Veni, Vedi…

What exactly is the latin for I came, I saw, I watched some great teevee? So we’ve talked a little bit about reality teevee (c’mon, people, pick JD already), and we’ll get back to that shortly with new incarnations of Survivor and Amazing Race going down. But let’s talk about something a little bit artier, […]

What exactly is the latin for I came, I saw, I watched some great teevee?

So we’ve talked a little bit about reality teevee (c’mon, people, pick JD already), and we’ll get back to that shortly with new incarnations of Survivor and Amazing Race going down.

But let’s talk about something a little bit artier, shall we?

Well, not arty in a bad way. There’s all sorts of tasty nudity, see.

Let’s us talk a bit about the glory that is Rome.

Now, you expect great things when you say hbo and series together. Look at the track record; the Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Deadwood, the Wire, Sex and the City, Carnivale, Curb Your Enthusiasm. I mean, you see a thread there, right?

So it’s not like it’s news that Rome is really really good.

But it took a little warming up to. Like Deadwood, it’s dense, complicated, filled with characters, and at times deeply difficult to track. I feel like I should be taking notes when I watch this show, and the first episode, only the fact that I’ve studied ancient Rome a bit kept me from getting lost. I think wasn’t ’til the third episode that I really decided that a) it was really good, and b) that I really liked it.

There’s so much to like. I mean, let’s start with the obvious, there’s nudity (obligatory homer moment – Mmmmm. Nuuuuuudity…) I mean, lots of it. Yummy, tasty nudity. Beautiful girls riding on men kind of nudity (just about my favorite thing, the girl on top). Beautiful slave girl nudity. Nursing mother’s nipples nudity. Roman brothel brutal-hair-pulling-fucking-from-behind nudity.

Did I mention nudity? We just need some more slave girls, is all, to make it complete.

Then let’s talk about the technical stuff. The set is simply enormous, and looks incredibly authentic to my eye. The costuming, set decoration, the art design, it’s all spectacular and complex and rich and gives the feeling of real, living roman cities.

The cast – mostly british performers who look vaguely familiar but whom I can’t place, to a one they’re superior actors, with many standouts.

And then there’s the writing. I don’t care how good your sets are, your cast are, your ideas, plots, special effects. Your show begins and ends with the writers and the writers make or break it. This show is incredibly well written. Oh, I can’t say it’s deadwood; deadwood makes frontier poets of rough, villainous cowboys, while not compromising their being cowboys. But Rome feels like something distilled down from shakespeare and robert graves, as imagined by modern writers with a modern way of telling a story. So there’s a classic complexity to the dialog, without it being rendered impossibly dense.

Everything from bawdy conversations between soldiers to roman senatorial debate has a natural, real sound, while not falling into the trap of having romans talk and act line someone on the west wing.

I must say though, my favorite character is Titus Pullo, a roman soldier who winds up somehow in the midst of all the political upheaval. The HBO character page describes him thus:

A ferocious lover of life, possessing the courage and loyalty of a warrior, but the morality of a pirate. A man of huge appetites and wild passions. Impulsive, unreflective, optimistic, conceited, generous, and brutal.

I of course, identify with him heavily, when he says things like “Women scream my name by night from here to…” I like to think he’s the me I would have been had I lived in 52 bc. Particularly the morality of a pirate bit.

If you’re not watching this yet, they should be doing one of the catch-up weekends, check the schedule on hbo.com. It’s really worth slogging through the first couple shows, even if they seem difficult.

And you know, there’s the nudity.

She-Male Threatens Florida

Ok so I keep seeing this headline on CNN.com: TS Rita gains muscle to threaten Florida …And sure, I know they mean Tropical Storm. But hell, we all fucking know TS stands for TranSexual. So this rita, she’s some big, muscular tranny, threatening Florida. Um. You know, that’s kinda hot.

Ok so I keep seeing this headline on CNN.com:

TS Rita gains muscle to threaten Florida

…And sure, I know they mean Tropical Storm. But hell, we all fucking know TS stands for TranSexual.

So this rita, she’s some big, muscular tranny, threatening Florida.

Um. You know, that’s kinda hot.

Summer Sunday

I spent my sunday not being at the computer. I think this was a good choice; I’m arm-wrestling a lotta frustration and staring at a screen on which I’m unable to do anything useful makes it unquestionably worse. I managed to sleep unusually late, thanks to lovely chemicals; what was was that old DuPont quote? […]

I spent my sunday not being at the computer. I think this was a good choice; I’m arm-wrestling a lotta frustration and staring at a screen on which I’m unable to do anything useful makes it unquestionably worse.

I managed to sleep unusually late, thanks to lovely chemicals; what was was that old DuPont quote? Without Chemistry, Life Itself Would Be Impossible.. I woke just in time to make fine, strong coffee (Peets of course – there’s simply no better coffee the world over), and then tune in a football game.

Ok. So my team sucked. They basically conducted a clinic in how to suck. Big deal though, it beats that empty, mocking screen. Final score? I think it was about seven hundred to minus 5 or something. If we were not in negative numbers, we should have been. There goes my fantasy team stats for another week – can I have a mulligan on this week and start over?

It was one of those afternoons where it feels, for a day, like summer isn’t over. Hot, bright, clear, with the feeling that there’s not just a day, but an entire season before me. A life before me. Starting fresh.

I walked out and looked up and breathed in a summer smell, and wanted it not to end, ever. I wanted to walk and keep walking. I felt like if I could just follow the sun it would lead me to a place where summer never ended. But it’s not so simple as that and I can’t always simply make the choice and have it go as I dream.

So instead, I gathered up my children and spent several hours simply walking, exploring our neighborhood, with stops for lunch in a new italian deli, and for beverages in the odd little market that still scratches a living in town, somehow.

We walked until out feet hurt; Olivia’s outgrown another pair of boots. Like me at her age, shoes seems to shrink before our eyes.

We returned home, finally, to change shoes, drink and then we needed to feed Ruby’s obsession with goofy-golf.

We spent the rest of a sunny, dusty afternoon knocking small, brightly-colored balls about on ratty outdoor carpet; I entertained my children with snippets of old monty python routines. My hovercraft is FULL of EELS!

I’ll finish my day with a short workout, something I’m trying to get myself back to. I’d forgotten how much I need that, how much better I feel when my muscles have the vague ache of weightlifting. So I’ll do a short set of curls, some pushups, as many crunches as I can stand. Just the basics, though I need to be back at the gym, I need to get myself back to heavy leg-press sets and squats and bench. I’ve never felt better, in my adult life, than when I have a routine of heavy lifting.

And then, I think, a glass a scotch, and if my eyes will stay open, tonight’s RockStar INXS. This is the last week and I’ll miss it. Though I may not stay away that long.

Simple sundays.

Still though, I thought, as the sun was setting, I want to follow that sun. I want to be where summer never ends.

Someday.

Stupid Rubber Bracelet for New Orleans

If your kids, like mine, are all batshit for the stupid rubber bracelets, here’s one they should be the first ones in school to have. Click the image. They’re yours for a donation to the Renew New Orleans Foundation. Y’know, I’ve spent five bones for a lot worse things, and my kids will love these […]

If your kids, like mine, are all batshit for the stupid rubber bracelets, here’s one they should be the first ones in school to have.


 Images Photos Single Band 250

Click the image. They’re yours for a donation to the Renew New Orleans Foundation.

Y’know, I’ve spent five bones for a lot worse things, and my kids will love these bracelets…

Never call, never write.

I’m having a terrible time with any sort of communication these days. I can’t seem to get a blog entry finished (I have at least a half dozen started). I’m not able to maintain an IM session for more than a few flirty comments. I’m not responding to email. I’m not able to maintain a […]

I’m having a terrible time with any sort of communication these days. I can’t seem to get a blog entry finished (I have at least a half dozen started). I’m not able to maintain an IM session for more than a few flirty comments. I’m not responding to email. I’m not able to maintain a conversation in SMS text.

I’m feeling sad and angry and withdrawn, and finding no good outlet for all this.

Part of it’s simple logistics. I just picked up a stack of new responsibilities at work – basically, I wound up the defacto owner of every major internal web site for all of my company’s hardware engineering organization. I didn’t exactly mean to do that, but once it started to pick up momentum in my direction, I wasn’t gonna stop it. But I’m having to un-do a lot of very bad work that contractors did, in a hurry. The goal is to eventually get this all into a content management system, but god knows how long THAT will take. So I’m suddenly a web monkey and having to figure out the basics of fucking css.

This is on top of my existing job; so now in effect I have two.

So that’s part of it. I just got an order of magnitude busier. I woke up thinking, not about my morning coffee or about what I’d like to be doing to some nasty little slut or about what I was gonna do with my weekend. I woke up thinking about fucking css and all the work I have to do.

But it’s more than that. I feel defeated in some way. I feel things in my life slipping away from me, people slipping away. And I feel like my own ability to communicate is going with all this.

I need to write. I need to create and communicate. Words are my tools, my way of knowing my universe, and when my command of language slips, I feel as if I’m disconnected.

I keep flashing on the last shot in the last episode of firefly; Jubal Early spinning in space, isolated and utterly alone in the universe, insulated by the thin skin of his space suit. And he says – “Well, here I am.” Like nothing matters so much.

For the first time in I can’t remember how many years, I got up this morning and didn’t check my email first thing. I get about 100 automated reports and notices every night, system statuses, database backup reports, disk space checkers. Same stuff every day. I always log in and check email first thing, in case something has gone badly haywire. And because, almost always, I have some conversation going with someone. And today I didn’t even open email until I’d made coffee, had some breakfast, settled four kid fights, looked at the usual morning news web sites.

I knew there was nothing but bad news in email. Bad news and empty silence. Well, here I am.

I need to fucking do something.

Note to INXS – pick JD!

Ok, I’ve avoided writing about this because, well, writing about teevee seemed so fucking trivial lately. But sometimes a man just has to take a stand. INXS? Guys? I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you. Listen up. C’mon. Come closer. Closer. I’m gonna get real close and whisper this in your ears. Ready? PICK JD! PICK JD! […]

Ok, I’ve avoided writing about this because, well, writing about teevee seemed so fucking trivial lately.

But sometimes a man just has to take a stand.

INXS? Guys? I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you. Listen up.

C’mon. Come closer.

Closer.

I’m gonna get real close and whisper this in your ears.

Ready?

PICK JD!
PICK JD!
PICK JD!
PICK JD!
PICK JD!

I swear, I’ve watched Survivor since it started, and the last few seasons of Amazing Race. And aside from when my brutha-man Lex was on Survivor, I have never, ever been this involved in a reality teevee show. I’m glued to the set when the show is on. I watch the episodes twice. I’ve watched this group of people go from raw, undeveloped talent to, the last few, truly great performers. They’re growing right in front of our eyes. Every one of the last four were good enough for the gig, good enough that I’d pay to watch them, and it’s gotten to be emotional, I care about them as people.

Last nights show, when Sweet Susie McNeil went home, I watched Dave Navarro well up when she was announced. It’s not just me, and it’s not just the performers, the guys hosting the show are emotionally involved.

But at some point it comes down to, simply, who’s right for the job. And from the very first night, one guy has been way, way ahead of the rest. JD Fortune is the lead singer for INXS, and you know it just looking at him.

Guys. Gary, Andrew, John, Tim, Kirk. Listen to me. Forget Mig. Forget Marty, no matter how great he is at singing Nirvana and Radiohead. JD’s the guy, and you know it.

Next week is the finale. I’m afraid to look. Tell me when it’s over.

Anansi Boys

New Neil Gaiman book is due out shortly: Anansi Boys. High hopes for that. Gaiman is a hell of a creative guy, and a pretty good writer. Sandman is, I would say, one of the major works of fiction of the late 20th century, despite being just a comic book. But Gaiman’s novel output isn’t […]

New Neil Gaiman book is due out shortly: Anansi Boys.

High hopes for that. Gaiman is a hell of a creative guy, and a pretty good writer. Sandman is, I would say, one of the major works of fiction of the late 20th century, despite being just a comic book.

But Gaiman’s novel output isn’t quite up to that standard. Good Omens was, kindly, not that good (or to put it another way, piece o’ crap). Neverwhere is ok, worth reading, certainly. American Gods is far better, and in some ways brilliant, but it’s got enough flaws that I don’t recommend it to everyone.

I keep hoping Gaiman’s got that truly, truly great novel in him, and didn’t spend it all on Sandman.

His other output is different; his comics, almost to a one, are wonderful and creative. And his kids books are – well, god, just as good as kids books get. Coraline, Wolves in the Walls, The Dad I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish. All artistically and linguistically beautiful.

“No,” said her mother. “There are no wolves in the walls. You must be hearing mice, I suppose.”

“Wolves,” said Lucy.

“I’m sure it’s not Wolves,” said her mother. “For everyone knows what they say… If the wolves come out of the walls, its’ all over.”

“What’s all over?” asked Lucy.

“It,” said her mother. “Everybody knows that.”

I have high hopes for this new novel. I just pre-ordered it; I’m looking forward to hearing other readers reactions to it. I’ll post a review as soon as I finish it, which is likely to be soon after I get it.

Dance of the Broken Cell Phone

Nothing quite like the feeling of your cell phone cracking into pieces under your foot first thing in the morning now, is there? Now, you gotta understand I live by my cell phone. I do engineering support for a living. I’m the go-to guy for my group 24×7. I’m never off-call. When they can’t find […]

Nothing quite like the feeling of your cell phone cracking into pieces under your foot first thing in the morning now, is there?

Now, you gotta understand I live by my cell phone. I do engineering support for a living. I’m the go-to guy for my group 24×7. I’m never off-call. When they can’t find key people, I’m on the short list of who do ya call.

I get sms text alerts when machines go down. I get sms text messages asking for help. And of course, I get texts from friends all day long.

I pretty much always have my phone in my pocket, and feel disconnected when it’s not within reach. I don’t know how I managed before cell phones. Really, I no longer need a land-line, I never give my regular number out anymore.

So after making coffee this morning, I went to get my cell out of the pocket of my jeans; only I was wearing shorts with no pockets and needed my hands free for something or other, and mindlessly tucked my hone in the waist band of my shorts, where it stayed securely for about 3 seconds.

I’ve dropped my phone a million times, and it’s beat up as hell, but still works fine. I tell ya, I’d buy another LG phone. They’re durable. And it was fine this time too; battery popped off, and the phone flipped open, but no big deal.

Only I was in mid-stride and… And.

I tried to avoid it. There was that split second and doing a bizarre off-balance tap-dance, like when you realize you’re about to tread on the cat, or boot the baby who’s not where she was expected to be. So I wound up doing a bizarre stompy dance on top of my fucking phone.

Surprisingly, the phone itself is in pretty good shape. I didn’t crack the display, nor break the keypad. All of it looks, pretty much, good as new. Only the top and bottom are now wholly autonomous units, no longer joined with a plastic hinge, or any sort of cable.

The super-fine ribbon cable that, til recently, made these things one integrated system now looks like it’s been rat-chewed.

I’m cut off from my world. No sms. No calls. No fuckin’ nuthin. AND, I doubt they’ll be able to download the contact list.

Do me a favor, k? Email me your cell numbers. I’m trying to scrounge a replacement phone as I type this, but re-constructing my contact list is gonna be the big issue now. On the other hand, if I can just get on the list for the new ROKR, maybe this is a good thing, soon as they start to be available…

My Father’s .45

I started to write this ten days ago, but have been unable to finish it with the intervening events. It felt self-involved to go on writing about an oddly painful memory of my father inspired by a replica firearm. So I put it away. Tonight, this just felt right, sitting alone on a thursday night, […]

I started to write this ten days ago, but have been unable to finish it with the intervening events. It felt self-involved to go on writing about an oddly painful memory of my father inspired by a replica firearm. So I put it away.

Tonight, this just felt right, sitting alone on a thursday night, my family sleeping, the smell and feel of winter in the air for the first time this year.

Read more “My Father’s .45”