Wednesday, August 24, 2005
MY BRILLIANT CAREER: Somewhere in the attic of the house in which I grew up, probably in the box where I stuck the comic books I drew on pilfered paper in the sixth grade, my next of kin will probably find a bundle of spiral-bound notebooks which may or may not still have their covers. These are the "novels" I tried to write in high school, "novels" being in quotes because there was precious little novelty in them. If I have anything to do with it, you'll never read them, but I might as well expose myself to embarassment by giving you the rundown.
I think the reason I took up writing in high school to give myself an excuse to not talk to people. When you're sitting in a school hallway, pen rolling across a blank page, people either know what you're doing or think they know, like when they tell you to wake up when you're meditating in the library. Quite a bit of what I put down was nothing but surface, since my survival mode in high school was to go into denial about how miserable I was, as opposed to now, when I can say that if somebody put a hole in my head, the wind whistling through it as I collapsed would tell you to kiss my ass. That would be now, though; back then, I was suppressing myself in a way that would make Queen Victoria proud. So I poured myself into a dazzling string of superficial crap, usually based on what I caught on TV the month before. All of these are comedies, by the way, because I thought I was a frickin' comedy genius at the time. I probably misunderstood everybody who told me I looked funny.
My first attempt at the long form involved twin girls whose father faked his own death, and the road that led them to the exotic Baltic country of Oxagonia. Yeah, that was the name I came up with, which should show you the state my sense of humor at the time. That was the road I had in mind for them, anyway; they never left the home counties before I picked up my pen and left them stranded. Their dad probably got shot by a firing squad because I fumbled the ball.
After that came a story about another young lady who got frozen in a block of ice in the 1940s, got thawed out in the 80s, and zany hijinks ensued. As my fumbling idea of "clever", this girl ran into a guy who kept a cat in the unused real estate of his stovepipe hat before the car accident that somehow turned her into an Otter Pop. Five pages and out she went.
Somewhere in there was a concept I never even got around to writing down until now, a charming bit of treacle about the souls of dead kids from the 1920s and 30s coming back to earth in physical form to help get some modern kids straightened out, and to show them how to swing dance long before that came back into style. No earthly idea why the hell I thought that Depression era kids who never got a chance to mature would be any more clued in than my group, the first wave of the MTV Generation, but I wasn't seeing a lot of things clearly back then. I called it "The Young Fossils". That's entertainment, bub.
My magnum opus, the writing project that tied into a big chunk of my junior year, and the one in which I had the most emotional investment (which proves nothing, on reflection), was my high school book. I actually made it a good way into this one before it ran off the tracks. This was going to be my masterpiece, my ticket out, the first in a string of staggeringly brilliant (or at least commercially viable) books, to be spun off into movies and television. When I finally volunteered to pull the plug, the final show would put the "who shot JR" episode to shame. I'd be a legend, get enough in the bank to live comfortably forever, and net a lot of lady tail as a Christmas bonus. Even better, I'd panel with Carson and throw a pencil through Letterman's fake window.
Okay, I'll put you out of your misery: what I ended up with was a string of tripe built on cliches, stolen ideas from better stories, and overripe scenes that screamed "This will look great in the movie." It was based around an odd clique of "cool kids" who did cool things like play chess and music, and treat people with sense and sensibility, even the cheerleaders...so you can see how I was in trouble already, but we'll get to that in due time. The head guy was nicknamed Tracer, for his ability to place any dialect within 50 miles of origin, a contrived "uncanny" hook I stole from Radar on MASH. There was a subplot where a girl finds out, thanks to a misplaced diary, that some guy she didn't even know killed himself over her, which was combination of a MASH lift and one of those overheated motivational speakers we got to see at least once a year until they did away with school assemblies. Another mercenary girl was trying to deprogrammed a tripped-out vegan sunchild who had recently arrived from California...a direct lift from a crappy SNL sketch at the time.
There was a lot of what I thought was my mature-but-cheeky writerly tone, which tried for Mark Twain but never even reached the level of Mark Trail. Thanks to Police Squad, I threw in a few inappropriate fourth-wall breaking lines, just because I thought it was cool. God help me, there was even a chick who was bitching at Tracer over ditching her over the summer break in the tone of John Cleese telling Michael Palin that the dead parrot wouldn't voom if you put 5,000 volts through it. And forgive me, baby Jesus, I did it on purpose.
In retrospect, I'm glad I never reached the end, since I was planning a setpiece which aped the anti-Klan hazing at the end of (please shoot me) Porky's II.
After a half a dozen false starts, I got 50 pages filled before I surrendered. One of my classmates pointed out that "cool kids" who acted like geeks probably were geeks, which took the wind out of my sails. Deep down, I knew I was full of crap and left my baby on the hills of Sparta to die of exposure. Hope the silverfish enjoy it.
I think the reason I took up writing in high school to give myself an excuse to not talk to people. When you're sitting in a school hallway, pen rolling across a blank page, people either know what you're doing or think they know, like when they tell you to wake up when you're meditating in the library. Quite a bit of what I put down was nothing but surface, since my survival mode in high school was to go into denial about how miserable I was, as opposed to now, when I can say that if somebody put a hole in my head, the wind whistling through it as I collapsed would tell you to kiss my ass. That would be now, though; back then, I was suppressing myself in a way that would make Queen Victoria proud. So I poured myself into a dazzling string of superficial crap, usually based on what I caught on TV the month before. All of these are comedies, by the way, because I thought I was a frickin' comedy genius at the time. I probably misunderstood everybody who told me I looked funny.
My first attempt at the long form involved twin girls whose father faked his own death, and the road that led them to the exotic Baltic country of Oxagonia. Yeah, that was the name I came up with, which should show you the state my sense of humor at the time. That was the road I had in mind for them, anyway; they never left the home counties before I picked up my pen and left them stranded. Their dad probably got shot by a firing squad because I fumbled the ball.
After that came a story about another young lady who got frozen in a block of ice in the 1940s, got thawed out in the 80s, and zany hijinks ensued. As my fumbling idea of "clever", this girl ran into a guy who kept a cat in the unused real estate of his stovepipe hat before the car accident that somehow turned her into an Otter Pop. Five pages and out she went.
Somewhere in there was a concept I never even got around to writing down until now, a charming bit of treacle about the souls of dead kids from the 1920s and 30s coming back to earth in physical form to help get some modern kids straightened out, and to show them how to swing dance long before that came back into style. No earthly idea why the hell I thought that Depression era kids who never got a chance to mature would be any more clued in than my group, the first wave of the MTV Generation, but I wasn't seeing a lot of things clearly back then. I called it "The Young Fossils". That's entertainment, bub.
My magnum opus, the writing project that tied into a big chunk of my junior year, and the one in which I had the most emotional investment (which proves nothing, on reflection), was my high school book. I actually made it a good way into this one before it ran off the tracks. This was going to be my masterpiece, my ticket out, the first in a string of staggeringly brilliant (or at least commercially viable) books, to be spun off into movies and television. When I finally volunteered to pull the plug, the final show would put the "who shot JR" episode to shame. I'd be a legend, get enough in the bank to live comfortably forever, and net a lot of lady tail as a Christmas bonus. Even better, I'd panel with Carson and throw a pencil through Letterman's fake window.
Okay, I'll put you out of your misery: what I ended up with was a string of tripe built on cliches, stolen ideas from better stories, and overripe scenes that screamed "This will look great in the movie." It was based around an odd clique of "cool kids" who did cool things like play chess and music, and treat people with sense and sensibility, even the cheerleaders...so you can see how I was in trouble already, but we'll get to that in due time. The head guy was nicknamed Tracer, for his ability to place any dialect within 50 miles of origin, a contrived "uncanny" hook I stole from Radar on MASH. There was a subplot where a girl finds out, thanks to a misplaced diary, that some guy she didn't even know killed himself over her, which was combination of a MASH lift and one of those overheated motivational speakers we got to see at least once a year until they did away with school assemblies. Another mercenary girl was trying to deprogrammed a tripped-out vegan sunchild who had recently arrived from California...a direct lift from a crappy SNL sketch at the time.
There was a lot of what I thought was my mature-but-cheeky writerly tone, which tried for Mark Twain but never even reached the level of Mark Trail. Thanks to Police Squad, I threw in a few inappropriate fourth-wall breaking lines, just because I thought it was cool. God help me, there was even a chick who was bitching at Tracer over ditching her over the summer break in the tone of John Cleese telling Michael Palin that the dead parrot wouldn't voom if you put 5,000 volts through it. And forgive me, baby Jesus, I did it on purpose.
In retrospect, I'm glad I never reached the end, since I was planning a setpiece which aped the anti-Klan hazing at the end of (please shoot me) Porky's II.
After a half a dozen false starts, I got 50 pages filled before I surrendered. One of my classmates pointed out that "cool kids" who acted like geeks probably were geeks, which took the wind out of my sails. Deep down, I knew I was full of crap and left my baby on the hills of Sparta to die of exposure. Hope the silverfish enjoy it.
|| Eric 10:19 PM#
SO IT'S COME TO THIS: Yet another lame quiz to fill space...
You are a STUDENT of the English language!
You are on your way to becoming gramatically sound; however, you must keep studying if you ever want to become a master. You do manage to speak better than most Americans, but then again, that's not really saying too much. Keep studying, little Student.
How grammatically correct are you? (Revised with answer key)
brought to you by Quizilla
You are a STUDENT of the English language!
You are on your way to becoming gramatically sound; however, you must keep studying if you ever want to become a master. You do manage to speak better than most Americans, but then again, that's not really saying too much. Keep studying, little Student.
How grammatically correct are you? (Revised with answer key)
brought to you by Quizilla
|| Eric 12:58 PM#
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Y KANT TORI SIT STILL: Caught the Tori Amos performance on the overnight Tonight Show repeat. She was seated at the grand piano as always, left foot on the pedals, right leg curled behind the bench. I know it's supposed to look graceful and elegant, or for a more dramatic presentation, but her piano bench pose had the unintended side effect of making her look like she's ready to run at a moment's notice. If Jay snapped a twig, would she be across town in under five minutes? That's probably not the hint of dramatic tension she was attempting.
Don't get me wrong, it was a very nice leg...
Don't get me wrong, it was a very nice leg...
|| Eric 8:38 PM#
Sunday, August 14, 2005
EDITORIAL WITH BRUSH AND PEN: Katie Rice posted a few examples of John Krikfalusi's celebrity caricatures and a mouthful of his theory on same. If you're old enough to remember the Spitting Image puppets from the 80s, these recent John K. sketches are going to be awfully familiar in style...great minds think alike?
This seems to fit into a series of ruminations about caricature, so this blog warrants further investigation if you're articstically inclined.
(Edit: oooo, looky, there's more...)
This seems to fit into a series of ruminations about caricature, so this blog warrants further investigation if you're articstically inclined.
(Edit: oooo, looky, there's more...)
|| Eric 7:37 PM#
Saturday, August 13, 2005
LIBERAL SEXISM?: Just to set certain parties at ease (yeah, like I'll be read by more than the same 5 people that always read me), I don't mock along party lines, just based on how silly you choose to make yourself look. If Hillary Rodham-Clinton got a Mary Hart-style leg light for her next press address, then yeah, I'd have some hard hearted jollies at her misplaced vanity. If John Kerry had worn a codpiece to the Dem convention, I'd point and ask if that's where he kept his Mentos. If Michael Moore showed up at the Oscars in a Speedo, I'd use my fat-guy perrogative for self-loathing and wash my eyes out with a Brillo pad.
But really, seven blog comments does not a groundswell make. Even if one's a Wonkette. Ten comments or less is an express lane to "what were you talking about again?"
If, by the will of the gods, you're actually joining me from the Crooks and Liars backwash, I make fun of stupid things in the media whenever I'm bored, and always several weeks behind everybody else. I also watch far too many cartoons for an adult man without children, and do a lot of reading so I don't have to talk to people. Sometimes I even forget to proofread myself, because that's the crowd I play to. So really, I do a lot of irrelevant things. But dammit, you people made me break a blood oath by watching a whole segment of Hannity and Colmes. I PROMISED MY NOT-DYING MOTHER ON HER NOT-DEATH BED THAT I WOULDN'T DO THAT AGAIN! LIFE'S TOO SHORT!
See, that's the type of thing I do whenever I choose to show up. You're up to speed now. Tell your friends.
AND NOW, A BONUS SHOT: These words were flagged by the Blogger spellchecker as "wrong", and the following replacements were suggested--
But really, seven blog comments does not a groundswell make. Even if one's a Wonkette. Ten comments or less is an express lane to "what were you talking about again?"
If, by the will of the gods, you're actually joining me from the Crooks and Liars backwash, I make fun of stupid things in the media whenever I'm bored, and always several weeks behind everybody else. I also watch far too many cartoons for an adult man without children, and do a lot of reading so I don't have to talk to people. Sometimes I even forget to proofread myself, because that's the crowd I play to. So really, I do a lot of irrelevant things. But dammit, you people made me break a blood oath by watching a whole segment of Hannity and Colmes. I PROMISED MY NOT-DYING MOTHER ON HER NOT-DEATH BED THAT I WOULDN'T DO THAT AGAIN! LIFE'S TOO SHORT!
See, that's the type of thing I do whenever I choose to show up. You're up to speed now. Tell your friends.
AND NOW, A BONUS SHOT: These words were flagged by the Blogger spellchecker as "wrong", and the following replacements were suggested--
- "Rodham" to "Rodney"
- "Hannity" to "annuity"
- "Oscars" to "Ozarks"
- "Wonkette" to "honesty"
- "blog" to "bloc"
Okay, I'm done now.
|| Eric 1:14 AM#
Friday, August 12, 2005
ENDLESS BUMMER: Just got through watching the current version of the Beach Boys ploughing through the usual suspects on NBC's Today show, hitting all the right notes in a bloodless way for a group of people who showed up to say hi to Al Roker. I have both the BB box sets worth having (the career overview and the one focusing on Pet Sounds) and will swear by what the group in its prime accomplished, which is what makes watching the current band beat its own legacy to death a painfully sad thing.
For those of you keeping score, there's only one original member touring under the banner--Mike Love, dreaded by so many people for so many reasons--with the only other face I recognized being Bruce Johnston, who is close enough to original for some people). The rest of the current band looked young enough to remember "Good Vibrations" only as a soft drink commercial...that is, younger than me. That ain't right, but in a band that's currently an oldies franchise more than anything, it's expected. Maybe it's a scam to help the boomers forget that they're on the lip of retirement age.
When Katie and Matt asked Mike what his favorite Beach Boys song was, Mike Love's immediate response was, "Well, 'Kokomo' was number one..." and really, that says everything. Meanwhile, I lie awake in bed, just like Brian Wilson did.
For those of you keeping score, there's only one original member touring under the banner--Mike Love, dreaded by so many people for so many reasons--with the only other face I recognized being Bruce Johnston, who is close enough to original for some people). The rest of the current band looked young enough to remember "Good Vibrations" only as a soft drink commercial...that is, younger than me. That ain't right, but in a band that's currently an oldies franchise more than anything, it's expected. Maybe it's a scam to help the boomers forget that they're on the lip of retirement age.
When Katie and Matt asked Mike what his favorite Beach Boys song was, Mike Love's immediate response was, "Well, 'Kokomo' was number one..." and really, that says everything. Meanwhile, I lie awake in bed, just like Brian Wilson did.
|| Eric 9:41 AM#
Thursday, August 11, 2005
IS THIS A NEWS SHOW OR A PROM PICTURE?: From the Crooks and Liars bag of goodies, Katherine Harris shows off the cans for Sean Hannity and professional dishrag Alan Colmes. The debate is on whether those are real or not (check the comments at C&L), but worst case scenario, they're probably paid for. All other attributes aside, that frozen smile reminds me of any year's Miss America telling us how she thinks hunger is bad and don't do drugs. Regis introduces the evening gown competition after this word from your local station...
But remember, politics is a meritocracy...the best ideas always...*snicker*...come to the front. And if you're a guy, a little to the left. Sorry, couldn't resist. Times like this makes me wish SNL did a summer series.
But remember, politics is a meritocracy...the best ideas always...*snicker*...come to the front. And if you're a guy, a little to the left. Sorry, couldn't resist. Times like this makes me wish SNL did a summer series.
|| Eric 8:37 PM#
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
DOLLAR BILL, Y'ALL: For the past year or so, I've become obsessed with those $1 DVDs above and beyond what that single article from last year would point out. I mean, come on, there's so damn many of 'em! And so what if the bulk of them are the same copyright-expired titles over from a half dozen different companies? I'm a scrounger, and my ready cash needs to stretch out.
With that in mind, some other guy came up with a site (well, blog) that I'd have to do for myself if someone didn't beat me to it. Cheap DVDs, folks. Grasping bastards of the world, unite.
With that in mind, some other guy came up with a site (well, blog) that I'd have to do for myself if someone didn't beat me to it. Cheap DVDs, folks. Grasping bastards of the world, unite.
|| Eric 9:15 AM#
Friday, August 05, 2005
MY SACRIFICE: An evil Canadian tipped me off to this mindboggling story of ex-Creed front man Scott Stapp on a booty call in a Florida Denny's. Everybody else seems to be passing around this link, and now you have it, too.
|| Eric 9:45 PM#
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
SCUSE ME WHILE I LIGHT THIS FART: Once again, a lame web quiz validates my self-image...whee...
The Wit
your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK
You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean you're pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat.
I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer. Your sense of humor takes the most effort to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.
PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais
Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating
The Wit
your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK
You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean you're pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat.
I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer. Your sense of humor takes the most effort to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.
PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais
My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating
|| Eric 5:51 PM#
IT'S ME AGAIN: Benign neglect? Never heard of it...
JUST FINISHED...well, a few things...so let's knock them out in short form.
Library: An Unquiet History by Matthew Battles. When you're a book person, even a flaky one like me, you usually end up with a library fixation. Matthew Battles, who works at Harvard's Houghton Library, ended up doing something useful with his by tracing the history of the library through the centuries. In the process, we find some interesting things about the guardians of knowledge and the ways they try to steer the course of things. The chapter on Nazi librarians is especially fascinating.
Pride and Predjudice by Jane Austen. Strictly genteel, but cheerful. Cut me some slack, it's been a few months since I put it down and I wasn't taking notes at the time. I'm sure I'll have a lot more to say later once I get the pumped primed.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. A woman of principle who falls in love with a jerk? What is this, English lit or a Lifetime movie? Well, no, since your average TV movie isn't this well-written.
An interesting sidebar to the book is this 1848 review which talks about "Jane Eyre fever" sweeping the New England states a few months previous (hey! does that make it a summer blockbuster?) and how "that portion of ‘Young America’ known as ladies’ men began to swagger and swear in the presence of the gentler sex, and to allude darkly to events in their lives which excused impudence and profanity." The more things change...
Oh yeah, our man in 1848 also thought that no woman could've written anything that coarse by herself. *snicker*
A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain. The most recent one I put down, so it burns the most ink...um, electrons. It makes my task a lot easier that a few hours after I finished this book, TCM ran the Bing Crosby version. It was pleasant enough, but served to point out that watching any of the film versions won't spoil the experience of reading the book in the slightest, since Hollywood uses so little of it.
The most noticeable departure from the text is when Bing's easygoing version of Twain's timelost Yankee asks for nothing more than an out-of-the-way blacksmith's shop. Once the book's Hank Morgan gets his bearings, he positions himself as King Arthur's right hand man and not only begins a series of modernizations in motion which will put Camelot "on the American plan", but sets out to gradually destroy the system of nobility
Another point to ponder was that the movie presented (as the trailer puts it) "King Arthur's round table in all its glory", which isn't Twain in any way, shape, or form. If anything, Twain was trying to cut the legs out from under what he called "the Sir Walter disease", a strain of 19th century medievalism spearheaded by Sir Walter Scott and Tennyson. To this end, Twain's Yankee discovers a petty nobility which acts in unconscious cruelty against the peasantry, the church doing the same in a somewhat more conscious consolidation of power (anti-Catholic sentiment runs throughout, just as it did in the country at the time). On top of that, we get bad hygene, rampant (implied) profanity, superstition, and blood, blood, blood. Not the type of thing that makes a Technicolor musical...not in 1949, anyway.
So what we're left with is alternately cheeky and gravedigger grim (as always, he's never afraid to pull the rug out from under you to make a point) with a finale that will linger with you for awhile, especially if you think you know what to expect.
JUST FINISHED...well, a few things...so let's knock them out in short form.
Library: An Unquiet History by Matthew Battles. When you're a book person, even a flaky one like me, you usually end up with a library fixation. Matthew Battles, who works at Harvard's Houghton Library, ended up doing something useful with his by tracing the history of the library through the centuries. In the process, we find some interesting things about the guardians of knowledge and the ways they try to steer the course of things. The chapter on Nazi librarians is especially fascinating.
Pride and Predjudice by Jane Austen. Strictly genteel, but cheerful. Cut me some slack, it's been a few months since I put it down and I wasn't taking notes at the time. I'm sure I'll have a lot more to say later once I get the pumped primed.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. A woman of principle who falls in love with a jerk? What is this, English lit or a Lifetime movie? Well, no, since your average TV movie isn't this well-written.
An interesting sidebar to the book is this 1848 review which talks about "Jane Eyre fever" sweeping the New England states a few months previous (hey! does that make it a summer blockbuster?) and how "that portion of ‘Young America’ known as ladies’ men began to swagger and swear in the presence of the gentler sex, and to allude darkly to events in their lives which excused impudence and profanity." The more things change...
Oh yeah, our man in 1848 also thought that no woman could've written anything that coarse by herself. *snicker*
A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain. The most recent one I put down, so it burns the most ink...um, electrons. It makes my task a lot easier that a few hours after I finished this book, TCM ran the Bing Crosby version. It was pleasant enough, but served to point out that watching any of the film versions won't spoil the experience of reading the book in the slightest, since Hollywood uses so little of it.
The most noticeable departure from the text is when Bing's easygoing version of Twain's timelost Yankee asks for nothing more than an out-of-the-way blacksmith's shop. Once the book's Hank Morgan gets his bearings, he positions himself as King Arthur's right hand man and not only begins a series of modernizations in motion which will put Camelot "on the American plan", but sets out to gradually destroy the system of nobility
Another point to ponder was that the movie presented (as the trailer puts it) "King Arthur's round table in all its glory", which isn't Twain in any way, shape, or form. If anything, Twain was trying to cut the legs out from under what he called "the Sir Walter disease", a strain of 19th century medievalism spearheaded by Sir Walter Scott and Tennyson. To this end, Twain's Yankee discovers a petty nobility which acts in unconscious cruelty against the peasantry, the church doing the same in a somewhat more conscious consolidation of power (anti-Catholic sentiment runs throughout, just as it did in the country at the time). On top of that, we get bad hygene, rampant (implied) profanity, superstition, and blood, blood, blood. Not the type of thing that makes a Technicolor musical...not in 1949, anyway.
So what we're left with is alternately cheeky and gravedigger grim (as always, he's never afraid to pull the rug out from under you to make a point) with a finale that will linger with you for awhile, especially if you think you know what to expect.
|| Eric 5:45 PM#
