Click to enlarge?
This is what we seem to be up to lately.
Or so I think...so I think....
March 4, 2011
February 26, 2011
The Artist's Enemy
(click to enlarge picture)
What? Color!? Holy crap!
So this is my revenge against Daniel for his attempts at haggling me down into doing work for him for a beer.
Ha
-Joe
So this is my revenge against Daniel for his attempts at haggling me down into doing work for him for a beer.
Ha
-Joe
February 20, 2011
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World Review - Daniel Edition
As I'm sure that Joe would be able to tell you, this review has been a long time coming. He wrote his review back in August and I'm here to provide a second opinion (...6 months later).
Around here, it's pretty easy to tell that Joe is an artist. The obvious signs would be the comics and the attention to detail on the blog itself. The less obvious signs are subtly located in the context of his posts. Joe focused his review on the artistic elements of the film: the visual effects, the music, the timing, etc. His review is not only from the perspective of movie-goer but also that of movie-maker. All that is to say, he likes to be cognizant of artistic choices as they manifest themselves in the film. I suppose that I do too, but I'm not trained to look for them, I'm barely familiar with them, and I lack the ability to compare these artistic choices to those of other movies in the genre. In other words, I'm going to have to do something else in order to be insightful.
That preface aside, I'm going to be clear in saying Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is excellent. If you haven't seen it (and you're under 35 years old), do yourself a favor and watch this movie. Now. If you have seen it, go watch it again. I'm going to skip covering the basic plot of the story because (a) you probably know it and (b) if you're reading this, you've probably read Joe's review where he has that covered.
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World excels in the art of the narrative. The way in which the story is told is incredible. Not surprisingly for a movie focused on a video game culture, fantasy and reality have blended together. For some people, I'm sure that this takes away from the film, but I'll get to that later. For now though, the jumbled mix of adolescent drama and video game references creates the perfect lens through which to view the life of the protagonist, Scott Pilgrim.
The vitality of any narrative lies in its ability to make the viewer (or reader) relate to the story. For highly regarded films, this (almost) always manifests itself in details that promote the reality of any given situation. Whether it's Saving Private Ryan or The Wizard of Oz, the details provide a certain level of internal realism (usually because the storyline needs some explanation). What sets Scott Pilgrim vs. The World apart is its ability to invoke feelings at the expense of reality. In other words, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is told through the lens of how Scott perceives his world, despite the third-person nature of the storyline. At any given point, it's hard to tell whether you're inside or outside of Scott's head.
The virtue of this narrative method is that you visibly see Scott playing the video game of life. You are watching the main character fight to free his princess from her captors. Yes, you've already seen this story more times than you can count. However, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is refreshingly different in that the exaggerations, the cutscenes, the animations, and the timing all work to invoke the feelings associated with youth. The virtue of this film goes beyond its ability to bring a game to life (...or life to a game); instead, it brings video game action and vitality. It is a self-centered adventure with a short attention span that we have all lived at one time or another.
For those of you thinking I'm wrong, that this could just as easily be a director wanting to use video game culture as a medium to tell a love story (as opposed to a means of depicting Scott's perception of his own world), your point is well taken. However, that eliminates the actual relationship between Scott Pilgrim and the video game culture utilized in the film. The only indicator that Scott Pilgrim actually plays video games is his ability to play a DDR-type game early in the movie. Instead, the game genres primarily invoked are fighting (battle scenes) and RPG (Zelda music, leveling up). Other than that, there are a slew of game references which clearly cross gaming genres, from the concept of the "boss battle" to the idea that beating your opponent means getting coins. If the critique at the beginning of the paragraph was valid, there would be no relationship between Scott and the narrative method, which doesn't make a lot of sense in the context of the film.
There is a certain fantasy to life. All people have a world-view formed by both the narratives they know and the narrative that they live. This film is a rare opportunity to see multiple narratives as they inspire the growth of a character. The video game culture makes this possible by invoking gaming experiences that you must share with Scott; this movie has the opportunity to develop its characters implicitly, assuming the viewer already has knowledge of the narratives (video games) that Scott is familiar with. A lot of the references are subtle, but they're there. This film has as much depth in it as you want it to have. On the surface, it's lighthearted. If you dig a little bit, you'll find that the references are rich and the concepts run deep. This movie provides for video game players the same thing that Ten Things I Hate About You provides for people that are knowledgeable about Shakespeare (or that have read The Taming of the Shrew).
I do have to admit, however, that if someone knows nothing about video games and can't appreciate the references, it doesn't surprise me why they would think the film isn't very good. While it is well-produced, the movie hinges on the viewer's ability to relate to the characters in the film. If you don't like video games, this movie is not for you. That's why I think Joe's assessment of the age group (15-34 years old) is fairly accurate. In that group, you have the young players just old enough to understand adolescent drama and you have the older players, who grew up with a Super Nintendo. This film definitely has a market and its attention to detail should make the video game community proud.
Honestly, this is one of the better films that I've seen recently. It's an instant classic for anyone that appreciates video games. Although it's not without its imperfections, its vices are usually its virtues. One example of this is the inconsistent speed of the progression of the storyline, which is both an arguable flaw and an intelligent design quirk that mimics the actual progression of a video game. This film strikes me as being "love it" or "hate it". The fact that I've seen it twice (and counting) should probably tell you which side of that debate I'm on.
Around here, it's pretty easy to tell that Joe is an artist. The obvious signs would be the comics and the attention to detail on the blog itself. The less obvious signs are subtly located in the context of his posts. Joe focused his review on the artistic elements of the film: the visual effects, the music, the timing, etc. His review is not only from the perspective of movie-goer but also that of movie-maker. All that is to say, he likes to be cognizant of artistic choices as they manifest themselves in the film. I suppose that I do too, but I'm not trained to look for them, I'm barely familiar with them, and I lack the ability to compare these artistic choices to those of other movies in the genre. In other words, I'm going to have to do something else in order to be insightful.
That preface aside, I'm going to be clear in saying Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is excellent. If you haven't seen it (and you're under 35 years old), do yourself a favor and watch this movie. Now. If you have seen it, go watch it again. I'm going to skip covering the basic plot of the story because (a) you probably know it and (b) if you're reading this, you've probably read Joe's review where he has that covered.
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World excels in the art of the narrative. The way in which the story is told is incredible. Not surprisingly for a movie focused on a video game culture, fantasy and reality have blended together. For some people, I'm sure that this takes away from the film, but I'll get to that later. For now though, the jumbled mix of adolescent drama and video game references creates the perfect lens through which to view the life of the protagonist, Scott Pilgrim.
The vitality of any narrative lies in its ability to make the viewer (or reader) relate to the story. For highly regarded films, this (almost) always manifests itself in details that promote the reality of any given situation. Whether it's Saving Private Ryan or The Wizard of Oz, the details provide a certain level of internal realism (usually because the storyline needs some explanation). What sets Scott Pilgrim vs. The World apart is its ability to invoke feelings at the expense of reality. In other words, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is told through the lens of how Scott perceives his world, despite the third-person nature of the storyline. At any given point, it's hard to tell whether you're inside or outside of Scott's head.
The virtue of this narrative method is that you visibly see Scott playing the video game of life. You are watching the main character fight to free his princess from her captors. Yes, you've already seen this story more times than you can count. However, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is refreshingly different in that the exaggerations, the cutscenes, the animations, and the timing all work to invoke the feelings associated with youth. The virtue of this film goes beyond its ability to bring a game to life (...or life to a game); instead, it brings video game action and vitality. It is a self-centered adventure with a short attention span that we have all lived at one time or another.
For those of you thinking I'm wrong, that this could just as easily be a director wanting to use video game culture as a medium to tell a love story (as opposed to a means of depicting Scott's perception of his own world), your point is well taken. However, that eliminates the actual relationship between Scott Pilgrim and the video game culture utilized in the film. The only indicator that Scott Pilgrim actually plays video games is his ability to play a DDR-type game early in the movie. Instead, the game genres primarily invoked are fighting (battle scenes) and RPG (Zelda music, leveling up). Other than that, there are a slew of game references which clearly cross gaming genres, from the concept of the "boss battle" to the idea that beating your opponent means getting coins. If the critique at the beginning of the paragraph was valid, there would be no relationship between Scott and the narrative method, which doesn't make a lot of sense in the context of the film.
There is a certain fantasy to life. All people have a world-view formed by both the narratives they know and the narrative that they live. This film is a rare opportunity to see multiple narratives as they inspire the growth of a character. The video game culture makes this possible by invoking gaming experiences that you must share with Scott; this movie has the opportunity to develop its characters implicitly, assuming the viewer already has knowledge of the narratives (video games) that Scott is familiar with. A lot of the references are subtle, but they're there. This film has as much depth in it as you want it to have. On the surface, it's lighthearted. If you dig a little bit, you'll find that the references are rich and the concepts run deep. This movie provides for video game players the same thing that Ten Things I Hate About You provides for people that are knowledgeable about Shakespeare (or that have read The Taming of the Shrew).
I do have to admit, however, that if someone knows nothing about video games and can't appreciate the references, it doesn't surprise me why they would think the film isn't very good. While it is well-produced, the movie hinges on the viewer's ability to relate to the characters in the film. If you don't like video games, this movie is not for you. That's why I think Joe's assessment of the age group (15-34 years old) is fairly accurate. In that group, you have the young players just old enough to understand adolescent drama and you have the older players, who grew up with a Super Nintendo. This film definitely has a market and its attention to detail should make the video game community proud.
Honestly, this is one of the better films that I've seen recently. It's an instant classic for anyone that appreciates video games. Although it's not without its imperfections, its vices are usually its virtues. One example of this is the inconsistent speed of the progression of the storyline, which is both an arguable flaw and an intelligent design quirk that mimics the actual progression of a video game. This film strikes me as being "love it" or "hate it". The fact that I've seen it twice (and counting) should probably tell you which side of that debate I'm on.
January 30, 2011
An Ode to Shenanigans
There is a dark side to academic rigor.
Academic rigor takes many forms. As examples, scientific rigor, literary rigor, and philosophical rigor all immediately come to mind. There is a method to the meticulousness. Maybe the method itself is madness. But there is a protocol to be followed. Even if you break the mold, you blaze a trail, allowing someone to follow in your footsteps. Luckily for you, this post isn't about the quest for truth; it doesn't describe the depths of insanity which form the personal trials of each and every intellectual. Conjuring images of that darkness and giving life to those shadows is draining enough without dwelling on that topic. Instead, I only ask that you give thought to the intellectual's concept of 'progress'. Intellectualism works in the realm of perfection; there exists a specific solution to every problem which is incapable of resulting in failure. That abstraction away from reality allows us to operate in a plane of thought experiments...
"If only I could make that better..."
"If only I could cure that disease..."
"If only I hadn't made that mistake..."
...and so we leave the realm of the real. We all intellectualize in this way. It is inherently human that we dream such answers exist, we hope of finding them, and we fear that we'll fall short of them. Although we have the capacity to live by that sword, we have a similar capacity to die by it.
Intellectualism comes coupled with a blinding passion for progress. The goals become intangible. We forsake everything that we have now for an ideal that we strive for. That farsighted, insatiable blindness to the 'here and now' is parasitic upon our individual happiness. We find comfort in the future. We take solace in a reality that may or may not exist. The idea that life will be better - that we will be accomplished, that we will have gone face to face with the practical problems of the real world and that we will stand triumphant - simultaneously drives us to success and to ruin. How often do we justify a sacrifice in the present with the prospect of a better future? How often does tragedy result from risking something we cannot afford to lose (family, friends, security...) for something we convince ourselves we cannot live without (lofty goals, career aspirations, personal salvation...)?
This post is a wake-up call from improbability. Life itself is a dream. It is a small, finite series of heartbeats. Count your blessings. Now and everyday. The real tragedy is that we have the capacity to curtail our own happiness while devoting our lives to a worthwhile cause.
"The mind is its own place and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."
-John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book One 254-255
Tragedy, thy name is betrayal of one's own mind. Looking at life through the lens of progress can only lead to discontent. There is no terminal point of progress; there is no place where we stop and say 'We have progressed enough. At this point, we can comfortably stop and celebrate our accomplishments.' Instead, there is always more to be done.
"How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
-William Shakespeare, "The Merchant of Venice", Act V, Scene I
In so many ways, that tiny candle invokes the human condition. One of the most poignant purposes of this quote is to illustrate admiration at the resilience of the candle in the face of darkness. The candle doesn't throw perfect beams. The candle doesn't pursue perfection at all; instead, the candle works hard to throw whatever beams it can. The candle doesn't stop itself from shining for fear that its beams aren't good enough. The sheer magnitude of illuminating the immense darkness doesn't phase the candle. Instead, the candle illuminates the world as best it can, despite that darkness. And therein lies the only perfection that the candle can be said to possess; it doesn't stop itself from shining. Fragile and weak though it is, it works in quiet dignity, not to grow stronger or brighter, but to provide for and appreciate those in its immediate vicinity.
This post is about balance. It is about seeing the forest and the trees. It is about understanding that perfect vision has the capacity to focus wherever that focus is necessary at the moment. We are defined by the things that we do. Often, the most important things in life are right in front of each of us.
For that reason, this post is also an ode to shenanigans - to life experiences, to adventures, to the loves we dared to have, to the loves we secretly wish to have again, to our friends, to our families, to the battles we've fought, to mistakes we've made, to the road trips, to the plane trips, to the family vacations, to the spring breaks, and to the eternities we've spent in those moments that passed in an instant. Because no one says it often enough, it's time to celebrate life. Don't worry about the little perfections contained within the journey; instead, notice the perfection of having a journey at all.
Toss your beams with every fiber of your being. There is no better reason than you're alive and you can. So shines an ineffable quality of human experience in a weary world.
Academic rigor takes many forms. As examples, scientific rigor, literary rigor, and philosophical rigor all immediately come to mind. There is a method to the meticulousness. Maybe the method itself is madness. But there is a protocol to be followed. Even if you break the mold, you blaze a trail, allowing someone to follow in your footsteps. Luckily for you, this post isn't about the quest for truth; it doesn't describe the depths of insanity which form the personal trials of each and every intellectual. Conjuring images of that darkness and giving life to those shadows is draining enough without dwelling on that topic. Instead, I only ask that you give thought to the intellectual's concept of 'progress'. Intellectualism works in the realm of perfection; there exists a specific solution to every problem which is incapable of resulting in failure. That abstraction away from reality allows us to operate in a plane of thought experiments...
"If only I could make that better..."
"If only I could cure that disease..."
"If only I hadn't made that mistake..."
...and so we leave the realm of the real. We all intellectualize in this way. It is inherently human that we dream such answers exist, we hope of finding them, and we fear that we'll fall short of them. Although we have the capacity to live by that sword, we have a similar capacity to die by it.
Intellectualism comes coupled with a blinding passion for progress. The goals become intangible. We forsake everything that we have now for an ideal that we strive for. That farsighted, insatiable blindness to the 'here and now' is parasitic upon our individual happiness. We find comfort in the future. We take solace in a reality that may or may not exist. The idea that life will be better - that we will be accomplished, that we will have gone face to face with the practical problems of the real world and that we will stand triumphant - simultaneously drives us to success and to ruin. How often do we justify a sacrifice in the present with the prospect of a better future? How often does tragedy result from risking something we cannot afford to lose (family, friends, security...) for something we convince ourselves we cannot live without (lofty goals, career aspirations, personal salvation...)?
This post is a wake-up call from improbability. Life itself is a dream. It is a small, finite series of heartbeats. Count your blessings. Now and everyday. The real tragedy is that we have the capacity to curtail our own happiness while devoting our lives to a worthwhile cause.
"The mind is its own place and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."
-John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book One 254-255
Tragedy, thy name is betrayal of one's own mind. Looking at life through the lens of progress can only lead to discontent. There is no terminal point of progress; there is no place where we stop and say 'We have progressed enough. At this point, we can comfortably stop and celebrate our accomplishments.' Instead, there is always more to be done.
"How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
-William Shakespeare, "The Merchant of Venice", Act V, Scene I
In so many ways, that tiny candle invokes the human condition. One of the most poignant purposes of this quote is to illustrate admiration at the resilience of the candle in the face of darkness. The candle doesn't throw perfect beams. The candle doesn't pursue perfection at all; instead, the candle works hard to throw whatever beams it can. The candle doesn't stop itself from shining for fear that its beams aren't good enough. The sheer magnitude of illuminating the immense darkness doesn't phase the candle. Instead, the candle illuminates the world as best it can, despite that darkness. And therein lies the only perfection that the candle can be said to possess; it doesn't stop itself from shining. Fragile and weak though it is, it works in quiet dignity, not to grow stronger or brighter, but to provide for and appreciate those in its immediate vicinity.
This post is about balance. It is about seeing the forest and the trees. It is about understanding that perfect vision has the capacity to focus wherever that focus is necessary at the moment. We are defined by the things that we do. Often, the most important things in life are right in front of each of us.
For that reason, this post is also an ode to shenanigans - to life experiences, to adventures, to the loves we dared to have, to the loves we secretly wish to have again, to our friends, to our families, to the battles we've fought, to mistakes we've made, to the road trips, to the plane trips, to the family vacations, to the spring breaks, and to the eternities we've spent in those moments that passed in an instant. Because no one says it often enough, it's time to celebrate life. Don't worry about the little perfections contained within the journey; instead, notice the perfection of having a journey at all.
Toss your beams with every fiber of your being. There is no better reason than you're alive and you can. So shines an ineffable quality of human experience in a weary world.
January 22, 2011
Lux
A flashlight points in one direction. You can't see what's behind you, without turning around. But in doing so, you may lose what you were supposed to be looking for.
A lantern only shines so far. You can't see beyond it's reach or what surrounds you, waiting and lurking in the darkness. Taking a step forward is a gamble between life and death. You could be devoured whole or left to die in pain. But it may set you on a path that is scattered with gems that sparkle from your light. You follow the shimmering road even when you can only see so far. You don't know where it leads but it guides you nonetheless. The gleam of the gems guide you through the darkness. Where do you come out of when the path is at it's end? Did you arrive where you thought you would? Did your lantern fade and leave you in the pit of darkness? Where are you?
November 25, 2010
Writer's Block
Given how the three of us can't ever seem to post, I thought it would be interesting to write a general inquiry into the concept of writer's block.
The act of writing is a solitary activity. You write alone. Necessarily. Writing is the process of having a conversation with yourself. You think. You type. You revise. You rethink. You refine. You create. When you look up from your computer screen, you realize that no one has heard the discussion in your mind. A tidal wave of changes may befall the world of text in front of you, but your immediate environment is completely static. You're still sitting in the same coffee shop on the same street. Your seat in the shop has not changed. The same baristas are serving drinks at the counter. When you entered it was light and although it's now dark, the street is illuminated by lights. Time has passed, but the landscape is overwhelmingly familiar. This sort of self-induced déjà vu is a common occurrence for those people who associate themselves with writing.
You need a certain silence to be able to write. This isn't a literal silence; authors everywhere have an affinity for background noise. And yet, that's precisely my point - that the noise itself falls into the background. Though an author may hear it, he or she never engages it while writing. The concentration required for writing is unforgiving. It separates you from your surroundings. Authoring thoughts is the same creative process as authoring words.
Writer's block is a state of being - specifically, when a writer is incapable of writing. If that seems intuitively obvious, then you're probably taking the project too lightly. "Writer's Block" is NOT the same as "Writers' Block". If you take a second to think about what the distinction between the two would be, you'll find the answer to be incredible.
"Writer's Block" is the mental block that a single writer has.
"Writers' Block" is the mental block that writers have.
The linguistic difference is profound. It is the difference between "THAT writer has writer's block" and "THOSE writers all have writers' block". It is only possible for the single writer to be blocked. Even if writer's block can be described as a unifying experience within the literary community, it doesn't occur to the community itself.
If ever there was definitive proof about the solitary nature of writing, such proof exists in the concept of writer's block. Writer's block is unique to the writer. It wouldn't make sense otherwise. There is no underlying impedance which affects the entire writing community. Even if there was, it would be extraordinarily difficult to call that impedance a "block", given how writing is always occurring.
I haven't even attempted to describe what writer's block actually is, primarily because that discussion could be endless. Writer's block could be a physical thing, an experience, or a discursive object (think Foucault), but this post isn't about metaphysics. I did, however, suggest that writer's block is a state of being. I will make one more suggestion: writer's block is a certain kind of alienation from your own thoughts. I'll leave you to think about that one.
The act of writing is a solitary activity. You write alone. Necessarily. Writing is the process of having a conversation with yourself. You think. You type. You revise. You rethink. You refine. You create. When you look up from your computer screen, you realize that no one has heard the discussion in your mind. A tidal wave of changes may befall the world of text in front of you, but your immediate environment is completely static. You're still sitting in the same coffee shop on the same street. Your seat in the shop has not changed. The same baristas are serving drinks at the counter. When you entered it was light and although it's now dark, the street is illuminated by lights. Time has passed, but the landscape is overwhelmingly familiar. This sort of self-induced déjà vu is a common occurrence for those people who associate themselves with writing.
You need a certain silence to be able to write. This isn't a literal silence; authors everywhere have an affinity for background noise. And yet, that's precisely my point - that the noise itself falls into the background. Though an author may hear it, he or she never engages it while writing. The concentration required for writing is unforgiving. It separates you from your surroundings. Authoring thoughts is the same creative process as authoring words.
Writer's block is a state of being - specifically, when a writer is incapable of writing. If that seems intuitively obvious, then you're probably taking the project too lightly. "Writer's Block" is NOT the same as "Writers' Block". If you take a second to think about what the distinction between the two would be, you'll find the answer to be incredible.
"Writer's Block" is the mental block that a single writer has.
"Writers' Block" is the mental block that writers have.
The linguistic difference is profound. It is the difference between "THAT writer has writer's block" and "THOSE writers all have writers' block". It is only possible for the single writer to be blocked. Even if writer's block can be described as a unifying experience within the literary community, it doesn't occur to the community itself.
If ever there was definitive proof about the solitary nature of writing, such proof exists in the concept of writer's block. Writer's block is unique to the writer. It wouldn't make sense otherwise. There is no underlying impedance which affects the entire writing community. Even if there was, it would be extraordinarily difficult to call that impedance a "block", given how writing is always occurring.
I haven't even attempted to describe what writer's block actually is, primarily because that discussion could be endless. Writer's block could be a physical thing, an experience, or a discursive object (think Foucault), but this post isn't about metaphysics. I did, however, suggest that writer's block is a state of being. I will make one more suggestion: writer's block is a certain kind of alienation from your own thoughts. I'll leave you to think about that one.
September 17, 2010
I wrote this on my personal blog on Friday at like 3 in the morning. I'm re-posting it here cause I wanted to share the experience for those of you who were not in NY. While the descriptions of this entry are lacking, do keep in mind that I was up late and therefore brain-dead.
As many people should know, the New York area was devastated by a fierce storm yesterday afternoon. I was actually walking home from my first day of work at the New York Film-Maker’s Cooperative when the storm grew worse in Manhattan. Luckily for me, Manhattan was quite possibly the only borough not damaged heavily by the storm.
But as I was walking home and the time between lightning and thunder shrunk, the sky grew dark at a pace that was very much foreboding. At that moment, I thought of the passage in the Bible right after Jesus drew his last breath and he had truly died on the cross.
One passage is from Luke 23:44-47.
44It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, 45for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. 46Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last. 47The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said, “Surely this was a righteous man.”
A much more descriptive passage is from Matthew 27:51-53.
51At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. 52The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. 53They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus’ resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people.
Yesterday’s storm was truly frightening. The flash of lightning pierced the dark skies and the hammer of thunder crashed upon the heavens, shaking me to my core. The vibrations echoed throughout me as I looked up and saw rain starting to fall slowly. It was a great experience to have been through. I do wonder if anyone else felt the same about the storm. I imagine that the biblical passage was far more intense by a hundred fold.
The rain did start coming down like a sheet of arrows while a block away from my dorm. Even with umbrella, the rain thoroughly drenched me within the 8 sec it took me to walk the rest of the way to the building. I went inside, dried off, went on the internet and found that three hurricanes are off the coast of the US. I don’t know if that had anything to do with the storm here, but seriously, three hurricanes? Is that normal? Also, I had no ideas that tornadoes actually can form in this part of the US. I took it much more of a Midwest/West thing.
Here is a video of the storm rolling into Brooklyn. Like the Angel of Death on the land of Egypt.
=(
As many people should know, the New York area was devastated by a fierce storm yesterday afternoon. I was actually walking home from my first day of work at the New York Film-Maker’s Cooperative when the storm grew worse in Manhattan. Luckily for me, Manhattan was quite possibly the only borough not damaged heavily by the storm.
But as I was walking home and the time between lightning and thunder shrunk, the sky grew dark at a pace that was very much foreboding. At that moment, I thought of the passage in the Bible right after Jesus drew his last breath and he had truly died on the cross.
One passage is from Luke 23:44-47.
44It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, 45for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. 46Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last. 47The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said, “Surely this was a righteous man.”
A much more descriptive passage is from Matthew 27:51-53.
51At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. 52The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. 53They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus’ resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people.
Yesterday’s storm was truly frightening. The flash of lightning pierced the dark skies and the hammer of thunder crashed upon the heavens, shaking me to my core. The vibrations echoed throughout me as I looked up and saw rain starting to fall slowly. It was a great experience to have been through. I do wonder if anyone else felt the same about the storm. I imagine that the biblical passage was far more intense by a hundred fold.
The rain did start coming down like a sheet of arrows while a block away from my dorm. Even with umbrella, the rain thoroughly drenched me within the 8 sec it took me to walk the rest of the way to the building. I went inside, dried off, went on the internet and found that three hurricanes are off the coast of the US. I don’t know if that had anything to do with the storm here, but seriously, three hurricanes? Is that normal? Also, I had no ideas that tornadoes actually can form in this part of the US. I took it much more of a Midwest/West thing.
Here is a video of the storm rolling into Brooklyn. Like the Angel of Death on the land of Egypt.
=(
August 25, 2010
He's Just Sulking, Don't Mind Him
I saw Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. I wrote a review on the blog. If you thought mine was a weak review, wait for Daniel's review once he sees it. He will be filling the holes and have his say about what he thought.
Daniel looks at hats. A lot. I don't know what he does exactly, but he's always working or moving from place to place. He does stuff. As soon as he buys the DSLR he says he's getting, I want to start a photo scavenger hunt Midwest vs. East Coast...and Japan. If we do have readers, I welcome you to join in.
As for the comic, I tried to mess around with the squares. Sometime in the future, I want to mess with the no squares concept. Also notice our mascot, Tuff The Mountain Goat. He's slowly replacing Kyle as the third member.
I happened to see The Expendables on the same day. Oh. My. God. The movie was so bad, I wanted to get up and leave. I usually can sit through a bad movie. But wow! My patience was rewarded though by the ridiculous final action scenes in the movie, it's only saving grace. Story and dialogue-wise, it was worse than a student film, and if you have talked to me before, you know how much I hate student films.
[edit] I noticed the title was pouting, when I meant to say sulking. MA BAD
August 24, 2010
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World Review - Joe Edition
I'm not going into the story in detail so that those who may have not seen it will not complain about it being ruined and such nonsense. What I will say is that the story, originally written by Bryan Lee O'Malley as a comic, has a solid story. It has everything in the movie that defines each point as a certain point in the movie that should be there. [For more info, go read the late Blake Snyder's book "Save the Cat!"] I went to the theater with someone who said she had read the original comics. She noted that there were parts here and there that were missing from the original but what movie doesn't? She still commented that it was an amazing movie and did not steer clear off the course like The Last Airbender. [god damn you M. Night Shyamalan] Despite it missing certain points of the comics, it still did an amazing job of getting the flow of the movie right so that no one moment was boring or dragged out. The acts connected well and the main character was given enough reason and time to go through what we call "The Hero's Journey". His character begun flawed, shown to him, and then he reaches the end with the right tools to win.
The effects in the movie were what first pulled me to see this movie. When I think Michael Cera in a movie, I just think, oh god, another movie about teenage awkwardness. The use and timing of the effects in the film was very satisfying and "beast". Though it was not a serious film whatsoever, the post production crew did not skimp on the details of each effect that was needed. The whole idea of the game life bars and such added to the film in a most positive manner. The movie was rather surreal at times, and the editing and the effects strongly supported those transitions from reality to his inner thoughts. I am sure that this film will cause a great number of Youtube children and adults to start making short skits and pieces much in the style of Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.
The soundtrack was very fitting for the indie crowd the character's band was aiming for. I could totally see the music playing behind Michael Cera if I saw him walking down the street. [Cause you know, Michael Cera acts like Michael Cera in every movie.] Though the indie music scene is clearly not on my list of favorites, I very much enjoyed the use and story development with the music.
The randomness and uncertainty of the jokes was the defining feature of the film. What would be rather awkward if the dialogue was straight forward, the speech and train of thought of Scott Pilgrim and his friends were very amusing and interesting to watch. I happened to see The Expendables right after this movie, and I must say, that it is one of the worst movies I have ever seen in my life. The dialogue was so weak and confusing that it deducted what little that movie had. Unlike that movie, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World was solid and well timed. The jokes made sense and the jokes and speech matched each character as they should have if they were real.
Now Daniel was telling me about how old time reviewers did not like the movie. It all makes sense though. This movie clearly is not a movie that would be understood by the older generation. Very modern in it's style, the whole idea of fantasy and music does not seem to mesh well with the tastes of the people like Ebert and his peers. This is a movie which is meant for a younger generation but clearly not targeted for children. If one had to give an age range, I would say 15-34 years of age. It almost like a cultural thing and is understandable that many people may not like this movie. But it doesn't stop me from believing it was awesome.
Overall, this is one of the best movies I've ever seen in my life. Highly amusing and entertaining, the film clearly was worth the discounted price I bought the ticket for and I would have paid full price to watch it and would not mind watching it again. I would highly recommend it to people and I plan on purchasing it somehow when it is released on a DVD [or a Blu-Ray if I can afford a player].
August 11, 2010
The Death of Thomas Sable
Thomas Sable was a most distinguished writer that published works about the evils of the liberal population and their beliefs. So when his wife ran off with the leader of the hippies rioting outside his estate that February morning, his anger burned a most passionate blaze. Hurt and betrayed by whom he had thought was his greatest supporter, Thomas closed himself off in his house, away from the voices and the light of the world. He took his 9-iron and smashed his computer, then his television, his phone, and eventually, he cut the power lines to the house. He locked himself in the basement and sat on the floor. Thomas Sable was isolated from everything. He had returned himself forcibly into an era in which man was shrouded in darkness. He had put himself into a state much like a embryo in it's mother's womb. Thomas Sable needed to be reborn.
When night fell, the temperature dropped much lower than it should have that time of year in that particular part of the country. Thomas, encased in a number of blankets he had found, sat quietly in the darkness. His eyes saw nothing, his ears heard nothing, and his body, numb from the cold, felt nothing. The only sound he heard was his heart pumping as it got slower and slower, succumbing to the chill of the night. Thomas did not sit there without thought. While his heart was falling asleep, his brain raced for a reason. He searched for an explanation. Why? The simplest question but yet the most profound. Why was he here in this basement dying? Because his wife left him. Why? She didn't love him anymore and fell in love with the liberal freaks. Why? Because he was wrong? Why? Thomas Sable did not know why his wife had left him, a respectable, well-to-do man, for a fool dressed in dead flowers and so he continued to ask the question "Why?" till the cold eventually closed his eyes and his breathing got slower and eventually till he slumped onto the barren floor.
Thomas Sable stood on a barren ice field. The dark sky was illuminated by the light of the auras of the heavens. He eyed the stream and it's path as it went off toward the horizon. A single stream of light fell to the earth and it lit the ice a orange hue. He walked towards the falling light. As he got closer, he felt warmer and started to take off the coat he was wearing. A hundred yards closer, he threw off his sweater. When he was close to the light, he wore nothing, stark naked as the day he was born. The orange light illuminated his figure as it contrasted with the barren blue of the ice behind him. He stepped forward. A vision of himself sitting in the darkness pierced his mind. He looked down, the number 266 blazed red by his foot. He took another step forward and he was smashing his belongings with his 9-iron. A 265 marked his step. Each foot forward, a shard of his past flashed in his mind and a new number was seared the ground. Thomas stepped through his life's memories till he reached the number 1. His vision of his past for this number was only darkness. He looked down at the number. Breathing in, he lifted his head high and stepped into the light. The light hissed as it consumed him. His body began to char and crack. Thomas didn't let out a scream as if he was in pain. He didn't clutch his body in agony. Thomas Sable simply breathed out as his body simply turned to ash and flew off. toward the shining lights in the sky.
Thomas could not tell if his eyes were open. He stumbled around looking for the stairs. When he found them, he slowly ascended the steps, breathing heavily from the cold air. He unlocked the door and stepped out into the morning light. The light was pale against the white floors and the wall. Thomas headed slowly for the kitchen. He grabbed a kettle and filled it with water. He put it on the gas stove and waited patiently for the kettle to whistle. He poured himself a cup of the hot water and sat at the table. He took a sip and breathed out. Breathing in and out, again and again, Thomas Sable was glad he was alive as he stared at the cup and took another sip. The doorbell rang. He ignored it's cry as he looked out the window and fell asleep.
When night fell, the temperature dropped much lower than it should have that time of year in that particular part of the country. Thomas, encased in a number of blankets he had found, sat quietly in the darkness. His eyes saw nothing, his ears heard nothing, and his body, numb from the cold, felt nothing. The only sound he heard was his heart pumping as it got slower and slower, succumbing to the chill of the night. Thomas did not sit there without thought. While his heart was falling asleep, his brain raced for a reason. He searched for an explanation. Why? The simplest question but yet the most profound. Why was he here in this basement dying? Because his wife left him. Why? She didn't love him anymore and fell in love with the liberal freaks. Why? Because he was wrong? Why? Thomas Sable did not know why his wife had left him, a respectable, well-to-do man, for a fool dressed in dead flowers and so he continued to ask the question "Why?" till the cold eventually closed his eyes and his breathing got slower and eventually till he slumped onto the barren floor.
Thomas Sable stood on a barren ice field. The dark sky was illuminated by the light of the auras of the heavens. He eyed the stream and it's path as it went off toward the horizon. A single stream of light fell to the earth and it lit the ice a orange hue. He walked towards the falling light. As he got closer, he felt warmer and started to take off the coat he was wearing. A hundred yards closer, he threw off his sweater. When he was close to the light, he wore nothing, stark naked as the day he was born. The orange light illuminated his figure as it contrasted with the barren blue of the ice behind him. He stepped forward. A vision of himself sitting in the darkness pierced his mind. He looked down, the number 266 blazed red by his foot. He took another step forward and he was smashing his belongings with his 9-iron. A 265 marked his step. Each foot forward, a shard of his past flashed in his mind and a new number was seared the ground. Thomas stepped through his life's memories till he reached the number 1. His vision of his past for this number was only darkness. He looked down at the number. Breathing in, he lifted his head high and stepped into the light. The light hissed as it consumed him. His body began to char and crack. Thomas didn't let out a scream as if he was in pain. He didn't clutch his body in agony. Thomas Sable simply breathed out as his body simply turned to ash and flew off. toward the shining lights in the sky.
Thomas could not tell if his eyes were open. He stumbled around looking for the stairs. When he found them, he slowly ascended the steps, breathing heavily from the cold air. He unlocked the door and stepped out into the morning light. The light was pale against the white floors and the wall. Thomas headed slowly for the kitchen. He grabbed a kettle and filled it with water. He put it on the gas stove and waited patiently for the kettle to whistle. He poured himself a cup of the hot water and sat at the table. He took a sip and breathed out. Breathing in and out, again and again, Thomas Sable was glad he was alive as he stared at the cup and took another sip. The doorbell rang. He ignored it's cry as he looked out the window and fell asleep.
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