"High" Sierra

Watched: High Sierra

Wasn't I recently talking about the "non-classic" movie? Sort of the way one might refer to "imperfect man."

Well, this Humphrey Bogart stinker survived through the years in spite of its sketchy premise, and a combination of bad acting and badly written dialog that had to haved seemed square and out-of-touch even in 1941. It had to have. Bogart, in his first starring role, still appears at least two and a half times the age of one of his two romantic interests, and is utterly unbelievable as a streetwise ex-con. Of course, the couple of ne'er-do-wells he hooks up with for a heist make guys that played crooks on Andy Griffith look like the entourage of Pacman Jones.

It might be worth it for you to catch this movie if you want to brush up on your Mystery Science Theatre 3000 "skewering skills," but other than that, don't waste your time.

Small Miracles

There is an old joke about a guy who is on top of his house with flood waters rising all about. A man in a rowboat happens by and asks the man to climb aboard. He replied, "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." Next, a helicopter passes overhead and drops him a rope ladder. "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." And so on and so forth. Of course, the guy drowns. Up in heaven, he asks God why he didn't save him and God replies, "What's the matter with you? First I sent you a boat, then I sent you a helicopter...."

I forget what, exactly, was this impetus for this - perhaps a series of discussions Sharon & I had about how people tend to make their own luck - but Sharon decided, a little under a month ago (when we were facing out latest monetary crisis of realizing all of the water supply pipes in our house will need replaced), that she would stop sort of wafting through life, reacting to disaster and challenge as they arose, but instead begin actively seeking out 'miracles,' with a goal of a miracle a day. Mind you - this is not 'miracle' in the religious sense, though maybe the cosmic sense. And some would be as small as discovering Minnesota-grown apples on sale for $1.19/lb, but miracles on a larger scale would certainly be welcome, and even expected.

So far, it seems to have been an unqualified success. A lot of minor tribulations of life seem to be sorting themselves out, but the crowning achievement of 'miracles' has been what's going to happen with Lucy's $485 month tuition for school, which starts next month: Sharon has been hired on again to do a monthly naturalist program for $100 a shot (knocking tuition cost cown to, effectively, $385/month). We just also just made our last payment on the Saturn (minus another $129 - down to $256). Then, the biggest 'miracle' of all: in the spirit of this new endeavor, Sharon actually filled out a need-based scholarship application & submitted it to the school. Exceeding our wildest expectations, they granted us a $135/month scholarship. Essentially, we have to find a way to come up with $121 beyond what we were finding in the budget through the majority of the summer. We can totally do that.

Thank heavens for small miracles.

One Big, Not-So-Happy Family (Husbands & Wives and the Children of Húrin)

Read: Narn i Chîn Húrin (The Children of Húrin)
GREAT. Great, great, great, great, great. For the (legions of) people who appreciate the character-driven, powerful portrayal of daily trials, personalities, and themes of friendship and loyalty found in The Lord of the Rings, and for the (somewhat smaller number of) people who appreciated the sweeping, cataclysmic majesty of The Simarillion; The Children of Húrin is a most satisfying blend of the two. Set against the giant, almost Biblical backdrop of the 'First Age' of Middle Earth as depicted in the Simarillion, The Children of Húrin is far more accessible (quite a quick read); expanding upon the tragic character of one Túrin, son of Húrin, as he does his heroic best to aid the the races of men & elves against what is essentially the forces of an evil, fallen god; yet, by rash disregard of wise counsel or plain ill fortune, ultimately brings ruin to everyone and everything he holds dear. Lord of the Rings will forever make my blood run swiftly, inciting noble thoughts of friendship, heroism, and perserverence. The Children of Húrin will always break my heart. A small and beautiful, yet heartbreaking little tale against an annihilative backdrop involving the fall of Kings and the fall of cities, ever in the background but inexorably tied to Turin's doom.

Seen: Husbands and Wives:
Well, it's tough to follow that. But this was a really good Woody Allen character film. Fairly recent, it follows two married couples and examines the forces that to drive the unions apart and keep them together through typically (for Allen) witty dialogue and clever story-development. Not unlike Crimes & Misdemeanors (which I actually preferred, as a movie), in it's cynicism, but it definitely throws some interesting characters into the blender - even if (like in most Woody Allen movies), I can't really relate to very much of his uptown-Manhattan lifestyle.

10

Sharon & my 10-year anniversary today.

For lack of babysitter resources and time for planning, we are not actually going to be able to do anything tonight other than spend some brief moments together after the kids are in bed. But I think that is really representative of the stage of our family right now (e.g. preschooler & infant In The House), as well as the general course of our married life together, to this date: our time together may be hard to come by, but it is precious, and never taken for granted.

We're hoping to get out this weekend to see a play and eat a good meal. The Coast 2 Coast hike in northern England will have to wait a few years.

In Memory of Saraki (Squeaky)

Long, long overdue. A photo tribute has been on Sharon's agenda for the past half a year, but the demands of stay-at-home motherhood did not allow her to finally finish it until this past week. You'll be seeing this caption free, but it pretty much covers her first day in this world to her final day. No surprise here to animal lovers, but she brought us love, joy, laughter, and friendship in equal measure, and was a companion ("friend" might be stretching it) to Kuna-i through all the long years.

To which anyone who has been very close to an animal in their lives can attest, Saraki and Kuna-i were our "kids" before we had kids. They were the centerpoint of our lives, and an integral part of the crazy, vivid, earliest years of our marriage. And it has been difficult, at times, to come to terms with the fact that we are a now family without a pet. Crazy, too, that - despite no shortage of photographic evidence and stories, Kuna-i (that sweet & steadfast girl who welcomed a new baby into the house and - even in her blindness and dementia - kept a watchful vigil over a sleeping newborn) is steadily and surely fading from Lucy's memory, if not gone altogether. Almost certainly, Saraki will follow down that same path. And Rose, when all is said and done, will have only been alive for the four final months of Saraki's life.

New pets will eventually move in and fill a place in the hearts of our daughters, but I'm determined to keep memories of these two founding members of "Minneapolis Hyltons" family unit alive for as long as I'm alive. Thank God for photos. And thank God for a personality that can't get enough of reminiscing to begin with. Anyway, I'm pleased to share with you this tribute.

(Now, originally, I just embedded the slideshow itself. But I think the captions Sharon added are helpful for anyone who'd appreciate a little more context- so the photo below is actually now just a link to the actual web album. Be forewarned - the slide show is a little long. But Sharon put all the pictures in there for a reason, so get off her back.)

Squeaky

Suspicious? You Should Be. Baudolino Lies.

Read: Baudolino
My 2nd read of Umberto Eco is one I would highly recommend to anyone that loves historical fiction; particularly of the sort that comes from a mind that is mind-bogglingly versed on that particular slice of history (European Crusades, in this case). With the sort of lush backdrop, as well as luscious mixture of veneration and mockery of the history of Western religion, this book is superbly crafted. A fictitious character; behind the scenes and with the ear of the Emperor and a gift of language and lies, plays a significant and in pretty much all the major happenings between the 3rd and 4th Crusade. All the historical events are right on (I Wiki'd many of them), but the details are pulled out of an ass. And then - after it has been, if a bit far-fetched, quite realistic; the final third of the book takes the reader on a fantastical journey beyond the world known to Europeans at the time in search of a mythical far-Eastern Christian Emperor, Prestor John. A fun, rollicking adventure. Tales in a backdrop of cataclysmic war has never been so light and playful. Great 2000 interview on Baudolino with the brilliant Eco, here.

Watched: Suspicion
Directed by one A. Hitchcock and starring Cary Grant & Joan Fontaine, this 1941 suspense flick (woman woo'd by rascally man-about-town, only later to suspect he is planning to kill her) had all the pieces in place for me. Blast it, but I just didn't think the writing was all that great. I enjoyed it, but not nearly as much as I was expecting to; fine performances (particularly, by Fontaine) and the hand of The Master couldn't elevate it to classic status for me. If I could have given it 3 1/2 on Netflix, I would have.

Tagged

by Aaron

7 "Interesting" Facts About Me (which I'm interpreting to mean items you may not know about me and, if you didn't know, might surprise you)

1. The extent to which I fail to reach my own toes when stretching puts me in the bottom 10th percentile amongs all men in my age group.
2. I have an advertising minor.
3. I have Tourette's Syndrome.
4. My grandfather lived to be 102. My grandmother (on the other side) lived to be 98.
5. I write beer reviews at BeerAdvocate.com. Feel free to send me samples for review.
6. I know far more about Microsoft Excel than you realize.
7. I've biked a 34 mile round trip into work once a week since mid-June. I will continue to do so as long as the weather holds. Three weeks ago, I entered the Bike2Benefits eight week challenge.

Out in the Open on Feedback

OK - a good & probably necessary discussion has made itself evident as a result of my recent post about Creating Into the Void and Mixdorf's response which, thankfully, did not end up being. "'Boo fuckin' hoo." Overall, I guess this post will be directed primarily at Mixx, with whom I've danced around this issue of feedback for a number of years, but others who count themselves among my friends can certainly take note...

Essentially, you are wary of offending with anything less than positive about a creation that is so personal to me. And if I could sum up a rebuttal in so few words myself, it would be simply:

If not you, who?

Ahh, such is the life of an artist yearning for feedback. It almost reminds me of those folks who, after the loss of a loved one, find that all their former friends are avoiding them as a result of not knowing exactly what to say. It's lonesome down here in Camden Studios, as the extent of my feedback truly comes from only Sharon & Pat G (Pat having experienced, through his career the same "wall of ambivalence," and willing to reciprocate the feedback and discussion over creation for which we both so yearn).

We've established that precise musical tastes are highly subjective, and I'm not going to see eye to eye with very many people in this huge world. But ultimately, if I'm ever going to do anything, music-wise (and Lord knows, I've not given up yet), I'm going to have to make music that will appeal to someone other than just myself and Mighty Tom. And it would be most helpful, somewhere along the line, to have other music fans hearing my stuff with objective and fresh ears, giving me their impressions and thoughts.

But on a more basic level (believe it or not) it's far more damaging to my self esteem to put my hopes and dreams into all the cords and mics and such and have it float off into the void without a bit of acknowledgement that it exists, than it is to hear "I'm sorry, but that one isn't doing it for me." I would assume that you wish all the luck and success for me in the world. As such, I would assume I can count you among my one of my supporters & backers and, dare I say, "fans?" I would like to think that is the case, whether you think all my stuff is great, or most of my stuff is just OK, or whatever. And, if you think I make nothing but Shit Sandwiches, I think our friendship can survive that.

On a side note - trying to crack the local club scene is a game for the young, and one I never could crack even when I was young. If something happens for me at this point, it's going to be as a result of either the right pair of ears hearing my music or some crazy grassroots wildfire, based on a particular song or two generating buzz around the internet. And while I'm hardly the guy to author a book on "how to be successful in a band," I know that either of these possbilities are highly more likely if they start with a dedicated group of supporters. I'm not asking anyone to give up a day job here, but if I could just ask you to listen to these early mixes of songs I'm making and IF (and only if) you feel that you can be honest with yourself in doing so ....spread the word! "Hey, a friend of mine is recording an album - I think this is a pretty good song. See what you think." Or something like that. I have a couple of ideas of how I'm going to try and promote myself when this thing is released, but only a couple. Over the years, the ol' fan base has shrunk to....well, apparently Sharon & Pat G (that's not exactly true - I can usually get a few people to come out when I play live). But still, I could use all the help I can get.

And if not you, who???

on a side side note: Indeed, you do not need a MySpace account to hear songs or read blog posts, only to comment. So if anyone wants to just listen, and occasionally check in, it's not necessary to say anything in that forum. (I may end up disabling comments on the MySpace blog, anyway, as a way of obscuring how small the "fan base" truly is...) If you want to send me some feedback, you can post it here...or even just send me an email. Anything to let me know that I'm not creating into the void.

http://www.myspace.com/danhylton (and I finished another rough mix - From July to April - and posted it just tonight)

Funky Adventure and Ruminations on 'The Heart Meter'

As T-Clog embarks upon an heroic exercise program that will allow him to complete a 5k trail run in late September, so I continue on one of my own. Due to the new lease on my own fitness life brought about by my introduction to cross training via cardio-machines at my workplace's fitness center, combined with a gel band I have to add structural stability to my runner's knee, I am finding it increasingly comfortable and exhilerating to get out on the trails for running, my true exercise love.

Yesterday, at the tail end of a 5-day vacation stint with my family, I was granted a couple of hours to have some "Dan time," and I elected to head out to French Regional Park, home of "Challenge Hill" (which should really be plural - think of the hill at Afton. Maybe about half the height, but repeated about four or five times). It was a muggy 86 degrees and I had water belt hitched up, along with a plan that would have me swing by a fountain at a picnic area after a half hour for a refill.

Well, things felt great at first and I went out a little fast, but the hills kicked my ass a bit. And made me ruminate, thus: A runner is like a character in a Nintendo game. You have a little set of hearts in the upper right corner of your screen that are all filled red. Very slowly (or quickly, depending on your level of fitness), your heart meter will begin to inch it's way down, just by virtue of cruising along at a constant speed.. However, there are many things that you can do that will knock a few points of that heart meter instantly, such as sprinting, jumping over a log, or running up a hill. If you're in decent shape, once you crest a hill - even one that was making your thighs scream for mercy - the five or six hearts you suddenly lost will begin to fill back in slowly, so that, after a while more of relatively level surface running, you'll feel like you didn't miss a beat. You did, though. Replenished though you may feel, that hill has taken a toll on you and those hearts are not truly back up to where they were before you started up. Over time, the hills add up. I've learned this through a lifetime of running, but never was it so driven home to me than at the Afton Trail Run 25K, which I've done twice. Both times, though I was fully capable of running the distance on roads, I ended up with cramps at about mile 12 (probably about 20-21k). Those hills'll kill you.

Just something to keep in mind, T-Clog. I don't remember the terrain & trails at Eagle Bluff, but based on the part of the state it's in, I have no doubt it's extremely hilly. If we come across a hill that's batshit insane, there's no honor lost in walking it.

Now - the funky adventure. I'd run for about forty minutes before making it to the drinking fountain for a fill up and check of my watch. I had a little bit of an upset stomach, so decided to cut my original plan (1 hr, 10 min) down a bit; I'd do one more little loop. However, just after starting down the new trail, I realized my stomach was really fairly sloshy - something bad was potentially brewing, and I thought it best to just call it a day. I turned around and headed back to the visitors' center. There was something in the trail in front of me - "wait -that looks like a mound of wadded up newspaper - oh SHIT (just as I began to leap over) BALD FACED HORNET NEST!!!" I was immediately set upon by about three of the little fuckers. I gave a scream and tore off at a quick pace, trying to remember my old nature readings: "How fast can a hornet fly? 10 mph? Can I run that fast? " Well, either I can run that fast, or they had nothing more to prove, cause they let me go. Exhausted, queasy, and stinging.

I headed back to the car and checked the pound on my water belt to get the key for the car. Key gone. double shit. I retraced my steps back up to the picnic area water fountain (where I'd gotten out my watch and where, presumably, the key had tumbled out). Nothing. Going through the whole area with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing. Back to the visitors' center for a call to Sharon. Not there. Triple shit. Left a message: "If you get this message, come and pick me up. I'll be on the way home." And - what could I do - I started running home, along Rockford Rd (Country Rd 9/42nd Ave). And, proving what a man can do (particularly, the King of Men) when he really has to, I'd made about three miles (about two of which were up a ridiculously long incline) before the little Toyota Corolla with all my girls came cruising up alongside and offered me a ride.

Last night was a night of rehydration and moving in slow motion.

Alice & Rimmer

I finished up a first-ever reading of Alice in Wonderland, a few nights ago. I'd been reading the book, more or less a chapter a night, to Lucy. One of the first things you pick up on in taking on a chapter book in this venue, even one like Alice..., which is ostensibly written for children and from a child's perspective, is how dificult it is for a four year old to get her head around all the moving pieces. In fact, it is doubly and triply the case with this book, since many characters are introduced and then forgotten (until the trial near the end, if you're familiar with the story). Plus, there's all these bygone terms and expressions from early-part-of-the-century England, which bear constant explaining, defining, and putting in context. I don't know. There's a lot of kids out there Lucy's age that are just plopped in front of PG movies and left to drift from one moment of stark, physical comedy (man makes a man's pants fall down, penguin burps, etc.) to the next. My sense has always been that it's an odd, almost demeaning sort of feeling that 77% of literature/entertainment is just simply something you're not going to get and so just deal with it. So, if there's something in the DVD player and Lucy's watching it, we are sitting next to her (or have already at some point, with that particular piece of entertainment), pausing and explaining/talking about things. Constantly. Well, that was happening in Alice.... Constantly. Anyway - looking back at the experience, I'm not sure I would have taken it on, knowing what I know now. And I wonder if a part of my interest had been selfish in nature. I, personally, felt it was high time to make it through this classic tale; from which I can see innumerous cultural trappings that are the fruits of its literary loins. But as for the tale itself (and maybe this is after an experience of trying to make it reconcile with the mind of a surprisingly logical four year old girl), I simply can't believe how pointless/plotless? the whole thing was. I'm not even sure if that's a critique, or simply a rumination of surprise because I did find it fun. Perhaps truly the first in a long line of "it was all just a dream!" in the arts, the whole series of barely-connected scenes played out like (with apologies to Joseph Gehaw), simple, unmotivated bizarreness. Trippy. Mind-blowing, it seems, that it gained such popularity in America's infamously grim and stogy classrooms of the mid-century. How did that happen?

Red Dwarf: I'll make this a lot shorter. BBC sci-fi comedy from the 80s, available on Netflix' "Watch Now," so I thought I'd take a chance. Not all that impressed after the first episode or two, but (realizing that sometimes comedy series have to come into their own a bit) stuck it out for an entire six. If it picks up steam in season 2, I'll never know. Life is too short, and too full of wonderful BBC series such as Father Ted and Blackadder, that are delivering pause-and-watch-again-worthy bellylaughs from the get-go.

Before You Do Pretty Much Anything, Ask Yourself...

WTFWJD?

Creating Into the Void

So much for the IPO.

Posts remain unread. MP3s that are the result of blood & labor remain unheard. And I remain friendless.

"My" Space has never seemed so truly accurate a name...

Hug Those Kids!

Last night as I got home from work, Sharon & the girls were in the backyard pool. I headed inside to do my usual ritual (various clothes and accessories from work in their respective places, and a change into comfortable clothes). I had just headed upstairs to our bedroom, when Sharon called my name out - in an odd and sort of desperate tone. I rushed downstairst o see Sharon in the entryway, and in tears, holding a slightly dazed and off-pallored Rose.

Apparently, there had been an incident in the pool where Rose seemed to be choking on something (Sharon assumed it was water), but then quickly turned a violent shade of blue and went limp in her arms.

Sharon freaked but had presence of mind to flip her over in position to vomit, which is what happend. Affer that point, it was just a matter of a few minutes of recovery time, but Sharon was understandably shaken, and in tears.

Dear God, but with respect to the often-used "every parent's nightmare," that - friends - is it. There were a number of occasions with Lucy, as she was transitioning into solid foods (as Rose is beginning to), where there were momentary instances of choking. All manner of terrors pass before your eyes at that moment, as you fly into action to fish the offending bit of food out of their mouth, or take alternative actions. In all cases, whether by your helping hand or without, the issue was resolved in seconds. But J.C.. that does send a daddy to reeling and reflecting for a short bit.

And that was just during mealtime. Lucy was generally a very stationary baby; and when she did start to move, she was a parent's dream in terms of avoiding trouble. She never had an issue with sticking things into her mouth or exploring things better left alone. Rose is the complete opposite. Crawing a full four months before her older sister did, she is a little Indiana Jane, seeking adventure and treasure all the time and at every turn. It's a whole new level of accountability we have for keeping dangers off our floor and away from her reach; particularly in light of our traditionally lazy housekeeping style.

Not much more to say about all that. Just ruminating this afternoon, as a momentary flashback and chill passed across my spine.

HPATOOTP and Powell

Finally got out to the latest Harry Potter movie. Both Sharon & I thought, contrary (it appears) to the vast majority of reviewers, that it was the first step backwards in the ever-goodening franchise. It wasn't so much that there were glaring flaws in the general filmmaking, only that they finally have gotten to that point in the story where the plot is no longer linear - or at least easily portrayed in linear fashion (e.g. we need to solve this, then this will become clear, after which we can do this, etc.). There was just more subtley, nuance, and unspoken intricacy in the book than could be covered in a couple of hours of screen time. To me, it seemed that vast sections of necessary exposition and character/plot development were sacrificed (in favor of gratuitous reaction shots, Sharon would add). Such is the fate of the book reader. My impression would be that certain plot developments or character actions would seem inexplicable or jumpy, without that exposition. But that's obviously not the case, as the film was received quite warmly by Joe Q filmgoer. I don't know. I have a tough time separating myself from the notion that a faithful reproduction of what I read is what needs to be in a book-inspired movie, and just accept movies for what they are: 90-150 minutes of self-contained art.

I didn't intend to say that much.

On the book: Down the Great Unknown: John Wesley Powell's 1869 Journey of Discovery and Tragedy Through the Grand Canyon was something I stumbled across as a result of my trip down into the very nearby canyon country of Escalante, last year. Like Mixdorf, I really groove on true stories of great feats of endurance and adventure; though there is definitely a tricky art involved with telling the tales. To what extent does the author fill in the blanks and make assumptions in order to paint a more descriptive, colorful picture? The success with which an author/researcher achieves this balance becomes at least as imporant as actual writing ability. And, dedicating years of life to reasearching colorful characters in history - I can imagine it would be hard for one to not start feeling as if they truly know these guys, and justified in making such assumptions. But, in the case of this book, the author (a former writer for the Boston Globe) opts for ONLY detailing that which is outlined in a series of journals by various members of a crew of 10 guys that set out to make the first boat trip through the 800-900 miles of the Green and Colorado Rivers over a period of 99 days. Through those journals alone, mind-blowing acts of courage, resourcefulness, and hardiness are portrayed; however -perhaps to fill space, he goes on sometimes nearly inexplicable tangents; and he expounds endlessly on the dangers of white water rafting and general river lore, sometimes stringing together a succession of simile, example, and expounding that would make Herman Melville blush. Overall, a gripping read; a real page-turner. Though it could have been a good 100 pages shorter and I would have been able to come away with an appropriate level of appreciation for the power of the mighty Colorado and the accomplishment of these men, all (but Powell) now lost to obscurity of the ages.

Holy Fucking Shit

In a catastrophe that will transform the City of Minneapolis for the foreseeable future, the I-35 bridge over the Mississippi River has collapsed. Miraculously (considering over 200,000 cars pass over the structure daily), only six people have been confirmed at the time I type - a mere four hours after the horrific incident.

In spite of myself, I had the local news on for at least a couple of hours. And as my view of television news coverage, local or otherwise, is mainly shaped by those few times I tune in following a disaster (lets see...that would make only 9/11 and...this), I can't help but to see it as generally lecherous, inane, mindlessly repetitive, and dumbed down to the absolute lowest denominator. My educated guess, however, is that these characteristics are not limited to disaster coverage; regardless of how bent over the barrel they are to fill hours during those times.

Nevertheless, there I was - unable to totally divorce myself from the slowly developing proceedings; the interviews with DOT folks, elected officials, & eyewitnesses. Subjective phrasing and ridiculous prattle that would make the patron saint of journalism roll over in his grave. But it's my city they're talking about, and I had no other option for feeling somehow connected to this internationally significant disaster (I saw it as the lead story on BBC.com), unfolding a mere six miles from my house. The sudden, total loss of a bridge that I crossed nearly every day for my first four years of living in the city; and over which a number of my readers (that number being two) visited me on trips from out of state to stay at Johnson Street.

Holy fucking shit.

On a side note of seemingly lesser significance (though we'll see how insignificant it seems to the community as early as, say, tomorrow morning): traffic is going to suck balls.

Of New Book, Movie

In almost Cummings-ish/Mixdorfian fashion, I finished Deathly Hallows in three nights flat. More than that I really cannot (or should not) say, for now, other than to say I thought it was most excellent.

Lillies of the Field. My mind was drawing a blank, as I placed it into the disc tray, as to the reason I queued this one up in the first place. Was it an interest in seeing in action the revered and noble, but yet-as-unseen-by-me Sidney Poitier? Was it one of those legions of movies I just heard about again and again through the years and thought I should get around to? In any event, it was certainly added during one of my "movies I should see" kicks and, as such, was one about which I was less-than-excited about actually popping in.

Sidney Poitier was, indeed, a sort of Jackie Robinson of the cinema - as far as I know, the first black man to be a regular leading man. He played a character with dignity and depth, and he was really good. And the film itself, I can recognize as being WAY ahead of its time (1963). That said, had it been made in 2002, it would have starred Morgan Freeman and been an eye-roller (beautiful black and white cinematography and languid pacing aside). Overall, there was a soothing quality to the film, and one that did a spot of credit to the Christian religion - leaving one with moments of inspiration, not unlike particularly good gospel music. But I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't keeping track of the time left in the film while I was watching it. You just don't do that on films you really love.

Shat

I should mention that I watched the William Shatner Celebrity Roast with A.J. this past weekend, and it was about the funniest effing thing I've ever seen. More than that, I will not say in this forum.

Dan Speaks Out (on the candidates)

Having just watched the majority of the YouTube debate (and on the heels of earlier debates/forums, my other observations) - and following Pat's lead.

Obama: I'll say what I've said before - I'll trade off a few specifics for an articulate, inspirational speaker that is right on in a general sense, if I believe he can and will surround himself with and work with people that are brilliant experts.
Clinton: My appreciation for her growing by the appearance. She is carrying herself in a very presidential manner (in a good way). Forceful & in command, articulate and specific, and personable.
Edwards: Talk. Show. Host. I find his passionate support for many issues a little disengenuous, considering he's a latecomer to about half the parades. I also have trouble believing he'd show much moxie when the Republican Attack Machine gets under way.
Richardson: ouch. I think I like where he's coming from, but I end up being so embarassed halfway through most of his fumbling answers that I wish he'd just stop. He's well thought out on issues he dealt with as Governor, but he gets asked a question about Darfur or North Korea, and he acts like he just woke up from a nap.
Biden: Trying to win points with anger. Americans (and I) don't want that.
Dodd: Separating himself from Biden, at least. But entrenched and utterly, utterly unelectable.
Kucinitch: He may be a liberal's wet dream, but don't let this guy fool you. He's "playing politics" just like everyone else. Trying to cast the same, wide accusational net over all the other candidates in a manner that is often spurious.
Gravael(sp?): He says some things that other candidates would never dare to say, and that are probably right on: soldiers in Vietnam died in vain, end the War on Drugs, etc. In some senses, he may be 100 years ahead of his time. In most other senses, though, he's insane. Batshit.

A good thing, I suppose, that the two most electable candidates are the front runners.

Watched It, Read It

I'll soon be updating the sidebar, so I thought I'd squeeze out a thought or two on the items to the right.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyl & Mr Hyde: As I mentioned in an earlier post, this was a public domain Librivox volunteer recording of the Robert Louis Stephenson classic, and what looks to be the first in a series of classic horror novels I wish to work(out) my way through during my afternoon exercise at work. It was delectably read by an Englishman, and covered from a rather quaint perspective the whole notion of man dabbling in areas in which he shouldn't. Following the whole "Icarus" thing, was this perhaps about the first tale in history to call to attention the notion of rampant science without understanding? Good escapism, overall.

The Dirty Dozen: So, these days I'm not a huge action/adventure movie guy, but if and when I do go down that route, I'm a lot more likely to seek out an utterly unrealistic depiction of it all from the sixties than I am a gritty, modern bloodfest. There's almost a pall over my life with all the horror and devilry afoot in the real world as it is; I don't necessarily need a graphic depiction of it when I want to unwind at home; I prefer fantastic, campy tales of broad-brushed characters dsipalying valor, heroism, and sometimes treachery in no uncertain terms. Movies like this and The Guns of Navarrone fit into the same category as Star Wars and Harry Potter, for me: stress-free escapism. This movie, in particular and in that light, was good but not great. Par for the genre, I'd say. On a side note - this movie was one of just a handful so far that I've watched with Netflix's "watch now" feature; a technology that completely blows me away. The movies are essentially DVD-quality, steamed to your computer on-demand and in seamless playback. They basically let you use the amount of dollars you spend a month ($10, in my case) to "buy" the amount of hours worth of movies (a somewhat more limited selection, but still quite expansive) for that month. It doesn't cost you anything additional, and does not affect your movies per month status, at all. It's a total "win," as you can sit down and call up a movie on deman, as you wish. Pure goodness - as seems to be rare in new announcements from companies in this day and age. For them, I suppose it's a win, too. The more movies they stream to you, the fewer on which they have to pick up postage. Plus, if you get addicted to the feature, maybe you boost your plan up to get more hours. In any event, I guess that's what folks call a "win-win."