ten good things (for the summer time)
well, it's been a busy couple of weeks in danschank land... i thought i'd be more motivated for updates, but instead i've basically been doing a lot of hanging out... nonetheless, the summer edition is finally here:
10.
i'm really feelin' this hippie-ish psych record called fly away, by agincourt. with its breezy nonchalance and casual optimism, it's the perfect record for the summertime. being recently unemployed has, i think, put me more in tune with the ideology of summer itself... i've been re-introduced to calm and ease... and to reading a book in my backyard... and to afternoon drinks in outdoor bars... and to the low-level panic that never quite goes away when you're unemployed and your future is uncertain. but that shit could be a lot worse. usually i'm in tune with agincourt, and their odyssey and oracle-esque vocal harmonies. and their calm and un-abrasive take on flower power.
peace, d00dz:
agincourt, "when i awoke" mp3
9.
i told myself i wouldn't write another ten good things until i finished my latest epic little project-- reading herman melville's moby dick. it was one of the most exhausting, infuriating, and ultimately worthwhile time investments i've made in years. there are a million reasons to read this book, and there are undoubtedly far more qualified and careful interpreters than me to summarize them for you. hell, the damn thing took me two months, and (from time to time) felt like such a masochistic ordeal that i wouldn't read at all for days just to escape it. but it really was an illuminating experience. i figure i'll focus on one thing i really loved about it here-- it's take on heterosexual relationships.
my favorite moment (possibly?) in melville's epic ordeal comes early on, when ishmael (the protagonist) meets queequeg (the tattooed "savage") and they quickly form a friendship. melville's writing is full-to-the-brim with the chauvinistic biases one might expect from a white american writing in 1851-- and certainly queequeg is a pretty custom fit to the stereotype of "the noble savage." but there's something in melville's intensity-- in the eagerness with which he confronts queequeg in all his otherness-- that emerges as really remarkable. this approach reaches an early apex during the surprisingly hilarious chapter (#3: "the spouter inn") in which ishmael is forced to share a hotel bed with this strange pacific islander.
there's something extraordinarily focused about melville's descriptions. he has a peculiar stamina for the things that fascinate him, which makes his long-windedness not ony excusable, but somehow important. his sense of awe never flickers or fades. there's a childlike, solipsistic quality to it... and its very convincing.
this is particularly true of his fascination with queequeg. or-- perhaps more controversially-- with the otherness of queequeg. as ishmael is forced to adapt to a sudden and ridiculous relationship with him, i was made privvy to the full spectrum of wonder and assimilation that provides the foundation of their friendship. ishmael's obnoxious 19th century biases add a strange honesty to the confrontation. without access to modern notions of "tolerance", he hits upon a crucial threshold in human understanding-- the point where a sense of danger evolves into deep fascination. or, more specifically, the point where it seems "better (to) sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken christian."
inevitably, as this increasingly idyllic relationship grew stronger and more loving, the twenty-first-century detective that unfortunately dwells within me concluded that these gentlemen must simply be repressed homosexuals. ho hum, here we go again, brain...
something i've been thinking about lately is the eagerness with which i diagnose pleasure. and while reading this novel-- or shall i say reading dick?-- i found this fickle impulse refreshingly inappropriate. it's not that there's something wrong with an erotic subtext to their relationship-- i'm just weary of the sense of entitlement that comes along with seeking it out. that superior feeling of cracking open another's subconscious. melville's novel is brilliantly indifferent to this arrogant nonsense. ishmael and queequeg are too busy expressing their affections to notice our culture of victorian armchair therapists who'd find no greater thrill than to pronounce them chuck and larry. imagine how much less homophobic the world might be if straight men weren't so busy reminding themselves how uncomfortable they should be about liking each other...
(me and fellow straightwad jj introduce our newborn friend vivia to a gentler, sillier world than the one we grew up with. i was gonna skip using this pic, but it's just too ridiculous to pass up. OH AND BY THE WAY, vivia is the three-week old daughter of outr friends phil and ellen, and we're all thrilled to have met her!!!)
8.
speaking of poppa phil, he's been introducing me to some great calypso music of late. (which reminds me that the great irwin chusid maintains a great blog devoted to calypso, if you're interested.) anyway, phil sent me along a copy of a rather peculiar little calypso record, and you'll see why:
yes, you read that correctly, folks. long before he became the head of the nation of islam, louis farrakhan wrote calypso records. i first heard of this when, if i'm not mistaken, ubuweb's 365 days project featured a song of his about a transvestite ("is she, or is she ain't"). i figured it was a novelty record-- famously homophobic public figure with embarrassing past coming back to haunt him, etc. BUT THE RECORD IS ACTUALLY GOOD, PEOPLE!!! it's really a lot of fun. seriously, check out a track:
the charmer, "don't touch me nylon" mp3
7.
when you're a great big dork like me, a crucial part of your summer is devoted to two blessed things: KUNG and FU. and there are few better kung fu flicks out there than chia-liang liu's classic, the 36th chamber of shaolin.
hey look, it's my very first screencap ever!
if you're not necessarily familiar with martial arts movies, i've got good news-- 36th chamber isn't only one of the very best of its kind, it's also the perfect introduction to the genre. its simple-- and remarkably well executed-- plotline is almost literally a user's guide to the various motifs and fighting techniques that make up the majority of its ilk. at least the old school shit, i guess. the stuff made famous by the legendary shaw brothers studio. boasting one of the longest and greatest training sequences to ever appear in an action movie, 36th chamber is a brilliantly schematic explanation to the nuts and bolts of a fight scene. i'm not usually a big fan of "feel good" movies-- i tend to find them reactionary and manipulative. but this is most certainly an exception. there aren't many films that make me feel as good as this one... and there certainly isn't a genre that i love as consistently as kung fu, which is something i'm honestly bewildered by myself, and completely unable to explain.
6.
like everyone else on my friends list, i too was unable to resist the urge to turn myself into a simpsons character... and being that i spent so much time on moby dick, mine will have to suffice for #6...
making this made me realize i have sorta boring physical characteristics.
5.
for the past month or so, i've been borrowing my dad's laptop, which has meant re-acquainting myself with hours upon hours of youtube. and after my millionth search regarding the man, i figure it might be high time i finally fessed up to my love of bill maher.
now, don't get me wrong. like most people i <3, i often strongly disagree with the dude. i hate his stance on israel, i hate about 75% of the things he says about women, and i take particular offense at his contempt for my puny, sickly little national endowment for the arts (decrying the NEA is like mistaking a kitten for a lion)...
but i'm sorry folks, when the dude is on, he's ON. if there are other folks out there expressing their contempt for bush's america with his kind of focus and wit, i'd love to hear about them. check out this clip about why america is not number one:
i dunno, maybe people are turned off by his cynicism... but i gotta say, it's informed cynicism, which IMO is the best kind. there's also something nice about where bill maher fits in, culturally. as an animal-rights-activist, pro-israel, pro-defense-spending, pot-smoking, hybrid-car driving, libertarian agnostic-- he's pretty much out on his own on the political radar. few on the left or the right have the luxury of comfort when agreeing with him, which i think is rather useful in a debate. for all the ridiculousness and frivolity of his tv show, he's remarkably good at avoiding cheap digressions and talking points. his bullshit-odometer doesn't follow the right-wing formula of the o'reilly factor. he doesn't harp on about "reality", or "the fact of the matter" to prevent real idealism. hell, he's the only person i've seen on tv to take danschank lookalike dennis kucinich seriously. there's something frank and genuine about him that doesn't strike me as opportunistic baloney. and whether or not i agree with what he's saying, i always respect it, and sense that i can take it at face value. plus, sometimes the dude is just laugh out loud funny.
4.
you know what summer is really all about though?
MOJITOS!!!
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mojito)
3.
andnotonlythatbutalso...
JUDGE ITO!!!
(just foolin' around, folks... judge ito isn't really #3. no offense to judge ito though.)
3.
last night i watched a film called buchanan rides alone. the film was the forth western i've seen in a year or so to star randolph scott, under the direction of budd boeticcher.
i've been trying to figure out why i find these films so addictive. they certainly aren't vanguard or provocative. the subject matter isn't anything i'm tremendously pre-disposed to. the cinematography is generally serviceable, but rarely beautiful in any qualitative way. and yet, the more i think about them, the more i look forward to seeing more of them.
i guess what makes these films feel distinct is an array of consistent subtleties. for example, when i saw my first one (1956's seven men from now), i found scott to be a stiff actor with a lame persona. but over time, i've grown fond of that very lameness/stiffness.. there's an unassuming gentleness to his take on the paternalistic western hero. he's generally neither stubborn nor opportunistic, and when trouble inevitably comes his way he treates it with a sense of bewilderment and resignation that i find almost secretly charismatic.
the films themselves mirror his casual sense of restraint. the plotlines are intimate instead of epic. there are rarely more than a half a dozen characters. they never exceed an hour and a half, and watching them in one sitting is never a chore. and within such constraints, there's typically a wide range of perspectives. boetticher maintains a strangely sympathetic eye in a genre often defined by draconian machismo. in films like seven men from now and the tall t (which is probably my fave), his antagonists merit nearly as much sympathy as the hero. and when violence finally arises, there's generally a realistic uneasiness about it. it's not necessarily that his films are morally ambiguous-- in a way, they seem to shy away from the kind of controversy that would come along with that. there are still good guys and bad guys, but the landscape itself somehow contains the potential for kindness. this situates the action in a strange and attractive sort of way.
2.
...as my newfound love of caribbean music continues to blossom, a figure that seems to appear again and again before me is jamaican keyboardist jackie mittoo. mittoo had his fingerprints on most of the major developments relating to reggae music in the 60's and 70's, beginning with the fantastic skatalites, and working right through some great, more dubbed-out type stuff in the mid-to-late seventies. his music kinda feels like it could do anything, or go anywhere. but not in a cavalier, heroic sort of way. it's more the sound of someone who's always tampering, tinkering and trying things out.
here's jackie's variation on marvin gaye's what's goin' on, from his 1970 record, macka fat:
jackie mittoo, "fancy pants", mp3
1.
first, the bad stuff... my grandmom is getting old, and my family is beginning to reckon with it. i spent some time in the suburbs last week helping her out, and by chance, i brought along a copy of hou hsaio-hsien's masterful film, the puppetmaster. the older i get, the more interested i become in history-- and i'm beginning to think that, for better or worse, there's something sorta fatal about my curiosity. meaning i'm a little more aware of "life" as something with a beginning and an end to it on a personal level-- as well as a continuity that will continue beyond my own short appearance within.
in respect to my grandmother, i've been thinking about how much history can be gauged and interpreted through a single person. i guess one of the weirdest things about growing up in the technological age is that it makes generational differences more dynamic. the world my grandmother grew up in is long gone, and will never come back. and there's something exciting about still having access to someone who's emerged from it.
hou's film takes this idea of "personalized" history, and runs with it. through the figure of taiwanese puppeteer tianlu li, hou gently chronicles the concurrent story of taiwan under japanese occupation. but the film is no forrest gump; it's not a mix-tape of sentimentalized major events, and its protagonist is not necessarily a "mirror" of his culture. he's actually a peculiar, three-dimensional individual with an attractive (and often prankish) gift for storytelling.
the history seeps in alongside him. he doesn't exemplify the experience of history so much as adjust to it. with a meditative sensitivity to the feeling of time itself-- as something characteristically separate from the solidity of events-- hou provides me a miniaturized experience of that adjustment itself. the puppetmaster covers a lot of ground without appearing as if its up to much. many of its conventional "dramatic heights" appear off screen, through implication, or through story-telling itself. the film requires great patience, but it's almost as if it's made out of patience itself. patience as form, and patience as content. and that which arrives arrives gradually... and settles deeply... and most importantly, remains.
10.
i'm really feelin' this hippie-ish psych record called fly away, by agincourt. with its breezy nonchalance and casual optimism, it's the perfect record for the summertime. being recently unemployed has, i think, put me more in tune with the ideology of summer itself... i've been re-introduced to calm and ease... and to reading a book in my backyard... and to afternoon drinks in outdoor bars... and to the low-level panic that never quite goes away when you're unemployed and your future is uncertain. but that shit could be a lot worse. usually i'm in tune with agincourt, and their odyssey and oracle-esque vocal harmonies. and their calm and un-abrasive take on flower power.
peace, d00dz:
agincourt, "when i awoke" mp3
9.
i told myself i wouldn't write another ten good things until i finished my latest epic little project-- reading herman melville's moby dick. it was one of the most exhausting, infuriating, and ultimately worthwhile time investments i've made in years. there are a million reasons to read this book, and there are undoubtedly far more qualified and careful interpreters than me to summarize them for you. hell, the damn thing took me two months, and (from time to time) felt like such a masochistic ordeal that i wouldn't read at all for days just to escape it. but it really was an illuminating experience. i figure i'll focus on one thing i really loved about it here-- it's take on heterosexual relationships.
my favorite moment (possibly?) in melville's epic ordeal comes early on, when ishmael (the protagonist) meets queequeg (the tattooed "savage") and they quickly form a friendship. melville's writing is full-to-the-brim with the chauvinistic biases one might expect from a white american writing in 1851-- and certainly queequeg is a pretty custom fit to the stereotype of "the noble savage." but there's something in melville's intensity-- in the eagerness with which he confronts queequeg in all his otherness-- that emerges as really remarkable. this approach reaches an early apex during the surprisingly hilarious chapter (#3: "the spouter inn") in which ishmael is forced to share a hotel bed with this strange pacific islander.
there's something extraordinarily focused about melville's descriptions. he has a peculiar stamina for the things that fascinate him, which makes his long-windedness not ony excusable, but somehow important. his sense of awe never flickers or fades. there's a childlike, solipsistic quality to it... and its very convincing.
this is particularly true of his fascination with queequeg. or-- perhaps more controversially-- with the otherness of queequeg. as ishmael is forced to adapt to a sudden and ridiculous relationship with him, i was made privvy to the full spectrum of wonder and assimilation that provides the foundation of their friendship. ishmael's obnoxious 19th century biases add a strange honesty to the confrontation. without access to modern notions of "tolerance", he hits upon a crucial threshold in human understanding-- the point where a sense of danger evolves into deep fascination. or, more specifically, the point where it seems "better (to) sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken christian."
inevitably, as this increasingly idyllic relationship grew stronger and more loving, the twenty-first-century detective that unfortunately dwells within me concluded that these gentlemen must simply be repressed homosexuals. ho hum, here we go again, brain...
something i've been thinking about lately is the eagerness with which i diagnose pleasure. and while reading this novel-- or shall i say reading dick?-- i found this fickle impulse refreshingly inappropriate. it's not that there's something wrong with an erotic subtext to their relationship-- i'm just weary of the sense of entitlement that comes along with seeking it out. that superior feeling of cracking open another's subconscious. melville's novel is brilliantly indifferent to this arrogant nonsense. ishmael and queequeg are too busy expressing their affections to notice our culture of victorian armchair therapists who'd find no greater thrill than to pronounce them chuck and larry. imagine how much less homophobic the world might be if straight men weren't so busy reminding themselves how uncomfortable they should be about liking each other...
(me and fellow straightwad jj introduce our newborn friend vivia to a gentler, sillier world than the one we grew up with. i was gonna skip using this pic, but it's just too ridiculous to pass up. OH AND BY THE WAY, vivia is the three-week old daughter of outr friends phil and ellen, and we're all thrilled to have met her!!!)
8.
speaking of poppa phil, he's been introducing me to some great calypso music of late. (which reminds me that the great irwin chusid maintains a great blog devoted to calypso, if you're interested.) anyway, phil sent me along a copy of a rather peculiar little calypso record, and you'll see why:
yes, you read that correctly, folks. long before he became the head of the nation of islam, louis farrakhan wrote calypso records. i first heard of this when, if i'm not mistaken, ubuweb's 365 days project featured a song of his about a transvestite ("is she, or is she ain't"). i figured it was a novelty record-- famously homophobic public figure with embarrassing past coming back to haunt him, etc. BUT THE RECORD IS ACTUALLY GOOD, PEOPLE!!! it's really a lot of fun. seriously, check out a track:
the charmer, "don't touch me nylon" mp3
7.
when you're a great big dork like me, a crucial part of your summer is devoted to two blessed things: KUNG and FU. and there are few better kung fu flicks out there than chia-liang liu's classic, the 36th chamber of shaolin.
hey look, it's my very first screencap ever!
if you're not necessarily familiar with martial arts movies, i've got good news-- 36th chamber isn't only one of the very best of its kind, it's also the perfect introduction to the genre. its simple-- and remarkably well executed-- plotline is almost literally a user's guide to the various motifs and fighting techniques that make up the majority of its ilk. at least the old school shit, i guess. the stuff made famous by the legendary shaw brothers studio. boasting one of the longest and greatest training sequences to ever appear in an action movie, 36th chamber is a brilliantly schematic explanation to the nuts and bolts of a fight scene. i'm not usually a big fan of "feel good" movies-- i tend to find them reactionary and manipulative. but this is most certainly an exception. there aren't many films that make me feel as good as this one... and there certainly isn't a genre that i love as consistently as kung fu, which is something i'm honestly bewildered by myself, and completely unable to explain.
6.
like everyone else on my friends list, i too was unable to resist the urge to turn myself into a simpsons character... and being that i spent so much time on moby dick, mine will have to suffice for #6...
making this made me realize i have sorta boring physical characteristics.
5.
for the past month or so, i've been borrowing my dad's laptop, which has meant re-acquainting myself with hours upon hours of youtube. and after my millionth search regarding the man, i figure it might be high time i finally fessed up to my love of bill maher.
now, don't get me wrong. like most people i <3, i often strongly disagree with the dude. i hate his stance on israel, i hate about 75% of the things he says about women, and i take particular offense at his contempt for my puny, sickly little national endowment for the arts (decrying the NEA is like mistaking a kitten for a lion)...
but i'm sorry folks, when the dude is on, he's ON. if there are other folks out there expressing their contempt for bush's america with his kind of focus and wit, i'd love to hear about them. check out this clip about why america is not number one:
Click to viewi dunno, maybe people are turned off by his cynicism... but i gotta say, it's informed cynicism, which IMO is the best kind. there's also something nice about where bill maher fits in, culturally. as an animal-rights-activist, pro-israel, pro-defense-spending, pot-smoking, hybrid-car driving, libertarian agnostic-- he's pretty much out on his own on the political radar. few on the left or the right have the luxury of comfort when agreeing with him, which i think is rather useful in a debate. for all the ridiculousness and frivolity of his tv show, he's remarkably good at avoiding cheap digressions and talking points. his bullshit-odometer doesn't follow the right-wing formula of the o'reilly factor. he doesn't harp on about "reality", or "the fact of the matter" to prevent real idealism. hell, he's the only person i've seen on tv to take danschank lookalike dennis kucinich seriously. there's something frank and genuine about him that doesn't strike me as opportunistic baloney. and whether or not i agree with what he's saying, i always respect it, and sense that i can take it at face value. plus, sometimes the dude is just laugh out loud funny.
4.
you know what summer is really all about though?
MOJITOS!!!
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mojito)
3.
andnotonlythatbutalso...
JUDGE ITO!!!
(just foolin' around, folks... judge ito isn't really #3. no offense to judge ito though.)
3.
last night i watched a film called buchanan rides alone. the film was the forth western i've seen in a year or so to star randolph scott, under the direction of budd boeticcher.
i've been trying to figure out why i find these films so addictive. they certainly aren't vanguard or provocative. the subject matter isn't anything i'm tremendously pre-disposed to. the cinematography is generally serviceable, but rarely beautiful in any qualitative way. and yet, the more i think about them, the more i look forward to seeing more of them.
i guess what makes these films feel distinct is an array of consistent subtleties. for example, when i saw my first one (1956's seven men from now), i found scott to be a stiff actor with a lame persona. but over time, i've grown fond of that very lameness/stiffness.. there's an unassuming gentleness to his take on the paternalistic western hero. he's generally neither stubborn nor opportunistic, and when trouble inevitably comes his way he treates it with a sense of bewilderment and resignation that i find almost secretly charismatic.
the films themselves mirror his casual sense of restraint. the plotlines are intimate instead of epic. there are rarely more than a half a dozen characters. they never exceed an hour and a half, and watching them in one sitting is never a chore. and within such constraints, there's typically a wide range of perspectives. boetticher maintains a strangely sympathetic eye in a genre often defined by draconian machismo. in films like seven men from now and the tall t (which is probably my fave), his antagonists merit nearly as much sympathy as the hero. and when violence finally arises, there's generally a realistic uneasiness about it. it's not necessarily that his films are morally ambiguous-- in a way, they seem to shy away from the kind of controversy that would come along with that. there are still good guys and bad guys, but the landscape itself somehow contains the potential for kindness. this situates the action in a strange and attractive sort of way.
2.
...as my newfound love of caribbean music continues to blossom, a figure that seems to appear again and again before me is jamaican keyboardist jackie mittoo. mittoo had his fingerprints on most of the major developments relating to reggae music in the 60's and 70's, beginning with the fantastic skatalites, and working right through some great, more dubbed-out type stuff in the mid-to-late seventies. his music kinda feels like it could do anything, or go anywhere. but not in a cavalier, heroic sort of way. it's more the sound of someone who's always tampering, tinkering and trying things out.
here's jackie's variation on marvin gaye's what's goin' on, from his 1970 record, macka fat:
jackie mittoo, "fancy pants", mp3
1.
first, the bad stuff... my grandmom is getting old, and my family is beginning to reckon with it. i spent some time in the suburbs last week helping her out, and by chance, i brought along a copy of hou hsaio-hsien's masterful film, the puppetmaster. the older i get, the more interested i become in history-- and i'm beginning to think that, for better or worse, there's something sorta fatal about my curiosity. meaning i'm a little more aware of "life" as something with a beginning and an end to it on a personal level-- as well as a continuity that will continue beyond my own short appearance within.
in respect to my grandmother, i've been thinking about how much history can be gauged and interpreted through a single person. i guess one of the weirdest things about growing up in the technological age is that it makes generational differences more dynamic. the world my grandmother grew up in is long gone, and will never come back. and there's something exciting about still having access to someone who's emerged from it.
hou's film takes this idea of "personalized" history, and runs with it. through the figure of taiwanese puppeteer tianlu li, hou gently chronicles the concurrent story of taiwan under japanese occupation. but the film is no forrest gump; it's not a mix-tape of sentimentalized major events, and its protagonist is not necessarily a "mirror" of his culture. he's actually a peculiar, three-dimensional individual with an attractive (and often prankish) gift for storytelling.
the history seeps in alongside him. he doesn't exemplify the experience of history so much as adjust to it. with a meditative sensitivity to the feeling of time itself-- as something characteristically separate from the solidity of events-- hou provides me a miniaturized experience of that adjustment itself. the puppetmaster covers a lot of ground without appearing as if its up to much. many of its conventional "dramatic heights" appear off screen, through implication, or through story-telling itself. the film requires great patience, but it's almost as if it's made out of patience itself. patience as form, and patience as content. and that which arrives arrives gradually... and settles deeply... and most importantly, remains.