Cloudwrangler

Forgive me if I stray during this post. Fight Club is on.

The funniest thing about Granola making cookies at our house is not that she considers it an art form. It’s not that she considers our kitchen her “Art studio”, for which she is not paying rent, by the way. It’s not that she was honestly concerned that I would not like the first batch of cookies because they were a bit too chewy, as if sugar and chocolate in any form could be wrong.

The funniest thing about Sarah making cookies is that she stands in the kitchen staring at the stove with a sort of grim and worried intensity, as if to say to it via body language, “Look, jackass, if you screw with me or my cookies in any way I will, so help me God, rip out your heating coil and shove it up your vent hood.” I never found any cookies funnier.

Black Hawk Down

Starring Josh Hartnett, Ewan McGregor, Tom Sizemore, Eric Bana and Sam Sheppard.

Directed by Ridley Scott

Walking out of this film was a chore. It was difficult to move, to think. Ridley Scott has made what is certainly one of the most important war films of all time. I was almost weeping. The story surrounds the U.S. Army Rangers, pilots, and Delta Special Forces troops involved in a disasterous mission in Somalia on Oct. 3, 1993. What it delivers is both a stirring testament to the dedication and bravery of these American soldiers, and a chilling look at the insanity and ultimate futility of war itself. An opening quote, white letters on a black screen, cryptically delivers a message that is hammered home in perhaps one of the most violent war movies ever made. “Only the dead have seen the end of war – Plato”. Hartnett, whose own youth and inexperience seeps into a deeply talented perfomance in exactly the right amounts, plays Sgt. Eversmann, an Army Ranger taking troops into combat for the first time. He is idealistic, as young men, especially young soldiers, often are. He’s here to “make a difference” though he doesn’t seem to know how or why. This question is never really answered for him. Hoot, a Delta commando captivatingly played by Eric Bana counters Eversmann with a no nonsense, fight or die attitude devoid of political are nationlistic dedication. He’s not a dedicated military man, but he’s not Tom Cruise’s Maverick either. Bana captures a modern American soldier in a very important way that illustrates Scott’s greater point. He’s here to do a job, not ask why he should, because he understands somehow that no one has an answer for him, that there is no real answer. War is what it is, ugly, frighting, deadly for some, a way of life for others, an insane inevitibality that can not be stopped but must simply be endured. This message of human nature, and our never ending attempt to destroy each other and ultimatly ourselves make Black Hawk Down an absolute must see lesson for an America that can no longer afford to be brave or new. Rating – 4 cell phones.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about things that I need. A steady supply of feminine attention (I am after all, a guy). A new car, as That Which Shall Not Be Named is getting older. Cable TV. DSL. More Pez dispensers. A new baseball cap. A new haircut (I’m sort of bored with my current one). Most of all, I’ve decided there is one really important thing that I need.

A Nemesis.

Seriously, there is no one in my life that I can abjectly be nasty towards, and recieve abject nastiness in return. No one to trade pithy, humorous and derisive banter with, no one against whom I might defend myself with my superior wit and guile. A big part of the reason for this is that most people with whom I would like to engage in this fashion are too much like this jackass. You should have mentally and verbally pummelled him, Allison.

There’s something really great about finally getting your project finished. Every section of cloudwrangler works now. There are posts in every section, the archive works but needs fine tuning, there is new stuff all over, and scary as it was, I put up a couple of stories I wrote. I think they stink, but then the artist is his own worst critic. Tours of cloudwrangler are available by clicking things, which I am sure you can all do without a guide. Enjoy.

A sampling of the things I saw at the Masonic show on Thursday night.

The Continental Club, which is like the South-Austin-Hipster 78704 Mecca. (I had never been, clearly I am just now officially cool.) Elvis on a postcard. A green Kangol hat. Jack Daniels. K-dog. A snooty brown sweater who seemed offended when I lit her cigarette (it’s just professional habit, lady, ease down). One of the guys from Spoon (Kev pointed him out). Tall boots, everywhere. Red curls, beautiful. Shiner Bock. Rye-bread. swagger. American People, the opening act, who looked like what the Partidge Family Band would be like if none of the Partidge family had anything in common and didn’t even like each other (They were great). Black Lipstick, unloading. black lipstick. Baby Newsum. More Jack Daniel’s, Kev told me to get a sponsor (he was just kidding MOM). Great Bathroom Graffitti, which isn’t a band name but should be.

And, oh yeah, a killer Masonic show. Those guys rock. They also roll. Big fun.

All right, now it’s time for kitty updates. This is how low my life has sunk.

We have two now, Jessie and Nug. They’re Sarah’s, not ours, and they are weird, as cats tend to be. Jessie is fat, somewhat affectionate, and wide eyed. Sarah says she likes guys, whatever that means. She mostly ignores us, though she has staked out a favorite spot on my leather easy chair. She has claws, unlike Thomas, so she better be careful around the leather is all I’m sayin’. She hides in Kevin’s closet a lot, but basically she tends to wander about the house during the day.

Nug is actually a myth, not a cat. He’s not really here. He hides away in a deep cave (under the spare bed in what’s supposed to be the office) and only emerges in the depths of night to wreak havok on the inahbitants of the village below (actually, I think he’s scared of the sun). Nug does emerge at night, and Sarah says both her cats are mostly nocturnal. So we have something in common. However, neither of them drools. I’m just sayin’ .

Technical difficulties? Here’s your answer! Thank God for the ‘Net. Also, Granola says I have to let everyone know when New Stuff shows up in other areas of this site. I just assumed you could all look for yourselves, but whatever. Anyone notice how the great hero figure always has two masters, one whom he loves, the other whom he rebels against. Kevin and Sarah are my blogging Yoda and Obi-wan. Now, figure out which is which.

Imposter

Starring Gary Sinise, Madeleine Stowe, Mekhi Phifer, Vincent D ‘nofrio, Tony Shaloub

Director: Gary Fleder

Wow. This film was so bad I can barely review it. I saw it two days ago, and even now I’m not sure I am prepared to talk about it, though my therapist thinks I should. I am very disappointed in Sinise, who not only stars in but produced the film along with Fleder, the director. Let that serve as a warning in the future, folks. If the only people willing to produce the project are the director and the star, it’s because it’s their little pet project that no one else thinks is any good, and refuses to stick their neck out for at the studio. Here, Sinise plays a weapons designer in a future world where Earth is at war with someone (We never see them), so he has devoloped an ultimate weapon (which never does anything) but is accused of being an infiltration robot sent to kill The Chancellor (a character whom we never really meet). So, he runs. And then he runs. And, for a while, he runs. He gets some help from a mysterious underground, makes a new friend, and they run together for a while. Then he reunites with his wife, and they run together for a while. Then, the ending we all saw coming from about the fifth scene of the movie finally happens, and we can all leave the theatre laughing at this piece of detritus and picking that annoying piece of popcorn out of our teeth. Rating – 1 cell phone. I literally left the theatre to use the restroom, walked into a different theatre at the Megegoogleplex, and watched previews for other movies during this one. That new Ice Age cartoon looks funny.

It’s late and I can’t sleep. I should be tired, I worked all night. I had a hard night last night, and I’ve been a little down about my friend. I am also wrestling with some weird personal stuff that I may get around to writing about, maybe not. Maybe it’s just the good old family insomnia (thanks Mom, thanks Grandma) but I can’t sleep. So here’s some of the stuff rolling around in my head.

One To become a member of Mensa you have to have a tested IQ in the 98th percentile. You also have to pay membership fees! Doing so should immediately disqualify someone as a genius, as far as I’m concerned.

Two We get cats tomorrow. Jessie and Nug. I bet they are not nearly as cool as Thomas, but we’ll see.

Three I’m re-reading Ludlum’s The Bourne Identity. There’s an upcoming adaptation starring Matt Damon and the girl from Run Lola Run. I just don’t see it though. I read it several years ago, and then, as now, Jason Bourne in my head looks a little like a young Robert Redford.

Four I am also reading Steve Martin’s Shopgirl which is absolutely charming. For the first three chapters, I could hear Steve Martin nararrting in my head as I was reading, like a voice over by him from a movie. Weird.

Five Reading two books at once isn’t whats keeping me up at night. I am almost positive. I think.

Six Sifl and Olly are the two funniest socks in the history of man. Kevin unearthed some old episodes on tape, and we’ve been watching and shooting milk out of our noses. I don’t even drink milk (I’m allergic).

Seven I met a young woman tonight, which is not that unusual since I work in a bar (its official policy to refer to it as “the club”). She had absolutely the most beautiful laugh in the history of man. It sparkled. I hope she comes back, just so I can make her laugh again.

Now and then, tragedy becomes more than something you studied in school. I learned in just the last few hours that a young woman I once kissed is gone forever. I have no idea what to make of this. She was an incredibly sweet young lady, fun, outgoing in a very protected way, blonde and innocent, meek and shining and wonderful. Will I miss her? I have not seen her in months, I was already doing so. Now it’s longing mixed with pain. Do I wish I had known her better? It has already been hoped for. Do I regret a missed chance to make my life a little brighter? I do, and I will, always. I’m not a greeting card, niether was she, and I do wish I were better at saying this. I am sorry for all the things that will never be.