fine whine

First of all I finished Guy Burt's The hole. I'm leery of books that say things like "A novel of psychological suspense" on the cover, as did this one. I suspect publishers and authors do something like that precisely to build that sort of suspense, particularly when it is largely lacking from the narrative. Such was the case, in this case, in my estimation. Another strike against the book is that it alternates between the present and the past, not a favorite technique of mine. Admittedly in the epilogue most of my complaints are smoothed over, but twist endings are a delicate art and this one's didn't work so well. That said this book was written by an eighteen year old (at the time) and admirably so. Moreover it was made into a movie in 2001 starring Thora Birch, and I can only assume she acquitted herself adequately and maybe even competently with a passable accent. From what little I read on imdb the movie parallels the book with the alternating present and past, and I would bet that the epilogue from the book gets worked into the movie just as abruptly (but appropriately).

This, of course, was not that to which the title refers.

Also today I was attempting to make a dent in the giant mountain of VHS tapes that memorialize my year with illicit cable. I tackled The desperate hours and The flim-flam man.
"Tackled" probably isn't the right word to use as I thoroughly enjoyed both movies. Desperate starred Humphrey Bogart as one of a trio of dangerous, escaped convicts who hold a suburban family hostage. Though "old" it kept its relevance and suspense and wasn't hokey or old-fashioned. Speaking of old-time, though, brings us to George C. Scott as The flim-flam man in the movie of the same name. At times vaguely romantic and at others a rollicking farce, the movie worked as a whole due to its great leads (Scott and Michael Scarazzini) and jaunty pace. Since I had taped both of these off of AMC, I had an occasional commercial break to skip, and as I fast-forwarded I saw a quick clip of Bruce Lee's last film, showing him in a yellow bodysuit with black stripes. Remembering the motorcycle outfit I saw Uma Thurman wearing in the trailer to Kill Bill at the beginning of the Equilibrium disc, I realize that the rumblings about homages and nods in the Tarantino bloodfest may be deeper than at first I suspected.

As for my wife and me, our quarrel isn't re: Bruce Lee, Bogie or George C.

The argument that plagues this household is garbage, really. Jessica doesn't like to throw food matter away in the garbage disposal but instead chucks it into the trashbin. Which she then complains about the smell thereof within a few days. I say anything without bones goes down the sink; she says taking out the garbage every other day isn't that big of a deal. No headway has been made in this yet. I'd write more but really it's an utterly trivial issue to anybody but me.

Jessica and I looked at our first house for sale today. Really it was a practice run, but we've got to hone our instincts sometime and soon at that. It was a nice enough split level that really was too small, had woefully little storage and needs new carpets and a paint job. Its street didn't get plowed wither, which is a big minus and one thing I'll need to make sure to check as we do the whole house shopping fandango this winter.

Also today I watched Equilibrium and we watched Identity together. Neither was great, but neither was too horrible and overall they averaged to a "not bad" with Equilibrium being surprisingly good and Identity being surprisingly mediocre. I'm not going to recommend the latter for anybody except the most hardcore mindfuck fans for completion's sake, but the former I'll no doubt drop here and there in conversations about action movies and bleak futures. Equilibrium did several things right: the action, though over the top, served some purpose and never slowed down. If anything, it was sped up. Also, the laws of physics were never violated (well, about never, and only then for stylistic coolness) and potentially only once was wire-fu used. The ideas were pretty well developed (and not nearly as smorgasbord-esque as the Wachowski's vision) and though Christian Bale channeled Neo for his often monotone dialogue delivery style and jet-black wardrobe, it didn't strike me as a Matrix knockoff or wannabe. Which is a good thing.

I didn't love it, but I'd watch it again before taking on Matrix revolutions.

It's the little things that sometimes matter most. Tonight I needed to return some stuff to the local library but didn't feel like driving. So I bundled myself up and walked. It was supposed to be rather cold, but I had a warm coat, scarf and gloves on, and to finish off my ensemble I donned my full-cuff headphones. They made great earmuffs, and Morcheeba's Fragments of freedom is great music to listen to while walking. It mixes so many diverse but all upbeat genres of music (well, most all upbeat) and I couldn't help but bounce a little on my way. I didn't want to bounce too much, on account of all the ice still on the sidewalks, but all the while I knew I'd picked the perfect album for the quick trip. It made my evening, really.

It had some stiff competition, and the title isn't set in stone quite yet. During my drive home today I was hearing talk about the space program while doing a little sky gazing of my own. To the south there was a very interesting cloud formation—it looked almost like a ridge, being a nearly straight line dividing the clouds and the blue sky. Beyond the ridge were scattered bits and pieces of clouds, and then clear sky and the sinking sun. It wasn't until I hit a stoplight (most of my commute home happens at seventy miles an hour) that I noticed the changes in the clouds. They were moving very quickly, and almost before the stoplight turned green the sky had cleared from north to south and only the low, burning orange sun remained. Years have passed since I last watched the clouds, and frankly I'd forgotten just how quickly they could move. The speed was almost unnatural; it felt like halfway between real life and Koyaanisqatsi.

I think I figured out why watching movies (at home) with my wife is frustrating—she doesn't respect them. Tonight we watched The Stepford wives and twenty minutes from the end she gave up completely and went off and did something else. This is after having made fun of it at various points such that I couldn't listen to the dialogue (which for many films is entirely appropriate, just not "classics" like this one). Not only that, but when she came back into the living room and the DVD was done she asked me what had ultimately happened. Instead of explaining I replayed the two relevant scenes, but I think she remained puzzled. At this point I should mention that we watched the 1975 version, as it seems that some sort of remake is in the works.

Hollywood really is eating itself.

Anyway, I thought it was a pretty good film, considerably better than (the same author's) Rosemary's baby though certainly in the same vein. Anyway, not to give anything away or anything like that but to have Jessica disagreeing with me on something like this just shows that she hasn't, in fact, been replaced with a "perfect" copy, and I suppose that's reassuring in some way.

blah blah Donnie Brasco blah great film blah. blah blah Barry Levinson blah blah Avalon blah tedious but touching film blah blah.

But seriously, I've just found out that another college buddy of mine has been laid off. That's not something I really want to think about, as these guys are very good at their jobs (or at least should be) and I see it only as a harbinger of worse things.

As I watch the second season of C.S.I., I can't help but think that those responsible (Bruckheimer, Littman et al.) need to have some people on staff as detail-oriented as Grissom's forensics team. I don't mean to nitpick too much (continuity errors with haircuts and the like) but I would think that when they display a car's registration and then have somebody talk about it on the radio they'd be sure to have them match. I may not know the difference between a 1976 Camaro and a 1978, but I can read and hear just fine.

Niggling details aside, it's a good show. I can't imagine having to wait a week between installments nor even the five minutes for commercials, though, now that I'm used to watching my TV shows on DVD.