Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
(Arch) Bish Bash Bosh
All my own work. 
Who would win in a fight between the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury? A question I didn't summon up the courage to answer at Monday's roundtable forum, introduction to a series of inter-faith seminars here at Georgetown.
As you can see, I've begun taking pics as well as writing pieces for the paper. Not entirely without ulterior motive. Yes a girl was involved.
Who would win in a fight between the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury? A question I didn't summon up the courage to answer at Monday's roundtable forum, introduction to a series of inter-faith seminars here at Georgetown.As you can see, I've begun taking pics as well as writing pieces for the paper. Not entirely without ulterior motive. Yes a girl was involved.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Point Break
This week's paper piece
Aaaaaand the director's cut:
"Oh to have been lurking under the desk when this one was being pitched to the Hollywood execs. Might the scene have unfolded like this?
The writer creeps into the enormous boardroom and begins his spiel: 'I'm thinking Keanu Reeves....' – Mr. Burns-type reaches a bony finger towards the button marked "TRAP DOOR" - '.... as a super-sleuth FBI detective who goes undercover to apprehend a gang of uncatchable bank robbers'. The money-man taps the button and the screenwriter disappears through the floor. Hmm, perhaps a different approach was required: How about 'Keanu Reeves as a surfer. Gary Busey as a fat guy. Patrick Swayze as a hairy guy. Anthony Kiedis (Red Hot Chili Peppers front-man) as a guy who hops around?' [Dramatic pause] 'SOLD'. And there we have Point Break.
There are those who may attempt to intellectualize this film in order to justify its presence on their top 10 movies of all time list and they are foolish to do. Check out the tag-line: "100% Pure Adrenaline". Anyone who sits down with the DVD expecting their thoughts to be provoked and their synapses to be stimulated is more than a little naive. While there is the suggestion of depth and "message", this is nothing but the quintessential action movie - heavy on visuals and light on meaningful dialogue - NOT Mulholland Drive. And no less than perfect for it.
PB does indeed see a fresh-faced Reeves - in between Bill+Ted movies, perfect timing - as all-star college athlete-turned Federal Agent Johnny Utah (you really can't make this stuff up, although obviously SOMEONE did). He dons a wetsuit and grabs a long-board as he hunt down a gang of rubber mask-wearing wave-riders, calling themselves "The Ex-Presidents", ruthlessly robbing banks and pursuing "the endless summer".
It's simple. It's dumb. You gotta love it.
The surfer-role was one Keanu Reeves was surely born to play. When his character is summoned in to the field office to report on his progress, with the level of dead-pan none but Mr. Reeves is capable of, his response is simply: "I caught my first tube today... sir".
Through his immersion in the hedonistic world of boards and babes Utah finds himself torn between business and pleasure, falling not only for a foxy surf chick - an unnecessary tag-on that perhaps serves to counter all the testosterone on display- but for the life of the adrenaline junkie. He is drawn increasingly closer to his quarry until he's suddenly at the center of the action as a ruggedly studly Bodhi (a post-Ghost Swayze) and his crew take bigger and bigger risks. Supporting characters are disposed of and impossibly cringe-worthy lines are delivered: "Fear causes hesitation, and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true." a particularly amusing example.
120 minutes of exhilaration: surfing, skydiving, bank robberies, car chases and Messr Keanu going "Dude, woah, shit!". With all these political movies out Point Break is the perfect antidote; as deep as a puddle, as undemanding as can be and for me, as satisfying and straight-forwardly fun as cinema gets. Maybe I'm too young to say this but, they just don't make 'em like they used to."
Aaaaaand the director's cut:
"Oh to have been lurking under the desk when this one was being pitched to the Hollywood execs. Might the scene have unfolded like this?
The writer creeps into the enormous boardroom and begins his spiel: 'I'm thinking Keanu Reeves....' – Mr. Burns-type reaches a bony finger towards the button marked "TRAP DOOR" - '.... as a super-sleuth FBI detective who goes undercover to apprehend a gang of uncatchable bank robbers'. The money-man taps the button and the screenwriter disappears through the floor. Hmm, perhaps a different approach was required: How about 'Keanu Reeves as a surfer. Gary Busey as a fat guy. Patrick Swayze as a hairy guy. Anthony Kiedis (Red Hot Chili Peppers front-man) as a guy who hops around?' [Dramatic pause] 'SOLD'. And there we have Point Break.
There are those who may attempt to intellectualize this film in order to justify its presence on their top 10 movies of all time list and they are foolish to do. Check out the tag-line: "100% Pure Adrenaline". Anyone who sits down with the DVD expecting their thoughts to be provoked and their synapses to be stimulated is more than a little naive. While there is the suggestion of depth and "message", this is nothing but the quintessential action movie - heavy on visuals and light on meaningful dialogue - NOT Mulholland Drive. And no less than perfect for it.
PB does indeed see a fresh-faced Reeves - in between Bill+Ted movies, perfect timing - as all-star college athlete-turned Federal Agent Johnny Utah (you really can't make this stuff up, although obviously SOMEONE did). He dons a wetsuit and grabs a long-board as he hunt down a gang of rubber mask-wearing wave-riders, calling themselves "The Ex-Presidents", ruthlessly robbing banks and pursuing "the endless summer".
It's simple. It's dumb. You gotta love it.
The surfer-role was one Keanu Reeves was surely born to play. When his character is summoned in to the field office to report on his progress, with the level of dead-pan none but Mr. Reeves is capable of, his response is simply: "I caught my first tube today... sir".
Through his immersion in the hedonistic world of boards and babes Utah finds himself torn between business and pleasure, falling not only for a foxy surf chick - an unnecessary tag-on that perhaps serves to counter all the testosterone on display- but for the life of the adrenaline junkie. He is drawn increasingly closer to his quarry until he's suddenly at the center of the action as a ruggedly studly Bodhi (a post-Ghost Swayze) and his crew take bigger and bigger risks. Supporting characters are disposed of and impossibly cringe-worthy lines are delivered: "Fear causes hesitation, and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true." a particularly amusing example.
120 minutes of exhilaration: surfing, skydiving, bank robberies, car chases and Messr Keanu going "Dude, woah, shit!". With all these political movies out Point Break is the perfect antidote; as deep as a puddle, as undemanding as can be and for me, as satisfying and straight-forwardly fun as cinema gets. Maybe I'm too young to say this but, they just don't make 'em like they used to."
Saturday, March 18, 2006
St Patrick's Day Shenanigans
The progression from dusk til dawn.
Guinness Float. Seemed like an ingenius idea at the time but was in fact the ruin of a paerfectly good pint and a perfectly good scoop of ice-cream. Will stick to Guinness-dipped Oreo cookies in future.
Grrls. In Green.
Flashing. Harsh.
Pitchers of green pictures.
Guinness and Oscar. Legend. And not scary.
Different grrls up a tree.
"St. Patrick's Day celebrations end in tragedy: intoxicated Briton falls from tree" Reassuringly not the headline Georgetown is waking up to today. Climbing trees definitely up there with operating heavy machinery and using one's telephone as activities that should only be performed entirely sober.
Guinness Float. Seemed like an ingenius idea at the time but was in fact the ruin of a paerfectly good pint and a perfectly good scoop of ice-cream. Will stick to Guinness-dipped Oreo cookies in future.
Grrls. In Green.
Flashing. Harsh.
Pitchers of green pictures.
Guinness and Oscar. Legend. And not scary.
Different grrls up a tree.
"St. Patrick's Day celebrations end in tragedy: intoxicated Briton falls from tree" Reassuringly not the headline Georgetown is waking up to today. Climbing trees definitely up there with operating heavy machinery and using one's telephone as activities that should only be performed entirely sober.
Friday, March 17, 2006
It may be bullshit but who doesn't love a good conspiracy theory or two? Or even an 81 minute documentary full of 'em.
Check this out: 911 Loose Change
Check this out: 911 Loose Change
Monday, March 06, 2006
Belle+SebastianRule/I Heart B+S/Belle and Sebastian make the world a better place
The gig tonight was a delight.
The New Pornographers are a lotta fun and Carl Newman is an entertaining fella who didn't have a set list tonight and just played songs the crowd shouted at him. I don't know them all that well but plan on picking up their new album sooner or later,
B+S are genuinely one of my favourite things in the entire world. Stuart Murdoch is a funny little man in a funny little band that are truly undislikable (except by Ned Raggett who thinks they suck but he is wrong).
9:30 Club rules and working there is da shit. Free drinks is a wonderful thing, particularly in a place where the prices are exorbitant and you don't get a true pint.
I plan on posting pictures form tonight, as well as from many other gigs, when I am more sober.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
I'm Irish
No, I'm really not. But my claim to Irishness is certainly stronger than that of most people here who, in their brazen mid-West drawl, make such a claim. (And BTW, the statement is very much, "I am Irish" not "I have Irish heritage/roots")
Everyone you meet here is Irish and they attribute an infinite number of different personality traits to that "fact". I've gotten myself in numerous arguments with people about it as I endeavour to persuade them that if they have never known anyone who has known anyone who has known anyone who lived in Ireland, the claim to the Emerald Isle's effect on their character is a somewhat weak one. A pint of Guinness on St. Patrick's Day does not count! Three pints of the stuff on a Tuesday morning?..... maybe.
I'm reminded of a Have I Got News For You when Paul Merton is trying to wind up Ian Hislop who is refusing to acknowledge his Welshness, despite the fact that he was born there, admantly asserting himself to be English. Paul Merton then says "Fine, if you're English then I'm Swedish!" to which Angus Deayton asks: "Were you born in Sweden?". The reply.... "No, but my furniture does come from there." Okay, so it's not that funny and maybe not even that relevant but to me, your identity is a product of your environment and upbringing and the people in your life. To claim such a strong relationship with a country to which you have never been and from where you know no-one is ridiculous.
It's an interesting attribute and perhaps I shouldn't be irritated by it but, well, I am. Maybe it stems from a lack of American history and the belief that an affiliation with an exotic (ha!) country makes them that much more special. Maybe it's from a general insecurity about being American. And I do get the sense that the American national identity is a fairly insecure one. With national anthem's sung all the goddamn time and stars and stripes everywhere (standing in the middle of the National Mall, at the foot of the Washington Monument, in one 360 degree panorama, me and Chris counted 14 flags and we probably missed a few), like the Subways last night, it strikes me that maybe they're trying too hard. In other words, the more, and more vehemently, someone says something the less convincing it seems.
That probably sounds meaner that it should. I don't think America or Americans have anything to worry about. This is a great country with a lot of great people and with really very little to be worried about. I love it here and have had some awesome experiences that I couldn't have had anywhere else. So I say to y'all yez Yankees, be proud of being American but step away from the shamrock....
Everyone you meet here is Irish and they attribute an infinite number of different personality traits to that "fact". I've gotten myself in numerous arguments with people about it as I endeavour to persuade them that if they have never known anyone who has known anyone who has known anyone who lived in Ireland, the claim to the Emerald Isle's effect on their character is a somewhat weak one. A pint of Guinness on St. Patrick's Day does not count! Three pints of the stuff on a Tuesday morning?..... maybe.
I'm reminded of a Have I Got News For You when Paul Merton is trying to wind up Ian Hislop who is refusing to acknowledge his Welshness, despite the fact that he was born there, admantly asserting himself to be English. Paul Merton then says "Fine, if you're English then I'm Swedish!" to which Angus Deayton asks: "Were you born in Sweden?". The reply.... "No, but my furniture does come from there." Okay, so it's not that funny and maybe not even that relevant but to me, your identity is a product of your environment and upbringing and the people in your life. To claim such a strong relationship with a country to which you have never been and from where you know no-one is ridiculous.
It's an interesting attribute and perhaps I shouldn't be irritated by it but, well, I am. Maybe it stems from a lack of American history and the belief that an affiliation with an exotic (ha!) country makes them that much more special. Maybe it's from a general insecurity about being American. And I do get the sense that the American national identity is a fairly insecure one. With national anthem's sung all the goddamn time and stars and stripes everywhere (standing in the middle of the National Mall, at the foot of the Washington Monument, in one 360 degree panorama, me and Chris counted 14 flags and we probably missed a few), like the Subways last night, it strikes me that maybe they're trying too hard. In other words, the more, and more vehemently, someone says something the less convincing it seems.
That probably sounds meaner that it should. I don't think America or Americans have anything to worry about. This is a great country with a lot of great people and with really very little to be worried about. I love it here and have had some awesome experiences that I couldn't have had anywhere else. So I say to y'all yez Yankees, be proud of being American but step away from the shamrock....
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Marketing
"By the way, if anyone here is in marketing or advertising...kill yourself. Thank you. Just planting seeds, planting seeds is all I'm doing. No joke here, really. Seriously, kill yourself, you have no rationalisation for what you do, you are Satan's little helpers. Kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself now. Now, back to the show. " Bill Hicks
I am, it must be said, a trifle troubled at the moment and can't get the thoughts of the legendary, no late great, no... (damn, why are there so few ways to say that?)... anyway, Bill Hicks everbody. (He was generally funnier than that I swear)
I recently began an internship (see previous post for an explanation) in the marketing department of 9:30 Club here in DC. I am, as it were, "in" marketing at the moment. The 9:30 Club produces a wee little brochure/pamphlet detailing coming attractions at the venue - at least those which aren't immediate sellers - and this month's issue included a couple of pieces written by yours truly.
Exhibit A: The Subways
'Since they first emerged in the summer of 2004, The Subways' no-holds-barred blend of riotous punk rocka nd boisterous Brit-pop (not to mention a performance of their debut single "Rock 'n' Roll Queen on The OC) has helped them attract a devoted following on both sides of the Atlantic.
The Subways' musical direction is not an obvious one as they travel from The Pixies to The Sex Pistols via Oasis. Their much anticipated debut album Young For Eternity delivers the energetic exuberance and simple-but-stylish songwriting that those who know them have come to expect and those who don't are gonna want to grab with both hands. Spin described them as "adorably vicious" and that sounds about right. Blonde bombshell bassist Charlotte Cooper certainly seems to have as much bite as bark. Now is the time to catch them as the young threesome look to impress ontheir first major American tour.
Support comes from LA's super-hip indie pistols The Shys. Don't forget this is an early one - the ideal warm-up for a night on the town.'
LIES LIES LIES. Comparisons with the Sex Pistols and The Pixies? LIES. I really have very little time for The Subways. Remember seeing them at Pilton Party a few years ago but we were, I believe, concentrating on getting sloshed (yeah yeah, awful word, very AbFab) since Mark and Fay were behind the bar and seemed to get the change "wrong" every time making for a very cheap night. Bless 'em.
(BTW wasn't that the year Chris got latched onto by a 13 year - yeah, yeah, she was older than that but the story is funnier my way - and he proceded to romance her by looking up at the stars and pointing out Orion's belt. Nice one dude. Can't remember who the main band were that year. Anyone wanna help me out?)
Anywayz I barely believe a word of what I've written there - apart from the stuff about them being in the OC and about the bassist being - and while I think it's a decent enough piece it does sorta make me feel like I've sold my soul to the devil. Except NOT EVEN SOLD! I've given it away. In return for free tickets to gigs (including Supergrass, The Deftones, Belle+Sebastian/New Pornographer, Beth Orton - not bad huh?) and an additional entry on my CV. Right I'm going to confession. So convenient being at a Catholic university.
Exhibit B: Metric
'Metric frontwoman Emily Haines compels you to pay attention. Does she? I really have no idea. While she may have boys in her band, it's the feistier-than-Feist (Feist being a similar Canadian singer/songwriter type who also came from Broken Social Scene, hence the apt nature of such a comment) keyboardist at the front you're going to be staring Probably not a lie, she is certainly more attractive than they are at when the Canadian electro-alt quartet hit the 9:30 Club. Far more than just another artschool dropout indie band Actually that's exactly what they are, Metric combine the vibrant power of neo-new wave What in God's name does 'neo-new wave' actually mean?! acts like The Killers and Interpol with subtly sophisticated feminine charms that those silly boys could only dream of - not so much screaming sex as aggressively hinting at it. Their latest album Live It Out is filled with more guitars and less glam-rock than their previous efforts, or so I read on Amazon, I haven't actually heard anything they have previously done incorporating a multi-faceted melange of dejecting despair and electric elation Ooh! Catchy! that is as unpredictable as it is fierce. Spin calls Emily Haines, 'intimidatingly cool,' but don't let that stop you: for one night only, she's all yours.'
See what I mean?
Now don't get me wrong, I actually love my job and look forward to going into work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And writing stuff like this is fun because it's so short that you're forced to really consider every single sentence, clause and word you're writing. There can be no readily discarded irrelevant lines because in 150 words or so everything has to mean something and it has to be assumed that everything is going to be read. As pieces of prose I am fairly proud of those two and the fact that they have been published and distributed to a circulation of literally many many thousands (admittedly only a fraction will actually read it but still).
But I just can't escape the fact that it's dishonest. That I barely believe a word of it. Not like me, I know many of you will agree (those of you who see me as something of a morality-free zone anyway), to find myself in the midst of a self-contained ethical entanglement.
So, the question is begged, does it really matter? Compare it to the Spencer Bates piece below and there really isn't much difference. Except with one it's marketing that you at least know is marketing while the other is marketing passing itself off as journalism.
I don't honestly believe everything in that extended diatribe about the boy Bates (don't call him Master) so it's a fairly deceitful article too I guess. He's not that great but he's a nice guy and was I never gonna write an vicious attack on his piano playing was I cos what's the point?
Anyway, I think Karma dealt me a blow last night (the details of which are not for general consumption) and on top of that I have to work at the Black Eyed bloody Peas gig next month in return for the week off work to see muvver and Lil (Happy Birthday Lily!). I ask you: Where IS the love?
____________________________________________________________________________________
So I went to The Subways gig last night despite my reservations about them. They certainly were eager to impress, I got that right, but almost to the point of being a little too try-hard. Their songs are pretty much awful and they seem fo the most part to amount to little more than a 90s tribute act, borrowing bits from everyone from Morrissey to Blur. But bless 'em they certainly gave it a go. Jumping around all over the place and the bassist's outfit (although short shorts rather than skirt, the end result was effectively the same) was nothing less (or should that read "more" than expected". Got chatting to her after the show; she was quite sweet - although not actually as attractive as people seem to think - and a bit surprised by the number of people that showed up (about a 1000, not bad for a band like that although t'was only $10), "Fanks for comin' daaaan, so laaaarvely to see you all". Good luck to 'em anyway. Pictures to come, Belle+Sebastian/New Pornographers tonight.
I am, it must be said, a trifle troubled at the moment and can't get the thoughts of the legendary, no late great, no... (damn, why are there so few ways to say that?)... anyway, Bill Hicks everbody. (He was generally funnier than that I swear)
I recently began an internship (see previous post for an explanation) in the marketing department of 9:30 Club here in DC. I am, as it were, "in" marketing at the moment. The 9:30 Club produces a wee little brochure/pamphlet detailing coming attractions at the venue - at least those which aren't immediate sellers - and this month's issue included a couple of pieces written by yours truly.
Exhibit A: The Subways
'Since they first emerged in the summer of 2004, The Subways' no-holds-barred blend of riotous punk rocka nd boisterous Brit-pop (not to mention a performance of their debut single "Rock 'n' Roll Queen on The OC) has helped them attract a devoted following on both sides of the Atlantic.
The Subways' musical direction is not an obvious one as they travel from The Pixies to The Sex Pistols via Oasis. Their much anticipated debut album Young For Eternity delivers the energetic exuberance and simple-but-stylish songwriting that those who know them have come to expect and those who don't are gonna want to grab with both hands. Spin described them as "adorably vicious" and that sounds about right. Blonde bombshell bassist Charlotte Cooper certainly seems to have as much bite as bark. Now is the time to catch them as the young threesome look to impress ontheir first major American tour.
Support comes from LA's super-hip indie pistols The Shys. Don't forget this is an early one - the ideal warm-up for a night on the town.'
LIES LIES LIES. Comparisons with the Sex Pistols and The Pixies? LIES. I really have very little time for The Subways. Remember seeing them at Pilton Party a few years ago but we were, I believe, concentrating on getting sloshed (yeah yeah, awful word, very AbFab) since Mark and Fay were behind the bar and seemed to get the change "wrong" every time making for a very cheap night. Bless 'em.
(BTW wasn't that the year Chris got latched onto by a 13 year - yeah, yeah, she was older than that but the story is funnier my way - and he proceded to romance her by looking up at the stars and pointing out Orion's belt. Nice one dude. Can't remember who the main band were that year. Anyone wanna help me out?)
Anywayz I barely believe a word of what I've written there - apart from the stuff about them being in the OC and about the bassist being - and while I think it's a decent enough piece it does sorta make me feel like I've sold my soul to the devil. Except NOT EVEN SOLD! I've given it away. In return for free tickets to gigs (including Supergrass, The Deftones, Belle+Sebastian/New Pornographer, Beth Orton - not bad huh?) and an additional entry on my CV. Right I'm going to confession. So convenient being at a Catholic university.
Exhibit B: Metric
'Metric frontwoman Emily Haines compels you to pay attention. Does she? I really have no idea. While she may have boys in her band, it's the feistier-than-Feist (Feist being a similar Canadian singer/songwriter type who also came from Broken Social Scene, hence the apt nature of such a comment) keyboardist at the front you're going to be staring Probably not a lie, she is certainly more attractive than they are at when the Canadian electro-alt quartet hit the 9:30 Club. Far more than just another artschool dropout indie band Actually that's exactly what they are, Metric combine the vibrant power of neo-new wave What in God's name does 'neo-new wave' actually mean?! acts like The Killers and Interpol with subtly sophisticated feminine charms that those silly boys could only dream of - not so much screaming sex as aggressively hinting at it. Their latest album Live It Out is filled with more guitars and less glam-rock than their previous efforts, or so I read on Amazon, I haven't actually heard anything they have previously done incorporating a multi-faceted melange of dejecting despair and electric elation Ooh! Catchy! that is as unpredictable as it is fierce. Spin calls Emily Haines, 'intimidatingly cool,' but don't let that stop you: for one night only, she's all yours.'
See what I mean?
Now don't get me wrong, I actually love my job and look forward to going into work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And writing stuff like this is fun because it's so short that you're forced to really consider every single sentence, clause and word you're writing. There can be no readily discarded irrelevant lines because in 150 words or so everything has to mean something and it has to be assumed that everything is going to be read. As pieces of prose I am fairly proud of those two and the fact that they have been published and distributed to a circulation of literally many many thousands (admittedly only a fraction will actually read it but still).
But I just can't escape the fact that it's dishonest. That I barely believe a word of it. Not like me, I know many of you will agree (those of you who see me as something of a morality-free zone anyway), to find myself in the midst of a self-contained ethical entanglement.
So, the question is begged, does it really matter? Compare it to the Spencer Bates piece below and there really isn't much difference. Except with one it's marketing that you at least know is marketing while the other is marketing passing itself off as journalism.
I don't honestly believe everything in that extended diatribe about the boy Bates (don't call him Master) so it's a fairly deceitful article too I guess. He's not that great but he's a nice guy and was I never gonna write an vicious attack on his piano playing was I cos what's the point?
Anyway, I think Karma dealt me a blow last night (the details of which are not for general consumption) and on top of that I have to work at the Black Eyed bloody Peas gig next month in return for the week off work to see muvver and Lil (Happy Birthday Lily!). I ask you: Where IS the love?
____________________________________________________________________________________
So I went to The Subways gig last night despite my reservations about them. They certainly were eager to impress, I got that right, but almost to the point of being a little too try-hard. Their songs are pretty much awful and they seem fo the most part to amount to little more than a 90s tribute act, borrowing bits from everyone from Morrissey to Blur. But bless 'em they certainly gave it a go. Jumping around all over the place and the bassist's outfit (although short shorts rather than skirt, the end result was effectively the same) was nothing less (or should that read "more" than expected". Got chatting to her after the show; she was quite sweet - although not actually as attractive as people seem to think - and a bit surprised by the number of people that showed up (about a 1000, not bad for a band like that although t'was only $10), "Fanks for comin' daaaan, so laaaarvely to see you all". Good luck to 'em anyway. Pictures to come, Belle+Sebastian/New Pornographers tonight.
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