Fear the Crab

In a recent conversation with The Galbraith, we waxed poetic about the philosophies and inter-relations of Weight Watchers, miniatures gaming, window shopping, and Star Wars.  In a wave of nostalgia, I was reminded of my childhood fascination with a particular vinyl album, hidden amongst the remnants of my parents’ music library of John Denver and other artists of the time, that I would listen to repeatedly for hours at a time. This record album was full of Star Wars music.

The record album contained John Williams’ signature Star Wars pieces, such as the intro and ubiquitous cantina song.  It filled me with great excitement each time I dropped that needle into the first groove and cranked up the hi-fi.  With each song, I could relive the space opera experience scene by scene in my mind’s imagination.

I don’t remember what year it was produced, but it was after the explosive introduction of the Star Wars phenomenon, so definitely after 1977.  I had absorbed the initial movie with fervor, I built X-Wings out of Tinkertoys (I had the wooden version), I collected action figures (and promptly tore them out of the packaging, much to my 20/20 hindsight’s chagrin).  I wanted anything and everything related to Star Wars and I wanted it every day.

Apparently, I wasn’t very discerning about what I got.  This is the album of which I speak:

Star Wars and Other Galactic Funk, by Meco.

Here’s a sample.  There are probably other samples out there, but that link is among the first few a casual web search returned.

I was naive, and had no idea was a “tribute album” was, much less the practice of DJs remixing and repackaging material for funky beats. I conveniently ignored the wacky cover and focused on the name, “Star Wars.” I heard the familiar tunes and thought nothing out-of-place with the disco rhythms. I dare say that I was frickin’ PROUD to own that album!

So much so, that I brought it in to show-and-tell one day and forced the whole class to listen to it.  I remember standing up there in front of the room holding the album cover, ramming that visual down everybody’s throat, as the gyratory music-ations blared over the teacher’s record player (yes, I think record players were standard teaching material back then).

What I don’t remember is how everyone reacted to it.  I think I might be suppressing that memory, but I have a pretty good idea what the teacher must have been thinking.

And you know what?  I think I may still have that record.  Somewhere.

Maile and I splurged on cinematic entertainment, buying three movies from Borders. This outing saw my first purchase of a Blu-Ray disc, Casino Royale. I haven’t watched it yet, but I have heard enough first-hand accounts of its decency to feel justified in the monetary expenditure.

The next movie was technically a choice of mine, but only so far as making its existence known to Maile. El Espinazo del Diablo (The Devil’s Backbone) is classified as a horror movie from Guillermo Del Toro, and since that director has a good history of weaving a terrific story, Maile was inclined to get this.

El Orfanato (The Orphanage) is another movie of the horror genre, and while it was not directed by Del Toro, it did feature him as a co-producer. Which could mean almost anything, I guess.

I only watched bits and pieces of the two horror movies, preferring to spend the rest of the time addressing the less-spooktacular adventures of Rayman’s Raving Rabbids. Maile contends that the movies were not at all scary, but if it’s one thing that I do not like, it’s creepy ghost kids.

My mother told me a story of how my brother would, as a young child, be awakened by nightmares in the middle of the night. The waking-up part, I’ve witnessed personally, but never thought much of it beyond a casual, “He’s at it, again.”

However, my mom revealed that my brother would wake up because he was being visited by little ghost children, who wanted him to come out and play. He would get scared, naturally, and bolt for my parents’ room. Turns out, long long ago, the area where I live was once home to a village whose population were besieged with plague, and a great number of children died. These kids were burned to stop the infection, and their spirits (along with anyone else, I imagine) still remain in the area.

If there’s one thing creepier than a ghost, it’s a frickin’ ghost kid. Adult ghosts can have a friendly melancholy that you can easily wrap your head around, and often they act as messengers of a wronged past or harbingers of omens to come. You can learn something from an adult ghost, I think. A lesson exists from those vengeful ghosts, too; don’t mess with them and get the fuck out of the house.

But ghost kids are unpredictable. They can be mischievous, they can be malicious, and they always look at you in that blank expression. Adult ghosts will tell you flat out what’s bothering them. Ghost kids seem to speak in riddles, or not at all. Ghost kids are fucked up, man, and ghost babies are the worst of the vile, monstrous lot.

Ask Maile, one of these days, to tell you the story of the ghost baby crawling out of the ocean, its lamenting cries preceding its arrival on sandy shores.

EDIT: The Kimberly told me of a time when she was house-hunting, and during a visit to this quaint little abode surrounded by a jungle of vegetation with her ex and two kids, how the house felt cold and dark. Evidence of the previous owner’s family still lay in plain view, most notably the child-proofed stairway with baby gates at both top and bottom, and acrylic-paneled banister. Something about the house was unappealing, so The Kimberly passed on it.

Later, in the car, her then-4-yr-old son mentioned that he didn’t like the house, either. When prompted why, he said, “That baby was really mean. I didn’t like him.”

FUCK!

There are quite a few men out there in the world that strike me as being attractive, whether physically or in terms of character. Not to say that I would go on a romantic cruise and stroll hand-in-hand down a tropical beach with said person, but I think any reasonable, sane, well-adjusted individual would agree, at least as far as opinions can go, that there would be something worth mentioning.

Let’s say that some guy were to tell me that Alan Rickman was a rather dashing character, I would consider it to be true. It doesn’t mean that we’re ready to drop trow and open plow; it just means we’re engaging in a very reasonable discussion about the qualities and characteristics of a person whom we find to be either desirable or downright cool.

I think I like Harrison Ford when he was a younger actor, as I have fond memories of his portrayal of Indiana Jones and Han Solo. Of course, from my perspective, it was a very good foundation for the transition into the older roles Ford played later on, since he got… well, older. I’m very interested in the newest Indiana Jones movie, particularly because of this transition; Indy is definitely older, so it would be interesting to see how the character has evolved, and continues to evolve, on screen.

I realize that I’m more fascinated with the fictional character rather than the actor himself. I do find that the role and the portrayal are synonymous, since Ford will probably forever be known as Indy, and no other portrayal of Indy by any other actor will feel the same.

I’ve never met many of these people, obviously, but judging solely on what little I can see or read, I sometimes can take smaller bits of a person’s whole and find that little part to be attractive. For example, Brian Viglione of The Dresden Dolls has one of the more expressive faces I’ve seen in a while, especially when he performs. His features, with or without makeup, are such that sometimes I wish I had those qualities, because then I’d be just as expressive, too.

I do dig the look of singer/songwriter Voltaire, especially his hair. There are times I want my hair to be like that, but usually I’m too lazy to put in the work to keep it that way. Maile mentioned that she wanted my hair to look like the cover of The Devil’s Bris for our wedding. Of course, she also mentioned this AFTER the wedding.

Eddie Izzard is another chap who looks good in makeup, and apparently whatever he decides to wear. I’m not so much keen on his appearance, though; rather it’s his humor, his character, and his ability to talk that makes me think I’d like to spend a day listening to whatever he decides to say.

Speaking of listening, Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier are two more cats that I could sit and listen to all day. Actually, not just listen, I think I could actively engage and participate in an elaborate discussion about the whimsies of daily life. Judging from their histories and general topics of conversation, I find myself almost ready to jump in with my own two cents (whether or not they’d appreciate it is not subject to the bounds of this daydream).

I could probably think of more, but it’s too early in the day.

Min called me the other night. Haven’t spoken to that dude in a dog’s age, I think. Amongst the plethora of topics, we chanced upon the subject of movies. I mentioned that I hardly watch any movies anymore. I mentioned that all the movies seem the same, but I didn’t really go into details.

I think with age, I have become less tolerant of the formula. Much like viruses developing an immunity to antibiotics, the allure of Hollywood productions fails to draw me and my money into the theater. I am no longer swayed by the names splashed across the screen or on posters and advertisements.

Sometimes the preview or commercial tells me all I need to know. Protagonist falls in love with hot, seemingly unattainable person of the opposite sex, attempts to woo , succeeds, does something to fuck it all up. Movie ends with reconciliation and kisses. Classic “You’re a fucktard, but we’ll throw you a bone and let you live happily ever after” plot.

Horror movies are also subject to the same formula. Protagonists (invariably there is a group of people all stuck in the same situation) encounter ghost/monster/serial killer and get picked off one-by-one until only a few remain, who concoct glorious scheme to defeat/banish the foe by the end of the movie.

Not only the plot is similar, but the moments of “horror” seem to be common based on two principles: jump out and say boo, or slowly approach when the subject can’t do anything about it. One is considered shocking, the other suspenseful. Sometimes the two are combined, especially in movies with ghosts or monsters that sneak about; you can tell something’s coming, but you don’t know what it is going to do or when it will appear, just that it will definitely hurt.

Even Pixar, a company known for producing rather incredible films, is subject to the fancy that is the formula. Take the most recent movie (as of this date), Ratatouille. Despite the twists and turns the plot takes, it still adheres to the basic principle of loser-guy succeeding, screwing up, and succeeding again. It’s still a decent movie, but compared to other Pixar films that really do stand on their own, Ratatouille doesn’t live up to expectations.

Of course, it’s very difficult for “alternative” movies to be made, especially when so much money is at stake. Independent films try their best, and sometimes a lot of really good indie movies get picked up by the big distributors (say, Clerks). That is not to say that indie films are the cure for the common flop, because a good portion of them really suck.

Going back to the reasons I don’t watch mainstream movies, another is that as I grow older, films no longer hold the appeal of “escapism”. I know a lot of people go to movies to be transported to a magical place, or something along those lines. When I was a teenager, this was the case.

Now I am married. Romantic dramas or comedies don’t do anything for me, because I’ve “got the girl, despite the fuck-ups.” I don’t need to see some fictional character relive my own personal experiences on the big screen.

Horror movies, whether they are shock horror or suspense, don’t hold sway over me because I know there are scarier things in reality: politics, governments, people. The last verse in Voltaire’s “Goodnight, Demonslayer” (from the album Then and Again) sums it all:

This world of ours is not as it seems
The monsters are real, but they’re not in your dreams
Learn what you can from the beasts you defeat
You’ll need it for some of the people you meet

Of course, at the very core, I don’t like horror movies because I hate being scared. I’m chicken-shit that way.

I broke down and bought useless crap again. It is amazing how one month of shopping abstinence can disappear in a flash of credit card craziness. In one day I spent approximately $130.00 on music, books, and movies. Let’s check out the list:

• “Cossette no Shouzou” soundtrack
• “Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring” complete soundtrack
• “Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers” complete soundtrack
• “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” book
• “Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There” book
• “Watership Down” book
• “Saving Private Ryan” movie

I also happen to come into ownership of “Time Bandits” and “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” because it was my birthday and those DVDs were gifts.

Today my wrists and arms are sore and achy. It’s only been 4 hours of work and it feels like I just want to drop my hands to my sides and stare.

A lot’s happened. Firstly, school is kicking half of my ass. I say half because it’s not really that bad. I’m taking three classes, two in ICS and continuing my Spanish. ICS 312, Assembly Language, is pretty smooth. No problems aside from just having work to do. ICS 313, however, is hitting a bumpy hill right now. We’re learning Prolog, which is killing me. It’s not a bad language, but it’s a whole new line of thinking. It’s a logical, nonprocedural language, which is a direct opposite of what I’ve been learning these past three or so years. People tell me if I had learned Prolog first, I wouldn’t have these problems, and I believe them. Anyway, the good news is that we’re only learning Prolog this one instance. After, we’re moving on to more familiar languages. Even the professor says that it’ll get easier.

Spanish is Spanish. It’s muy bueno.

I was paid a visit from one of my college friends over the weekend. Jumi’s an upperclassman and really cool to hang out with. Took a couple of pictures, one of which is displayed on my web page. She came with a bunch of her friends, and it was a surprise to discover that two of them went to my high school! Granted, they’re older than me, but because our school is so small, everyone know everybody else. I never met them before, but they know people I know, so there’s some connection there. And to top it all off, they even went to my college. Talk about a small world!

I bought Schindler’s List on DVD.

I think I’m ready for a vacation. Spring break is only one week away.

There’s a party coming up this weekend, at my boss’ place. I’m going to drink, you can be sure.

Um.. that’s all I can think of. Doesn’t quite sound like a lot, does it? I could be forgetting things. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Old age.

Irene still surprises me. She told me that she didn’t really like the movie Schindler’s List because “it was a black-and-white movie.” If that weren’t bad enough, she also said she doesn’t eat soba because “the noodles are brown.” I told her that she’s bordering on close-mindedness. To say that a movie is “okay” simply because it’s in black-and-white isn’t a very strong argument. If she told me the acting was panned and the storyline was something out of a magazine, then I’d seriously consider her point, but just because the movie’s not in color boggles the senses. I wonder if there are a lot of people in the world like that?

In Animal Crossing, I finally caught that friggin’ bee. I immediately gave it to Maile so that she won’t have to go through the stress. Now I just have to catch my own.

Tried the “bed head” look, though I don’t know if I pulled it off. Nobody said anything bad about it, so I guess I did okay. I don’t know if it will become a habit, though.

Min watched The Ring, and he was a bit creeped out by it, too. Not as badly as I was, however, but I felt better being able to talk to someone else about it. Now I just have to wait until George sees it before the circle is complete.

People have wondered what The Ring stands for. I have one theory, though for now I will only say one word: Eternity. I have other theories, too, but those can wait until I can explain without giving away details to those who haven’t seen the movie yet.

It’s 2230 hours, and I can’t sleep. I’m going to suffer tomorrow at school.

I washed my truck today. I hope to get into the habit of doing this once a week, but since this is only the second week I can’t rightly call it a habit, yet.

I took Maile to LCC so she could take an exam for her Psychology class. Since this class is strictly online, all exams are held at the Learning Resource Center and merely have a deadline by which a student must take them. Otherwise the student can go anytime the LRC is open, such as today when Maile actually didn’t have any classes to attend. As for myself, I spent my time sitting on a chair outside, watching the birds dance about the grass and trying to get those images from The Ring out of my head. It’s already been a couple of days since I saw it, but every time I think about that fuckin’ movie I get creeped out. I’ll be the first to admit I’m easily scared from horror movies of that caliber. It’s a brilliant movie, extremely well done; I just wish I didn’t see it. From now on, I’m sticking to strictly Disney movies.

I just saw “The Ring” and I am freaked out. The movie scared me so badly I closed my eyes. Maile could tell I was uber nervous because I kept pinching the folds in her jeans. I must say that it was one of the best scary movies made, primarily because it didn’t require any gore or lots of blood to make it horror-rific. Still, I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight. It’s not really because of the story in the movie, rather the images that have been burned into my mind like.. well, like the movie. Damnit!

I’m feeling slightly better, because I’m going to be sleeping over at Maile’s and I will find great comfort in her presence. And, the presence of a 170 lb great dane.

I met James and his new girlfriend Mary tonight, too. They came and saw the movie with us, even though they had already seen it. They were still a bit freaked out by it, but not as badly as myself. In fact, when we went to Anna Miller’s afterward and I was feeling better after a root beer float, James had the bright idea of bringing up a scary nightmare he had the evening after he saw The Ring for the first time.

He said that he was dreaming about something, and then he was woken up by a high-pitched noise, like that of a steaming tea kettle, accompanied by the static of the TV which is now on. He found himself on the floor, and it was broad daylight like the normal times he wakes up, and when he sat up to look at the TV, that “well scene” was playing. So he reaches behind him to get the remote to turn off the TV, and by the time he finds it, SHE’S at the screen. So he shuts off the TV, and everything is cool. Then the door to his bedroom opens up, and SHE’S there again!

He woke up with a scream on his lips.

Bastard.