ideas
I’m currently thinking about ‘faceplant fatigue’ as a tiny side-thought in a larger article and am collecting articles.
- Why I deactivated by facebook account
- Why do we have Facebook fatigue?
- Social network fatigue?
- Why I’m deleting my facebook account
There are heaps of other neat articles on the sudden ‘rush’ to ditch faceplant, but I’m tickled by the thought of ‘social networking fatigue’. It’s so difficult having friends.
two words
The Wire.
Get into it.
Best telly ever. Ever. I mean, it challenges West Wing for good. I’d say it’s better than Deadwood. Really. It’s more interesting than The Sopranos. It’s so, so good.
Here’s a little taste:
jumper
I love superhero films. I love sci-fi. I will see anything on these themes, anything at all, so long as it doesn’t star Tom Hanks (whom I abhor and avoid at all costs).
So I went to see Jumper the other afternoon on my own (couldn’t imagine anyone else who’d go see it with me and understand how I wanted to watch it). I was expecting B, and B I got. But it was fun*. Until just now, when I started thinking about it.
Here’s a quick overview of the story (look out for spoilers):
A boy is bullied at school. He has an abusive, alcoholic father.
He learns to ‘jump’ between physical locations. There’s talk of worm holes and so on, but it’s mostly a matter of willing yourself to a new location. You must, though, have a picture or visual image of your destination – your jump point (this is interesting because it leads to obsessive, massive collections of photos of exotic places).
He grows up, and has a flash apartment. He jumps all over the world, stealing money from banks.
He’s chased by nasty ‘paladins’, who’re some sort of ancient religious order committed to wiping out jumpers.
He revisits his high school sweetheart and shows off. This ends in trouble.
He learns he’s not the only ‘jumper’.
He joins forces with another jumper (just for a very short time, it’s agreed) to kill a particularly nasty paladin, Samuel L. Jackson.
He discovers the mother who abandoned him is a paladin.
She saves him in Rome.
There’s a lot of fighting, the girl gets beat up a bit and involved in the violence.
The paladin gets killed (I think – I can’t remember).
He (and the girl) visit his mother. We’re left with a ‘there will be a sequel’ scene.
Basically, it was like watching The O.C. with special effects. The characters were physically quite beautiful (in a very conventional, O.C. way). There were petulant teenagers of both genders (I think the protagonist was meant to be in his 20s, but he read teenager to me), there were silly car chases (yay!), there were silly story lines… no, wait. I don’t think there was actually a story line.
Overall, it was fun. So long as you didn’t notice:
- The way the protagonist (whose name I just can’t remember) treated women: find ’em, fuck ’em, jump out of their town and go surfing/leave them stranded in a foreign country. This wasn’t a feminist-friendly film. There were at least two female characters, but they didn’t really speak at all, let alone speak to each other
- Paladins. Why do people call characters ‘paladins’? Especially if they’re baddies? It doesn’t really work, even if it’s meant to make you think about knights or swords or whatever.
- Ethics. Well, you wouldn’t have to ignore them, because there didn’t seem to be any. It’s made quite clear that this a fairly selfish teenager, who could seriously do with a telling off. At one point he’s watching telly in his luxury flat and we see a news story about people stuck in flood water. The voice over on the news report is something like ‘how could anyone possibly get there to save them?’ and the protagonist looks away, bored. Needless to say, though he has the technology, he won’t be doing any saving. Or walking to the fridge. Or using doors.
- The muscles-without-cause. The protagonist is seriously buff. Buff like Clark from Smalls – he’s seriously built, and yet his lifestyle doesn’t seem to leave room for working out, getting exercise, lifting weights, etc. So the Jumper guy is seriously musclebound, and yet he’s so lazy he’s suprised when the other Jumper guy (that young kid from Billy Elliot, all growed up) walks around cities instead of jumping from place to place. How, I ask you, could he have developed that body – hell, how could he not be seriously obese with that type of lifestyle? Clark has a slightly different problem – he’s simply so strong he’d find it very difficult to get any sort of resistance training happening. So how come he’s so buff and built?
- The costumes. Oh, golly, there was bad teenage fashion in this film. Where was the big name French designer to save the costumes? Even the stupid Matrix managed to put together some decent costumes for the characters.
- The camera work. Oh man, I freakin’ hate this director (Doug Liman), especially the Bourne films. The latest Bourne film was particularly painful – nasty cuts, editing jumping all over the place, horrible hand held camera. In most cases all this busy technical stuff managed to distract from the excitement and tension of the actual events on the screen – we’re so busy noticing the editing or camera work, we forget to pay attention to what the protagonist is doing. I dunno, perhaps it ‘looks’ like first-person real time games or something (hence marking its territory as ‘young adolescent males’ with this and the persistent misogyny in the narrative), but I just find it annoying. Jumper was at times really difficult to physically watch – the camera would move too quickly for your eyes to focus (including a couple of really, really lame pans across the desert – they were meant to show us how alone and isolated the character/lair was, but moved so quickly we didn’t have time to see that there was nothing to see). There were some poorly composed shots – nasty framing that left you thinking ‘perhaps this film’s artier than I th… no. It’s just crappy.’
- The extras. Looking. At. The. Camera. Yes, wonderfully profesionally work there, Young Woman In Bar 2.
- The bullshit sound in the bar scene. So the protagonist is in a bar, talking to his high school sweetheart. It’s crowded. Said crowd is watching a sports game (dunno what type), so they alternately cheer loudly, hush expectantly and mouth conversations silently in the middle of the shot while the leads talk about… what? I was distracted there. That was some really bad action. So we heard the leads talking quietly, with almost no ambient noise, and then all of a sudden the crowd starts cheering. We see people, right in the middle of shots, talking, but we can’t hear them. It’s really, really terrible, amateur stuff.
But, on the other hand, we can read this film as a story about an abused child suddenly granted unbelievable superhero powers.
Interestingly, the film is based on a young adult fiction novel by Steven Gould. I haven’t read it, but on wikipedia is notes that the protagonist is escaping from an “abusive home”. If you keep that in mind, it’s not really all that surprising that he ends up obsessed with money and a ‘safe’ home, hidden away from the rest of the world. It’s also not surprising that he’s crappy with relationships.
In that light Samuel L. Jackson’s obsessed hunting of the jumpers becomes quite distressing. If the protagonist is a damaged boy who’s not really living socially, then a vicious, religious fanatic hunting him fanatically because he knows he’s innately ‘evil’ serves as the scary fulfillment of an abused child’s sense of self:
Dad hurts me because I’m bad and I deserve it. The paladins are hunting (and hurting) me because I’m evil and I deserve it.
This becomes even more concerning if we keep in mind the fact that we only ever see male jumpers, thus conflating all jumpers with this one protagonist – his experience becomes the experience of all jumpers. This idea is born up by the (unheard) confession by the Griffin (Billy Elliot) jumper that his parents were killed by paladins when he was a child. And the fact that Griffin had a nasty childhood (a point the protagonist responds to with his first moment of ‘real’ (?) emotion. So either all jumpers are echoes of this one protagonist, or all jumpers are abused boys who’ve managed to ‘escape’. Either way, it’s unhappy stuff.
We also see the protagonist’s mother (who abandoned he and his father years ago) turn up on the paladin’s team, later explaining that it was actually the son’s fault that she left in the first place (and her leaving is presented as the reason for the father’s alcoholism and violence)… Well, it’s not a happy story.
Again, if we read this as a story of a lonely, abused child, it’s not surprising that the boy’s chained bedroom door (chained on the inside to protect himself) is replaced by an apartment which apparently has no working doors, and includes a ‘panic room’ (with no doors at all) filled with money and gear. Hoarding food is a marker of a pretty unhappy, frightened child, and hoarding currency/jewels/gear in obsessive tidiness becomes the marker of a damaged young adult who never feels safe.
So, there are lots of things to ignore in this film, and lots of things which are really quite sad on second glance. But if you just think ‘woo-hoo! Special effects!’ it’s all cool. Particularly if you like the O.C. (which is also a story about an unhappy boy-man whisked off to sudden and startling wealth, if I remember properly).
*I’ve blogged the preview here.
fats waller v duke ellington
It’s been tricky fitting in all my listening this past weekend.
Will it be Fats, or will it be Ellington? Witherspoon and Sam Price don’t even get a foot in the door, I’m afraid.
I have 8 Ellington CDs to get through, and 3 Fats CDs to get through, and I’m not rushing, mind you. I like to listen to new CDs really slowly, lots of repeat listens to individual songs, lots of skipping back to check out a particular section.
So I’m not exactly running through my new goodies. And when I’m reading, I simply don’t hear the music at all, so I never know when a song’s finished. Or a CD’s finished. I think this is partly why I hate having music on when I’m working – it’s a waste. Music also tends to stop being music and just turn into the odd sound or bump or squeak which I catch every other minute as my attention shifts back to the aural world. I also really hate having that annoying background buzz distracting me from ideas when I’m thinking. So I like Total and Complete Silence when I’m working.
But I was all about Fats at first:
Fats Waller and His Rhythm the Last Years ( 1940-1943 ) to be precise. This is the other goody that came for me last week. It’s really, really wonderful. I adore Fats, and this is perhaps the best collection I have (so far – there’s no end in sight). So, seeing as it was the first collection that arrived, this was where my listening was at. But then the Ellington Mosaic arrived, and now I’m all about Ellington.
It’s not a real competition, not really. But I’m finding it tricky getting through all these. And it feels like every single song on this Mosaic set is wonderful – I have to keep stopping to put songs into my ‘should play’ list for DJing. Luckily there’s quite a bit of stuff I don’t already have (I love, love, love the smaller group stuff, and have the Columbia 2-CD ‘Duke’s Men’ vol 1 and vol 2.
I really should get my finger out and properly research all these guys, get a proper idea of who recorded with which companies when. Get some sort of clue as to who was in whose band at what time. But I really can’t be arsed devoting valuable research time to something that’s meant to be fun. There’s so much other stuff I should be researching (let’s not talk about reality TV, ok?), I just don’t want to ruin music for me. I have read bits and pieces, but I just don’t have a sensible, comprehensive set of facts and figures and names at my disposal.
I mean, I am totally crap with that sort of thing normally (my memory is so crap it’s a joke), and I find it really difficult to remember the names of songs. I can pick the musicians or the bands (mostly because they tend to have quite distinct musical ‘styles’ or ‘accents’, so you can guess who’s playing what), but names of songs? Nope. I can generally guess the era (30s, 40s, etc), but not reliably. This means that it’s always a nice surprise to discover I actually own that song that such and such just DJed. But it also means my learning curve re jazz history is more of a plateau.
I’ve also noticed that a song seems to sound completely different when you’re dancing to it than when you’re DJing it or sitting at home listening to it. I think it’s because when you’re DJing or listening, you pay really close attention, in a conscious-brain sort of way. But when I’m dancing, I’m responding unconsciously, not actually consciously thinking ‘oh, muted trumpet’ or ‘huh, chunky bass’. Plus there’s a bunch of other things going on when you’re dancing that distract you.
Anyways, the bottom line is, Ellington is winning, but Fats is kind of niggling in my hindbrain. It’s high-brow versus visceral, bodily goodness – Ellington is clever, Fats is fun (Ellington is fun too, and Fats is clever, but Ellington is telling you he’s smart and Fats is telling you he’d like you to sit a little closer and pass him a drink).
Sam Price and His Texas Blusicians 1929-1941
Sam Price and His Texas Blusicians 1929-1941 is the other CD that came this week, part of the Big Binge. It’s a Chronological Classic, which is important because this series of albums feature artists in chronological order – so you get a series of Duke Ellington CDs featuring songs in the order they were originally recorded.
It’s the most comprehensive series of albums, and they’re quite sought after. You can pay zillions of dollars for the rarer ones. But I’ve picked up ones that are cheaper and really great. My favourite is the Duke Ellington and his Orchestra: 1949-1950 one, which I picked up quite cheaply. It featured a song called B Sharp Boston which I really like and play quite often at late nights (it’s a bit slower). It also features Joog Joog, which has some nice female vocals (again, the CD’s in the other room, so I can’t check the name for you, sorry, but I think it’s a combination of Ivie Anderson and someone else [EDIT: I just checked and I think the notes are screwy, or I don’t understand, as it has a bloke’s name for the vocals, when I’m certain it’s Ivie Anderson and someone else…]). It’s quite an interesting album because it’s later Ellington (round about the time of some of the late testament Basie stuff that I really like), but Ellington is quite a different band leader. Most of these songs aren’t that wacky arty stuff he got into in the later period, but are much more popular songs. So it makes for interesting listening. And some great dancing.
Any how, this Sam Price action was drawn to my attention by Trev, king of fun scratchy music. And I’m quite in love. He apparently played with Lester Young’s band (or at least Lester – this is another CD I have to check the liner notes on. It’s only new, so I’m totally clueless on specifics). Sam Price, not Trev, that is.
One of my favourite bits of this album is in the song ‘Do you Dig My Jive?’ where he sings:
Ain’t nothin’ new about jive,
Believe it or not,
I know when jive first started,
The time and the spot,
Way back yonder,
In the year one-ty-one,
You can bet your sweet life,
That’s when jive begun.
I like ‘onety-one’ – the first year. It makes me giggle.
So, of course, I’m swimming in lovely music today. And trying to pretend I don’t have a dentist appointment this afternoon. I think I’ll follow that up with a nice film. Probably Jumpers rather than the more serious things I want to see (There Will Be Blood, No Country For Old Men, American Gangster), as I’m always a bit traumatised after the dentist. Thing kind thoughts for me, will you?
mosaic Duke Ellington: 1936-40 Small Group Sessions and Witherspoon-McShann Goin’ to Kansas City Blues
…and the last of my Big Binge CDs arrived today, along with a lovely needlepoint pack. It was just like christmas.
Let’s start with the needlepoint. I bought it from this slightly dodgy looking site. I’ve recently gotten returned to needlepoint, c/o a christmas present Margarate Preseton job, and have gotten a bit obsessive about it. Had to have another to do, though I’ve managed to sate some of that obsession with a nice blue patchworked crocheted blanket for The Squeeze – I can’t bear large crochet projects in summer, but the smaller squares are easier – remind me to post pics of my fabulous red flowered job. Note the price – $55 for printed canvas + all wool. That’s not bad at all. And it’s an Australian company, so there’s less postage to pay.
Jimmy Witherspoon with Jay McShann Goin’ to Kansas City Blues from Mosaic. I’m a big fan of Jay McShann, and while I don’t like Witherspoon’s politics, he can sing like a mofo. I’m still keen on that big, fat 50s sound. This one has lovely quality recording, and the band is so freakin’ good (Emmett Berry, J. C. Higginbotham, Hilton Jefferson, Seldon Powell, Al Sears, Kenny Burrell, Gene Ramey and Mousey Alexander). Some of it veers off into post-swing (this is a 1957 recording after all).
Most of my Jay McShann is earlier – nice, dirty Kansas City stuff. Though I do have this album Hootie!, a live job by his trio in… damnit, I haven’t entered the date! [EDIT: just checked it – it’s 1997] And the CD is far away… Anyhow, that’s a great album, but it’s supergroove. Lots of long, tinkly songs with tinkly piano, often at supersonic speeds. Not really the best dancing (except for the odd blues track), but really good listening music. I really like McShann’s piano style – it’s so different to people like Basie and Ellington and Junior Mance and Oscar Peterson.
So, anyhow, this new CD is really fun. Lots of great, upenergy songs. As I said, though, it’s a bit post-swing, in that it stops swinging quite so much. The slower ones are better, but the uptempo ones are kind of staccato or abrupt. Don’t swing so much. What this means for dancers is that it feels like you’re rushing from beat to beat, and that songs feel faster generally. This can be good for lifting the energy in the room every now and then (especially if it’s a more recent recording), but ultimately, it does bad things to your lindy hop. We need that gushy, delayed timing to really make us swing, to keep us hanging back and soaking every last moment out of each beat.
My other lovely present is Duke Ellington: 1936-40 Small Group Sessions, another Mosaic set I’ve had my eye on for ages. Cost a freakin’ bomb, but oh-baby, I have a serious thing for Ellington that’s just not going away. I have quite a few Ellington CDs and collections, but I couldn’t resist some lovely Mosaic remastering goodness (that’s what makes these expensive things worth it – good remastering, not to mention fab liner notes and packaging and great service).
This is completely different stuff to the Witherspoon CD – 20-odd years earlier, different approach to the rhythm section, very different approach to composition/arrangement. Really, this is a nice comparison between classic 30s swinging jazz and the ‘next generation’. While I adore the Witherspoon/McShann CD, this is where my heart truly lies. I love Ellington for the complexity and sophistication of the arrangements and plain old management of the band. Each musician has a very particular job, and they do it just wonderfully. I also prefer this bouncy old school sound – makes me want to lindy hop. None of that shuffle-rhythm going on in the drum kit area. Nice shouty choruses at the end of songs. Yes, please.
I also like these big ‘complete, collected works’ sets because they include multiple takes of the one song. This means you get to hear the band make minute variations in the way they play, and you really begin to understand how the band work together as a team, and how a slightly shorter solo can change the whole song. I also like hearing the people in the studio talking – it’s like we’re just that little bit closer to a world that feels imaginary, most of the time. They way they talk, the things they talk about – are all so far away from us. But when you hear them swearing about fucked up takes or laughing at jokes, it becomes a bit more real.
So, sitting up in bed looking through all these goodies this morning (it was an early delivery), it felt like my birthday. And it was lovely.
Now I just have to score a few more DJing gigs to cover these extravagances.
banana bread recipe?
Ok, so I’m on the baking thing again. Made an amazing cake the other day – it’s a Two Fat Ladies recipe for Danish apple and prune cake. It’s more almond meal than flour (omg!), and I substituted figs for prunes last time, and this time I used fresh strawberries instead. Basically it’s a rich, sweet cake made from a batter (ie don’t over beat it) which you put sliced fruit on top of. Then sugar. Then cinnamon. Oh MAN it is AMAZING. Will post recipe when can be buggered.
But NOW I need a good banana bread recipe. I am distinguishing between banana cake and banana bread, here. I want something that’s not as sweet and sticky and glucky as banana cake. I want something heavier or doughy-er and not as sweet. No icing. No way.
Anyone got a good recipe?
sorry
I’m glad I’m not the only one who cried like a freakin’ baby watching the ABC this morning. I cried and cried. It was just nice to see such a mark of respect. I kept thinking ‘those aboriginal doods are the first aboriginal people – the first indigenous Australians to be given such formal respect, EVER!’ It was just so exciting and wonderful. Sure, there were some problems with that second speech there, but still – it was like, all of a sudden, Australia had suddenly realised that there were people who’d been here before the skips rocked into town. Like they went, “Holy shit! We’ve had our heads up our bums for 200 years! Let’s get on it, STAT!”
I know it’s only a symbol, but holy moly, if that doesn’t give good evidence to the power of symbols, I don’t know what would. That was some seriously hot shit. Now I have an idea how people feel when they go to the dawn service for Diggers or put up flags in their front yard. It was like, all of a sudden, I had a reason to be really proud of being Australian. It was like, amazingly, even though people had been doing fuckful things for 200 years, and then refusing to admit they’d been fuckful, they suddenly, really, did think “Oh, man. That was some bad shit. We have to apologise.” And then they did! I was just proud. It was like a couple of kids had suddenly realised they were being mean to another little kid and apologised to him all on their own. Now I’m hoping they’ll be taking that kid home for detty-and-a-bandy before out to the back yard for a rousing game of tiggy.
And I was also really struck by the power of turning your back on someone. No fisticuffs, no nasty retorts. Just turning away. I think that’s a nice alternative to bombing the shit out of people. I know it’s the solution I’ve used on discussion boards when I’ve had a gutful of sexist dickheads, or I’m dealing with trolls, but who’d have thought it would be so useful when dealing with the Liberal party? And that it just keeps getting more effective?
For those who are about to reconcile, we salute you.
edit: and I’m just thinking: it’s the overwhelming symbolism of having those elders in parliament while they were speaking. I just kept thinking, ‘it’s like they didn’t exist before. And now, all of a sudden, parliament has discovered they exist. They’re recognising them, and they’re honouring them’. I know that’s problematic in itself, but goddamn, I just can’t get over it.
sour grapes
Reading this rant here (and it is a rant, and I do think we should all allow ourselves the luxury of ranting on our blogs – that’s the delight of self-publishing, no?), my immediate thought was “that’s a bit rich.” I mean, the author is one of those young-gun rock star type American academics. She’s sporting a whole lot of academic and social privilege which plebs like myself really don’t have access to.
I also thought “hey, I have a paper in that journal!” And I am, I must admit, extremely excited about my article (it’s a nice one about YouTube and dancers and I’m quite proud of it). It’s not in that special issue of the journal, though it was initially accepted and later politely knocked back (I guess it was bumped for some rock star, right?). As I said, I’m feeling quite chuffed about being in this journal – it’s an International, donchakno? So I’m not all that cool reading that post – what does that make me, sister? Some sort of publisher’s stooge (I wish, I wish – I am so ready to be some publisher’s stooge).
So reading that article, I was a little bit… pooped. I mean, I don’t really think it’s all that cool to snub the very source of a serious part of your cred and status. That’s the action that’s getting her a career. That’s the action that’ll help me get a permanent job (anyone else just loving these semester-by-semester positions? Empowering, no? Terribly punk, yes?) and fund my future jazz spending (wait, I’ll tell you about today’s presents later). That’s the stuff that’ll make the past…15 years of work mean something.
I’m sorry, homegirl, you can’t go making those sorts of calls without expecting some sort of kick up the bum… or perhaps just a polite throat clearing and measured response.
This one by Anne is my favourite so far. I also like Jason’s comment on the original article and his blog entry. You can chase the other responses around the internet yourselves, but you can see the sorts of responses that sat bestest with me.
I think, from my position here, as:
- casually employed lecturer
- unemployed researcher just-finished-(no corrections! – sorry, but I need to remind myself at times like these) PhD-person
- self-employed article-writer and book-maker (oh yes, I can’t help but squeeze those papers out – it’s like blogging: must share, look-at-me-look-at-me-look-at-me!, God, am I the only one?)
- serial paper-giver/self-humiliator
I’d be kissing internet arse, making like I was the biggest bitch o’ the establishment ever if I was in that position.
I mean, isn’t that the scam? We get in there, softly, softly, then we make with the rabble rousing on the quiet, like?
And, finally, the other immediate thought that I had when first reading that initial post was, “hells bells, woman, we’re working in universities, not Médecins Sans Frontières“. Yes, it’d be really nice to think that we were actually out there making people’s lives wonderful, fighting the good fight and all, but at the end of the day we’re working within institutions whose primary goal is to institutionalise people. And to make money. I think it’s a little naive to think that universities now – if ever! – have ever really been about freeing minds, making jiggy with the knowledge and all. I know it’s a wonderful idea, but in practice… let’s be realistic here. Researching and writing in universities is privileged stuff. It’s not easy – it’s damn hard work, especially for n00bs – but it’s pretty freakin’ good work.
And sure, let’s say our academic articles are suddenly free and available to the whole universe. Does that mean that they’re suddenly also well written, accessible and meaningful to most people? I don’t think so… There’s far more to be done to make academic work the people’s work than simply avoiding old school journals. And I do feel that there’s some sort of …arrogance? to the idea that just because our academic work’s out there in the ‘public sphere’ that people’d actually want to read it. Pft. I don’t think so. You know they’d really rather look at kitties. I had that idea when I started in on my PhD work. But maybe that’s just dancers – no time for academic wankery.
…I can’t help thinking about this as I type this. I might be one of those types.