Wired Mesh makes a point here about 'this whole blogging deal' saying:
I'm concerned for my new friend. The experience of writing is sometimes cathartic, sometimes important, sometimes impressive, sometimes forgettable, sometimes heroic, sometimes encouraging, sometimes personal, sometimes public, etc.
Mesh concludes the search for blogging import by deciding to post bi-weekly in an effort to focus on things "beautiful and important. . . [and] worthy of celebration and discussion". While I think this is a dandy idea, I think it steps into a muddy mire of self importance (not to say mesh thinks higher of himself/herself than he/she ought).
Of course this is my opinion but blogging to me is an exercise in writing, in sharing, in communicating and connecting. It should include well thought out essays and social ruminations, but it shouldn't be limited to that. Blogging is coffee talk essassinations. It is recipes and highlights. It's popular and private. It's uniquely personal and at the same time unavoidable public. It's diaries and drivel.
My point is that as much as you try to forget there is an audience, you are always keenly aware that what you write is available to be read. This should be the accountability of the writing, but not the purpose of the writing. If you want only perfect social essays, buy the magazine and publish your ideas. But if you want to blog, blog day and night and night and day. Be limited not by the expectation of response or the guilt of poor sentence structure, but only by the time available to you in your day.
But that's me. Maybe I should have proof read before posting.
[my letter to Roger Ebert]
I feel like there is an enormous amount of pressure to like/appreciate Kill Bill simply because it comes from Quentin Tarantino.
Sure, I like his style, I like his method of story telling, I like the moods he creates and the atmosphere he builds, BUT, what the hell is up with his choice of subject matter? Why in Pulp Fiction did there have to be a stylized homosexual rape scene? Why in Kill Bill did there have to be another rape scene and a pedophilia scene (made to look that much more hip because it was animated)?
These aren't fact based stories that he is trying to stay true to. Why stylize rape in any form? Why make a horrible act look horrible in a really cool way? What's the point. Why this subject matter? Has QT made any comment? Do critics care? Cartoon violence and fountains of blood, fine. But why stylized, hip-looking, ultra-cool, mood-building sexually deviant crimes? Why Why Why?
dreaming of a big screen tv. two have risen to the level of lust. hate myself. the 43" 16x9 Samsung HLM437W or the Sony 42" KF42WE610 Grand WEGA.
First, never ask the Sony store guy for his opinion of other brands. His specs said the bulb will last 30000 hours before any degradation, the best buy boy said his manual said 8000. Sony stores are over-priced and sony-store-salespeople are over-confident and a little arrogant. That brings me to the second point, never ask the best buy boy his opinion on the tv's. he's a boy, barely 15, knows more, cares less.
so i ask my newfound friends of 365 Rue d'Internet. What TV is the best TV and how can I convince myself (read: wife) that 3K on a television is a solid/wise/practical/necessary/important/please please please investment?
There is one other theory floating around which says that Neo (or the One) is actually a test-drive for a computer/human hybrid. He is a test program as the Matrix attempts to evolve past what it is. Each of the five previous have chosen to reboot and in doing so, allowed the Matrix to learn from their experiences.
This time, Neo chooses love. Which is what the Matrix really wanted.
But who the hell knows. And really, who the hell cares. (me?)
The Oracle is curious. Neo thinks she is the mother of the Matrix when the architect mentions it, but he scoffs at that.
The Oracle (while in the park prior to the burly brawl) talks about rogue programs that have two options; deletion or exile. I think she is referring to the Merovingian, the Keymaker and herself. She wants Neo to do something that will benefit her in the future. But it is confusing because she always speaks of time as being irrelevant in the matrix, and yet she says she is only interested in the future. She doesn't know if Neo chooses the left door or the right, which is why she is asking him to tell her if Trinity lives or dies in his dream. She knows his dreams aren't dreams but some kind of confirmed future state.
I'm sure that there is some simple explanation that will be argued for the next few weeks until Revolutions comes out.
One thing I'm sure of. Nothing is what it seems. Not the Matrix, not the Characters, not Zion, nothing. Or maybe it is.
I just finished watching the matrix reloaded last night on DVD. After reading several posts about the true (or alleged) nature of the story. I watched it in a new light.
I had a much better appreciation for the story with these links from Chronic Murmerings.
Here is what I think. I definitely think there is much more to what is happening then we have been let in on. Quite possible Neo (I'm sure it's been pointed out that the letters in his name spell one as in The One) is a program of the matrix designed to reboot the system so to speak. And that theory has been explored extensively.
I'm more curious about the Oracle, Merovingian, Persephone and the nature of Zion.
I'm quite sure that Zion is still apart of the Matrix. Built to contain those who reject the program. Neo receives a message from the oracle through one of the orphans while he is at Zion. The importance of this is two fold:
1. How could something physical be passed from a fake reality to a real one. (perhaps the orphan bent the spoon in zion and didn't receive it from the oracle but that still leads to point number 2)
2. The message of the spoon is: "There is no spoon" meaning where you are right now (Zion) is as real as where you were when you first saw the spoon (Matrix).
This means that Oracle is telling Neo that he is still in the matrix, only he doesn't begin to realize the message until the end when he controls the sentinel. Also, Agent Smith could not possible infect a living human being. (Of course I'm applying real world rules to a fictional story, but there has to be some reason Smith could do this.)
Sitting in my home office, trying to learn a new application architecture, I'm reminded of simpler time. A time devoid of afternoon exhaustion and early morning alarms. I remember the flowers that used to grow next to my house when I was 5, the gravel back alley that I walked to school and back on each day of my elementary life.
I remember the days when procrastination was something that your mom would tell you you were doing rather than hearing your own inner voice pass condemnation.
This is a creative outlet, I say. This is building my mind to explore the next web technology. Let me be here in my office/guest room/storage room/diaper change station. Let me sit and do nothing and feel good. I want to feel good about my days work. I want to impress those who pay me. I want to . . . damn, is this site public?
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i'm working now. I've always been.
or a short story from a weary boy
The first thing that happened to him was the last thing he needed. The day before he and his friends had ordered pizza from Diamond Joe’s Perfect Pies. Everybody expected it to be pepperoni but what came was ham and pineapple. Nobody was hungry after that. The party ended and they all went home.
The next morning came sooner than expected and all hell broke loose.
“Damn-it if I can’t make it to work on time one day in my life. Just once I’d like to sit down, read the paper, eat breakfast and watch the sun rise.”
He ran from his bedroom to the shower to his bedroom again and then through the kitchen to the garage. “Pizza?” he thought as he passed by the opened cardboard box of untouched pie. His stomach panged with hunger, or maybe with disgust disguised as hunger, or maybe as hunger disguised as disgust, “Why not?”.
Downhill from there.
“You’re late!!!” his boss screamed from across the cubicle crowded office.
“No you’re late you fat ass!!!”
“WHAT!!!” his boss was stunned.
So was he.
“What did you say?”
“FAT - ASS!” his hand caught his mouth as the perfect annunciation slipped through.
“Into my office!” The boss turned and walked away.
“Yes sir.” He was as confused as everybody else in the room. Everybody was as confused as him. He followed his boss into the office.
“Would you mind explaining what just happened out there?” his boss said. His eyes were full of hell.
“I can’t remember.” He wasn’t lying.
“How long have you been working here?”
“2 months.”
“Pack up. You’re done.”
“Pack this.” He felt a finger start to rise.
“You’ve got 5 minutes to be out of my building or I’ll have you thrown out.” He wasn’t lying either.
The drive home was quiet. Not a cloud in the sky and barely a car on the road.
The walk from his suburban car to the front door of his suburban home was quiet. Not a suburban neighbor in suburban sight.
Even the dog was quiet.
So much quiet.
“I need a drink.” he said. Then he fell asleep.
Morning came, then night. Then morning again.
A familiar voice echoed from outside the house, “Did somebody order a pizza?”
“Oh no, not again.” He said to his untouched bottle of Kentucky bourbon. The bottle smiled, he winced and somewhere off in the distance a dog howled.
“Not again. . .”
Again.
Again and again.
I used to be a pastor; 2 different churches over 3 straight years. That was more than 3 years ago now and today I'm on a journey into my own unknown trying to discover the truth about truth.
I'm having problems being who I always thought I was. I used to be a pillar of faith and religiosity. Well, not really. That is who I looked like and that brings me to the problems I'm facing today. I spent the better part of my life trying to be something that I thought I was, but as soon as I took off the robe of occupation, I slipped into someone I've never thought I would be.
Now, either being a person of religious conviction and faith is a constant struggle against the easier path of complacency and indulgence or . . . actually that makes sense.
The problem is, without the external pressure to be that person of faith (occupationally that is), I settle into a routine devoid of religion, prayer and sacrement. And without even the twinges of guilt that I so generously used to heap on myself. And it's not that I'm a lazy ass either, I just treat my relationship with God as I do all of my relationships. And the ones that prove valuable to my day to day life get the attention. And the ones that don't get blogged.
I've rejected most of the ecclesiology of the present western day. But i'm also not into a post-modern psycho relative sureity either. I want what I was promised back in Sunday School when I was a kid. I want a relationship with God that looks, acts and sounds like a relationship. I want more than my petty one-sided prayer meanderings. I want a new metaphor other than relationship. I want a little help on this one.
Someday.
I saw Kill Bill yesterday. The new auteur slick action style 2-volume epic from the icon-o-cultured mind of Quentin Tarantino.
It is a video game with better cut scenes.
Besides that, I don't really know what to say about it. A woman is betrayed, beaten, shot and left for dead. Four years later she wakes up from a coma and seeks revenge on her assailants. I can see how that could make an interesting story. And on that level I guess it is interesting. But the bloody montages that fill the spaces where the dialogue could have been are unimaginably and fantastically gruesome and drawn-out.
I have to ask; what is the point? Who gives someone like QT the right to put together a visual display of this magnitude. In an age where we seek peace in places of war and safety in times of uncertainty (not to get all hoity), where does someone, and for what purpose does someone make a picture like this? And after making it, does Uma Thurman (the revenge-bent Bride) or Lucy Liu (one of the betrayers) sit back and say, "Wow, that is incredible. I made that and that is an important piece of work and I am super proud to put that on my resume.".
Heads fly, arms fly, feet fly, eyes fly, blood flows like fountains, swords cut flesh like butter and slight/small quips of witty banter bridge the gaps from one fight to the next. Even the murder of a mother in front of her 4 year old daughter is worsened by a small coy coll-coated-threat thrown the daughters way by the murderer. And the sexual abuse of children drawn out in Anime? ("Lucky for her, he was a pedophile.") What is the point?
This is a movie about bad people doing bad things to other bad people. And there seems to be immense pressure to appreciate it simply because it is QT.
Now I'm not saying that movies have to be super redeeming or socially radical. Movies are tools of escape that are sometimes elevated to the place of evangelism. But what was the point of this stylized bloody excuse for a cool soundtrack? Did QT get all gelled up thinking about how he could play homage to the films of his youth by ripping together this gruesome montage. I don't know. Maybe Volume 2, which comes to theatres in February will resolve some of these issues. Maybe the fact that I have had such a strong reaction is the point. Maybe I've become so desensitized to the other casual violence that I needed something like this to point out my own inconsistencies. Maybe if I think about it long enough I will come to appreciate what I saw. I don't know.