That above headline is taken from an actual Educational Filmstrip from the Sixties, by the way.
So, anyway, today is Fun With Archival Footage. Enjoy the following:
If Mirrors Could Speak: Self-Image Film (1976)
This involves children dressed as scary, scary clowns. And they are terrible actors, which makes it all somehow better.
Incredible Edible Egg in Foodservice (c. 1980s)
I love eggs. Even the footage here, which makes eggs look utterly revolting, still has me drooling for more eggs. Eggs! EGGS! MWAHAHAHAHA! But I digress.
York Peppermint Patty Commercial (c. 1980s)
This has brief yodeling. Need I say more?
VD is for Everybody (1969)
THE. BEST. SONG. EVER. I have been singing/humming/thinking this dratted song nonstop. I hum it near-silently on the bus. I belt it out loud when I'm alone in elevators. Mothers clutch their small children in fright when they see me approach. But this cheerful ditty keeps me, well, cheerful. Far too cheerful to be of any good to society, perhaps.
These guys are SO my brother and me. It's just simple, excellent fun.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Thursday, July 20, 2006
fabrication ain't just lying
Portable parks are brilliant. It would be terrific if a little lawn flamingo could rotate around in there, too, but maybe I'm just being too demanding.
Also: Alex Martin is actually doing something I've been talking about for the past few years -- completely fabricating her own wardrobe, doing a sort of 'fashion detox.' My problem is, I love wearing other people's ideas too much. I guess I'm mostly a recombiner, taking elements meant to be worn one way, and wearing them in a completely new way. Like wearing neckties as belts, and...belts...as neckties....
Holy crap.
I just came back from my closet, after typing that last sentence, and I'm wearing my favoritest belt ever. On my wrist, wrapped about four or five times. I just tried wrapping it around my neck too, multiple times so that it served as a choker, and that works fabulously, too. I never wear belts, because I feel I'm too short to get away with them, but I keep a few around because I am peculiar that way. So, my favorite belt is made of lenticular plastic, and it has a rainbow layer underneath so that it flickers with color as I move, and now it is busily kicking ass ON MY WRIST. This is the best shift of a sartorial paradigm EVER. Next time you see me, I'll be wearing shoes on my ears. This rules.
ADDENDUM: it just occurred to me that I've done this before, this whole fashion recombination thing. It was my senior year of college, and I had to go to an awards ceremony, and I couldn't find a proper skirt in time, so I borrowed my friend's black sateen shirt (with her permission) and wore it as a skirt—the neckhole was around my waist (it was a low-cut top, so I had room), and I wrapped the sleeves around my waist as a cheeky sash. It worked well, especially if you squinted. I think I also once wore my Swatch around my ankle, but this was back in fifth grade, and everybody already thought I was weird, so no harm/no foul.
And to answer your unasked question, yes, I was the goofy/smart art nerd in high school who aced biology and was never asked out, despite having Sensitivity and Poignance In My Soul. I spent prom night hanging out with my parents. Ain't it great that I've come such a long way since then? Excuse me while I watch some CNN, then go do some crossword puzzles before falling asleep.
Also: Alex Martin is actually doing something I've been talking about for the past few years -- completely fabricating her own wardrobe, doing a sort of 'fashion detox.' My problem is, I love wearing other people's ideas too much. I guess I'm mostly a recombiner, taking elements meant to be worn one way, and wearing them in a completely new way. Like wearing neckties as belts, and...belts...as neckties....
Holy crap.
I just came back from my closet, after typing that last sentence, and I'm wearing my favoritest belt ever. On my wrist, wrapped about four or five times. I just tried wrapping it around my neck too, multiple times so that it served as a choker, and that works fabulously, too. I never wear belts, because I feel I'm too short to get away with them, but I keep a few around because I am peculiar that way. So, my favorite belt is made of lenticular plastic, and it has a rainbow layer underneath so that it flickers with color as I move, and now it is busily kicking ass ON MY WRIST. This is the best shift of a sartorial paradigm EVER. Next time you see me, I'll be wearing shoes on my ears. This rules.
ADDENDUM: it just occurred to me that I've done this before, this whole fashion recombination thing. It was my senior year of college, and I had to go to an awards ceremony, and I couldn't find a proper skirt in time, so I borrowed my friend's black sateen shirt (with her permission) and wore it as a skirt—the neckhole was around my waist (it was a low-cut top, so I had room), and I wrapped the sleeves around my waist as a cheeky sash. It worked well, especially if you squinted. I think I also once wore my Swatch around my ankle, but this was back in fifth grade, and everybody already thought I was weird, so no harm/no foul.
And to answer your unasked question, yes, I was the goofy/smart art nerd in high school who aced biology and was never asked out, despite having Sensitivity and Poignance In My Soul. I spent prom night hanging out with my parents. Ain't it great that I've come such a long way since then? Excuse me while I watch some CNN, then go do some crossword puzzles before falling asleep.
Monday, July 10, 2006
I hate sheep II: electric boogaloo
So, Famima!! (exclamation marks NOT mine) just opened a couple of blocks away from me, and I was leery. What, I wondered, do we need with a yuppie 7-11? I could tell, even just walking briskly by, that they had ENTIRE SHELF CASES devoted to nothing but water in pretty glass bottles, which seemed a tad ridiculous.
But! I am now a convert. I walked in, expecting overpriced Italian food to go, and instead discovered that it's a Japanese convenience store that rocks. No, wait, it doesn't just rock, it RAWKS. Imagine being able to purchase, in one location, the following: terrific spicy tuna hand rolls for $2, trendy German stationery, random American DVDs (I bought Birth, haven't watched it yet), condoms, enough varieties of bottled tea to take a bath in, Japanese dishwashing liquid, and Korean bulgogi bento boxes. If only they stocked issues of S-Cawaii, I would never have to shop anywhere else. Huzzah! I feel a little embarrassed that I'm the Famima!! target demographic, but what the hey—if the shoe fits etc.
Here's where the sheep come in. I went to the counter with my hand roll, bottle of green/white tea (ooh, two in one!), and the aforementioned DVD. As the guy was ringing me up, I asked if they were ever going to carry Japanese movies.
"Probably not," was his reply, "but we get enough Asian customers dropping by that we probably should."
"Forget them, I would watch Japanese movies!" was my impassioned response.
This was where the conversation turned a little ugly. The guy was clearly shocked that an American would voluntarily watch anything un-American, and he regarded me carefully, obviously trying to figure me out. I hate when people do that.
"It's not like there are any Japanese movies worth watching though, right?" he pointed out. "I mean, maybe Godzilla, right?"
Don't punch him don't punch him don't punch him.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I said. "There are some INCREDIBLE Japanese films out there! Don't tell me you haven't seen any!"
He shrugged, noncommittal. Don't punch him don't punch him.
"Do you speak Japanese?" he asked.
"No—but you don't need to speak Japanese to enjoy Japanese films!" Idiot. I'll bet he has Dumb & Dumber sitting on his DVD rack at home.
"Then how do you get Japanese movies?"
I confess, I couldn't keep the sarcastic edge out of my voice. "I read subtitles."
He raised his eyebrows in reply, and I knew exactly what those eyebrows were saying.
"You don't watch movies with subtitles, do you?" I asked.
Mr. Dumb & Dumber shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Not really my thing."
Don't punch him don't punch him don't—
"You're missing out on a lot," I called over my shoulder. "Try checking it out sometime."
I'm still seething. I still really want to go back to Famima!!, but I may have to whap Mr. Dumb & Dumber with an issue of Non-No next time.
Of course, it didn't help my anger levels any that I watched The Corporation when I got home. Awesome movie, angering message. It makes me want to march through the streets with the righteously indignant masses, bar codes taped over our mouths as we rally against privatization and so forth. Did you know that water—including rain water!—was privatized in Bolivia, costing up to a quarter of each person's annual income? It took rioting in the streets, one death and many, many maimings before the government and the Bechtel Corp. finally backed down. I wish all the oil in the world vanished tomorrow, and that we had a much safer alternative already in place. I wish every television set could be smashed in the streets. I want to kick unethical marketers in the shins with very pointy shoes.
Maybe I'm not really cut out for the world o' media. Of course, I could try dismantling the system from the inside, rebuilding it into something more socially conscious. And then I'd shoot a Coca-Cola commercial, because we all need to pay our bills.
But! I am now a convert. I walked in, expecting overpriced Italian food to go, and instead discovered that it's a Japanese convenience store that rocks. No, wait, it doesn't just rock, it RAWKS. Imagine being able to purchase, in one location, the following: terrific spicy tuna hand rolls for $2, trendy German stationery, random American DVDs (I bought Birth, haven't watched it yet), condoms, enough varieties of bottled tea to take a bath in, Japanese dishwashing liquid, and Korean bulgogi bento boxes. If only they stocked issues of S-Cawaii, I would never have to shop anywhere else. Huzzah! I feel a little embarrassed that I'm the Famima!! target demographic, but what the hey—if the shoe fits etc.
Here's where the sheep come in. I went to the counter with my hand roll, bottle of green/white tea (ooh, two in one!), and the aforementioned DVD. As the guy was ringing me up, I asked if they were ever going to carry Japanese movies.
"Probably not," was his reply, "but we get enough Asian customers dropping by that we probably should."
"Forget them, I would watch Japanese movies!" was my impassioned response.
This was where the conversation turned a little ugly. The guy was clearly shocked that an American would voluntarily watch anything un-American, and he regarded me carefully, obviously trying to figure me out. I hate when people do that.
"It's not like there are any Japanese movies worth watching though, right?" he pointed out. "I mean, maybe Godzilla, right?"
Don't punch him don't punch him don't punch him.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I said. "There are some INCREDIBLE Japanese films out there! Don't tell me you haven't seen any!"
He shrugged, noncommittal. Don't punch him don't punch him.
"Do you speak Japanese?" he asked.
"No—but you don't need to speak Japanese to enjoy Japanese films!" Idiot. I'll bet he has Dumb & Dumber sitting on his DVD rack at home.
"Then how do you get Japanese movies?"
I confess, I couldn't keep the sarcastic edge out of my voice. "I read subtitles."
He raised his eyebrows in reply, and I knew exactly what those eyebrows were saying.
"You don't watch movies with subtitles, do you?" I asked.
Mr. Dumb & Dumber shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Not really my thing."
Don't punch him don't punch him don't—
"You're missing out on a lot," I called over my shoulder. "Try checking it out sometime."
I'm still seething. I still really want to go back to Famima!!, but I may have to whap Mr. Dumb & Dumber with an issue of Non-No next time.
Of course, it didn't help my anger levels any that I watched The Corporation when I got home. Awesome movie, angering message. It makes me want to march through the streets with the righteously indignant masses, bar codes taped over our mouths as we rally against privatization and so forth. Did you know that water—including rain water!—was privatized in Bolivia, costing up to a quarter of each person's annual income? It took rioting in the streets, one death and many, many maimings before the government and the Bechtel Corp. finally backed down. I wish all the oil in the world vanished tomorrow, and that we had a much safer alternative already in place. I wish every television set could be smashed in the streets. I want to kick unethical marketers in the shins with very pointy shoes.
Maybe I'm not really cut out for the world o' media. Of course, I could try dismantling the system from the inside, rebuilding it into something more socially conscious. And then I'd shoot a Coca-Cola commercial, because we all need to pay our bills.
Sunday, July 9, 2006
things that make me go 'hooah!
Note: the Ze Frank link now works! Fabuloso!
This made my day. And Ze Frank is my hero; this guy rocks like a geologist. Yeah. And hey, while you're at it, surfing like the surf maniac you know you are, view these government reels of nuclear bomb tests. Hooah!
This made my day. And Ze Frank is my hero; this guy rocks like a geologist. Yeah. And hey, while you're at it, surfing like the surf maniac you know you are, view these government reels of nuclear bomb tests. Hooah!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
a wondrous place...
...is the internet. Check this out.
And when you are done regarding this, try downloading Lansing-Dreiden's "A Line You Can Cross," from their The Dividing Island album. It makes me think of shimmery things, and the smell of black lipstick; and, rather unaccountably, of Patrick Nagel. Also recommended: Lansing-Dreiden's "I Keep Everything," from the The Incomplete Triangle album. Very shimmery, Houston-we-have-liftoff indeed.
And when you are done regarding this, try downloading Lansing-Dreiden's "A Line You Can Cross," from their The Dividing Island album. It makes me think of shimmery things, and the smell of black lipstick; and, rather unaccountably, of Patrick Nagel. Also recommended: Lansing-Dreiden's "I Keep Everything," from the The Incomplete Triangle album. Very shimmery, Houston-we-have-liftoff indeed.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Lawrence Fishburne, you're my hero
The Solvang trip was perfectly as predicted (am I psychic or what?), and it ended up involving pinot noir after all, and it was the best steak I have had in a very, very, very, very long time. Whooee. Run, do not walk, to The Hitching Post in Buellton if and/or when you can.
Last night, my ever-culturally-minded parents sprung for tickets for all of us to see Without Walls, a play currently at the Mark Taper Forum. It's a 70's look at the story of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, with Lawrence Fishburne as the gay, Southern, high-school-drama-teaching, quasi-Brodie figure. Honestly, I never knew Fishburne had it in him, and I was blown away. BLOWN AWAY, people. The only other folks in the cast are Matt Lanter and Amanda MacDonald, who are also stupendous, and with just the three of them I was utterly convinced of their universe for all eighty minutes. In fact, their universe was so convincing, I was suprised that only three people stepped out to take a bow at the end, and then I realized that all the other 'characters' in the story were completely in my head, hinted at by the cast's performances. Just incredible.
Thing is, I've grown spoiled by realistic film acting; theatrical acting, which may be necessary to be perceived from the back of a theater, sort of disgusts me, at least until I've grudgingly grown used to it. And then it's great. Still, it hurts my brain a bit to have to switch so radically in my appreciation of performance. Would it really hinder things to be so minimal on a stage? Or am I asking too much?
Last night, my ever-culturally-minded parents sprung for tickets for all of us to see Without Walls, a play currently at the Mark Taper Forum. It's a 70's look at the story of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, with Lawrence Fishburne as the gay, Southern, high-school-drama-teaching, quasi-Brodie figure. Honestly, I never knew Fishburne had it in him, and I was blown away. BLOWN AWAY, people. The only other folks in the cast are Matt Lanter and Amanda MacDonald, who are also stupendous, and with just the three of them I was utterly convinced of their universe for all eighty minutes. In fact, their universe was so convincing, I was suprised that only three people stepped out to take a bow at the end, and then I realized that all the other 'characters' in the story were completely in my head, hinted at by the cast's performances. Just incredible.
Thing is, I've grown spoiled by realistic film acting; theatrical acting, which may be necessary to be perceived from the back of a theater, sort of disgusts me, at least until I've grudgingly grown used to it. And then it's great. Still, it hurts my brain a bit to have to switch so radically in my appreciation of performance. Would it really hinder things to be so minimal on a stage? Or am I asking too much?
Sunday, June 18, 2006
boy oh boy oh boy
I HAVE WIRELESS DSL WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
I can now ignore my e-mail at blistering speeds. I can now also ignore YouTube at blistering speeds. Best of all: I can now download all the eye candy at Plan 59 at blistering speeds, which truly makes living worthwhile.
Also: I am reading two books at the same time, but not simultaneously. One is What We Believe But Cannot Prove; Today's Leading Thinkers on Science in the Age of Certainty, edited by John Brockman, and the other is Florence of Arabia by Christopher Buckley. I recommend both unreservedly. I mean, hey, how can you not enjoy reading about rollicking feminist conspiracies in the Middle East and homo sapiens eating Neanderthals?
Plans for this week:
1. E-mailing the powers that be at various London film schools, enquiring into possible teaching positions.
2. Calling the wretched 900 number given to me by the British Consulate, so that I can get the ball rolling on my dual citizenship (gor blimey).
3. Calling my Mercury dealer and finding out the numbers on buying out my Grand Marquis land barge, so that I don't have to worry about lease crap when I'm abroad next year.
And for tomorrow, June 19: My family and I are chillin' in wild, wild Solvang, where there are non-operational windmills and plaster stork replicas galore! Mom will go nuts over the tchotchke shoppes, and Dad & Co. will roll our eyes to the point of eye socket pain.
And then there will be barbecue.
Give a Dane a set of grilling tongs, and they will apparently feed you the world; we're going to the place featured in the film Sideways, pinot noir optional.
I can now ignore my e-mail at blistering speeds. I can now also ignore YouTube at blistering speeds. Best of all: I can now download all the eye candy at Plan 59 at blistering speeds, which truly makes living worthwhile.
Also: I am reading two books at the same time, but not simultaneously. One is What We Believe But Cannot Prove; Today's Leading Thinkers on Science in the Age of Certainty, edited by John Brockman, and the other is Florence of Arabia by Christopher Buckley. I recommend both unreservedly. I mean, hey, how can you not enjoy reading about rollicking feminist conspiracies in the Middle East and homo sapiens eating Neanderthals?
Plans for this week:
1. E-mailing the powers that be at various London film schools, enquiring into possible teaching positions.
2. Calling the wretched 900 number given to me by the British Consulate, so that I can get the ball rolling on my dual citizenship (gor blimey).
3. Calling my Mercury dealer and finding out the numbers on buying out my Grand Marquis land barge, so that I don't have to worry about lease crap when I'm abroad next year.
And for tomorrow, June 19: My family and I are chillin' in wild, wild Solvang, where there are non-operational windmills and plaster stork replicas galore! Mom will go nuts over the tchotchke shoppes, and Dad & Co. will roll our eyes to the point of eye socket pain.
And then there will be barbecue.
Give a Dane a set of grilling tongs, and they will apparently feed you the world; we're going to the place featured in the film Sideways, pinot noir optional.
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