Halloween costumes
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: Monopoly (special Halliburton edition)

The other night, just before Halloween, I was in line at the health food store, waiting for my pineapple to be rung up.  The cashier was clad in a fuzzy duck costume.  Stapled to the front was a square piece of chicken wire.  Her face was made up with very realistic bruises, contusions, and blood.  I wanted to ask her what her costume was, but I was afraid if I did, the bruises might turn out to be real, resulting in an awkward apology.  (My guess is she was a chicken unsuccessfully crossing the road.)

Even though Halloween is past, it's never too early to start planning your David/Dessicated Coconut-themed costume for next year:

David's Character In "Marriage"

1.  Ring the doorbell.

2.  When asked who you are, say "I don't know yet.  But keep checking imdb.com."

Alex's Architecture Firm

Logistically, this one is pretty tough.  To be a convincing architecture firm, you must be equipped with a diverse staff of dedicated project managers and draftspeople, plus the latest in CADD and 3-D rendering technology.  You also need ample pinup space, conference rooms, and parking.  Few people take this into consideration before attempting to go trick-or-treating as an architecture firm.

A 56K modem

1.  Cut out two eyeholes from a grey cardboard box.

2.  Ring the doorbell.

3.  When the person answers, wait for 4 - 6 minutes.  Then say "Trick or Treat!"

4.  Receive the candy (freezing once or twice during the upload). 

5.  Wait another 4 - 6 minutes.  Then say "Thank you!"

 

Spam, spam, spam, bacon, spam, sausage, bacon, and spam
Mood:  on fire

I don't know why, but my spam has been extra weird lately.  I've gotten email from Australia ("A low-interest loan for you!"), Sharpe ("Enjoy sssex with her"), and some guy named Howard Dean ("Democratic Presidential Campaign '08").

 My favorite aspects of spam are the randomly inventive names ("Rosario Thacker") and the junk-filter-evading subject lines, which sound almost like haiku if you savor them on their own:

 Unpleasantly, of our complete.  You, Pherl, will be nothing.

Now, doesn't THAT just make you want to dive in and read the rest of the message?  All your base are belong to them.

The other day, I watched Gettin' Square again, and was just bowled over by the courtroom scene.  That is a phenomenal piece of physical comedy.  It's done with such subtlety and skill: Johnny missing the chair, the timing of the dialogue, the smug little head motions at the end after he's weaseled bus fare and lunch money out of the prosecutor.  Just brilliant.  David deserved every bit of the AFI award for that scene alone.

I've also been musing over Answered By Fire, which unfortunately didn't do as well in the CBC ratings as hoped.  It's a very powerful and extraordinary movie, particularly in light of the renewed violence in East Timor, and the current situation in Darfur.  The analogies are fairly close.  Similar to what happened in East Timor, the Sudanese government, after signing a separate peace agreement with the SPLA, has armed a militia that is attacking civilians with helicopter gunships, burning villages, obstructing access to humanitarian aid, and going into refugee camps nightly to slaughter men and drag women away to be raped.  Foreign witnesses are being quietly removed.  The international community has been shuffling their feet over whether this constitutes "genocide" and warrants appropriate action, but it's mostly a semantic debate.  Genocide doesn't always mean targeted butchering of a particular ethnic group; it can be carried out through indirect means, such as taking Aboriginal children away from their parents to "breed the color out" (as one Australian official said in 1933), or failure to provide legal or military protection to threatened groups, as happened in East Timor.

Thus far, Darfur has been viewed as a humanitarian emergency, not genocide, and the UN won't act unless invited in by the Sudanese government.  Among their limited options are to put peacekeepers on the ground in Chad to try to stop the violence from spreading.  I don't see the US intervening as they did in Kosovo, not with troops already overextended in Iraq.  Meanwhile, over 2 million people have died.

Wow, this turned into a depressing blog entry.

peanut butter mule
Mood:  suave
Now Playing: Educational hygiene videos from the 1960s

This story is probably going to get me added to the "No Fly" list, but... 

My mom is seriously addicted to a brand of peanut butter not available in her area of the country.  She asked if I would bring a jar with me last weekend when I flew to Baltimore.  Stupidly, I put it in my carry-on bag, thinking that OF COURSE peanut butter wouldn't be classified as a liquid, gel, or aerosol under the new FAA regulations.

No go.  I knew I was in trouble when the X-ray lady started inching my bag back and forth on the belt.  There was a minor kerfuffle, during which the jar was removed from the bag and brandished accusingly. I pleaded that it was a special gift for my dear mother, that technically peanut butter isn't a liquid or hazardous substance, and besides they hand out free peanuts during the flight anyway so why arbitrarily criminalize peanut butter?  Each plea got the same response: "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're going to have to throw this out."  (Never argue with security personnel.)

I decided I wasn't going to let a bunch of terrorists stop my mother from getting her peanut butter.  There was still half an hour left before boarding.  I walked back to the car, opened the trunk, got out a plastic bag and a Swiss army knife, and started scooping the peanut butter into the bag.  In my furtive haste, I cut my finger.  Anybody watching through a surveillance camera would have seen an agitated passenger rummaging ritualistically inside a car trunk, fiddling with a knife and a jar, flinging blood onto the pavement, and muttering incoherently.  The scene wouldn't have looked out of place in a Murray Whelan telemovie.

Then I wrapped the bag in a paper towel, stuffed it in my sock, and limped nonchalantly through the metal detector, reeking of peanuts (thank goodness they didn't have bomb-sniffing dogs, or my ankle would have been toast).  The expression on my mom's face when I handed her the goods was priceless.  My sister accused me of being a "peanut butter mule".

Just to wrest this post vaguely back on topic, the reason I was traveling was to attend a family party for one of my cousins who just got married.   They lived in Sydney for many years, in Bellevue Hill.  My cousin was 13 when they moved, and it was a bit of a cultural adjustment to get used to school uniforms (gray tunics, gray underwear, house girdles).  When they handed her the list of school supplies, she was momentarily confused to see rubbers on the list.  In most places in the English-speaking world rubbers are erasers, but in the US they're condoms.

Similarly, we say "pencil", but they say "tractor"; and their word for "ruler" is "weapons-grade plutonium".  No wonder the school supply list was confusing.

Steve Irwin
Mood:  sad
Now Playing: Weezer - 'Island In The Sun'

I haven't had a chance, until now, to fully reflect on the recent loss of Steve Irwin.  Like the rest of the world, I was profoundly shaken and saddened to hear the news that he had died while snorkelling off the Great Barrier reef.

What I appreciated most about Steve was his contagious enthusiasm.    Sharing his genuine passion for the natural world was far more effective in promoting the cause of conservation than preaching.  He made a career out of drawing attention to neglected, less-than-cuddly creatures - snakes, scorpions, crocodiles - and making us fall in love with them, even as we secretly thrilled to the risks he was taking.  As one of my friends said, "He didn't have a death wish.  He had a life wish." 

Despite his outsized, larger-than-life persona, he never took himself too seriously.  He had fun with his own image - who can forget that ESPN ad where he wrestled the U. Florida Gator mascot to the floor?

In some ways, I think Steve was even more idolized overseas than at home in Australia.  He was a perfect ambassador for his cause - cheerful, charismatic, hard-working, a magnet for kids.  David Wenham was so exceptionally lucky to have a chance to work with him in Crocodile Hunter.

Australia has lost a legend and a one-of-a-kind hero.  Goodbye, Steve...we'll miss you.

Representin' for the Old Boy network
Mood:  chillin'

 If you were as amused by Doug's Rap in "Cosi" as I was, you might also enjoy this blindingly white rap video:

Tea Par-Tay

I especially like the whale pants.  Nice touch.

Superstitious
Mood:  lucky
Now Playing: The Super Grand Final World Cup Series Bowl Championship

"You run the gamut of emotions at football games - depression, despair, elation," Wenham told PS . "I love it. It's just the greatest drama. My great dream: if physically I was different I would have loved to have been an AFL player."

In any case Wenham has his own way of helping the Swans to win.

"My personal ritual is buying the footy record, the official program," he said. "I have to search out a female seller of the football record as I have an 80 per cent win rate purchasing off a female seller."

Professional athletes just don't appreciate how much effort fans have to put in towards keeping their teams' playoff hopes alive.   T-shirts go unwashed, beards go unshaven, hats get turned inside out, mascot dolls get moved to weird spots in the room.  I still have a candy bar wrapper that I can't bring myself to throw out.  It single-handedly won the 2004 World Series for the Boston Red Sox.

In game 4 against the New York Yankees, I was eating a candy bar during the ninth inning.  The Sox were down 4 - 3 and on the verge of elimination.  I was just crumpling up the wrapper and preparing to hurl it at the wastebasket in disgust at the prospect of yet another humiliating October drubbing by the Evil Empire, when Dave Roberts stole second base.  In mid-hurl, I froze.  Bill Mueller singled Roberts home, and the game was tied.  Suddenly I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the wrapper itself must be wielding unearthly powers against the Curse of the Bambino.

For the next three weeks it sat on the coffee table, except during games, when it was clutched nervously in my left hand during tense moments.  Nobody else was allowed to touch it.

My request to have the candy bar wrapper ride in the lead limo at the victory parade was turned down.

Film Appreciation
Mood:  cool
Now Playing: Frente!

August 10 is national "Sneak Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night"

The other day while going through a box of old papers, I found some notes from a Film Appreciation class that I took back in college.  It was taught by William F. Buckley and Simon Cowell's love child.  Picture acres of tweed, a killer Locust Valley Lockjaw accent, and overuse of the word adumbrate.

As a public service, I'm inflicting sharing these notes with you.  These are actual, verbatim quotes from the professor:

1.  "It would probably be awkward to zoom in on the twitch."

2. "There are quite a few wing chairs in this film.  Did anyone notice them?"

3.  "One measure of documentary film is how much confusion it leaves the viewer with."

4.  "What about the interlarding of black and white film?"

5.  "Usually, epiphany occurs at a hierophany".   (This note was followed by my snarky addendum:  "Unless there is cacophony at Tiffany's.")

6. (to the projectionist, as class time ran out) "Continue screening this, and most of us will leave."

STUDY QUESTIONS

1.  In which David films do wing chairs appear?

2.  How about twitches?

3.  Discuss the use of hierophany in Sea Change.

4.  Is interlarding bad for your cholesterol?

Beard Taxonomy
Mood:  rushed
Now Playing: Guster

Today, we pause to admire - and classify -  the wide variety of beards worn by David.

1.  The Dilios

Each hair in the Dilios is carefully inspected as soon as it emerges from the follicle.  All off-color, deformed, or weak hairs are mercilessly culled with tweezers.  The remaining stubble is trained to march in perfect Spartan formation over a determined, square jaw.  This beard is strong.  This beard is manly.  This beard is disciplined.  Not like those sparse wisps of girl-fuzz worn by the Athenians.

2.  The Diver

 

The Diver has a mangy, carefree look.  Its tousled prickliness is the result of years of salt breezes and accidental lower-lip coffee dribbles and rolling out of bed at noon.   Wearing a Diver allows you to get away with all sorts of charmingly roguish mischief: cheating at Scrabble, running naked down Main Street, launching imperialist land wars in the Middle East.  The Diver looks best over open-necked bowling shirts and cruisewear.

3.  The Sprague

The Sprague is one of those ambiguous goatees that say either “funky artsy guy who listens to Dar Williams and reads Daily Kos” or “remorseless rapist/serial killer with hideous razor scars criss-crossing his abdomen”.  Stare at the picture for awhile.  See it flip back and forth, like those pictures of vases that suddenly resolve themselves into human profiles?  No?  Better keep staring.

4.  The Damien

An authentic 19^th-century beard, the Damien is traditionally the result of community beard-raising bees.  Villages would pool their facial hair, in the hopes of scraping together enough for one beard.  This beard won’t get you many dates, but it does project stern moral authority and unconditional love.

5.  The Faramir

Sometimes referred to as “eight o’clock shadow”, the Faramir is the result of an unusual force-field surrounding Middle Earth that permanently arrests facial hair growth at three days.  The effect is of a light fuzzy mist that has settled on the chin and upper lip, like spray-on insulation.  Frustrated beard energy is redirected to the top of the head, where it manifests itself as a lush, shoulder-length waterfall of golden alpha hair.

When scratched, the Faramir emits a sound that has been variously described as “rusty bedsprings”, “a cute big-eyed manga gerbil”, and “fingernails dipped in Chanel No. 5 and raked across the chalkboard of Sweet Damnation”:  SKRIK SKRIK SKRIK SKRI-I-I-I-K

6.  The Larrikin

With the Larrikin, it is usually not necessary to groom the head hair.  The Larrikin emits sex beams that make the head hair automatically stand up at a suave angle.

The Dave-inci Code
For centuries, the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci have been harboring a remarkable secret. There's more to "The Last Supper" than meets the eye.

At the left of Jesus is the mysterious disciple known to historians as "Spit of Tarsus". Where did he come from? Who paid for his bus fare?

On Jesus' right sits Audrey Magdalene. Some scholars believe she is the "Holy Shot Glass" celebrated in song and legend.

And what's that on the table in front of Jesus? Lamingtons? Has the Eucharist been getting it wrong all these years?

Need further proof? Notice how the composition of the central group of figures forms the letter "W". As in Wenham.

Faramir Facts
Mood:  spacey

Did you know?

All of Faramir's genes are dominant.

Faramir refers to himself in the fourth person.

Faramir can collect $200 without passing GO.

The chief export of Faramir is handsomeness.

Faramir is allowed to talk about Fight Club.

GEICO saved 15% by switching to Faramir.