Mood:  special

This morning, I had it in my mind to write a blog entry comparing the Cain-and-Abel elements of "Dust" and "The Proposition", and the way each movie plays out Old Testament themes of vengeance and betrayal, against a hellish landscape that reflects man's fallen state and expulsion from Eden (Fletcher).  But that seems too much like a school term paper.

I've also been meaning to write a eulogy for Molly Ivins, who I've quoted in this blog before.

Charles Krauthammer said, in the days following 9/11, that there are two types of people in this world: candle-lighters and candle-snuffers.  Molly Ivins was a candle-lighter.  She was a columnist for the Texas Observer and Fort Worth Star-Telegram, who lost her long battle with breast cancer on Jan. 31st.  Texas is often compared to Australia, and Molly Ivins was its Shane Maloney, chronicling the absurdities of local politics with hilarious results.  She famously called Texas "the national laboratory for bad government", noting that a lot of ill-conceived policy ideas are first incubated in the state capitol, then exported to Washington.

Even as she skewered greed and corruption, her weekly columns abounded with humanity, quick wit and colorful phrases: "weaker than bus-station chili", "madder than a peach orchard boar", "if his IQ was any lower, he'd have to be watered twice a day", and my personal favorite: "Many people did not care for Pat Buchanan's speech.  It probably sounded better in the original German."

For many years I've admired her firebrand courage in speaking truth to power, as I admire anyone who stands up for justice no matter what it costs them.  She'll be greatly missed.  62 was much too young to lose her. (Please, make sure you and your loved ones get your annual exams.  Remember the Mount Franklin campaign.  Do it for the whales.)

So what I REALLY wanted to blog about today was David's fans.  David may be the funniest man on the planet, but dang if he doesn't also have the funniest fans on the planet.  In my wanderings, I've met some really amazing people who also love David: midwifes, nurses, teachers, published poets, technical writers, artists, mothers, students, musicians, bellydancers.  I've gotten emails from Spain, Australia, Japan, Germany, Canada, the UK, Italy, France, and the Netherlands.  I've met extraordinarily kindhearted people such as:

- Rosie, equally quick with a witticism or a hug, currently at work on a novel with

- RedQueen, who is one of the most breathtakingly hilarious people I've ever encountered

- sh_wulff, whose posts have a dark and luminous beauty, like melted chocolate

- Pengwyn, whose mad prose skillz and swiftly darting mind leave me simply prostrate with awe

- Lucidity, quizmaster and fiercely loyal Carl partisan

- Lhaewin, a dear German friend whose English is even better than mine ;)

- meaningofhaste, whose conversation ranges comfortably from the loftiest peaks of intelligence to the deepest sinkholes of silliness without batting an eye 

- Rhetta, a lifelong Texan, cat lover, and Australophile

- Nenya, who's one of those friends that you feel like you've known your whole life, two seconds after you meet them

- Minkey, internet sleuth extraordinaire, who always seems to know what's happening with David three days before anyone else knows it

- dragonfly, a very talented graphic artist, and Stef, a very talented fanfic writer

- Phan, who has the most insane sense of humor (and I mean that in the best way possible)

- And many, many others (I hope I haven't inadvertently left anyone out - if I did, yell at me in an email and I'll devote an entire blog entry to you).

As a group, David fans have fascinating lives and hobbies, a terrific sense of humor, and an appreciation for subtlety.  Maybe that's a case of like attracting like.  David isn't the kind of guy who whops you over the head with the club of his Brilliant Acting (rather, he stealthily abducts you with the Chloroformed Rag of Brilliant Acting), so those who appreciate him tend to be people who see more deeply into things.  Antoine de St.-Exupery might well have been talking about Daisy Nation:  "What is essential is invisible to the eye.  It is only with the heart that one can see rightly."

There.  That felt good to get all that off my chest, and clean out the Grove's mental desk drawer.  Except now I've forgotten my social security number, and what I was going to say at the end of this sent

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 11:28 AM EST

Updated: February 22, 2007 1:13 PM EST

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Mood:  accident prone

Dialogue of the week:

So anyway, my episiotomy tore.

-- the very first words spoken to my sister by the new school secretary as she breezed through the door for her first day on the job

Our new sex swing is only rated for 400 pounds, and I guess it must have pulled the stitches out.

-- the very next words spoken to my sister by the new school secretary

And your name is -- ?

-- my sister's response

Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't introduce myself.  My name is Angie.

*****

Weird...I have this strange blank spot in my memory, where the previous blog entry should be.

And why are my knees and elbows sticky?

And what's this pattern burned into the grass of the back yard?  It looks kind of like this:

So anyway...(as my sister's secretary would say)...Hugh Jackman says that David is the funniest man on the planet, and today I intend to back up that statement with an abundance of amusing Daisy quips.  Lie back, relax, and think of England.

"My life at the moment is a bit like my wardrobe. Organised chaos."

"Do I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror admiringly? Absolutely, I say, tongue in cheek."

"My horse hated me...I had ridden horses before and had no problems, but right from the start we never got on. It was a tense relationship. He was quite stroppy and always glad to get back to his trailer. Everyone thought it was funny but me.''

"I haven't done Gough [Whitlam] for quite some time, but I had the privilege to sit next to him some time ago. I was at a charity function and one of the items up for auction was a paperback book that Gough had written. I'd obviously had a couple too many during the evening and my hand just kept going up. It wasn't really in conjunction with my brain at the time. Eventually the hammer came down and they said, "Sold! To David Wenham!" for an undisclosed sum that was a month or two of my wages. Gough could not control his mirth at the price somebody was paying for a paperback of his book. So I leaned across to him and I said, "A bargain," which gave me a great deal of joy. He laughed for about 10 minutes. I still haven't paid off that loan."

"We've had the spaghetti western - this is the 'baklava western'."

"It wasn't until SeaChange that my mum finally stopped reminding me I should never have left the NRMA."

"I was very comfortable, even though I was dressed in leathers. Rolling around in the dirt and whatever - I took to it like a pig in mud."

"I must have had a very deep voice at the age of seven."

"It was only afterwards in the forum when somebody asked 'What was it like with all of us here watching you in the nude?' that it really hit home. I thought 'Gee, you were too, you dirty dogs'."

"When Murray uses a broom and a chair to fix a roof that's about to come down, you know that he hasn't watched any of the 800 renovation shows on television."

"If I'm the new Russell Crowe, does that make Russell the old Russell Crowe? You know, I think he'd like to be Russell by himself." 

"We didn't earn much money but I did win many chooks and meat trays throughout New South Wales."

[David] pauses to exclaim at a pair of teenage boys in T-shirts and board shorts, who he says have just passed by him, lighting enormous cigars. "God," he remarks, "this is a strange place."

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 5:50 PM EST

Updated: February 15, 2007 6:23 PM EST

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Mood:  spacey

ATTENTION EARTHERS!

GALACTIC EMPEROR CHENNIX HAS SEIZED CONTROL OF THIS DAILY BROADCAST!

IT HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOUR SPECIES HAS NEGLECTED TO CELEBRATE "FARAMIR PANCAKE HEAD WEEK" FOR MORE THAN TWO OF YOUR HELIOCENTRIC EPICYCLES.  2.33573008 TO BE EXACT.

CHENNIX WILL NOT ABIDE THIS CARELESSNESS.  DANCING WILL CEASE!  ALL WILL DRESS AS FLAPJACKS!  I'M PREPARING A SPECIAL PAT OF BUUTER FOR YOU, PENGWYN!

YES, THAT'S BUUTER, NOT BUTTER!  CHENNIX IS LACTOSE INTOLERANT!

BEGIN MERRIMENT PROCESS NOW!

*beep*

<END TRANSMISSION>

Image copyright © Anke Eissemann/Aunt Jemima Industries

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 11:04 AM EST

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Mood:  lazy

Here's some useful knowledge.  In one of J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" books, mandrake root is used to cure paralyzed victims of the Basilisk Stare.

You may have also fallen prey to this malady at some point, or know a David fan who has.  But Basilisk Stare isn't the only film that poses a danger to your health.  Below, we offer time-tested folk remedies for ailments brought on by other David movies, such as vapors (LOTR), dropsy (Seachange), collywobbles (Van Helsing), and jazz hands (Moulin Rouge).

SEACHANGE - To ward off dizzy spells, purchase fresh mullet at the fish market.  Throw one onto the roof of every house that borders yours.  Then knot nine scrabble tiles into a handkerchief and wear it around your neck.  (Don't use Q or J, they'll just give you a headache.)

DUST - Rub your face with equal parts dirt and watermelon juice.  Lie down on the ground in a sheep pasture with your head facing towards Macedonia, until a peasant girl comes along to nurse you back to health.

VAN HELSING - Using a roll of duct tape sprinkled with holy water by a priest, tape your ears forward so they stick out at a 90 degree angle.  Your head should resemble a cross.  This will aid circulation to the brain and restore the balance of the humors.  Especially among your friends, who will get an enormous chuckle out of watching headwinds waft you up into trees.

MOULIN ROUGE - Put on some Nat King Cole, apply a poultice of sauerkraut and kimchee to your forehead, and obsess over Carol Channing.

LORD OF THE RINGS - Tie an eel skin around your knee and lie on a sandy shore while the tide is going out.  The retreating waves will carry away your fever.  Also your wallet and car keys, if you're not careful.

THE BANK - Boil up a porridge of old mortgage statements, red wine, ink, and a thread from your best tablecloth.  Drop in one overdue library book.  When it has cooled, pour the slurry into a bucket and use it to paint "I HATE BANKS" on your front door.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 9:29 AM EST

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Usually I'm not one to kvetch about winter, coming from a long line of stoic New England pioneers who also spent blustery days posting to the Internet from the comfort of their toasty, witch-heated log hovels.  (See: "Patience Allerton's Lyve Journale...Being a True Account Of a Most Vexed Hair Day at Ye Plymouth Malle")  But I feel compelled to share this remarkable fact:  yesterday morning, the wind chill on Mt. Washington was -74.

That's seventy-four.  Below zero.

Fahrenheit.

Even the surface of Mars is warmer than that.

So let's devote today's post to cheery, warming thoughts:

1.  300 opens one month from tomorrow!

2.  Followed shortly by Marriage!  I mean, Married Life!

3.  I can't recall ever reading a bad review of David's work.  In fact, he's often cited as the bright spot of otherwise unremarkable films/plays.  Without him, there would be a lot more unremarkable films/plays.

4.  Someday, an asteroid will hit the Earth, and there will be no more "Mallard Fillmore" comic strips.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 5:34 PM EST

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FCC regulations require that if we publish a limerick about McLeonidas, we also devote equal airtime to Dilios.  Cover your ears, children.

There once was a Spartan named Dilios,
Who got an eye wound that was really gross.
In a brown leather thong,
That protected his  --

Oops!  Sorry about that.  Limericks are like bowling balls.  They always want to veer straight into the gutter.

Let's start over.

There once was a Spartan named Dilios,
Who got an eye wound that was really gross.
In a brown leather thong
That made him look strong 
He rallied all Greece 'gainst their silly foes.

Red Queen, of ADW, also penned this brilliant verse, which features some very creative rhyming of "Dilios":

There once was a Spartan named Dilios
Whose eye wound made everyone bilious
He used to reveal it
And tell them to feel it
And not to be so supercilious.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 9:46 AM EST

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You just can't make this stuff up:

Although it claims to represent an entire nation, nothing about this cover particularly says "Australia" to me.  Where are the kangaroos and Vegemite?  Shouldn't she be holding a boomerang?  How come the guy isn't wearing a hat with corks on it?

Would that Baz Luhrmann had only seen this novel before he started filming Australia.  But, he's probably better off not having to budget several tankerloads of corn oil and Coppertone QT for the male lead.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 12:04 PM EST

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Lately, '300' has been catching some flak for its demeaning portrayal of women and glorification of Whitey (the bad guys are a horde of lumpy, deformed perverts with skin black as pitch).  Let's put on our hip boots, and wade out into the swampy muck of lit-crit.

First off, I have to admit I knew absolutely nothing about Frank Miller prior to 300.  I don't read comic books, I had never heard of him before this project, but apparently he's known for writing women poorly.   Either they're lusty, moisture-drenched prostitutes who exist solely to get killed, or they're really men.  When Leonidas leaves for battle, his queen doesn't show any tears, but instead gives him the stoic, soldierly admonition "come back with your shield, or on it".  In Miller-World, weakness is a feminine characteristic (= bad), and therefore the women he admires can't display it.  On the other hand, male villains like Xerxes and the Joker are depicted as weak, androgynous, and dandified.

For Miller to have that reputation is quite an achievement in an industry riddled with misogynist tropes.  In comic books, female "superheroes" are almost always costumed in ridiculously impractical crime-fighting outfits.  In the middle of gun battles, they stop to open their mouths and assume kittenish centerfold poses.  Just once, I'd like to see Superman fight off a gang of muggers while wearing four-inch stilettos, pasties, and a G-string.  And you'd never catch Batman stopping to pout for the camera in a pair of skintight, assless chaps.  (Of course, we ARE talking about a film filled with ripped dudes in leather codpieces....)

Now I realize I'm not the main audience for these things, but I object to the geek-culture notion that it's somehow cool and OK and empowering to have these weird fantasy comic-book women flaunting unrealistic bodies while kicking bad-guy butt, because it's "ironic" and not being done seriously.  In order to qualify as irony, it has to challenge the conventions it's supposedly mocking, not simply carve out a narrative space using the same tired cliches and declare it immune to conventional criticism just because it's self-conscious.

To be fair, one could similarly fault Miller for painting men one-dimensionally.   He reduces masculinity to the simple formula muscles + toughness + killing + did we mention that Spartans aren't gay? = MANLY MEN.  Throughout the book, male privilege is fetishized.  The Spartans constantly subject each other to physical punishment and poke fun at the "boy-loving" Athenians.  The irony, of course, is that homosexuality was a huge part of Spartan culture.  Adult men were encouraged to take young teenage boys as lovers.  Wives were kidnapped, shaved, dressed like men (!), then kept sequestered in barracks.  Conjugal visits were limited to the minimum necessary for procreation.  This fact gets conveniently swept under the rug here.

As for racism, I did wonder, when I read the book, why Xerxes was portrayed as a sort of transvestite African hip-hop god.  All that's missing is a Mercedes hood ornament around his neck.  Again, in geek culture, that's nothing new.  Bad guys and aliens are often given Asian/African features and accents (see, for example, Star Wars I, which I recommend you don't, because it's really bad.  That movie is full of layers and layers of nonsense.  It's like a lasagna of stupid.)

Another criticism being levelled at 300 is that it's apparently full of thinly veiled America-vs.-Iraq propaganda.  There's lots of talk about how "Freedom isn't free, it must be paid for with blood," and so forth.  That's worrying, for a couple of reasons.  One, Spartans weren't "free".  They were a highly repressive proto-fascist society intolerant of difference and dissent.  Sure, they weren't slaves, but only because they chose to submit themselves to the state (the alternative being death or banishment).  Both Leonidas and Xerxes have the desire to bend men to their will, but Xerxes is only "bad" because he has the wherewithal to conquer the world.

And secondly, I have...um...issues with viewing historical events through the lens of current affairs.  Particularly when the historical event is being presented as a cut-and-dried battle between good and evil, while the current event is messy and complicated and fueled by faulty intelligence and a complete lack of policy apparatus.  In both cases, phrases like "strength" and "freedom" and "sacrifice" are repeatedly invoked as justifications for war, but these words become downright Orwellian when used to peddle a modern-day war of choice in the Middle East against a straw enemy.  Anybody who thinks the US attacking Iraq compares favorably with a brave stand of 300 soldiers defending their homeland against a massive invading superpower army might want to think again.  There is no analogy.  Unless it's to the Persians.

I guess if we want to still enjoy 300, we shouldn't peer too closely at the plot subtexts, or require too much complexity of it, and instead pay attention to the innovative visual effects.  And the abs.  For now, I'm reserving judgment because I respect David immensely and want him to do well.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 11:08 AM EST

Updated: February 1, 2007 3:05 PM EST

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Mood:  smelly

 Yesterday, as I was drowsily coming to after a nap, a limerick about Gerard Butler sprang full-blown into my head:

There once was a Scottish-born Spartan,
Who showed up on set wearing tartan.
Said Zack, "Why the kilt?
Is it modesty?  Or guilt?"
......

Unfortunately, the last line is unprintable.  It cannot even be uttered aloud, because it would cause houseplants to wilt and birds to burst into flame in midair.  Sometimes my muse can be a real pottymouth.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 10:39 PM EST

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Well, I stand happily corrected...David's 'Australia' role was announced yesterday, and he's got the third lead!  That's thrilling news, and a welcome respite from the months of mystery and fan speculation that often accompany news of a new David project.  The more news that gets released about this project, the more spectacular it sounds.

I got nothin' today, except a rambling discourse about the real-life counterparts of the events and people depicted in Frank Miller's graphic novel.  And a joke.

Rambling discourse first.  As you know, Thermopylae literally means "the hot gates" in Greek (thermos, container for storing hot soup, + pylae, gates).  At Thermopylae, there was a narrow track along the shore of the Gulf of Malis, about 50 feet wide.  On one side were cliffs; on the other the Gulf.  Anybody journeying north or south had to pass along this track.  The path was constricted by three narrow necks (or gates), with a wall at the central gate, so it was a naturally defensible location that could be held by just a few men.  The "Thermo" in "Thermopylae" refers to hot water springs that emerged from the foot of the hill.  History does not record whether the 300 Spartans paused during battle to soak their aching muscles.

The Greeks were betrayed by a local man, Ephialtes, who showed Xerxes a goat path that went around the Greek position and emerged behind the lines.  Ephialtes was motivated by the desire for reward, although he was later assassinated.  For this act, the name of Ephialtes was forever stigmatized: it means "nightmare", and in Greek is synonymous with "traitor".  In English, the closest analogue would be "quisling".

History records two survivors of the battle.  One was on legitimate sick leave with an eye inflammation, and the other, a man named Aristodamus, was suspected of slacking and treated as an unperson when he crept back to Sparta.  He redeemed himself (at least in Herodotus' eyes) when he charged suicidially into the Persian ranks at the battle of Plataea.  Being team players, the Spartans were unimpressed by his showboating, and refused to accord him any honors after the battle.  (Tough crowd.)

Dilios' character seems to be a combination of Eye Guy (as meaningofhaste calls him) and Xeones, the sole survivor of Thermopylae who narrates the Steven Pressfield novel "Gates of Fire".  Xeones is captured by the Persians, and pressed by Xerxes to reveal the story of how a small band of Spartans kept an overwhelming tide of invaders at bay:

And yet, titanic as was that sense of loss, there existed a keener one  which I now experienced and felt my brothers-in-arms feeling with me. It  was this.

That our story would perish with us.

That no one would ever know.

I cared not for myself, for my own selfish or vainglorious purposes, but  for them. For Leonidas, for Alexandros and Polynikes, for Arete bereft by  her hearth and, most of all, for Dienekes. That his valor, his wit, his  private thoughts that I alone was privileged to share, that these and all  that he and his companions had achieved and suffered would simply vanish,  drift away like smoke from a woodland fire, this was unbearable....

I would be the one. The one to go back and speak. A pain beyond all  previous now seized me. Sweet life itself, even the desperately sought  chance to tell the tale, suddenly seemed unendurable alongside the pain of  having to take leave of these whom I had come so to love...

As poets call upon the Muse to speak through them, I croaked my  inarticulate grunt to the Striker From Afar.

If indeed you have elected me, Archer, then let your fine-fletched arrows  spring from my bow. Lend me your voice, Far Darter. Help me to tell the tale.


Xeones, like Dilios, feels a keen sense of guilt, almost failure, at being the one to live.  His entire life and training had been devoted to preparing to die for his country, and now this.

As for the armored war rhinos....okay, no real-life counterpart there.

And now, the joke, which I was reminded of when I looked out at the ice-encrusted landscape of the back porch this morning:

Q: What's Irish and stays outside all winter?

A: Paddy O'Furniture.

Posted by dessicatedcoconut at 11:59 AM EST

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