WE INTERRUPT YOUR IRREGULARLY-SCHEDULED QUIZ…

…to bring you: Oscar updates?

According to a news report I just read, the Oscar nominations come out tomorrow morning. Just as 2004 came to be known as the “Year of the Biopics,” with nominations for Martin Scorcese’s “The Aviator” and Taylor Hackford’s “Ray,” 2005 may go down as the “Year of the Important Film,” with projected Best Picture nods for Ang Lee’s “Brokeback Mountain,” Paul Haggis’ “Crash,” George Clooney’s “Good Night, and Good Luck,” Bennett Miller’s “Capote,” and Steven Spielberg’s “Munich” (James Mangold’s “Walk the Line,” which dramatized the early career of country music star Johnny Cash, has also been touted as a contender for one of these five slots. Unfortunately, biopics were so last year.)

But out with the old and in with the new. Here’s a list of five movies that I am looking forward to seeing, with projected 2006 release dates. Feel free to click on the link to go to imdb.com, which will provide you with only slightly more information than I am giving you here.

Happy Chinese New Year, everybody!

TOP FIVE HIGHLY-ANTICIPATED 2006 MOVIES

5. “There Will Be Blood,” dir. Paul Thomas Anderson (“Magnolia,” “Boogie Nights”). “A story about family, greed, religion, and oil, centered around a turn-of-the-century Texas prospector (Daniel Day-Lewis) in the early days of the business.”

4. “Superman Returns,” dir. Bryan Singer (“X-Men,” “The Usual Suspects”). “Following a mysterious absence of several years, the Man of Steel comes back to Earth in the epic action-adventure Superman Returns, a soaring new chapter in the saga of one of the world's most beloved superheroes.”

3. “The Black Dahlia,” dir. Brian De Palma (“Femme Fatale,” “Blow-Out”). “An adaptation of James Ellroy's 1940s-set novel about two L.A. cops who head up the hunt for the killer of fledgling actress Elizabeth Short.”

2. “The Lady from Shanghai,” dir. Wong Kar-Wai (“2046,” “In the Mood for Love”). “Set in the 1930's, a mysterious woman who claims that she came from Shanghai has a dangerous affair with a spy.” No indication whether this is a remake of Orson Welles’ 1947 classic, but it’s directed by Kar-Wai, one of the best stylists in the business.

1. “The Departed,” dir. Martin Scorcese (“The Aviator,” “Goodfellas”). “Two men from opposite sides of the law are undercover within the Boston State Police department and the Irish mafia, but violence and bloodshed boil when discoveries are made, and the moles are dispatched to find out their enemy's identities.” Ostensibly a remake of Andrew Lau’s overrated Hong Kong film “Infernal Affairs.” Scorcese made a terrific remake of “Cape Fear” in 1991, as well as a respectable sequel to one of the best movies ever made, “The Hustler.” There’s no reason to think that this movie won’t be able to stand on its own battered-and-bruised legs.

ARE YOU COOL ENOUGH TO BE LOVED BY CHUCK KLOSTERMAN? PART I:

During my last job, wherein I served as the office manager for a rehab clinic in townie Brookline Village, I took to reading during my free time. One of the books lying around was Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, a collection of essays by the inimitable Chuck Klosterman.

His essays are interesting to say the least. One of my favorites had to do with the Lakers-Celtics basketball rivalry of the 80’s, which to this day, many sports historians argue represented race relations in the United States. Klosterman scoffs at this notion; he argues that Boston versus Los Angeles didn’t just represent race relations. It represented everything. According to his essay, whether you cheered for Larry Bird or Magic Johnson’s team determined every aspect of just about your entire existence, from your politics to which car you drove, from which drugs you abused to what socially-irresponsible rap music you listened to.

In-between chapters, C.K. also provided these short “buffers” which were miniature essays in and of themselves. My favorite—which I am transcribing for the blog—featured the twenty-three questions the author supposedly asked everyone he met, in order to decide if he could “really love them.”

For the reader’s convenience, the questions have been broken into two posts. Enjoy.

1. Let us assume you met a rudimentary magician. Let us assume he can do five simple tricks—he can pull a rabbit out of his hat, he can make a coin disappear, he can turn the ace of spades into the Joker card, and two others in a similar vein. These are his only tricks and he can’t learn any more; he can only do these five. HOWEVER, it turns out he’s doing these five tricks with real magic. It’s not an illusion; he can actually conjure the bunny out of the ether and he can move the coin through space. He’s legitimately magical, but extremely limited in scope and influence.

Would this person be more impressive than Albert Einstein?

2. Let us assume a fully grown, completely healthy Clydesdale horse has his hooves shackled to the ground while his head is held in place with thick rope. He is conscious and standing upright, but completely immobile. And let us assume that—for some reason—every political prisoner on earth (as cited by Amnesty International) will be released from captivity if you can kick this horse to death in less than twenty minutes. You are allowed to wear steel-toed boots.

Would you attempt to do this?

3. Let us assume there are two boxes on a table. In one box, there is a relatively normal turtle; in the other, Adolf Hitler’s skull. You have to select one of these items for your home. If you select the turtle, you can’t give it away and you have to keep it alive for two years; if either of these parameters are not met, you will be fined $999 by the state. If you select Hitler’ skull, you are required to display it in a semi-prominent location in your living room for the same amount of time, although you will be paid a stipend of $120 per month for doing so. Display of the skull must be apolitical.

Which option do you select?

4. Genetic engineers at Johns Hopkins University announce that they have developed a so-called “super gorilla.” Though the animal cannot speak, it has a sign language lexicon of over twelve thousand words, an I.Q. of almost 85, and—most notably—a vague sense of self-awareness. Oddly, the creature (who weighs almost seven hundred pounds) becomes fascinated by football. The gorilla aspires to play the game at its highest level and quickly develops the rudimentary skills of a defensive end. ESPN analyst Tom Jackson speculates that this gorilla would be “borderline unblockable” and would likely average six sacks a game (although Jackson concedes the beast might be susceptible to counters and misdirection plays). Meanwhile, the gorilla has made it clear he would never intentionally injure any opponent.

You are commissioner of the NFL: Would you allow this gorilla to sign with the Oakland Raiders?

5. You meet your soul mate. However, there is a catch: Every three years, someone will break both of your soul mate’s collarbones with a Crescent wrench, and there is only one way you can stop this from happening: You must swallow a pill that will make every song you hear—for the rest of your life—sound as if it’s being performed by the band Alice in Chains. When you hear Creedence Clearwater Revival on the radio, it will sound (to your ears) like it’s being played by Alice in Chains. …When you hear a commercial jingle on TV, it will sound like Alice in Chains; if you sing to yourself in the shower, your voice will sound like deceased Alice vocalist Layne Staley performing a capella (but it will only sound this way to you).

Would you swallow the pill?

6. At long last, someone invents “the dream VCR.” This machine allows you to tape an entire evening’s worth of your own dreams, which you can then watch at your leisure. However, the inventor of the dream VCR will only allow you to use this device if you agree to a strange caveat: When you watch your dreams, you must do so with your family and your closest friends in the same room. They get to watch your dreams along with you. And if you don’t agree to this, you can’t use the dream VCR.

Would you still do this?

7. Defying all expectation, a group of Scottish marine biologists capture a live Loch Ness Monster. In an almost unbelievable coincidence, a bear hunter in the Pacific Northwest shoots a Sasquatch in the thigh, thereby allowing zoologists to take the furry monster into captivity. These events happen on the same afternoon. That evening, the president announces he may have thyroid cancer and will undergo a biopsy later that week.

You are the front-page editor of The New York Times: What do you play as the biggest story?

8. You meet the perfect person. Romantically, this person is ideal: You find them physically attractive, intellectually stimulating, consistently funny, and deeply compassionate. However, they have one quirk: This individual is obsessed with Jim Henson’s gothic puppet fantasy The Dark Crystal. Beyond watching it on DVD at least once a month, he/she peppers casual conversation with Dark Crystal references, uses Dark Crystal analogies to explain everyday events, and occasionally likes to talk intensely about the film’s “deeper philosophy.”

Would this be enough to stop you from marrying this individual?

9. A novel titled Interior Mirror is released to mammoth commercial success (despite middling reviews). However, a curious social trend emerges. Though no one can prove a direct scientific link, it appears that almost 30 percent of the people who read this book immediately become homosexual. Many of these newfound homosexuals credit the book for helping them reach this conclusion about their orientation, despite the fact that Interior Mirror is ostensibly a crime novel with no homoerotic content (and was written by a straight man).

Would this phenomenon increase (or decrease) the likelihood of you reading this book?

10. This is the opening line of Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City: “You are not the kind of guy who would be in a place like this at this time of the morning.” Think about that line in the context of the novel (assuming you’ve read it). Now go to your CD collection and find Heart’s Little Queen album (assuming you own it). Listen to the opening riff to “Barracuda.”

Which of these two introductions is a higher form of art?

SUCCESS IS A SKATE OF MIND

K. and I went ice skating this past Sunday, which was only my second time ever. It may shock you to hear that I suffer an ice sport deficiency, but hey, I’m from Miami. True, I probably could have learned to rollerskate/blade, or skateboard, or do something that required balance atop a gliding object. I guess, “Better late than never” has pretty much become my official motto. That would explain why I have only recently gotten interested in journalism, or have started listening to the “Singles” soundtrack.

Anyway, back to the ice: K. had to hold my hand while leading me out, which was not unlike the first/last time at the rink. That happened to be our first date; I neglected to mention to K., until we were about fifteen feet away from the ice, that I had never skated before in my life. This made for a convenient excuse to hold her hand for just about the entire date. Was it dirty and lowdown? Probably. But hey, she could have let me slip and slide into a bruised, frictionless heap any time she wanted.

Of course she didn’t, and I can’t help thinking that is part of the reason K. and I are living together today. All in all, that first date went very well, give or take a spine-numbing fall of two, and the fact that I still hadn’t mastered how to balance myself on skates by myself. But no matter; I had a feeling—call it a premonition—that I would be back in a similar situation very soon, with the chance to build on the previous outing’s tumbles. At the time, neither K. nor I had any way of forseeing that more than a year would pass before we had the chance to skate together again. On the other hand, it probably should have occurred to me that my own prowess would not improve without actual, you know, skating practice.

Alas, a mistake is a lot like high school trigonometry, which we are doomed to repeat unless we learn from it the first time. Since I never did get over my initial shakiness regarding that frigid water-based mistress that men call ice, my repeat visit to the rink started off a lot like my first. In the early stages, I had to hold onto K. for balance. Actually, a more accurate term than “hold” might have been “desperate clutching,” as if I were trapped up to my neck in quicksand and her arm represented an outstretched branch.

My neediness caused pangs of guilt to seep in, since I knew I was keeping her from turning on the afterburners and tearing up the ice at full speed. Secondly, I knew I was putting considerable extra weight on her arm. Truly, I wanted to be able to skate on my own. The problem was, I had a complete lack of fundamental knowledge regarding skating. I felt an unusual disconnect, an inability to impose the necessary motor control upon my own limbs. And even when I tried mimicking the other skaters, who shot past me like the inhabitants of a house on fire, the slightest movement on my own part caused me to nearly topple over like a rootless tree.

Luckily, when things seemed to be at their worst, the other people K. and I went skating with—K.’s friends J., M., E., and E.’s boyfriend C.—each offered some very basic skating lessons. These combined into one large body of fundamental knowledge, comprised mostly of mechanical tidbits such as which part of what limb to bend, which direction to lean when pushing off with one’s foot, how to push off with said foot, how to keep one’s skates beneath oneself, etc. Granted, many times the person giving me the advice would mention how difficult it was to describe the theoretical skater’s motions. But after much individual practice, I actually started to “get” what everyone was telling me. At that point, I could also understand why putting the art of skating into words proved so difficult. There was a certain madness to the method!

Best that I can put it—and I would never feign to be an expert after a mere two trips on the ice—skating does not involve any forward momentum, per se. Rather, the skater pushes back with his/her foot at a forty-five degree angle to their body, and leans into the direction of his/her momentum. This should also be at a forty-five degree angle to their body, only opposite the direction of the foot. After this, the skater switches feet, as well as the direction in which he/she leans. As M. was telling me, this can seem very confusing to someone who is used to walking, since your body never leans forward to pick up speed, even when forward is the exact direction you wish to move.

But here’s the important thing: I think I got it. By the time everyone began collecting themselves to leave the rink, I was skating all by my lonesome. True, I pushed off with my right foot for the most part, but there were moments where I actually—dare I say it?—switched to the left! I’m a regular daredevil, aren’t I? This calls for a third trip to the ice, relatively soon. Unlike last time, when it took me more than a year to be reacquainted to the frozen pond’s butt-numbing embrace, I definitely plan to be back before 2006 is up. May God strike down my “Singles” soundtrack if I do otherwise.

VAGINA DENTATA SORTA

According to the Hunter Envoy, CUNY Hunter’s official weekly campus newspaper, customers in certain Asian and South African countries will soon be able to get their hands on “Rapex,” a tampon equipped with sharp barbs that can immobilize an attempted rapist, while posing no harm to the wearer.

Elizabeth Stein, the Hunter Envoy’s Women’s Editor, explains that, “…the barbs attach to the penis and are impossible to remove without the assistance of a doctor—forcing the rapist to seek medical attention, and, subsequently, the doctor to notify police.” Considering the prevalance of date rape/sexual assault in these troubling times, “Rapex” seems like a veritable godsend. But what if “Rapex” isn’t exactly the hole-in-one it appears to be on paper? Aren’t there vitally-important issues we’re overlooking here? John Maclay, a 26-year old Hunter College student, seems to think so.

“Vaginal weaponry? I don’t know,” says Maclay. “What if some woman gets drunk and wants to have sex and forgets to take the thing out? That’d be bad.”

Wait, that’s not the vitally-important issue. That’s a f***in’ moron who thinks a woman’s right to protection from sexual assault is less important than a man’s right to comfortable, alcohol-assisted sex. Hey Maclay, do us all a favor, and spend spring break of ’07 in Asia, where “Rapex” will soon begin production. Hope whatever souvenir you bring home makes a jingling noise when you zip up at the urinal.

No, the real issue is whether the “chastity belt of the future” is preferable to education. Men rape because they believe women are inferior, and think they have a right to exert a certain level of control over them. Chantel Cooper, Cape Town’s Rape Crisis Director, suggests “…changing the dynamics between men and women; changing the way in which (society) addresses rape” instead of utilizing devices such as “Rapex.” Women, she says, should not have to “live their lives in fear of an inevitable attack.”

That’s all well and good, but I have women in my life whom I care about right now, and I would prefer they not be the victim of a sexual assault while waiting for pipe dream gender role revolution to change men’s behavior for the better. According to statistics provided by RAIN (The Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network), there were 204,370 sexual assaults against women in the year 2004. Even though that figure is a marked decrease from years previous, that still sounds like 204,370 assaults too many.

Personally, I don’t know if chopping away at a rapist’s d*ck would make men respect women more, but it’s probably the most effective rape deterrent we’ve got. It would also allow the perpetrator to perform falsetto in the prison choir. Yes, I know what your comment is going to be to that, Miss Cooper. What about the long-term hazards of creating an atmosphere of mistrust between the sexes? As it happens, the sexes distrust each other plenty enough right now. At least with “Rapex,” those men (or women) least worthy of trust would get what they have coming to them.

(For more information and/or for pics of "Rapex," visit msnbc.msn.com/id/9145415/.)

BUT WE STILL HAVEN’T ANSWERED THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION: WHAT VIDEO GAMES DID THEY PLAY?!

The streets of South Florida might be a little bit safer tonight, now that three suspects, William Ammons, age 18, Brian Hooks, age 18, and Thomas Daugherty, age 17, have been arrested and charged with the beatings of three homeless men early last Thursday.

I was planning to rant my eternal disappointment at the fact that Ammons got a sweet deal for ratting out Hooks and Daugherty. However, it turns out this might have been the Broward County Sheriff Department’s plan all along, since only a few hours after Ammons posted a $10,000 bond for aggravated assault against one Raymond Perez, he was re-arrested for the murder of Norris Gaynor. I’ll bet that kid’s parents wish they had just taken the $5,000 and blown it at an Indian casino. $5,000 for a few hours reprieve from jail. I won’t even try to break that down into an hourly rate, but when young Mr. Ammons finally gets paroled a decade or two down the line, his parents ought to take a page out of his book and crack his skull with a Louisville Slugger.

Incidentally, compare the following two photographs. The old adage goes: a picture can speak a thousand words. I don’t know if either of them are exactly worth a Newsweek article, but they do crack me up as I go back and forth between them. I’d say they’re the equivalent of a single “Big Picture” bit from the old Dennis Miller cable program.

William Ammons leaving jail Tuesday morning, having posted $10,000 bond. Little f***er probably thinks he beat the rap and is home free:
www.sun-sentinel.com/media/photo/2006-01/21479003.jpg

William Ammons on the same day, after his re-arrest for a different crime. He should look worried, since he’s being charged with murder this time. Is it just me, or has he aged, like, three years in just a couple of hours? www.sun-sentinel.com/media/thumbnails/photo/2006-01/21475595.jpg

Now, as we all know, technology made this arrest go down as quickly as it did. A hidden camera in the Florida Atlantic University campus captured Hooks and Daugherty beating the helpless Norris Gaynor to death. Thanks to technology, the creepy, “Ain’t it cool?” smile worn by Daugherty as he delivered life-threatening injuries to his quarry is forever recorded. With any luck, it will follow him like a vengeful ghost, ruining any plans he may have for a normal life after prison. Heck, it may ruin his chances for a life in prison; he makes Casper the Friendly Ghost look like Denzel Washington, while Gaynor was black. That should go over well with the brothers who make up the vast majority of the Florida penitentiary crowd.

But Brian Hooks might be even more deserving of a “blanket party” welcome, as the folks in the pokey call it. For his part in the attacks, the judge wouldn’t even allow him bail. Also, look at his mug: www.sun-sentinel.com/media/thumbnails/photo/2006-01/21452796.jpg

Observe that low, criminal forehead. And those prominent ears! Phrenology alone may not prove Hooks has always been pre-destined for criminal involvement, but even acquaintences express less than outright shock that he has been charged with murder.

Holly Keegan, a 2004 graduate of South Plantation High who once had geometry class with Hooks, said Hooks “didn't seem like someone who would go beat bums up for the hell of it." But Keegan also stated that Hooks could behave “annoying and stupid.” She added that their semi-cordial relationship during high school might have had something to do with her being, “not homeless.”

REVIEW REDUX

You may not have noticed it, but there’s a new review of “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” over at The Sur-reel Life. I think it’s far superior to what came before, which I was never confident in. What can I say? I was under a self-imposed deadline, and it took me an extra couple of days to come to terms with what Miyazaki was trying to do. At any rate, I like the new review, which you can read at my other blog: A Princess Stuck in the Valley of the Suck. Regarding its predecessor, rather than erasing it completely, I am posting it below, where it may serve as a teaching tool to aspiring writers (despite its tendency to paraphrase and that awful, awful first paragraph) about the significance of multiple drafts.

Happy post-Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, everybody!


Master Miyazaki’s ‘Valley’ Girl: A Peerless Princess Fighting for the Future

I think there are two criteria for judging an animated feature. First, aesthetically: Rate the art style, mise-en-scene, colors, etc. Secondly, one must critique the story itself. Is it compelling, mediocre, childishly simplistic?

As it turns out, Hayao Miyazaki’s “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” scores very high on both fronts. The film is beautiful to look at, while the premise is imaginative to say the least. Like “Castle in the Sky,” “Kiki's Delivery Service,” and “Princess Mononoke,” it tells a tale that will appeal to science fiction and fantasy fans. “Nausicaa…” certainly features many of the trappings of those genres; it might be the first movie to combine giant insects, an enchanted forest, airships, and both medieval and contemporary warfare.

In the tradition of great sci-fi, however, the story also reflects the climate of its time. And during the 80’s, the world was really starting to worry about nuclear war, and how cutting down the rain forests could end up eliminating life on Earth. Indeed, one of the movie’s overriding messages is how man thinks it can dominate Nature through science. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that two major plot points involve preserving a mysterious jungle, and keeping a man-made weapon of mass destruction under control.

“Nausicaa…” takes place one thousand years ago after a great cataclysm, which decimates mankind. No one knows exactly what happened. But there are hints that a group of man-made titans called the “Giant Warriors” ran amok, setting the world ablaze. The surviving pockets of humanity are now scattered across the land, and much of the planet remains untamed wilderness.

But certain kingdoms—one called Pejite, the other Tolmekia—are trying to raise mankind back to its former, loftier position. They have embraced technology, and rebuilt man’s great cities. All that stands in their way now is the “Toxic Jungle,” an ancient forest that stretches high up into the clouds. No hand can harm this strange land, however, for the Ohms, elephantine mollusks whose partially-translucent shells reflect their emotions, guard the forest with the other insects. In the past, those who tried burning down the “Toxic Jungle” were destroyed by Ohm stampedes (They definitely move much faster than traditional mollusks).

Pejite, however, thinks it has a solution: Awaken the last surviving “Giant Warrior,” who happens to be slumbering beneath their kingdom. Unfortunately, Tolmekia, having caught wind of this plan, invades the country, steals the “Giant Warrior,” and even takes the princess of Pejite as a hostage.

But the Tolmekian airship carrying them gets attacked by insects, and goes down in the Valley of the Wind. The explosion doesn’t appear to harm the cargo, but the princess of Pejite, who is found by Nausicaa, princess of the kingdom of the Valley of the Wind, dies from her wounds. A short time later, the Tolmekian army arrives. Led by yet another princess named Kushana, they decide to hatch the “Giant Warrior” right where they find it, as well as take Nausicaa back home—the start of a terrific adventure. Initially, Kushana seems merely ambitious, but she has personal motives (though not much else) hidden up her sleeve.

Nausicaa’s journey brings her into contact with a reckless youth named Asbel, whose sister was the kidnapped princess of Pejite. He tends to shoot before he thinks, which makes our heroine wary. But fate makes them partners, and inevitably, they stumble onto the secret of the “Toxic Jungle.” Nausicaa, who knows a thing or two about the age-old forest, having made regular trips there looking for a cure to its poison spores, quickly realizes that this unexpected discovery could have dramatic implications for mankind.

Naturally, whatever she finds out will be useless if the Tolmekians reactive the “Giant Warrior.” Luckily for her, she has help from a swordmaster named Yupa, whose wants to know the true nature of the “Toxic Jungle” himself. She can also count on her people, who are inspired by her gallantry and kindheartedness. Indeed, Nausicaa is a true rarity—both beloved national symbol and a tough cookie to boot. This type of princess can rarely be found in American animation, where the roles seem limited to trophy (“Aladdin”) or perpetual nuisance of a much-suffering lord (“The Little Mermaid,” “Mulan”).

And yet, Nausicaa herself is a paradox: Deadly with a blade, top gun with a glider, but someone who believes in respecting all living things. This philosophy gets tested throughout the movie, mostly by the invaders, whose aims are selfish. Like the main character of “Kiki's Delivery Service,” Nausicaa’s challenge is staying true to herself. Miyazaki’s bright, cartooney art style actually serves this type of fable well. Above all, “Nausicaa…,” is about the triumph of empathy over cruelty. It skims the darker regions of the human heart, without necessarily wallowing in grit and shadow.

In hindsight, there is probably more plot to “Nausicaa…” than some other Miyazaki films (Though “Mononoke” still tops my list of beautiful movies that I cannot begin to describe). The director deserves credit for somehow pulling this eclectica together into a cohesive whole, without once jarring the audience. In fact, by the time the towering red Gumby with the partially-visible backbone and laser-shooting maw makes his dramatic appearance—behind an antiquated-looking tank, to boot—we the audience simply roll with it, the same way the aforementioned monolith’s skin rolls off his mal-formed face.

Why doesn’t exotic image after exotic image cause our eyeballs and brains to explode? Part of the reason, I think, is that “Nausicaa…” is a cartoon. The medium inherently lacks a certain level of realism, which blunts a lot of the movie’s impact. An audience might find it distracting to see a live-action Nausicaa cavorting with realistic mollusk beasts, but cartoon renditions look cute enough to be family. I mean, what hunter in his right mind could kill a deer that resembled Bambi?

It also helps, I think, that cartoonists can leave out certain details which live-action filmmakers cannot. Imagine if Steven Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park” crew had omitted some scales, took grime off the claws, or made other oversights that lessened the believability of those CGI dinosaurs? While this might prove disastrous in the realm of live-action cinema, those same occurences might be dismissed as mere “artistic direction” in an animated feature. Heck, they might even be appreciated. After all, losing the visceral qualities that go hand-in-hand with moving photography also means gaining the freedom to abstract, and this can be just as powerful. Stylishly-interepreted reality, though not as believable as photographed reality, can still be accepted—not to mention lauded—by a willing audience.

For the record, Miyazaki’s hand-drawn creatures did not upset me in the least. On the contrary, I found them fascinating, and quite beautiful to look at. I could have spent hours staring at them, the same way I could spend hours staring at paintings in a museum, pondering the strength of their colors, the artist’s sense of detail, the framing. All that aesthetic criteria stuff.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK = TICK-TICK-TICK?

I'm surfing through the paper this morning, and I read about the three teens who beat two homeless men, and murdered a third, near the place where I used to live. Even more outrageous than the crime itself, however, was the incoherent blather offered by Ron Slaby, a developmental psychologist at the Center for Media and Child Heath at Children's Hospital Boston. According to Slaby, the much-maligned media is once again at least partially responsible for this random street violence. He specifically cites video games, which could have "trained" these young people to kill without emotion. Another contestant on Slaby's blame game is television and music, which frequently portray the homeless as less than human, and inferior to those of us who don't actually live on the streets.

What a load of crap! Yes, it's true that video games today are more violent, raunchy, and realistic than when I was a thumb-mashing lad. But compare the number of buyers for games like "Grand Theft Auto" to the number of people who engaged on this recent homeless-rousting spree: Tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, versus three. Now, I know what you're going to say: Phil X, you're unfairly leaving out all the previous incidents involving punks beating up the homeless. Hey, show me similar correlations between assaults and the media during the eighties, when television was still comparatively tame and "Pac Man" was advanced technology, and I might say you have a point. It just seems like convenient scapegoating to put the blame on video games, when thousands of people have contact with them, yet sh*t like this only represents the work of a few loose nuts.

Let me share something from the online edition of the Sun Sentinel, a South Florida-based newspaper:

"The National Coalition for the Homeless, which tracks random violence against the homeless using news and police reports, notes that in 2004, 25 homeless people were killed and 80 non-lethal attacks reported. That's a jump of 67 percent since 2002. Most of those accused were in their teens or early 20s."

I think it's safe to assume (and easy to validate) that video games, even extreme ones like "Grand Theft Auto," aren't being bought strictly by teenagers or folks in their early 20's. And yet, only youths in that age range appear to be killing the homeless without emotion. Perhaps being young and impressionable makes it easier for the pixel people to mold your brain with their digitized hands. But wait, a quick AOL search shows that 5.1 million copies of "Grand Theft Auto" were sold domestically in 2004, along with 4.2 million copies of a game called "Halo 2"--where you play from the point-of-view of a soldier who is trained, presumably, to kill without emotion--and 1.1 million copies of the similar "Halo: Combat Evolved." Assuming some overlap between the top two sellers listed above, and that half the buyers belong to the younger demographic, that means at least 2.1 million persons should be roaming the streets at night, chanting "No roof, no mercy," and going Sammy Sosa on the downtrodden. Clearly, however, things are not as bad as that.

But if it isn't video games stirring our youth into raging jackasshood, what is? "On Point with Tom Ashbrook," an NPR program broadcast this past Wednesday evening, might have offered an interesting clue. Ashbrook's guest, author and Harvard professor of political economy Benjamin Friedman, was plugging his new book The Moral Consequences of Economic Growth, in which he argued that economic growth is vital to sustaining morality itself, to "...nurturing openness, tolerance, fairness and democracy." According to Friedman, current American growth tilts so much to the rich that it doesn't count. Consequently, as more middle-class and lower-class families find themselves struggling to make ends meet, much less acheive the "American dream," they become increasingly xenophobic, and intolerant of those who seem different.

Would it really be that much of a stretch, going from fear of foreigners to hostility towards the homeless? Both parties represent sort of the same thing: an entity that stands out from the majority, and potentially "steals" the wealth rightfully belonging to the rest of us. Hardcore ignoramuses perceive foreigners as coming to this country and taking jobs away from "real" Americans, and the homeless as lazy bums leeching off the state. Personally, I'm hoping that the three thugs who went caveman the other night viewed their prey in such a way--as eyesores befouling their precious landscape. Heaven forbid Ron Slaby is right, that they did it just for kicks. Then where would the delicious irony come from, after they end up being sentenced to long prison terms, and become as much of a burden to the taxpayer as the men they assaulted/killed? I guess we'd just have to be content with prison gangs getting their kicks anally-raping them, and bludgeoning them with soap bars wrapped in towels. After all, they don't get video games.

NORTHWESTERN EXPOSURE

I don’t know about all you cats and kittens out there in blog-land, but personally, I had a pretty good Christmas/New Year’s holiday. After gorging myself on a hearty Saint Nick’s Eve meal of turkey, jellyfish, and cranberry sauce, I caught a non-stop flight to Washington state, where I met the parents of my awesome girlfriend, K., for the first time.

The plane ride itself was uneventful, save for the bit about the in-flight movie. Originally, we were supposed to watch the new Nick Park claymation flick, “Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit.” Unfortunately, something went wrong with the tape. The quick-thinking American Airlines crew substituted a different movie, which turned out to be “A Shot in the Dark,” the film that introduced Peter Sellers’ Inspector Clouseau character. Please note that Blake Edwards’ “A Shot in the Dark,” which is extremely, extremely funny, came out in theaters in 1964, so it’s not exactly a recent release. It’s genial good fun, but it got me to thinking: Do passenger jets routinely carry a back-up movie, in case something happens to the first one? If so, who chooses the movie? One of the flight attendants? Also, do they keep it in a box with red block letters that read, “In case of emergency movie replacement, break glass?”

Moreover, the feature itself is preceded by the original theatrical trailer, where a talking bullet refers to co-star Elke Sommer as the “prime sexpot,” when he isn’t blowing things up in a loud and redundant manner. This came across as a bit crude, compared to most of the in-flight entertainment I’ve been exposed to over the years. Once, I was watching a sitcom on an American Airlines flight, and they actually bleeped out the word “whore.” Now I’m watching Sellers and Sommer frolic around a nudist colony. Desperate times, I suppose, call for desperate measures. At least they didn’t show “Alive,” “Airplane!” or “Cast Away.”

Now for the part you’ve all been waiting to hear about. The visit to Hoquiam, K.’s hometown, went great. Her parents are really cool, and their house is awesome! K. had told me stories about how her folks tend to amass… things, and yes, the family room is quite the sensorial experience. But they also have a record player in the living room, and lots of LP’s that K. and I, and her niece and nephew (B. and T., respectively) danced to. And did I mention that K.’s childhood home is located next to the bay? We spent a nice morning walking around a rocky path, staring off at the line of trees jutting up from the mountains across the water, while the Canadian geese honked their particular serenade, and the distant paper mill blew its smoke into the sky.

As a lifelong city boy, I must confess that town life—specifically, life in Hoquiam and its surrounding places—struck me as pretty cool. Yes, the weather was kind of brisk; a clinging kind of cold, as K. told me beforehand. But that’s not the cool I refer to. Rather, I speak of tranquility and simplicity. People on the street gave off a vibe of cordiality that would seem downright suspicious to a fellow from New York. Meanwhile, the library was so charming, and the supermarket so cheap! True, waiting for public transportation seemed like a losing proposition, and the gym and the shops with better variety were located in Aberdeen, several minutes’ drive away. But in theory, any inconvenience of having to own a car would probably be offset by the relatively low cost of living. That is, if one could land a job. It might be easier to get educated elsewhere, then move to a place like Hoquiam. K.’s former high school pal J. did just that; he became an assistant conductor in Sweden, and is practically a local celebrity.

The best part(s) of the trip: Arriving in Washington for the first time, and driving past the welcome sign to Aberdeen, which read: “Welcome to Aberdeen. Come as you are.” (It was the birthplace of legendary Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain, who supposedly hated the town with every ounce of his tortured soul.) Also great was the New Year’s Eve party hosted by the Lutheran church from K.’s neighborhood, where I confidently pretended to have some idea of what I was doing with my life (I figured, “By the time I see any of these people again, they’ll have forgotten every fully-baked half-truth to emerge from out of my blathering pie-hole this evening”). I also had a great deal of fun watching the various movies recommended by K.’s dad, not to mention K. herself, for evening consumption, such as “A Thousand Clowns” and “Chicago.” Speaking of consumption, on New Year’s Eve, before jetting off to the Lutheran Church party up the street, I helped prepare roast pork and tempura as part of the all-day graze-a-thon that takes place every January 1st at K.’s family’s house.

But perhaps all you loyal readers are waiting to hear about charming Olympia, or metropolitan Seattle. Well, I didn’t actually spend a lot of time there, only the last day before the flight home. However, what I saw was really awesome. Seattle has a great-looking waterfront and—get this—floating bridges! Also, if you can’t make it to Seattle, Olympia also looks cool. They have nice restaurants down by the docks, and at least one good comic book store.