I was very excited to hear a little bit ago that a sequel to the Dark Crystal was in production and set for release in 2007-2008 (directed by Genndy Tartakovsky who created the awesome Samurai Jack). I perused a few Jim Henson fansites and forums in hopes of learning more and found this ambiguous phrase, "[Jim Henson Co.] being 'Muppet-free.'"
What the hell did that mean? Luckily I stunted some Google-fu* and found what it meant.
Awhile back, Disney bought everything Muppets from Jim Henson Co. Now, the company has lots of muppet/puppet categories such as movie muppets (goblins from The Labyrinth) or the Sesame Street crew. But, the Muppets were a huge part of the magic of Jim Henson.
So, Kermit is now owned by Disney.
On one hand, this is a good thing. Jim Henson Co. can now work on other products, such as the sequel to Dark Crystal. The Muppets franchise was probably huge and weighty, and when combined with Sesame Street it probably took most of the resources of the company. Now Jim Henson Co. can make Labyrinth manga (sigh).
The other hand is that much of the Muppet magic is gone. Kermit is selling cars. Miss Piggy is fighting Jessica Simpson over pizza. God knows what Gonzo is doing (probably porn). It just isn't the same. Disney owns Mickey Mouse and Friends. Isn't that good enough?
It strikes even further because Kermit was one of my role models to enlightenment. His attitude towards life is one I would love to emulate. But, now he is in it for the green, and it aint easy being green.
It is a sad, sad day. I would've much rather Jim Henson Co. expand or form another company or something instead of selling it to a corporate monster. My stuffed Kermit that watches over my bookshelf will never look the same. Thanks Disney. Thanks a lot.
*The art of using a Google search in a masterful way.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Yit-chit Embarks
Here's a bit of convoluted nonsense in episodic format. Enjoy!
1
Yit-chit emerged awkwardly from the cool clay walls of the hole and heaved himself out onto the the soft damp grass. The mattress he rested upon was so green he was sure it would wipe off on him like paint. He couldn’t check, however, because he was hypnotized by the white wisps in the nitrogen-blue space above him, enveloping him. The clouds were so thin they were almost invisible, he mainly relied on his intuition to just know they were there and a part of it. The sky stared back at him, patiently, reminding him that it had all the time in the world and to his business it paid no never-mind, no how.
So he did lay there, but didn’t think at first. He didn’t doze either, he just took in the situation. He was in the earth no more. He was prone on it instead. It was comfortable but he could detect already the soil’s dampness, no longer kept at bay by the blades of grass, seeping into his linen breeches, maneuvering the short purple fur of his posterior. It was pleasant here, for a time, just staring awe-struck at the infinite blue while lounging caressed in the loamy field. But to remain here, devoted to this arrangement, would lead to mushrooms growing on him and mites chipping away at his substance until he too was loam to finally be munched on by the soft supple grass as it merrily aspirated.
That may be a kind alternative, for the grass at least, but it was a charity that Yit-chit decided he was unable to currently tender. If he was base bits of matter, he would not be capable of the things he assumed he was about to do. So he laboriously bent and flexed and leveraged himself up onto his legs. It was at this time that the horizon came into his perception. The grassy plain flowed out in all directions, undulating in cyclical hills and dells. He wriggled his toes in the grass. The grass was obligingly fettered. He supposed that grass like this would be around for many miles, but to this grass he was going to have to bid farewell. Over one of the hillocks to his right he saw something darker green, and coarser, but further away.
As he turned the stark openness of the environment enveloped him like a heavy wet blanket. He lurched on his spindly legs and reached for a wall or rock to clutch but there were none, and he toppled. As it happened he toppled towards a gully and, therefore, he rolled. But his instincts disapproved of this form of locomotion and so his limbs were jutted outwards in the least-streamlined configuration he could conceive. His dubious progress was summarily halted and he once again found himself reclined on the grass, once again faced with the sky who’s eternal visage tried quite determinedly not to look amused or piteous.
Very soon, Yit-chit had repeated the standing procedure and this time stood with a little more ingenuity: arms and legs further apart, torso just at a slightly lesser elevation than before. He established himself in a stable format and saw to dusting off his pants and vest, and dislodged the particles of dirt that had worked its way under the fur of his arms, neck, and feet. He plucked a piece of straw from between his small horns that had been dangling between his eyes and tickling his nose. With that irritant removed he felt much more focused and prepared to take a forthwith approach to his embarking. He leaned forward and pushed himself through the air, focusing particularly on pushing his feet against the ground since his arms swam impotently through the surrounding gases. He soon found them useful, however, for maintaining his body in a sort of gyroscopic bearing of upright. Before long he had trudged up the nearest hill and could see quite a ways.
Right in front of him, however, not two furlongs away he saw a blue man. The man stood quite still and seemed very solidly put there. His meat was wrapped around his bones much thicker than Yit-chit’s and he had no hair whatsoever, though he did wear clothing. The man’s pants and shirt were smooth and looked like they could be made out of skin, rather than woven fibers, and he had some sort of extra part to his pants that apparently completely wrapped around his feet. The man’s clothing was brown, while his skin remained quite blue (not as blue as the sky… darker and a bit cooler) as he and the not-a-little-wobbly Yit-chit silently regarded each other. The silent man leaned on an implement. It was a wood grained shaft with a sizable hammered-flat slug of metal at the top. It was an axe, though the full meaning of such a thing would not soon be reckoned by Yit-chit.
“Hello,” said Yit-chit to the man after he had fully realized and accepted the fellow’s existence. The blue man nodded in acknowledgment. Yit-chit looked around and at the sky and then back at the man. A flurry of activity had not resulted from the exchange, and yet the possibility of such did not seem in any way restricted by it either. Yit-chit opted to continue pursuit of conversation. “What is this place?” he asked and involuntarily squinted his eyes and nose in an expression of curiosity.
The man looked at Yit-chit until the question was completely asked and then he looked down at the ground (otherwise without extraneous motion). For a moment he remained and then he returned his attention to Yit-chit. “It is a world,” he said with certainty, “a world here that you are now in.” His reply was definite.
Yit-chit understood that his question had been answered and felt no need for futher debate at that time. He looked in the direction of the coarse dark green area and saw it was quite large if far away. A bit of brown separated it from the grass that swam up and around it. “What is that?” he asked and gestured one of his fingers in the direction of the object of his query.
The blue man watched Yit-chit point and looked at the distant forest. He then looked back at Yit-chit and his dirty pants and bare, purple, furry feet. He looked at the gully behind Yit-chit. In a voice that was equally innocent and deliberate, he asked Yit-chit, “Where do you come from?”
Yit-chit let his pointing-arm drop to his side and breathed a bit. He looked back at the direction from which he had toddled and then to the blue man. He did the pointing thing again but with less accuracy and said, “I came out of a hole. I was underground. I… I don’t remember what was down there.” He found the urge to scratch the back of his neck, even though it didn’t itch. As he did he concluded that, “I wasn’t supposed to be there, though. That’s why I came up here.”
It was plain to see that the blue man considered these words and thought a bit about them before he spoke again. “I see,” he said eventually. “That,” he said, as he pointed (much more efficiently than Yit-chit had) with one hand while the other held still the axe, “is a forest. It is unlike the plains on which we now stand and speak, but there are similarities.”
Yit-chit nodded with gratitude for the morsel of knowledge, though he could not deny a pang for more. “What is it like?” he asked.
“You can see,” replied the blue man. “I am going there and you can go with me. I will be wary of danger while we are there, so that you may be free to see what the forest is like.”
“Very well!” said Yit-chit, feeling more than a little comfort in companionship (which was of course its primary purpose). “I will follow you,” he added, “since it would seem you would be the more skilled of the two of us at going from here to there.”
In response the man lifted his axe and started walking towards the forest while carrying it. Yit-chit followed behind him and kept up well enough.
1
Yit-chit emerged awkwardly from the cool clay walls of the hole and heaved himself out onto the the soft damp grass. The mattress he rested upon was so green he was sure it would wipe off on him like paint. He couldn’t check, however, because he was hypnotized by the white wisps in the nitrogen-blue space above him, enveloping him. The clouds were so thin they were almost invisible, he mainly relied on his intuition to just know they were there and a part of it. The sky stared back at him, patiently, reminding him that it had all the time in the world and to his business it paid no never-mind, no how.
So he did lay there, but didn’t think at first. He didn’t doze either, he just took in the situation. He was in the earth no more. He was prone on it instead. It was comfortable but he could detect already the soil’s dampness, no longer kept at bay by the blades of grass, seeping into his linen breeches, maneuvering the short purple fur of his posterior. It was pleasant here, for a time, just staring awe-struck at the infinite blue while lounging caressed in the loamy field. But to remain here, devoted to this arrangement, would lead to mushrooms growing on him and mites chipping away at his substance until he too was loam to finally be munched on by the soft supple grass as it merrily aspirated.
That may be a kind alternative, for the grass at least, but it was a charity that Yit-chit decided he was unable to currently tender. If he was base bits of matter, he would not be capable of the things he assumed he was about to do. So he laboriously bent and flexed and leveraged himself up onto his legs. It was at this time that the horizon came into his perception. The grassy plain flowed out in all directions, undulating in cyclical hills and dells. He wriggled his toes in the grass. The grass was obligingly fettered. He supposed that grass like this would be around for many miles, but to this grass he was going to have to bid farewell. Over one of the hillocks to his right he saw something darker green, and coarser, but further away.
As he turned the stark openness of the environment enveloped him like a heavy wet blanket. He lurched on his spindly legs and reached for a wall or rock to clutch but there were none, and he toppled. As it happened he toppled towards a gully and, therefore, he rolled. But his instincts disapproved of this form of locomotion and so his limbs were jutted outwards in the least-streamlined configuration he could conceive. His dubious progress was summarily halted and he once again found himself reclined on the grass, once again faced with the sky who’s eternal visage tried quite determinedly not to look amused or piteous.
Very soon, Yit-chit had repeated the standing procedure and this time stood with a little more ingenuity: arms and legs further apart, torso just at a slightly lesser elevation than before. He established himself in a stable format and saw to dusting off his pants and vest, and dislodged the particles of dirt that had worked its way under the fur of his arms, neck, and feet. He plucked a piece of straw from between his small horns that had been dangling between his eyes and tickling his nose. With that irritant removed he felt much more focused and prepared to take a forthwith approach to his embarking. He leaned forward and pushed himself through the air, focusing particularly on pushing his feet against the ground since his arms swam impotently through the surrounding gases. He soon found them useful, however, for maintaining his body in a sort of gyroscopic bearing of upright. Before long he had trudged up the nearest hill and could see quite a ways.
Right in front of him, however, not two furlongs away he saw a blue man. The man stood quite still and seemed very solidly put there. His meat was wrapped around his bones much thicker than Yit-chit’s and he had no hair whatsoever, though he did wear clothing. The man’s pants and shirt were smooth and looked like they could be made out of skin, rather than woven fibers, and he had some sort of extra part to his pants that apparently completely wrapped around his feet. The man’s clothing was brown, while his skin remained quite blue (not as blue as the sky… darker and a bit cooler) as he and the not-a-little-wobbly Yit-chit silently regarded each other. The silent man leaned on an implement. It was a wood grained shaft with a sizable hammered-flat slug of metal at the top. It was an axe, though the full meaning of such a thing would not soon be reckoned by Yit-chit.
“Hello,” said Yit-chit to the man after he had fully realized and accepted the fellow’s existence. The blue man nodded in acknowledgment. Yit-chit looked around and at the sky and then back at the man. A flurry of activity had not resulted from the exchange, and yet the possibility of such did not seem in any way restricted by it either. Yit-chit opted to continue pursuit of conversation. “What is this place?” he asked and involuntarily squinted his eyes and nose in an expression of curiosity.
The man looked at Yit-chit until the question was completely asked and then he looked down at the ground (otherwise without extraneous motion). For a moment he remained and then he returned his attention to Yit-chit. “It is a world,” he said with certainty, “a world here that you are now in.” His reply was definite.
Yit-chit understood that his question had been answered and felt no need for futher debate at that time. He looked in the direction of the coarse dark green area and saw it was quite large if far away. A bit of brown separated it from the grass that swam up and around it. “What is that?” he asked and gestured one of his fingers in the direction of the object of his query.
The blue man watched Yit-chit point and looked at the distant forest. He then looked back at Yit-chit and his dirty pants and bare, purple, furry feet. He looked at the gully behind Yit-chit. In a voice that was equally innocent and deliberate, he asked Yit-chit, “Where do you come from?”
Yit-chit let his pointing-arm drop to his side and breathed a bit. He looked back at the direction from which he had toddled and then to the blue man. He did the pointing thing again but with less accuracy and said, “I came out of a hole. I was underground. I… I don’t remember what was down there.” He found the urge to scratch the back of his neck, even though it didn’t itch. As he did he concluded that, “I wasn’t supposed to be there, though. That’s why I came up here.”
It was plain to see that the blue man considered these words and thought a bit about them before he spoke again. “I see,” he said eventually. “That,” he said, as he pointed (much more efficiently than Yit-chit had) with one hand while the other held still the axe, “is a forest. It is unlike the plains on which we now stand and speak, but there are similarities.”
Yit-chit nodded with gratitude for the morsel of knowledge, though he could not deny a pang for more. “What is it like?” he asked.
“You can see,” replied the blue man. “I am going there and you can go with me. I will be wary of danger while we are there, so that you may be free to see what the forest is like.”
“Very well!” said Yit-chit, feeling more than a little comfort in companionship (which was of course its primary purpose). “I will follow you,” he added, “since it would seem you would be the more skilled of the two of us at going from here to there.”
In response the man lifted his axe and started walking towards the forest while carrying it. Yit-chit followed behind him and kept up well enough.
Just Shutup, Pt. 2
a.k.a. STFU Donny!
So the detective finally gets enough probable cause to arrest Donny, BUT NOT BECAUSE OF DONNY'S REFUSAL TO ANSWER QUESTIONS! (I will not even touch probable cause, a whole blog could be written on those two words. For now just take probable cause to mean "a reasonable belief that a crime has been committed.") What has to happen next?
When someone is arrested, the law requires that the prisoner is given a Miranda warning. A typical warning is as follows:
You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions, or make any statements.
This education of rights is very interesting because it goes against the old adage "ignorance of the law is no excuse." In this case it is an excuse and many confessions and heaps of evidence have been excluded from a prosecution because of a failure to give a Miranda warning.
If Donny is not given a Miranda warning practically nothing he says can be used against him. He can confess, explain where the drugs are, name names, etc., and the law acts like he said nothing. Furthermore if Donny confesses at the behest of police questioning and is then later given his Miranda warnings, the warnings "clean the slate" so to speak. The law still acts like Donny never confessed! This prevents officers from "beating" out a confession that circumvents the Miranda requirement.
If that weren't enough evidence that is gained from information violative of a Miranda warning is often voided as well. Let's say the detective does not give Donny his Miranda warning. Donny explains that Tito is the neighborhood drug lord and he has 20 kilos of cocaine in a nearby dumpster. The detective checks out the dumpster and finds the drugs. This evidence cannot be used against Donny or Tito in this manner. The law makes sure that the Miranda warnings are a gate, not a speed bump to swerve around.
Well now that you, avid reader, have a slight understanding of the Miranda warning's power, what should Donny do when he is given his Miranda warning?
First, a police officer can continue to talk and reasonably question Donny after the Miranda warning is given. Badgering out of the question, but guilt trips, etc. are allowable. This is in the hope that Donny will "waive" his Miranda rights (a very stupid thing to do). If Donny says "I invoke my right of silence," or a similar iteration, no more questioning is allowed for a reasonable period. Furthermore, let's say the first question the detective asks after the Miranda warnings is, "Have you sold drugs?" Donny replies by invoking his right to silence. Nothing can be inferred from this, no evidence can be taken from this, and it is as if the question was never asked for court purposes.
The most powerful thing Donny can do is immediately ask for a lawyer. If this happens the detective can do nothing until Donny sees his attorney. If he even questions Donny whole swaths of evidence may be voided and the detective may get in trouble or set Donny free. The attorney, later showing up, will then counsel Donny to shut up and all will be well.
The reason Donny wants to keep his Miranda rights is bargaining power. If he waives his Miranda rights thinking now that he is being good they will go easy on him, he loses out. If he says nothing until his attorney can plea bargain with the prosecutor, Donny might get a much better deal. Especially in Donny's situation where the cops really want the drug dealers, not the friend of one.
The right of silence when questioned outside a courtroom is not one to simply throw away. Police officers do excellent jobs, but their interrogation powers are very limited. Now, the best deal would be for you, avid reader, to not break the law. But if you do, just shutup.
So the detective finally gets enough probable cause to arrest Donny, BUT NOT BECAUSE OF DONNY'S REFUSAL TO ANSWER QUESTIONS! (I will not even touch probable cause, a whole blog could be written on those two words. For now just take probable cause to mean "a reasonable belief that a crime has been committed.") What has to happen next?
When someone is arrested, the law requires that the prisoner is given a Miranda warning. A typical warning is as follows:
You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions, or make any statements.
This education of rights is very interesting because it goes against the old adage "ignorance of the law is no excuse." In this case it is an excuse and many confessions and heaps of evidence have been excluded from a prosecution because of a failure to give a Miranda warning.
If Donny is not given a Miranda warning practically nothing he says can be used against him. He can confess, explain where the drugs are, name names, etc., and the law acts like he said nothing. Furthermore if Donny confesses at the behest of police questioning and is then later given his Miranda warnings, the warnings "clean the slate" so to speak. The law still acts like Donny never confessed! This prevents officers from "beating" out a confession that circumvents the Miranda requirement.
If that weren't enough evidence that is gained from information violative of a Miranda warning is often voided as well. Let's say the detective does not give Donny his Miranda warning. Donny explains that Tito is the neighborhood drug lord and he has 20 kilos of cocaine in a nearby dumpster. The detective checks out the dumpster and finds the drugs. This evidence cannot be used against Donny or Tito in this manner. The law makes sure that the Miranda warnings are a gate, not a speed bump to swerve around.
Well now that you, avid reader, have a slight understanding of the Miranda warning's power, what should Donny do when he is given his Miranda warning?
First, a police officer can continue to talk and reasonably question Donny after the Miranda warning is given. Badgering out of the question, but guilt trips, etc. are allowable. This is in the hope that Donny will "waive" his Miranda rights (a very stupid thing to do). If Donny says "I invoke my right of silence," or a similar iteration, no more questioning is allowed for a reasonable period. Furthermore, let's say the first question the detective asks after the Miranda warnings is, "Have you sold drugs?" Donny replies by invoking his right to silence. Nothing can be inferred from this, no evidence can be taken from this, and it is as if the question was never asked for court purposes.
The most powerful thing Donny can do is immediately ask for a lawyer. If this happens the detective can do nothing until Donny sees his attorney. If he even questions Donny whole swaths of evidence may be voided and the detective may get in trouble or set Donny free. The attorney, later showing up, will then counsel Donny to shut up and all will be well.
The reason Donny wants to keep his Miranda rights is bargaining power. If he waives his Miranda rights thinking now that he is being good they will go easy on him, he loses out. If he says nothing until his attorney can plea bargain with the prosecutor, Donny might get a much better deal. Especially in Donny's situation where the cops really want the drug dealers, not the friend of one.
The right of silence when questioned outside a courtroom is not one to simply throw away. Police officers do excellent jobs, but their interrogation powers are very limited. Now, the best deal would be for you, avid reader, to not break the law. But if you do, just shutup.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Creatures (For A While)
Lyrics: N. Hexum, D. Martinez
Restlessness. Thank GOD for it. This song is epicly life affirming. I'm not the type of person to have favorite anythings. I like a little bit of everything. I hate to miss out, I want it all, and I want every perspective there is. I don't have a favorite food or drink or tennis shoe or human being. But I do have a favorite movie and a favorite song.
They are my favorites not because they are quantitatively the best constructed or executed works of art (though a fair enough case could be made). They are my favorites because they are the most important to me. They have truly impacted me, that is to say left a permanent impression. They are not simply things pleasantly experienced; they are active in their influence. Through deft engineering they seize me in stages ensuring that I hit every stop they have prepared for me.
The movie we'll get to later (my counterpart has stopped in there already on this page, though he didn't take me with him). The song, is this song: Creatures (For a While).
(By the way, I love parenthetical addendums on song titles. Right there, right at the get-go, you've got a multi-layered experience. This song is about Creatures first and foremost... And that's got plenty to ponder right there. It invites the imagination to run where the wild things are immediately and wonder about what fascinating, necessarily exciting things are in store.
But the second part of the title steps in in the second instant to swiftly temper the subject. This is not a subtitle. Movies have subtitles. Subtitles make the subject more specific. "This movie is about the Star Wars, sure, but it only covers the portion in which the Clones Attack."
No. The parenthetical portion of the title is the rest of the title. It's the subtext of the title; the underlying essence. Why is it in parentheses though, and not simply "Creatures For a While"? Well that's what I'm getting at. It's not just a song about being a creature for a while. It's about being a Creature, first and foremost but shed in the light of the fact that it will only be for a while.)
Now that was getting a bit wishy-washy so I put the cap on it. Close parenthesis.
Here's the thing...
Restlessness. Why? Why not be at peace? We've had years of mischief. Is that not enough? Apparently not. After these weeks of thrift the energy once again gets the best of me. But it's a continuous struggle. Sometimes I get crazy (just like you I do). And yet.... Is there ever a time when the state of sleeping willingly leaves my mind?
There's a compulsion that acts outside of a natural ebb and flow. This isn't the tide coming and going... This is lightning striking in a forest, starting a blaze that will make way and nurture a wave of new growth. Wildfire, followed by the luscious frantic swarming green, finally settling into the peaceful sylvan serene... Only to begin again.
We are creatures. We LIVE, we MUST live. It is the definitive state of us. But that state exists in contrast. Our mortality looms, of course. We are only creatures for a while and the cold hard fact of our end is the frame in which we must view our life. We will meet that end, it is our fate, it is our destination, it is what our entire life is leading to. It is the result of life. And so it is easy to skip ahead. Stop living for a bit. Rest, relax, take it easy. Now there's nothing wrong with enjoying the serenity of a peaceful moment in a beautiful world, but don't linger...
I land on Earth's hard face. No legs could keep that pace. Highly frustrated want to feel elated.
But, don't buy the fear. Don't by that, my dear. The things you love, you must keep near. Carry on and you won't feel withdrawn, even if you're coming down.
Sometimes it's wearable. Sometimes it's bearable.
I careen towards balance 'til the glass is full.
Life is hard. Life is frantic and stressful. But, life is beautiful. But more urgently: life is a limited time offer. So no matter how difficult it gets to appreciate what's going on don't you dare stop. Because, the good comes on the heels of the bad and we're just creatures, just creatures for a while. And that's what I learn from this beautiful anthem every time I hear it.
PS: Of course.......... it can hardly be done justice without the music. ;-} You'll have to see to that yourself, though.
Ravious: This link should suffice. Just head to "Media" >> "Music Videos" and scroll down to Creatures.
Restlessness. Thank GOD for it. This song is epicly life affirming. I'm not the type of person to have favorite anythings. I like a little bit of everything. I hate to miss out, I want it all, and I want every perspective there is. I don't have a favorite food or drink or tennis shoe or human being. But I do have a favorite movie and a favorite song.
They are my favorites not because they are quantitatively the best constructed or executed works of art (though a fair enough case could be made). They are my favorites because they are the most important to me. They have truly impacted me, that is to say left a permanent impression. They are not simply things pleasantly experienced; they are active in their influence. Through deft engineering they seize me in stages ensuring that I hit every stop they have prepared for me.
The movie we'll get to later (my counterpart has stopped in there already on this page, though he didn't take me with him). The song, is this song: Creatures (For a While).
(By the way, I love parenthetical addendums on song titles. Right there, right at the get-go, you've got a multi-layered experience. This song is about Creatures first and foremost... And that's got plenty to ponder right there. It invites the imagination to run where the wild things are immediately and wonder about what fascinating, necessarily exciting things are in store.
But the second part of the title steps in in the second instant to swiftly temper the subject. This is not a subtitle. Movies have subtitles. Subtitles make the subject more specific. "This movie is about the Star Wars, sure, but it only covers the portion in which the Clones Attack."
No. The parenthetical portion of the title is the rest of the title. It's the subtext of the title; the underlying essence. Why is it in parentheses though, and not simply "Creatures For a While"? Well that's what I'm getting at. It's not just a song about being a creature for a while. It's about being a Creature, first and foremost but shed in the light of the fact that it will only be for a while.)
Now that was getting a bit wishy-washy so I put the cap on it. Close parenthesis.
Here's the thing...
Restlessness. Why? Why not be at peace? We've had years of mischief. Is that not enough? Apparently not. After these weeks of thrift the energy once again gets the best of me. But it's a continuous struggle. Sometimes I get crazy (just like you I do). And yet.... Is there ever a time when the state of sleeping willingly leaves my mind?
There's a compulsion that acts outside of a natural ebb and flow. This isn't the tide coming and going... This is lightning striking in a forest, starting a blaze that will make way and nurture a wave of new growth. Wildfire, followed by the luscious frantic swarming green, finally settling into the peaceful sylvan serene... Only to begin again.
We are creatures. We LIVE, we MUST live. It is the definitive state of us. But that state exists in contrast. Our mortality looms, of course. We are only creatures for a while and the cold hard fact of our end is the frame in which we must view our life. We will meet that end, it is our fate, it is our destination, it is what our entire life is leading to. It is the result of life. And so it is easy to skip ahead. Stop living for a bit. Rest, relax, take it easy. Now there's nothing wrong with enjoying the serenity of a peaceful moment in a beautiful world, but don't linger...
I land on Earth's hard face. No legs could keep that pace. Highly frustrated want to feel elated.
But, don't buy the fear. Don't by that, my dear. The things you love, you must keep near. Carry on and you won't feel withdrawn, even if you're coming down.
Sometimes it's wearable. Sometimes it's bearable.
I careen towards balance 'til the glass is full.
Life is hard. Life is frantic and stressful. But, life is beautiful. But more urgently: life is a limited time offer. So no matter how difficult it gets to appreciate what's going on don't you dare stop. Because, the good comes on the heels of the bad and we're just creatures, just creatures for a while. And that's what I learn from this beautiful anthem every time I hear it.
PS: Of course.......... it can hardly be done justice without the music. ;-} You'll have to see to that yourself, though.
Ravious: This link should suffice. Just head to "Media" >> "Music Videos" and scroll down to Creatures.
Prison Break: Evil Superman Teabag
Fox Network's Prison Break is an absolutely suberb show, and except for ABC's Lost, I think it is the best TV show out there right now. The premise is that Lincoln Burroughs was framed for killing the Vice President, and his brother, a genius structural engineer, goes into prison to break him out. The end of the first season was a blast where eight prisoners did manage to escape. Do to inter-party rivalry (and hatred) one of the escapees, T-Bag gets his hand chopped off by an axe. In season 2, we find he survives. And that is what this post is about.
First off, let's just take the part where his hand is chopped off by a wood axe. The escapees have been running like prey through the night, and then you loose a hand (and all the nerve endings that go with it). I would bet good money that a person would easily pass out and never wake up again if his hand is just chopped off. Add that on top to loss of sleep and exhaustion, and you have quite a combo. Well Ol' T-Bag doesn't pass out (at least not for long), and quickly picks up his hand and runs off before the search dogs come get him.
So anyway, T-Bag has his radial artery and ulnar artery bleeding for a few hours... while he runs. Let's also suppose that he was lucky enough to have his blood clot on two major artieries (which people use to commit suicide). That is a lot of blood loss. When you lose blood, bad things happen. You pass out. You become delerious. Dizzy. Keeping away from search dogs on your blood scent is quite a feat when your fucking hand has just been chopped off.
At daybreak, a few hours later, T-Bag stumbles upon a campsite with a cooler full of ice. He carefully wraps his bloody hand in the cooler and carries it off. Before he runs off, the young couple camping come out of their tent. T-Bag threatens them that if they call the cops he will kill them. Just for sake of argument, I will attribute this stupidity to extraordinary blood loss and exhaustion. If he just ran off, the probably would not have had a good look at T-Bag, but now they have. More importantly they now know his condition.
T-Bag finally gets to a small town with a veternarian, and he forces the vet with a screwdriver shiv to sow his hand back on. This is where it gets stupid. No. I am serious.
You are a doctor. A man with a hand in a cooler comes in and forces you at knife point to sow his hand back on. He won't let you call an ambulance to take him to a proper facility. He also won't take anesthesia when you operate. Do you: (a) act like you are gathering supplies and bolt out the door or through a window hoping that a man without a hand can't catch you, (b) slice the fucker's throat when you use the scalpal to cut away the dead, infected flesh, (c) use an acid, caustic, alcohol, or even hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound and throw it in the psycho's eyes and then run away, or (d) do what the psycho says and sew his hand back on.
Well the vet decides to be a good samaritan and carefully take a few hours to clean the wound and sow T-Bag's hand back on. T-Bag of course moves around like his bone and flesh do not have a gap between them, and then again holds the vet at knife point. Now I will give the vet this credit: he did try and run away when T-Bag told him the vet was going to die, by running backwards, trying to place a small metal cart in between them, and backing up against a sink (in his own fucking office). Give me a break, even a fat kid could get away.
Now before we kill the vet. Let's just compare the campgoers to the vet. Neither know who T-Bag is. Both have reason to call the cops. The campgoers gave T-Bag ice and lived. The vet took hours to sew his hand back on, and gets to die. Let's add another piece to this. If T-Bag kills him most likely he will get a head start for a couple hours until the dead vet's wife wonders where he is, calls the cops, etc. The cops come and find T-Bag's fingerprints everywhere. If T-Bag just ties him up. The same thing happens. Sure, the identification might be a little quicker, but still T-Bag only gets a few hours head start, especially since he stole the vet's truck. All in all, it feels like "evil" was just added for the sake of adding shock factor and evil.
Then the vet gets tied down on his operating table and is lethally injected. The End.
I have to say for such a good show, they really just added all sorts of fantastic to T-Bag's story...in my opinion, to the point of ridiculousness. I get that sometimes a railroad of stupidity is needed for one theme, T-Bag is indeed evil, but come on. The Fox intern that came up with this shit could have done better. At least the others' stories make a whole lot more sense without adding such nonsense.
First off, let's just take the part where his hand is chopped off by a wood axe. The escapees have been running like prey through the night, and then you loose a hand (and all the nerve endings that go with it). I would bet good money that a person would easily pass out and never wake up again if his hand is just chopped off. Add that on top to loss of sleep and exhaustion, and you have quite a combo. Well Ol' T-Bag doesn't pass out (at least not for long), and quickly picks up his hand and runs off before the search dogs come get him.
So anyway, T-Bag has his radial artery and ulnar artery bleeding for a few hours... while he runs. Let's also suppose that he was lucky enough to have his blood clot on two major artieries (which people use to commit suicide). That is a lot of blood loss. When you lose blood, bad things happen. You pass out. You become delerious. Dizzy. Keeping away from search dogs on your blood scent is quite a feat when your fucking hand has just been chopped off.
At daybreak, a few hours later, T-Bag stumbles upon a campsite with a cooler full of ice. He carefully wraps his bloody hand in the cooler and carries it off. Before he runs off, the young couple camping come out of their tent. T-Bag threatens them that if they call the cops he will kill them. Just for sake of argument, I will attribute this stupidity to extraordinary blood loss and exhaustion. If he just ran off, the probably would not have had a good look at T-Bag, but now they have. More importantly they now know his condition.
T-Bag finally gets to a small town with a veternarian, and he forces the vet with a screwdriver shiv to sow his hand back on. This is where it gets stupid. No. I am serious.
You are a doctor. A man with a hand in a cooler comes in and forces you at knife point to sow his hand back on. He won't let you call an ambulance to take him to a proper facility. He also won't take anesthesia when you operate. Do you: (a) act like you are gathering supplies and bolt out the door or through a window hoping that a man without a hand can't catch you, (b) slice the fucker's throat when you use the scalpal to cut away the dead, infected flesh, (c) use an acid, caustic, alcohol, or even hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound and throw it in the psycho's eyes and then run away, or (d) do what the psycho says and sew his hand back on.
Well the vet decides to be a good samaritan and carefully take a few hours to clean the wound and sow T-Bag's hand back on. T-Bag of course moves around like his bone and flesh do not have a gap between them, and then again holds the vet at knife point. Now I will give the vet this credit: he did try and run away when T-Bag told him the vet was going to die, by running backwards, trying to place a small metal cart in between them, and backing up against a sink (in his own fucking office). Give me a break, even a fat kid could get away.
Now before we kill the vet. Let's just compare the campgoers to the vet. Neither know who T-Bag is. Both have reason to call the cops. The campgoers gave T-Bag ice and lived. The vet took hours to sew his hand back on, and gets to die. Let's add another piece to this. If T-Bag kills him most likely he will get a head start for a couple hours until the dead vet's wife wonders where he is, calls the cops, etc. The cops come and find T-Bag's fingerprints everywhere. If T-Bag just ties him up. The same thing happens. Sure, the identification might be a little quicker, but still T-Bag only gets a few hours head start, especially since he stole the vet's truck. All in all, it feels like "evil" was just added for the sake of adding shock factor and evil.
Then the vet gets tied down on his operating table and is lethally injected. The End.
I have to say for such a good show, they really just added all sorts of fantastic to T-Bag's story...in my opinion, to the point of ridiculousness. I get that sometimes a railroad of stupidity is needed for one theme, T-Bag is indeed evil, but come on. The Fox intern that came up with this shit could have done better. At least the others' stories make a whole lot more sense without adding such nonsense.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Prologue to Appreciation
My proudest accomplishment of recent times is finding less and less stuff to complain about. I'm still entirely available to criticize at the drop of a hat, no fear! You need the flaws in something found, I'm on the ball. But that's a different critter from complaint. Criticism is productive, especially if reserved for an appropriate occasion.
Complaint, on the other hand, at best simply points out that something is wrong. No advice is usually given beyond a stern, "You'd BETTER fix it, buddy! Or else!" I'd say the reason no recommendations can be given with a complaint is because no understanding of the problem has been undertaken by the pissed off complainer. I'm not saying complaining is 100% badwrong, either. After all if my taco doesn't have any meat on it, simply pointing that out to those responsible should be sufficient to have the problem rectified.
What I'm saying is that folks tend to complain as a first and last resort and then just be more pissed off that the world does not magically become a better place. But, ultimately... That's not even my point, only the prelude to my point.
Everything is flawed. Expectations are rarely met. It ain't all bad.
I'll try not to sound too much like a damn dirty hippy from here on out. But, in essence what will follow is my take on the theme of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" and even, if you must, "Don't Worry. Be happy." (As always, however, I make no such promise to avoid the inherent pretention that comes with blogdom. This stuff's on the shelf.)
What keeps me sanest these days is that I've been finding a lot of wonderment lately. Really great stuff. And it was really always there, its that I'm just now receptive to it (a little desperation for positive stimuli aids this process). Rather than approaching a work of art with a particular expectation or demanding desire, I plop down and see what it has to bring to the table. Maybe it won't have much, but odds are it has something and that something will be worthy my while. But that something is likely something that's oft neglected by an on-demand public.
Basically I'm crying out against the crime of ignoring here. Ignoring the beauty of a beautiful day or a funny movie is a crime against yourself and by extension everyone who then has to put up with your grumpy ass. For the record I frown on ignoring faults as well (because if checked they could lead to more positives!)
Specific examples to follow over the course of this site's lifetime. I hope to cast a new light on certain works and experiences that will hopefully let them be seen in a new much more enjoyable way.
Complaint, on the other hand, at best simply points out that something is wrong. No advice is usually given beyond a stern, "You'd BETTER fix it, buddy! Or else!" I'd say the reason no recommendations can be given with a complaint is because no understanding of the problem has been undertaken by the pissed off complainer. I'm not saying complaining is 100% badwrong, either. After all if my taco doesn't have any meat on it, simply pointing that out to those responsible should be sufficient to have the problem rectified.
What I'm saying is that folks tend to complain as a first and last resort and then just be more pissed off that the world does not magically become a better place. But, ultimately... That's not even my point, only the prelude to my point.
Everything is flawed. Expectations are rarely met. It ain't all bad.
I'll try not to sound too much like a damn dirty hippy from here on out. But, in essence what will follow is my take on the theme of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" and even, if you must, "Don't Worry. Be happy." (As always, however, I make no such promise to avoid the inherent pretention that comes with blogdom. This stuff's on the shelf.)
What keeps me sanest these days is that I've been finding a lot of wonderment lately. Really great stuff. And it was really always there, its that I'm just now receptive to it (a little desperation for positive stimuli aids this process). Rather than approaching a work of art with a particular expectation or demanding desire, I plop down and see what it has to bring to the table. Maybe it won't have much, but odds are it has something and that something will be worthy my while. But that something is likely something that's oft neglected by an on-demand public.
Basically I'm crying out against the crime of ignoring here. Ignoring the beauty of a beautiful day or a funny movie is a crime against yourself and by extension everyone who then has to put up with your grumpy ass. For the record I frown on ignoring faults as well (because if checked they could lead to more positives!)
Specific examples to follow over the course of this site's lifetime. I hope to cast a new light on certain works and experiences that will hopefully let them be seen in a new much more enjoyable way.
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