A woman went crazy and offed herself because she thought the Da Vinci Code was real and that Opus Dei was out to get her. I’m worried that Tom Hanks’ hair is out to get me, but you don’t see me OD’ing! Man up!
Unrequired Reading: Mar. 16, 2007
Here are some links I came across but didn’t have time to write about.
Continue reading “Unrequired Reading: Mar. 16, 2007”
Drugs’re bad, mmmkay?
Scot Pollard hasn’t had a distinguished career in the NBA. He has shown off some tremendously bad haircuts, which I give him credit for, because not a lot of white guys go with crazy styles in the league.
Although he had a bright yellow mohawk going earlier this season, he has a more conservative look now. He also made one of the funniest in-game comments, um, EVER:
Explain that to St. Peter, mon General
It’s all a bit of a blur after I invented wine.
–Bacchus
Doing the Islands with Bacchus, a collection of comics by Eddie Campbell, is one of my all-time faves. Consisting of a travelogue of Bacchus and friends around the Greek islands, the comics relate the “real” stories behind some of the Greek myths, along with digressions on the history of fashion, the art of vinoculture, the discovery of champagne, and the nature of the afterlife (or afterdeath, as it turns out). Importantly, Campbell achieves this while keeping his characters as characters. That is, they don’t simply recite facts, but rather bring different perspectives and styles.
The Last of the Summer Wine, a 24-pager narrated by Bacchus’ companion Simpson as he, Bacchus and Hermes travel to Naxos by boat, is a marvel. The story manages to convey the glory of ancient Greek culture, make wry observations (verbal and visual) about the power of myth, and lead to a wonderfully poignant conclusion about the essence of love. Maybe it’s that inner classics-geek I’ve been referring to lately, but the final page of that comic always chokes me up.
I bring all this up because Campbell recently wrote about one of his major influences on those comic strips: the books of Walter James. I’d never heard of James before this, and with good reason. Sez Campbell, “He was an Australian wine maker who wrote several volumes of diaristic thoughts on just about everything, but mostly about winemaking and his enthusiasm for reading. They were published between 1949 (Barrel and Book,) and 1957 (Antipasto) and amounted to six volumes, of which I’ve managed to find four.”
Give Eddie’s post a read, take some delight in the excerpts of James’ writing, and tip a little libation to Bacchus, wouldja?
Hammertime
Amy had to work late on Monday, so our anniversary dinner consisted of pizza and the rest of a fantastic bottle of champagne left over from the weekend (a wedding gift). We gave each other our “paper anniversary” gifts: she got me a wonderful print of a New Orleans photo by Frank Relle, and I gave her an IOU for a photo album / book of memories that I’m in the process of making. It’ll be great. Just late.
In keeping with our made-for-each-other-ness, we also hunted through TiVo to find an episode of Mythbusters that we wanted to catch: Underwater Car. As the episode guide says,
If you’re unfortunate enough to drive your vehicle into the drink, is it possible to escape, or will a watery grave be your fate? Heading poolside, the guys get their feet wet by doing some intensive underwater training. Then the pressure is on as they seat themselves inside a submerged car and do their darndest to get out.
Entertaining and educational! It promised to be even better than the Diet Coke & Mentos episode!
We zipped through the “B-Team” segments, which we were convinced was assigned to them as a joke: “Why don’t you guys go figure out if a piece of paper can actually be folded more than seven times or something?”
The first thing I learned about a car in the drink is that, once the vehicle is completely filled with water, the pressure equalizes and the doors will open pretty easily. Getting to that equalization point without running out of oxygen is a challenge. And before that point, the pressure of the water makes it impossible to get the door open.
The Mythbusters tested to see whether windows are openable underwater. As it turns out, the manual window strips its gears without opening, while an electric window, though still operable despite the presence of water, isn’t strong enough to open the window against the weight of the water in even minimal circumstances. So if you go in the drink, get the door or window open quickly, before too much pressure builds up.
Now, faux macho psycho that I am, I’ve long contended that, were I trapped in Underwater Car, I’d kick out / shatter a window and escape that way. This belief is based solely on the fact that I once cracked the windshield of my car with a single punch, about 15 years ago. (My brother was pretty impressed.) I always figured that it meant a panicked Gil would be perfectly able to crack one of the windows enough for the water-pressure to shatter the whole shebang, allowing me to escape. (Of course, it’s possible that Hyundai was using substandard glass in its windshields, but hey.)
Or, as it turns out, I could just use the LifeHammer.
After discovering that windows aren’t openable, the Mythbusters tested various ways to break an underwater car window. They found that standard “things you’d have in the car,” like keys or a cellphone, wouldn’t make a scratch. Even kicking the glass with steel-toed boots didn’t do the trick. So they resorted to a hammer designed to shatter the window in emergency situations (or if you’re a carjacker, I guess). It smashed the glass so completely, with what appeared to be a moderate swing, that I immediately jumped onto Amazon to add a couple of them to my shopping list.
Now I just have to figure out which wedding anniversary is the “glass-shattering hammer” one.
They Say It’s Wonderful
Happy anniversary, my love.
And thank you, everyone who’s helped us celebrate our love in this past year.
(psst! here’s the lowdown on Amy’s pre-anniversary dinner preparations! It was wonderful, except for the shizzallots.)
Monday Morning Montaigne
I was pretty excited when I saw that the next essay in my Montaigne collection
Of Friendship is intended to introduce poems by Montaigne’s dead friend, political philosopher Etienne de La Boetie, but what it focuses on is the character of their “once in three centuries” friendship. In the process of describing the intense, four-year relationship the men shared, Montaigne proceeds to dismiss the possibility of true friendship between a man and
- his dad (too much respect)
- his brother (too much sibling rivalry)
- a girl (too much lust; a 16th century version of When Harry Met Sally)
- a fag (see above, and note “[T]hat other, licentious Greek love is justly abhorred by our morality.”)
- more than one guy (too much sharing)
So I was let down, especially because my brother and my wife are two of my closest friends, there are a number of other friends I’d (essentially) go to the end of the earth for, and I once contemplated having two guys killed to avenge a brutal assault on a queer friend of mine (not that we shared that other, licentious Greek love or anything).
Anyway, rather than pass on any excerpts from that stuff, I thought I’d share with you the opening to the essay. It mirrors my own tendency to start off strong and end up all over the darned place:
As I was considering the way a painter I employ went about his work, I had a mind to imitate him. He chooses the best spot, the middle of each wall, to put a picture labored over with all his skill, and the empty space around it he fills with grotesques, which are fantastic paintings whose only charm lies in their variety and strangeness. And what are these essays of mine, in truth, but grotesques and monstrous bodies, pieced together of divers members, without definite shape, having no order, sequence or proportion other than accidental?
“A lovely woman tapers off into a fish.” [Horace]
I do indeed go along with my painter in this second point, but I fall short in the first and better part; for my ability does not go far enough for me to dare to undertake a rich, polished picture, formed according to art.
Fortunately, the next few essays are Of Moderation, Of Cannibals, and Of the Custom of Wearing Clothes, so I figure there should be some more entertaining posts in the weeks ahead.
Minor improvement
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to print this blog out or make a PDF of it, but it used to look godawful in that format. I just figured out how to tailor the CSS file to allow for a print/PDF that looks like the actual page (which you may also think is godawful, but hey). So, if you want to print out the site to show it to all of your non-internettified friends, you can do so with impunity!
Skygod is keepin’ it real
Zeus is such a player he can bed his old lady by telling her about all the times he cheated on her:
But now let us go to bed and turn to love-making.
For never before has love for any goddess or woman
so melted about the heart inside me, broken it to submission,
as now: not that time when I loved the wife of Ixion
who bore me Peirithoos, equal of the gods in counsel,
nor when I loved Akrisios’ daughter, sweet-stepping Danae,
who bore Perseus to me, pre-eminent among all men,
nor when I loved the daughter of far-renowed Phoinix, Europa
who bore Minos to me, and Rhadamanthys the godlike;
not when I loved Semele, or Alkmene in Thebe,
when Alkmene bore me a son, Herakles the strong-hearted,
while Semele’s son was Dionysos, the pleasure of mortals;
not when I loved the queen Demeter of the lovely tresses,
not when it was glorious Leto, nor yourself, so much
as now I love you, and the sweet passion has taken hold of me.
Iliad, 14, 313-328
Hot Gates, Hot Box Office?
A few posts ago, I mentioned that I was going to mark-out for 300, and that Amy & I would likely go catch it this weekend at the local IMAX, so as to get the full theme-park experience of Thermopylae on a giant screen.
This morning, I went online and discovered that every single IMAX screening this weekend is sold out.
I have to admit, my powers of prognostication aren’t the greatest, when it comes to movies and other pop phenomena. I mean, Ghost Rider looks like a godawful movie, and it’s based on a godawful character from Marvel’s nadir. So of course it ran away with the box office and is going to pass $100 million in sales this weekend. Did I underestimate how bored and/or stupid teenagers can be in February? I guess so.
But 300? Projected to pull in $60 million in its opening weekend? I’m happy that it’s getting so much exposure, but I’m just afraid that it’ll give Frank Miller so much Hollywood cachet that he’ll pursue a bigscreen version of Give Me Liberty.