I found this on Gerry's blog and I felt the burning need to pass it on to the portion of my audience that doesn't read his blog.
Superman and Jerry Seinfeld -It's cool on par with the Super Mario Brothers animation I linked to a while back.

I had the strangest feeling today; completely out of character for me. I was walking through the mall on my lunch break with my just-purchased bowl of soup in my hand and my earphones playing Tom Waits. Nothing out of the ordinary, just me blocking out the people and advertisements around me with a happy bubble of sound. My normal routine is to take a short outdoor constitutional to get some fresh air and clear my head. I traipse about with my Entish legs in full stride, and I sometimes check certain windows. I glance in EBgames to see what's new on the demo machines and to check if the token (and, incidentally, cute) female employee is working, I look at the Gap for as long as it takes me to renew my bloated sense of intellectual superiority, and I look at the sky to remind myself somehow that I'm really truly on a break so I can relax.

As I mentioned before, though, today was different. It was a beautiful sunny day (the type I normally avoid), and I was in an almost chipper mood (the type I normally avoid). As I made my way across the sunlit valley of suburban fetish peddlers I happened to look into a store called the Buckle. I can only assume they sell belts and or shoes, though all that is visible from outside is shirts and pants. For whatever reason, my eye fixed briefly on the "Lucky" clothing logo. I have a shirt from this particular label, one of many black shirts I own, and I rather like it. It's a good skinny guy shirt that makes a harsh contrast against the many lumbering fleshpiles that populate this state. So, while I don't usually care about labels, I do kind of like Lucky, as they make nice looking clothes that are perfect for art galleries and semi-classy restaurants. I thought about this as I walked away from the store window, and I suddenly thought that I needed a nice pair of pants.

Normally, this is not the sort of thing that will cross my mind. If my head were Wrigley Field, the thought of buying pants when I don't absolutely need them would be represented by a seagull perched on the edge of Navy Pier. I have plenty of pants. I have enough jeans and khakis to last me for weeks at a time in between laundry loads without getting dirty and funky. Why would I get the urge to buy pants, especially if I don't see a sale sign? Is this one of those maturity things where I'm supposed to want to dress well in order to feel confident? If so, then I must be regressing to some earlier age when this sort of feeling would normally afflict me, or I'm still a late bloomer. I have my work pants and my regular pants, and even a pair of pants as part of my suit. Also, I'm trying to save as much money as possible for this fall when I will be a student again. I'm not even sure why I want new pants, as I don't even know if they come in my funhouse mirror size or not. Perhaps I've been mall employee for long enough that the conditioning is starting to sink in. Perhaps I feel the need to assert myself as a vibrant twenty-something who is every bit as hip and cool as the characters on my favorite TV shows, even if only while wearing an as-yet-unseen pair of pants.

I don't know. I've rambled on about this for long enough. I do apologize to my faithful readers for the long ramble on the single subject without any kind of payoff at the end. Unless of course you're really fascinated by prospective pants purchase diatribes.

If you use an electric toothbrush while listening to an iPod it makes anything sound like White Zombie. Strange but true.

I've worked a ton over the last week or so, hence I've been neglecting the blog. I devoted last night to watching Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West, yet another starkly unhappy tale of vengeance and greed in the old west. I love those movies. Tonight I'm going to go see the Triplets of Belleville. Tomorrow I'll go see Jersey Girl. None of this makes good blogfodder, but I thought I ought to mention it for posterity or something.

I'm trying to get back into art somehow. Being marginally employed and dressing like a bum is only chic if you can back it up with some kind of art or philosophy degree. Also, I'm getting over the art school mind-fuxor that I was in for so long. I had the idea that much of what I would produce would be inconsequential and amateurish if I didn't devote every waking moment to art, eschewing all television and video games, most movies, and any form of fun that didn't involve recreational drugs. It has occurred to me that even if I had paid attention in my art history, graphic design, and sociology classes I would still be working retail. So, if fine art isn't for me, then I don't need to adhere to any sort of dogmatic standard of what an artist is, and I can focus on any sort of creative outlet I want. And it will be inconsequential and amateurish, but it doesn't matter. The point of my going to grad school is to develop myself as an individual, not as a cookie-cutter artist in the dubious tradition of thousands of Warhol devotees.

I just learned that my brother is going to a concert with Howard Shore directing his Lord of the Rings music. Live. For fifteen dollars. Needless to say, I am insanely jealous. He'd better blog about it in an overly-verbose and scantly-edited way when he gets back.

One last thing that I felt I should put here. In Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland there is a riddle that, at the time of the original publication, there was no answer for. The Mad Hatter's riddle; "how is a raven like a writing desk?" I was thumbing through a copy of the book the other night, and I found that Carroll had later responded to the many fan inquiries with this answer: "Because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and it is never put with the wrong end in front." There you have it, the answer to the riddle with no answer from the man who first posed the question. I now carry it in my wallet for the giddy esoteric value of having such a thing.

I haven't updated in awhile, which always means I've been busy. I sold books, played video games, and went to the dentist. Those are the sort of things that aren't worth elaborating on, though, save for that I'm happy to have clean teeth. Here are the things that are worth extrapolating on.

The heater did get installed, and it works really well. I felt I should mention that after my last post, even if only to give myself some closure.

I sent my portfolio to BSU, and as soon as I know anything I'll post it here. Of course, almost everybody who will read this is near enough for me to tell in person, but I'll still post. This site is the DVD-commentary to my life.

Gerry and I went to the mall on Saturday night for all the usual reasons. We wandered around grousing about kids today and speculating about geek summer movies yet to come. I rarely if ever buy anything at the mall, but I still like to go and walk around for some reason. I used to use the mall as a one-hour escape from the responsibilities of college. Anyway, the highlight of the night (aside from hanging out with Gerry) was dinner at TGI Fridays. I talked to guy I knew from USF since my freshman year (happy to hear he might be getting a really good job soon) and Gerry somehow managed to make friends with everyone within earshot. This included not only our server, but also the lady at the table next to us. Not directly next to us, as there was a plant on top of a partition to act as a Les Nessman-esque wall. Unhindered by this honor-system divider, the woman overheard us discussing what we might order and handed us a little menu with some kind of a discount deal. We had the same thing on our table, but she really wanted us to see this. She also wanted to tell us about the cooking demonstration at the home expo that she and her taciturn husband had been to earlier at the Coliseum. So, instead of Gerry and I having our usual discussions about media ethics or the sociological nuances of sports, we got to hear all about over-priced cookware and a demonstration by those dogs that jump really far and land in a pool of water. The woman left after a while, but not before informing us with wide-eyed head-nodding conviction that we should go to the home expo cooking demo because we get to try everything the chef prepares and we even get a free salad at the beginning. We continued eating and Gerry struck up a conversation with our server, a delightful young woman with a penchant for movie references and a need to rest her feet after a long day. After a satisfying meal we bid adieu to the mall, heading back to the suburbs where people respect the botanical confines dictated by homogeneous chain restaurants.

I'm up well before noon for the second day in a row. If you listen closely, you can hear the world's smallest violin playing a lament for me, having to wake up. The thing is, I'm not up because I have to go to work. I'm out of bed before my mid-Pacific sleep schedule usually dictates because I've been charged with greeting the guy who is installing a new furnace in the basement. For the second day in a row. I really don't know anything about furnaces; I've never read anything about them, so all that I know is that they sit in the basement and create heat. The old one didn't create heat, though, at least not enough to fill a standard size suburban house. The old heater produced the fine black sooty substance that, if left unchecked, would eventually build up somewhere in the heating system to the point that heat wouldn't get through anymore. That, and carbon monoxide. Apparently, the threat of cee-oh-one is credible enough to warrant concern. I think it causes brain damage, or something. This might explain the quality of some of my past bloggings. Soot and carbon monoxide- welcome to flavor country.

I feel kind of like Laura in Tennessee Williams's The Glass Menagerie, waiting for the geltleman caller. I suppose the big difference in my case would be that I've already had two cups of coffee and watched a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And I've never had pleurosis. And I'm not preordained by the divine hand of the playwrite to fail dismally and remain alone with no company but a shelf full of glass animals and an aging southern debutante.

Here's an article that I found interesting the other day. The psychology of headphones. It's a quick read, for those of you with precious little time on your hands.

I treated my illness with a week of medicinal Starcraft and all kinds of cold-fighting beverages. I'm feeling better now, and life moves inexorably onward for me. My portfolio is coming together nicely and I should have it in the mail to BSU this next week. I'm also back to selling books at BN, so w00t for me.

In my geek opinion, it's been an up-and-down month for geek shows. My big three are Angel, Smallville, and West Wing. One is building to a giant climax, one is spinning it's wheels, and one is meandering aimlessly, respectively.

As Angel gears up for a series finale that might just be The End in a big way, there were several excellent episodes this past month. We got a goofy mystical puppet episode written by the Tick creator Ben Edlund, a cool flashback episode on a WWII submarine, and even a sort of a "beginning of the end" episode written and directed by Joss Whedon himself. There has been a real sense of urgency and suspense in the show, and more than one main character has died. I would even go so far as to opine that this has been better so far than most of the last season of Buffy.

Smallville is either running out of ideas to take from other shows and movies, or the producers have some huge idea cooking on the back burner for the last few episodes of the season. I'm not quite sure what's going on. There was a surprisingly nice episode about a girl who could teleport, hence she didn't really have any sense of personal boundaries and this leads to certain trouble for our hero. Then there was the usual plotting about bombs with kryptonite, cars with kryptonite, and everything else that has already been done to death on the show. It's getting sad. Aside from that, though, the characters other than Clark and Lana have been given more important roles. There have been two different explanations about Pete's whereabouts during the first half of the season. The last episode was mostly a dud, save for a wordless scene at the end that puts nearly three years of mystery in perspective and left my jaw on the floor. If the writers can manage to avoid any more gaping plot holes and stop being so grossly negligent with Clark's secret, then the season's last six episodes will be very cool indeed.

Then, there's West Wing. Insert labored sigh here. It's only too clear how smart a writer Aaron Sorkin is now that he isn't heading the show anymore. It's almost as if the writers are locked in separate offices with nothing but word processors and muted televisions on CNN. There hasn't been any thought given to the characters themselves, the people behind the official titles. The original intent of the show was to put a human face on politics. I missed a couple of episodes due to work, but so far this season has been sort of an echo of the previous four years.

I watch more TV than I used to, but I try to limit myself to shows I'm actually interested in. I'll be cutting way back next fall, I know that. Until then, I can anticipate Wonderfalls, a promising new show for the clods at Fox to run into the ground, and an eventual second season of Dead Like Me.

I'm not in blogging condition today, so this isn't going to be a huge long post. I worked a full eight hour shift in the cafe yesterday with a 103F degree fever, so I'm letting myself recuperate today. Forcing, actually, as I'm eager to spend my day off doing things I enjoy, like visiting the library and, well, checking out books at the library. Also, The Tripplets of Bellville is playing locally, but I want to wait and see it with my brother next week.

So, while I've been playing Jimmy Stewart* cooped up indoors looking longingly at the outside world, I found this brilliant flash animation that you all need to see. Trust me. Super Mario Brothers. Even in 2-D it manages to outdo the near-forgotten live action Super Mario movie. There are three parts, so watch them all and geek out.




*In the movie Rear Window, if you didn't get it.