Well, you can have this day right back. Yes you can.
From: Matthew Brown
Subject: What's wrong with Carter
Haven't watched this week's episode yet (don't have cable) but here's what I think based on last week's.
- Something is wrong with Carter's sole remaining kidney. (He lost the other one when he got stabbed.) He is going to get a new kidney.
- Dr. Peter Benton will be called in to perform the transplant.
- The operation will succeed but over the following weeks Carter will get sick. The kidney did not take.
- Carter will die and donate his heart to that woman with no heart. (Carter has type O blood.)
- Dr. Douglas Ross and Nurse Hathaway will be in town to attend his funeral but will perform heroic medical acts when something bad happens i.e. a boy gets trapped in a well and then a train crashes into that well carrying Ewan McGregor.
- Alternately, when he finds out Carter is dying, Dr. Ross will gather the other doctors and say "No. Not him. Not this man." Ross, Hathaway, Benton, Lewis and Weaver will go on a kill-crazy rampage across Chicago, slaughtering person after person in an effort to find Carter a new kidney. Donald Anspaugh will come out of retirement. The bald, pissed-off ghost of Mark Greene will be summoned. Deb Chen will show up, dressed as a ninja, with six kidneys in each hand and the blood of her victims all over her face. THEY WILL SUCCEED, Chief. They will save Carter's life. When they are brought before a tribunal to answer for their heinous crimes, the Mayor of Chicago will grant them all pardons, "because it's Carter," he will say. "Because John Carter is the best of all of us." Also because it turns out the Mayor used to sleep with Carter's grandmother.
Now tell me you don't love that ending.
Dropped Mighty Avengers, as soon as it changed writers. I hadn't been enjoying it for a year anyway. Of the 20-odd that Bendis did, I'd say only the first 6 or 7 issues were really effective, and now who knows what that book's even for.
Picked up Dark Avengers, not sure if I'll keep it. Watching these things get set up is interesting and there's also some value in having a book that is about little more than dishin' teh smack, but it's not the main book, and times are tight.
I will, however, give Dark Avengers credit for presenting, legitimately, the first superhero pin-up I would actually pin up. Yow.
Bendis/Maleev Spider-Woman solo comic cannot come soon enough.
In my dream I became certain, and I was going to blog it the moment I woke up - The Island is the Ark. Goodness, it sounded so plausible while I was asleep, except for when you realize that it has nothing to do with anything.
Well, at least I'm dreaming about television instead of work. That suggests an upturn in my mood. Next week I might dream about sex, and after that flight, and then I'll be back to good.
Ten degrees and rainy! I may go to work naked.
The top three searched phrases that have brought visitors to this site this month:
This dumb old Facebook game turned out way too good. You:
1 - Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2 - Go to "Random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.
3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4 - Use photoshop, the gimp or similar to put it all together.
5 - Post it to FB with this text in the "caption" and TAG the friends you want to join in.
And I got:
And I am humbled by chaos in all its creative power. This is, potentially, the finest argument yet written for why natural selection wins over intellligent design.
Hey, up here [points to head], I'm on a beach, with no one around, and a glass of rum in my hand. The sun is setting, and it's nice, but my eyes are closed anyway.
(This doesn't necessarily matter to you, but I'm waiting to leave for dinner, have nothing really to do, and wanted to see if I could post this via my BlackBerry. I've already been mistaken for a loitering thief, and reported as such. That's something, isn't it?)
Gore Verbinski, having successfully turned a ride into the BEST MOVIE EVER, is now going to try to turn a boardgame into another (best?) MOVIE (ever?). Except this time it's Clue and holy crap, does the world not need another Clue: The Movie, because the first one was (of course) perfect.
Meanwhile, that Green Lantern movie that I thought was entirely theoretical at this point has a release date, and it ain't far away. The usual mix of "hey cool they're making a Green Lantern movie" / "oh they're gonna fuck this up so bad" applies. And by the way (same article), in case you hadn't heard, Christopher Nolan's science fiction film Inception is going to be EPIC.
Finally, Hot Toys announced Joker #3, and thank goodness, it sucks so bad. All the collectors who got their jubblies in a froth over the Nurse Joker idea are gonna have to go back to home-stitching their kid sisters' Barbie outfits.
And that's what I think on 5 hours of sleep.
Without fail, the first and last thing I do every time I visit Montreal is go into this stall. The unintentional flash somehow manages to highlight the grimy hyper-lucidity of the experience.
Megatron, motherfucker! He's back and this time he's a tank! A TANK! Boy I wish I could transform. I could be anything.
I'll tell ya, I am a developing a sickly parasitical relationship with the suckness that is the Transformers movie franchise. I think it was when I was watching the Blu-Ray a couple of weeks ago and thought to myself, 'you know, the design of the new Megatron isn't that bad,' that I realized I had a problem.
Speaking of problems, here's a fella can't get hired for shit, so he decided to go bananas on Craigslist. It's so filthy, internal security won't even let me open it on my work computer. (Which makes me wonder how they're gonna handle a post that starts with the words "Megatron motherfucker.")
Let me take a minute (once again) to wax Michael Giacchino's car. Any man who trots out John Williams' Lost World theme for the Oscar telecast deserves a bit of praise. I downloaded the 3 Lost season scores, and though I always liked the music on the show, I don't think I had a clear understanding of how freakishly well-laid-out it is until the "John saviour" theme got brought out rather subtly in one track at the tail end of season 1. This Giacchino dude really did map the whole thing out, huh? By the time you're into the mid-third season the thematic relationships are nothing short of mind-boggling (and oh so listenable). He must be one of six people in the world who actually knows what the frick the end of the story is. New Best Composer Ever?
"He walks among us, but he is not one of us." - Jack Shephard's tattoo
"An Eagle Cleaves the Emptiness" - Matthew Fox's tattoo
(...BUT WHICH IS THE REAL TATTOO...??)
I think about Lost, and (unrelatedly) life, a lot these days.
I now have what can accurately be described as a ridiculous quantity of rum. 2 more bottles last night, one of which has naked dancing girls on it (that one's from my mother). I have so much rum, if things ever got silly at my apartment, we could have a rum fight. And still have rum left over for sippin'. Mmm rum fight.
The rum will help: I'm not gonna lie to ya, it's been challenging. I had a shite week, and a shite weekend because of it, and I gloomed around a lot of the time and lay catatonic for most of the rest of the time, and started to feel better for about an hour yesterday and now am right back into weary disaffectation and a general lack of good mood. These times are hard; not insurmountably so, but they wear on you. I could do with a win, or at least a sunny hot vacation.
I guess I make that mistake every year: thinking I don't need a few days to get the fuck out of here and do something which is as meaningless as my day-to-day, but in an entirely different way. Righteous meaninglessness.
Speaking of righteous meaninglessness, OH MY GOD THE BORINGEST OSCARS EVER. The whole thing looked like a descent into utter crapitude till Anne Hathaway was brought onto the stage, and then it suggested the possibility of a good show for a few minutes, and then it died a thousand deaths again as they trotted out the "here's how we make a movie" approach to awards order. Add the Slumdog march to glory and it's actually as uninvolving a year as there's been in my memory. We did our usual live-podcasting thing and ended up with a 30-minute show when all the segments were combined, which is a bit longer than usual, but surely we were only so loquacious to combat the encroaching torpor. (And also because we are utterly in love with the sound of our own voices, and with each other, and with cinema itself.) Listen to the Mamo here.
I'm going to leave you with some collected pull quotes from the last 24 hours, along with a few tips to make living alone less awful.
"Do you call your boobs your 'killer whales?'" - Adam to Caitlin
"You know what I like? I like how, over time, Adam and I have switched personalities." - Me, not related to prior quote
"DON'T fall in love with me." - Steve Martin to Tina Fey
"Whoa! Her eyes are pretend!" - Sasha, watching commercials again for the first time in a year
"Right now Jack Nicholson is applying a thimblefull of bleach to Keira Knightley's asshole." - the answer to why neither were at the Oscar show
I have an uneasy relationship with Lost this season. Longtime readers will remember that I've had similar periods before, so I almost feel foolish about it; at the end of most episodes this year I feel relieved, "See, that wasn't so bad," as though some weight of crapulence has descended on the show and is only barely being lifted on a weekly basis. Something about the storytelling just rubs me wrong, right now. With the long-questioned flashback structure negated at last, the show seems rushed, and vacant, and hard to follow. There's too much going on. Jack - who is still, as far as I'm concerned, the hero of the series - has been sidelined to day-player status until this week's episode, when he finally seemed to become the lead again; but in doing so, we went no further than that, or no deeper. It's as though with 4 seasons of character relationships set up, the writers have decided "Well, you know enough about them now; let's just see them act, rather than be." If each season prior has defined itself with a core thrust - the island, the hatch, the Others, the freighter - and this one is "the time travel"... well, it's either unaccountably daring that they have reformulated the structure of the show to so closely approximate the time-jumping island on which our characters reside, or it's just plain madness. Each episode comes with held breath. I wonder how the season as a whole will feel on Blu-Ray.
This piece, in which Ebert eulogizes Gene Siskel on the 10th anniversary of his death, is predictably lovely.
To further cover off the backlog, I didn't like Dollhouse really very much at all. The pre-show expectations hold true: this show is not appealing. It doesn't have a premise. It doesn't have a main character, and it doesn't have, really, an idea of any kind at all. Or at least that's how it feels, given how spectacularly badly thought out the pilot was. Can someone explain to me: why, if your daughter was kidnapped and you needed a hostage negotiator, you would (instead of hiring an actual hostage negotiator) hire someone who had been mentally programmed to think they're a hostage negotiator? Was that covered somewhere, and I missed it? I don't understand what advantage the Dollhouse presents, in any of the engagements depicted in the first episode. If you wanted a high-price whore to spend your birthday weekend with, why go to the additional expense and trouble of a mind-programmed prostitute, rather than a real prostitute? Just so she can race bikes? Why send a tactical operative into a safehouse who has never actually held a gun before, but only thinks she has? This pilot is proof that you can't actually develop an entire series concept in the bathroom while waiting for the fish course to arrive. Oddly enough, with a 13-episode order and a million-and-change bump on viewership from Sarah Connor an hour before, it might survive to the summertime, and lord knows, that first season of Buffy was crappy too. But it wasn't stupid. The first episode of Dollhouse is stupid.
Transitioning... transitioning... while the domain nameservers are switching over I have no email, and through strange coincidence my phone is not taking incoming calls either. Unexpectedly hermited, I am enjoying some peace and quiet. I wonder if the blog will even work in this new, strange server. Well I guess we'll find out momentarily.
Now don't get creeped out, but: I have large windows looking north on a series of apartment buildings, and so rather naturally I gaze out over the vista while, say, talking on the phone and/or ruminating upon things. Now I noticed, just randomly, that on Valentine's Day, one of the individuals in an apartment opposite mine was watching pornography on his very, very, very large television. The television faces the window, and is very, very, very large, and as such (from my vantage point) it essentially is the window, for all intents and purposes. And that window is porn. It was so on Valentine's Day, and now inevitably every time I gaze out on my vista, my eyes are drawn back there to see what's the what now, and it's porn. Lots, and lots, and lots of porn. It's amazing to me that with only the naked (heh) human eye, one can discern porn indisputably from over 1000 feet away. I wonder, had I a much larger television and more than a passing interest in porn, if I would also have my television face the window so that I would be beaming my porn out into the cosmos like my apartment-facing neighbour. I'm not so sure. I've never quite removed myself from the 12-year-old boy gut-feel that porn is something to be secreted, hoarded, and absolutely never admitted to in any tangible sense. Porn is for dark corners, not 60-inch plasmas.
That newfangled HDTV Simpsons opening credits, though, that sure as fuck is for 60-inch plasmas. It was very exciting right up till I realized that this is, demonstrably, the moment that The Simpsons has inextricably jumped the shark. They must now demonstrably be within seconds of being cancelled. Like that year of The X Files with Anabeth Gish and the T-1000. Sweet, merciful cancellation. Can you believe The Simpsons went twenty years? And only about three of them sucked?
Hey - if you saw Medicine for Melancholy at the festival (or elsewhere) (and if you didn't/haven't, you really should), check out the interview with Barry Jenkins on this week's installment of The Treatment with Elvis Mitchell. (The Soderbergh one from a few weeks back, too, is fairly kickass.) Additionally, there's a new Mamo that doesn't seem to be syndicating correctly, so check that out too.
This week was long and complex and performance-reviewy, and I am tired and have yet to get into my whiskey as was promised to me by me, about six hours ago. I'm sure we have much to discuss, like why Dollhouse sucked so bad, but we will have to talk about it later.
ITEM!: Domain nameserver migration still pending. All may be lost but I just can'ts not be bloggin' no mo'.
ITEM!: On Sunday, I watched Kill Bill, and every time I do that, I come away wanting to do it again the very next day.
ITEM!: On Monday, I stayed in the best hotel that has ever been. I would show you the pictures, were I not nude in all of them.
ITEM!: Did anyone hear that Kim Manners died? That's sad, man. He was a class act, and his work on X-Files did, of course, set the stage for pretty much everything kickass about Lost.
ITEM!: I HAVE NOT WATCHED LOST YET SHUT UP.
ITEM!: No you shut up.
ITEM!: No you shut up!
I'm going to Montreal for a few days and in the meantime, Jason and I are trying to push Tederick.com over to a new host/server/registrar/something I don't know. Presumably/theoretically, the transition should be seamless and should happen later this week anyway, but if it happens while I'm gone for some reason, and there's a problem for some reason, well at least I had this chance to say goodbye.
Wait a minute - Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln were born on the same day (yesterday)?? Jeebs, Canadian grade-school history class. How'd ya miss that one.
SOMEONE HAS HAD TOO MANY SUGAR PRODUCTS TODAY AND IT MIGHT BE MATT BROWN. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Today's question is: Who Is Blue Guy? Let me tell you about blue guy. Blue guy is a tall, stately fellow who I have noticed on my morning RT ride with quite a bit of regularity since I started working in Scarborough. He is called blue guy because he always wears blue. ALWAYS. Blue guy is obsessed with blue. He wears blue pants, or a blue jacket, or a blue tie, or a blue hat. ALWAYS. He has blue ribbins braided into his hair. Dude likes blue, I can appreciate that.
So anyways, I noticed blue guy from time to time, but lately I've been noticing him more. And what I've realized is, blue guy not only works where I work, blue guy probably lives in my building. I mean what are the odds of that? And is blue guy actually a government agent monitoring my behaviour? That's the key, man. WHAT IS BLUE GUY'S JOB. Am I going to have to fight blue guy to the death? Is he my new best friend or new mortal enemy or what? So many questions. I'm going to try to snap a picture of blue guy on the subway today and post it for you later, so that you can all keep an eye out for him.
This week was a roughie (not a roofie, though the hangover felt like one). Next week I'm going to Montreal for a few days. This weekend's Valentine's Day, hence the chocolate. And today I realized that it's the thirteenth of February and I have not gone snowboarding at all, nor made any plans to do so before end-of-season. WTF, internet. I gotta reorganize my life.
I picked up Batman #686 this week and then promptly yanked the Dark Knight from my pull list altogether; I am so goddamned glad this whole mess is over. Between R.I.P. and Final Crisis, all Morrison achieved was to utterly obliterate any kind of artistic integrity in the non-Green Lantern DC titles, making last year's Marvel One More Day fiasco look relatively well-thought-out in comparison.
But, at the end, with "What Ever Happened to the Cape Crusader?", we're going out on a high note. Here's Neil Gaiman, pinch-hitting for the now certifiably bugfuck crazy Grant Morrison, to remind us how comics are meant to be written, and how they're meant to be read. "What Ever Happened" is posturpedic support for the Morrison-weary, a comfy training bra for raw and sensitive minds. It undoes nothing, retcons nothing, and yet it stands as such a stark "here is how it's meant to be done," with casual formalism, beautiful art, and genuine enthusiasm for the storytelling process, that it reads (rightfully so) like Here Is Writing, And Fuck The Rest Of You. And as such, is much-needed.
We gotta wait till March 18 for the second part, in Detective Comics where it belongs, rather than the main title. I'm rather excited about that, which is nice.
At the same time, the misbegotten Angel series both came to an end this week, and did not; I must admit that issue #16 last month did an appreciably good job with the climax of what had been a dozen issues or so of utter garbage, but issue #17 sorta queers the deal by being so clearly a This Book Made Money, So We're Keeping It Going. Lord, IDW has to work on their property management, or Joss Whedon has to work with Dark Horse exclusively, or something. What could have been a terrific 6-issue story got teased out into a 17-issue-with-two-spinoffs mess. Greed: it's a deadly sin for a reason.
Attention, email software developers of the world: I have an Idea. See, I receive a lot of cc's. A lot of cc's. Sometimes it's legitimately good FYI information, usually it's just the "I copied this guy in case I'm gonna get in trouble" sort of thing. Whole conversations, entire discussion threads, occur in these cc's of mine, in which I rarely need to get involved or even read through. At the beginning of the day I'll often sort by subject in Outlook, and just blow away whole subject lines to clear information quickly.
How about a button in Outlook that marks a subject line as something I don't need to read? It could be called CONDEMN. You're getting cc'd on something that doesn't actually matter to you, you just hit Condemn and it roundfiles the whole thing automatically so that you never have to trouble yourself with it again, never even have to receive an alert or a BlackBerry message saying that it's there. You send it to the cyberequivalent of the Phantom Zone (squirt?). And then go about your day (squirt.).
Can I get rich now please?
After the longest-held deep breath in Hollywood history, Chris Nolan has announced his next flick, Inception, which one can only hope is as stellar as his previous inter-Batman effort, The Prestige. I wonder if he'll ever get around to that Prisoner remake, while he's at it. Christian Bale all da-da da-da da-da in the background? Can we hope?
Meanwhilist, heere's de Basterds.
Neo-Devastator via the Transformers 2. Well, I mean... frick lord. They're makin' a toy of that? Meaning you could Neo-Dev vs. Gen 1 in your own back yard? I used to know a person who played with Transformers in the bathtub. Imagine that mash-up. ...I mean, wow.
Sorry. Zoned out for a minute there. Anyways, I went to see Revolutionary Road yesterday, at long last (and here's my review). So very, very interesting. So really, very, unsuccesful. But interesting. Sam Mendes! Frick! What happened, man?
...will be the name of my autobiography (or leadership management course).
From day 3 of the Paper Places shoot, February 8 2009 (more photos on Facebook):
Well, I would just rather be at home watching Transformers, is all. Movie, television show, whatever; I could take Megatron out of the nerd case and play with him, too. It's all good as long as it transforms; as long as it ain't here, doing this. Some days - and these days usually occur in summer - your head is just elsewhere. Permanently, systematically sitting in the lawn chair of the mind, with sunglasses on and eyes closed. Trouble being, these days are coming faster and more furious than ever. You can only sit through so many PowerPoint decks where you're told that the new BlackBerry is targeted at consumers as well as business clients - hint for the non-indoctrinated, they all are - before you realize that you're bored outta your fuckin' mind.
So, me and Allison Reid lit out of Dodge, hit the 'Bizzle for an hour and considered the situation, and the situation considered us right back. It seems that you don't ever really reach a "turning point" per se, but rather make a series of intelligent decisions that slowly and inexorably trend you towards the place where you are now, good or bad (or utterly without bias). Then you wake up and you're 32 and HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE 32 and you're here, not there, and nobody ever even asked your opinion.
The other day I was on Demetre's set again - photographs forthcoming, though I feel this weekend's shooting did not lend the spectacular visual gravitas of last weekend's shooting - and I spent the morning as a deep-background extra in a funeral scene, talking to myself, and the afternoon as a P.A./set runner/man about town, Millennium Falconing a TTC bus and sort of trying not to get killed. These things are line with how I usually spend my Sundays. At around 4:30 I was in the parking lot of the Loblaws at Christie and Dupont, trying to start a car that would not start, and faced with about a 30 minute walk back to Demetre's place and the pizza that I had personally ordered but not yet had a chance to sample, and it sort of reminded me of an adventure, or at least a good time. The sun was going down. The movie got done, and now I'm surprisingly hungry to be on to the next thing, if and when and whatever that is.
Everyone - literally everyone - is getting married. When did that happen and why wasn't I informed. I'm going to have to put a wedding-spending-related cap on 2010 or I will not be able to make rent. Gifts for prospective brides and grooms include blank VHS tapes, fishing tackle, and straws from McDonalds.
The people I don't really like get the You are a Douche cards. Now, I don't like "douche." Don't like it as an insult for all the obvious reasons; don't like it as a feminine product for all the other obvious reasons. But I do like simple black-and-white cards that say it as it is. Along similar lines, and I think it's largely all the Irvine Welsh currently in my life, the word "twat" as an insult amuses the fuck out of me right now. Twat is a bizarrely spectacular word all of a sudden. If it didn't mean vagina I'd be using it derrogatorially on a daily basis. But it does so I don't. I don't want to inadvertently compliment the jerks in my life by analogizing them with the wondrous.
I'm really quite glad that so many people are having Edgar Wright and/or Kevin Smith related fun in Toronto these days. Glad by way of HATE.
To cap off my morning, Christian Bale fucking apologizes over here, which sorta takes the luster off the whole thing, at least until someone dance-remixes it ("because she is CRAZY").
Devastator and Christian Bale are my 2 favourite things this week, and if they ever found a way to combine the two into a Voltron-like mega-transforming Christian Baleastator, there is no toy large or expensive enough for how awesome that would be, even if the on-board microchip made the transforming sound and quipped "WHAT DON'T YOU F***ING UNDERSTAND???" in equal measure.
I betcha Christian Bale transforms, anyway.
Perused via email:
"...Though [the Christian Bale rant and its dance remix] have no ostensible link to the quality of Terminator Salvation, they have convinced me that Christian Bale Tears Shit Up Like A Motherfucker, and I will see any movie he makes." - Me to Carl
"Also, the Transformers proved they were far and away superior once they had the Constructicons -- the 5 construction site vehicles who combine to form DEVASTATOR! As far as blatant rip-offs go, they pretty much nailed it right there!" - Chris to us
"When Devastator showed up in the new Transformers trailer I nearly shit my pants" - Me to Chris
"I'm lovin' the focus." - Demetre to us
Silver Snail sold out of Scott Pilgrim: FAIL. Grimlock sighting. (!) (!!) Stairs: STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP. Girlfriend: hug: cute! Feel better. Fish taco. Buffy. Cold cold cold cold cold cold subway cold cold cold cold, 1,000,000 Comix, I HAVE THE PILGRIM (holds sword aloft)! SO GODDAMNED SHINY cold cold cold cold cold. Under covers: Zam (fat. warm.) Couch. Laptop. Beer. Book. Would like to do a little writing, a little something else. Soon enough.
From Day 1 of the Paper Places shoot, February 1 2009:
Plenty more on Facebook.
On Friday I freaked out, and have many thoughts about that.
On Saturday I finished the rough cut of Guy in the Sky, at 6 minutes and 40 seconds (sans credits), and have 2 spots I would like to tighten, and 2 parts I would like to rework, and one missing (pivotal) shot I will send to Industrial Light and Magic cuz there sure as fuck ain't any way to make a plane fly straight and true at 17 storeys up.
On Sunday I engaged in various acts of thuggery for Boss Eliopoulos, which included (but were not limited to) dragging a guy down a hallway, throwing him into a chair, manhandling my machine gun, and lying dead on a sub-zero concrete floor for several hundreds of hours.
In a surprising number of ways, all three of these things are significantly related. Many, many photos to come. But in the meantime...