The Waste Lands, by Stephen King. First off, Oy is aweso. For true. Oy! The Waste Lands is a continuation of King's Dark Tower epic, and it certainly upholds the very high standards of the novels previous to it. For the sheer amount that happens in the narrative, both in terms of plot and character development, it reads so quickly I actually hardly felt I read a full novel at all. I greatly enjoyed the expansion of setting, as per usual, but I was hoping for a bit more backstory on the main-main character, but the next book seems set up for that, I hope. It may seem like I don't have much to say about this novel, considering my high opinion of it, but it's really more a question of not going on for pages and pages in a close-reading manner, which this isn't really the right place to do that in.

A History of Violence, with Maria Bello and Viggo Mortenson. This film was interesting in that it had an incredibly tight narrative structure - it was like parallel!/parallel!/bam!/bam!, to describe it in a very inarticulate manner - and so would be great to write an essay on, and the acting and cinematography were quite good as well. As much as I was a bit disappointed that there weren't more twists and turns to the story, this is the kind of movie that seems just made for provoking discussion - what are 'good' and 'bad' violence, how much does context matter, what kinds of violence aren't readily apparent as violence (violence by mendacity, for example), what does it mean in how people react to violence....seriously, anyone wants to watch this and have a long talk with me, I'm down.

Wedding Crashers, with Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson. As much as comedies don't usually hold my attention very well, this one was okay. It was a good bit more serious (in relative terms) than I expected, which was mildly interesting, though something about the story had me thinking it was going to end much earlier than it did, which threw me a little. It did have Christopher Walken in it, that was nice.

"We like to think of cruelty as the province of the smart, because we tend to think that it takes real brains to be darts-accurate with cruelty, but the truth is that stupid people can be exceptionally cruel, thereby giving credence to the notion that we humans have several kinds of intelligence that layer over one another like transparent pages from an anatomy textbook." - from the blog pretty dumb things

and fun with linguistics from Jabal al-Lughat

I think The Boondock Saints is a great movie for a variety of reasons. In watching it last night, I was reminded of one of them - that is, the ethical issue of the vigilante nature of the Saints in question. It's never really approached directly in the movie till the fake-real man-on-the-street interviews in the ending credits, and even then not with any depth but with impassioned response or actual shying away. I think that's a great decision, in that not only does the audience have the entire film to debate the issue to themselves without judgement or commentary from the narrative, but those interview responses also probably mimic the most common responses on the part of the audience after the end, which is an interesting reflecting idea.

So here's my two cents as to the questionable morality of the Saints' acting as judge, jury and executioner based solely on their own judgment. I'll refer back to what I talked about a little while ago, I think, Krishna's conversation with Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita. Without attempting to encapsulate that at all, I'll come back to the film and make the argument that the narrative is not so simple as to just condone violence - rather, I'd say the deeper meaning is that what is to really be condoned is right action, in the Buddhist sense, however ironic that seems (perhaps a better word might be dharmic action?).

That is, the Saints are presented as inherently good men - even characters who hardly know them at all immediately recognize that. They have aspects of being enlightened - for example (in a within-narrative-structure way) they are obviously capable of living beyond their current means (re: their skill with languages) but are quite conent with the humble living space and job (even their working in a meat packing plant is similar to the story of the butcher who turns out to be a famous sage). In light of these qualities (and others I'm omitting at the moment), it becomes apparent that the saints are quite self-aware and furthermore (from their point of "enlightenment," as it were) are clearly acting from an intention to embrace what is reality is presenting to them to choose to do. In acting from their hearts (or from a deeper, intuitive level, however one wants to put it), they are making their decisions in a similar way to Arjuna on the eve of a battle in which he knew he would have to kill friends and family.

So yes, it's violent; and the morality of it is very much questionable. But all the same, one can argue that the Saints are good men acting from a deep place to do the right thing. And that doesn't make it right - but it makes it as right as something like that can be, in my mind.

-and a nice line from the movie (I'd put down the final declaration before the big bang at the end, but that's the climax and all that):
"When I raise my flashing sword, and my hand takes hold on judgment, I will take vengeance upon mine enemies, and I will repay those who haze me. Oh, Lord, raise me to Thy right hand and count me among Thy saints."

I'm not sure whether it's clever or dumb - a running discourse on penultimate panels

Though I haven't listened to the classical station in a while, an interesting guide

Dragons of a Vanished Moon, by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. Ok, last Dragonlance book for a while, methinks. This conclusion to the War of Souls trilogy is the most polished of the three, I think, and certainly the fastest pace and most compelling. To achieve that pace in a story of this size, however, I wouldn't say character development suffered, but there certainly wasn't a great deal of it. But that's ok. I would have loved to have seen even more of the already-interesting-setting-turned-dark, but same deal. Another thing that didn't quite bother me was that as much as this concluded the narrative of the trilogy, the narrative of the characters and setting seems to practically be just beginning all over again just as the novel ends. Of course, as I type this, I realize the authors adroitly pulled a Dune with the ending-that's-not, and in that light their writing just got up'ed in my mind.

For those long-distance calls to little red people (obscure Kim Stanley Robinson reference? Anyone out there get that...?)

Yet another great column by Lore Sjöberg

Today is apparently being called "Day Without A Mexican Day" in the warehouse, on account of the big ol' march going on downtown in regards to immigration issues. I'll be the first to admit that I know next to nothing about said issues, begging the excuses of excess work (pfft, as if a quadruple bypass should keep anyone away from their job that I'm filling in for) and just not watching the news to avoid being depressed by its unrelenting negativity.

Anyway, maybe I'm just noticing this more markedly because the protest in question is so close to home, as it were, but I can't help but feel that there's an excess of blindly following demagogues (even a high school kid demagogue - yay new heights...or is that lows?) going on today. On both sides, even, with some idiots planning to burn a Mexican flag. I'd be a lot more impressed (and interested) if I had seen a single moment or reference to it all that wasn't already drowning in defiant, close-ear'ed mulishness. But I haven't. I just hope the demagogues don't get anyone hurt.

Just because I haven't read any Russell since studying for philosophy on Suntran back and forth across Tucson -
"Conventional people are roused to fury by departure from convention, largely because they regard such departure as a criticism of themselves." - Bertrand Russell

A tattoo expo! Is generally fun. There is an omnipresent buzz of tattoo needles going on (though there was also a lonesome litle tap-tap-tap of a more traditional inking as well). Basically each booth is for a different tattoo place, most of which were from Arizona and California as far as I could tell; each had a few books of flash, and/or a portfolio, and a couple artists rotating in and out to give tattoos behind the table. It's interesting to be in a place where almost every single person around has varying degrees of their body inked; not that that's something worth being horribly conscious of, but it was certainly worth noting. And wow, were there some interesting tattoos (and piercings for that matter). All in all, a generally good way to spend a day, in my opinion.

Well, I have to say it does sound very...ah, elephant-ine. As it were.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, with Clive Owen and Jonathan Rhys Meyers. This film had some good things going for it, and some good things not going for it. That is, there's a great noir style to the cinematography, acting, and music, and what I'm sure is a lovely semantic under-structure (though I didn't put that much effort into paying attention to the recurring tropes). But: it seemed that a great deal was missing. I understand not laying things flat out and obvious, it is a thriller, of course, and even ambiguity in an ending, that can be great. But it just seemed like this movie was almost missing whole scenes worth of content that would have done wonders to augment the already interesting characters. As it stood, though, I had a spot of trouble paying attention.

Now, here's a potential that I think was missed in that novel I just read, Dragons of a Lost Star. I mean, I understand it's beer and pretzel fantasy, and so the issue of religion (and its relation to the political structure) would inevitably lend itself to either a Greek-pantheon archetype, or an absence entirely of any meaningful exploration of it. Interestingly, in this novel what there is of the issue revolves around an absence of the the former of those two options, which to me made the setting so interesting (ie, what happens when there is suddenly a void in who has power over everything - who steps up to the plate?).

The trick is, though a messiah-figure is central to the plot (re: Dune, and she uses religion as a political and jihad-ic tool (re: Dune and George Martin's novels), she in turn is herself only a tool in regards to the narrative - and really only to bring back that pantheon-archetype, at that (bleh!). The nominal development there is of that character is secondhand, told only through the plot, and there is no exploration of her internal nature at all. Sadness. But, in the end, that's okay, that perhaps just separates beer and pretzel fantasy from Martin's high fantasy and Herbert's epics.

In other news, might as well do a technique rundown, it's been a while since I've done one of those. In this case, it's a standing sweep from the empty-hand portion Filipino art of kali, a great reference if available being the Kali Tudo dvds from Dog Brothers MMA. Where a more common type of sweep from a striking range (as is a specialty at the eastside KoSho school) is to work from the posterior, heel-side of the leg, for the purpose unbalancing in a stumbling way to make vulnerable for further strikes, this sweep instead works from a more anterior, inside angle. Interestingly, the purpose of kali's sweep is to not unbalance the person, but make them too balanced by widening their base, almost as if they're being forced to do the splits. Then, while they're completely rooted and unable to move, the hurt can be dropped on them.

The sweep itself has the best leverage right at the ankle juncture, and also avoids any clashing of shins, but I've seen a Thai boxer create a similar effect with a slamming shin kick to the inside thigh, followed by a brutal right hook on the recoil (whereas the kali sweep is usually best followed by a downward blow, such as a hammerfist). Another interesting variant occurs if the other fighter is savvy enough to lift their foot away from the sweep - if the sweep continues through, a hook or whip kick back up and over their shoulder becomes almost easy, and while their settling their weight back down, at that.

Dragons of a Lost Star, by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. Continuing the Age of Apocalypse-style take on Dragonlance, the authors did a great job in remaking not only the setting itself but the tone of the entire narrative. This is probably one of the fastest moving Dragonlance novels I've read, and certainly the most expansive in terms of a 'global' perspective in the setting. There's a running twist and mystery that's been continuously building throughout this trilogy, and what's been revealed so far has been simulataneously both impressive and disappointing to me, just as the climax of the novel was at once both thrilling and saddening. I'd label all that a good thing, in the end.

In other news, also from Mr. Bryce, if you're into comics at all watch for Marvel's upcoming "Civil War" uber-crossover-arc, it looks to be up there with Age of Apocalypse and Onslaught if they can pull it off, in our estimation.

And lastly, I didn't get to catch all of it, but The Big Kahuna with Kevin Spacey and Danny Devito, a film adapted from a play, had a wonderful ending that resists being simplified quite nicely, though I felt I would have gotten even more out of it had I had the context of the beginning of the movie.

An idea occurred to me the other day, I don't recall when. Somewhere in between thinking that gay bars have the best music, where else but Tucson would you find such a lovely bougainvillea'd courtyard at another bar, and happily finding another place that was showing kickboxing on a big screen, I think. So, on 4th Ave, basically.

Anyway. The thought was that I suddenly find the Ayurvedic school of thought in regards to nutrition a bit more believable on the following logic. Where before I found it mildly engaging as a kind of Indian take on the medieval humours, and with about as much truth to it, besides being much more complex and engaged it also more directly deals with the nature of what we ingest, going beyond just the body. In that (for a small example), by classifying edible things and their effects on the body according to astringent, bitter, etc, basically by their taste, one has a nutrition-guide that will work in the absence of scientific measurement or counting of calories, or that would, say, work in the wilderness with one under duress. So if there is truth to Ayurvedic principles (I've already been impressed by 'sattvic' ginger, and turmeric) I have new respect for the sages of old for putting together such a comprehensive system without empirical science as we know it.

Domino, with Kiera Knightley and Mickey Rourke. I think I watched a good, solid portion of this movie with my jaw dropped and my head cocked to the side. I'm still not sure whether that's a good thing or not, to be honest. In one sense, it's a lot of fun in that regard - the characters, violence, and crazy/unique cinematography (reminiscent of Man on Fire?) complement each other quite nicely, and as much as I rolled my eyes at the nunchuks at first, I took that back in the space of a moment when they were amazingly used in a logical way. And the soundtrack is completely psychotic. Another thing I'm not sure whether I liked or not. In a strange sense, I keep trying to find a connection to William Gibson's ideas of celebrity-status being a matter of achieving a critical-mass of attention, I'm positive this movie is an oblique commentary on it somehow.

Unfortunately, the narrative (which had already been chaotic and disjointed, but in a good way) completely trips and faceplants near the end. I'm not exactly sure when, but I went from engaged to mind-wandering-sleepy when the plot threads went from 'tangled' to 'knotted' and 'disjointed' became 'completely dislocated.' Something about getting to see the realy Domino Harvey made me smile, though.

Ok, here's my main argument as to why V for Vendetta isn't actually that liberal, after talking with Wyatt about it at 2am - the trick is, every 'liberal' jab or slant comes from a regime information source. And running off the 1984 parallel, in the aspect of extreme propaganda, all of that information given by the regime is at least not trustworthy if outright stated lies.....so the irony in the end is that the 'liberal' messages within the narrative come almost exclusively from the ultraconservative totalitarian regime. Now, does anyone have any thoughts on the morality of V's deception of Evie? That seems a fun, complicated, sticky issue to me.

First off, a new exercise! Haven't done that in a while. This one is courtesy of Mr. David (and the SHS wrestling team): sabercat pushups. Or is that sabrecat? Anyway. Beginning at the bottom of a pushup, body resting on the floor, start with just one push - up and then back down. Rest on the ground for ten or so seconds, then two pushups, etc, up through at least ten. Now, this is a very deceptive exercise. The trick is, you're not allowed to move your hands from the spot you placed them in at the very beginning - so even when you're resting on the ground, your muscles are actually slightly engaged as yet - basically, it's a pushup that will sneak up on you like a sneaky...uh, sabercat, and also a funny trick to play on someone, because ten pushups after all that "rest" should really not be that hard.

In other news, another good workout that sneaks up on you is combining forms into one long string. So while doing one kata or form with power might get you riled up a little, it's a nice exercise - both mentally and physically - to flow from one right to the next, though it can take a while if you string together enough of them. There's a little finagling to be done to make them fit together, but that's usually pretty easily done by just leaving off the mudras at beginning, though the end mudras often work out nicely. As an example, last night we worked out Wonsu, Anaku, Empi-sho, and Bassai-dai - or, Wukushodai, if you will. Our goal is to get up to Wukushochidaigodan. Trust me, that gibberish right there is hilarious if you've worked with all those katas. Of course, personally I enjoy the more poetic names for the katas that are hardly ever used, such as "swallow pivoting on beach" or "breaking the forest."

Dragons of a Fallen Sun, by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. Ah, finally (working my way through these old Dragonlance novels) one that I quite enjoyed. Basically, the authors seemed to take what was already an expansive setting, and then gave it a similar treatment to what created that grandest of comic book epics, Age of Apocalypse. Everything is flipflopped around - but not as implausibly as a Superman-bizarro world - morality that was starkly clear is now grey and complicated, and though the world is darker (and even creepy at times), the brightness in it is that much more surprising and nice. Which is ironically closer to the end of their first trilogy than any of the subsequent novels up till this point.

Furthermore, the authors took the interesting fantasy tact of getting rid of most overtly 'magic' elements, which in my opinion consistently makes fantasy more interesting in a proportional manner by drawing the focus to the characters and plot. Ironically, however, there is not that much character development for a novel this size, but the setting makes up for it in a Southwest lit. kind of way.

Waiting..., with Ryan Reynolds and Justin Long. I'm quite surprised this movie pulled off an R rating. Vulgar, dirty, and vulgar. But quite funny, especially so if you have experience with restaurants in regards to how the movie is set. There's a good many laughs, but the almost-depth in regards to the apparent main character confused me, I wasn't sure if it was there to have actual depth or give the veneer of it - and if the latter, why bother? But, it was interesting overall nonetheless.

Shu shan zheng zhuan ('Zu Warrors'), with Ekin Cheng and Louis Koo. I can't give a real opinion on this, in all fairness, because we meandered out of the room and promptly forgot that we'd left it on a quarter of the way through. And I was the only one half-paying attention anyway. Why that reaction, one might be tempted to ask? It's not as if the movie was horrendous. It had really interesting imagery. It was just...imagery, however interesting, isn't enough to carry a complete lack of character depth and plot to the point of making those images banal. I find it odd that I would have given this movie more of a chance had it been a well-drawn cartoon, for the amount of energy that seems to have gone into making it quality live-action.

A couple articles on weight/eating/health and yoga, as a tangent to the Workout Challenge

Possibly thought-provoking quote of the day: "Did you know you run faster when you visualize yourself being chased?"

-and I finally did it, I sprang for an upgraded flickr account...which I begin to gather might induce me to taking even more photos, so that's cool

Still needs a title, still first draft-y like usual
---
It seems funny that a few words, a note
can raise such ire inside.
Perhaps I should call it a poem in prose
to justify this emotion it wakes,
this heat that sings in my veins
and singes the skin of my face,
lighting it crimson from the inside.

Or is it the content, the meaning
of these verbal symbols?
Am I caught in their semantic web,
the threads of connotation too fine to see?
I wonder whether this red disquiet
is a venom of imagined words between words,
whether I am already cocooned
and dreaming poison dreams.

The author, I insist to myself-
it is the writer of this text,
the one who set the message
to paper in ink of arsenic and rust,
who tattooed it in the rapid rhythm of my heart.

But even as my blood burns to sing
in brimstone harangue, even as my eyes narrow
at the brightness of my fiery, righteous response
to the affront of words, meaning, and intent,
I stumble into that quiet moment,
where flame becomes ember.

My anger is my own.
Though I stalk and circle, blade in hand,
I realize there is no handle –
the blood dripping from its edge
flows from the hand that grips it.

My choice is my own.
I sheathe the sword,
still slick with crimson emotion
and wait

for stillness.
---
(I feel I should say that this isn't actually based on any real letter at all, just to keep anyone from glancing at their 'sent' folder or whatever)

A kind of silly thought from an article on backbends: we never really see our backs. Well, we see reflections in mirrors, perhaps, or photos, but generally there really isn't a way to actually directly look at some parts of our backs. Perhaps there isn't any significance to that except in a zen eye-trying-to-see-itself way, but there it is.

-from a novel:
"What did your hair look like, Mina?" he asked.
"It was the color of flame, long and thick. The strands would curl around your finger and tug at your heart like a baby's hand."

Also, picpics; I haven't yet decided whether to spring for a full account to put some of the carshow pictures up, though...(donations welcome, of course)

Word of the Day: aubade - a song or poem greeting the dawn; also, a composition suggestive of morning

One of those interesting thoughts I came across in that activity I seem to spend most of my day doing (reading): paraphrased from poor memory, we are never deceived - we only deceive ourselves. So I start thinking, deceit? Then I think about a person cheating on spouse - aren't they deceiving their spouse? Or: is the spouse willfully being blind to to the truth, however subtle the cues (perhaps not even the cheating, but that the relationship is failing and engendering the wandering eye).

But, doesn't a conman deceive their mark - isn't that the whole point of it being defined as a scam as such? Buuut, there's that subtle layer, where one might wonder whether the mark is just not being observant or incisive enough to sense the deceit in the other person's body language or whatever other subtle hint, maybe because in some way they want to trust that person (like with the cheater) or, say, a person complaining of being seduced into a one night stand was deceiving their self, and let themselves be "tricked" because they really did want the guilt-free night (the rationalization being icing on the cake)?

In completely other news, I got to go to an Irish music jam session last night. There was a flock of fiddles (or a gaggle? a pod, perhaps?), a couple guitars, a mini-guitar of some kind, an Irish drum of dazzlingly simple design for what it was capable of, and this strange trapezoidal instrument with combined/braided strings that had a lovely sound, though I know not the name of it. Tangential to all that, besides being reminded of how toe-tappingly good Irish music generally is, I was reminded of a conversation I had on the weekend where I explained that one thing that really attracts me to a girl is admiring her for something.

Case in point here being said drummer, a friend whom I already respected for her sharp intelligence and was already attracted to her big pretty eyes. When I watched her drumming and realized not only her skill but her enjoyment of it and of learning on the fly, I got that odd combined feeling of impressed/attracted, each feeling linked to the other, and had to restrain myself from staring at her all night. I'm not really sure what comment I'm making with that, maybe just complimenting the drummer if nothing else, but there it is.

I think the best part is how she completely dominates her opponent in the end (watch for the beautifully timed shin to his inner right thigh)

(as per the usual, not entirely refined yet)

The Cold Season

I loathed each winter.
The sun's daily fall into ash.
The wan rain that barely-
The cold that ached in my bones
before I even woke.

Until I found you -
a brush of color,
a drop of autumn ember
in that pale season.

Oh, we were both still chilled.
(it was still winter)
It was not warmth you lent me-
(though we shared what we could)

Rather,
You gifted me with new eyes,
to caress the air,
its subtle noncolor of ice.

Your scent woke me
to the colors that were,
the ghosts of tree's sunsets
that lingered in wintry grey and blue.

In your voice I heard
the quiet timbre of frost
bearing itself into existence.

Where my soul had contracted
before in fear of the constricting
pain of cold, it began to wake
to the bracing vitality
I had once hid myself from.

In your lips, I tasted snow-white honey.
In your arms, in the long nights
of that cold season, I found winter.

Standing, waiting for confusion to be cleared in the sales office, and looking forward to the blessed feeling that will probably follow yoga this afternoon, I was reminded of a little thing. The teacher I've been going to lately has a penchant for one-leg balances, and while she doesn't particularly emphasize it I've read that the slightest bit of expanding of the bottom of one's foot can help massively with balance, by virtue of surface area involved versus what's loaded/balanced upon it. For example, by spreading your toes, or consciously rocking till weight is distributed equally amongst the edges of your foot.

The trick is, this really only seems to work well when bare-footed; with any kind of shoe or sandal on, the surface area in question becomes that of the shoe (or point of a heel, I suppose), and one can't very well spread plastic or leather. But I've noted it does work very well for augmenting sheer endurance (less energy spent wobbling to keep balance) when doing deep stance training or just standing and listening to lectures in martial arts, or not falling over in yoga. Though I haven't figured out quite how to integrate it into an on-the-fly movement like kicking, except by ingrained muscle memory.

Connie's neologism of the day: complinsult - kind of a "thanks...I think" thing, and kind of a compliment-without-the-follow-through that's harder to explain

the sales manager's secondary neologism of the day: whatsofuckinever - I'm just having fun trying to parse out what it might mean

Word of the Day: awry - away from the correct or expected course (just because it's a funny word, especially so if you've read any Dan Abnett novels - you'll probably laugh whenever you hear someone use it in real life)