From the the White House's Flikr photostream: "Bob Dylan shakes President Barack Obama's hand following his performance at the 'In Performance At The White House: A Celebration Of Music From The Civil Rights Movement' concert in the East Room of the White House, Feb. 9, 2010. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)"
Look again at that dot. That's here, that's home, that's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.
Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.
The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.
It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.
As good ol' Sarah Palin was giving her keynote speech at the National Tea Baggers Convention Saturday night (she really had cheat notes scribbled on her hand? Seriously?), I was watching Moon. The film, which was an official selection at the 2009 Sundance Film Festival, stars Sam Rockwell as Sam Bell and—well, no one else, really. Sam is nearing the end of his three-year contract as sole inhabitant of the moon base Sarang. The base is operated by Lunar Industries – a corporation that has pioneered the science of harvesting the moon's rich supply of helium-3. Helium-3, as we discover in the opening seconds of the film, has become the earth's primary, and eco-friendly, energy supply. Astronaut Bell's primary responsibility is to oversee the mining operations, but he has his mind on other things, because in a matter of weeks he will begin his three-day journey back home. At least that's the plan. His final days in the base are troubled by hallucinations – or are they?
I accidently stumbled upon Moon many months ago when I discovered Clint Mansell – the man behind the music of Darren Aronofsky's films – had written another film score. And it's a very good film score. In fact, Moon is the first film I was inspired to see simply by listening to its soundtrack. If you find Moon's music intriguing, odds are you'll like the movie. Moon is all about atmosphere, and Mansell has exquisitely trapped the solitude and sadness of Sam's existence inside the notes of the film's score.
Take a trip to Moon – you'll enjoy the journey. Four stars out of five.
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During the last several months, eMusic, which was known as the "indie iTunes," has brought aboard corporate record labels, and the eMusic subscriber has paid the price. I used to get 75 downloads a month for $20; I now get 50 for $21. I don't like paying more for fewer downloads, but the extra cost is worth the price, especially when I can now discover great albums like 39 Songs: Live at the Olympia by R.E.M. I've always appreciated and respected the Athens, Georgia, band, but the two-disc live album solidifies R.E.M. as a national treasure. The album opens with a searing version of "Living Well is the Best Revenge," and is followed by, what is in my opinion a quintessential R.E.M. tune, "Second Guessing."
Live at the Olympia showcases why R.E.M. is one of the few, truly great American rock bands, which is strange to say, because a teenager, as he grows listening to modern rock music, never expects that the band he's listening to will become prolific, great, and respected worldwide. It's one thing to, as a '90s teenager, listen to a great classic rock band, like The Who, Pink Floyd, or Led Zeppelin, but it's another thing to grow up with a band that will eventually reach the timeless status of their forefathers. We're all getting older, but with bands like R.E.M., aging sounds all right.
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I've also been liking the latest Spoon album, Transference. None of Spoon's previous work clicked with me, but Transference does. I like it because it comes across as a sloppily compiled album – and that's a good thing. Much of Transference sounds unfinished, as if it leaked on the Net months before it was actually finished, which, again, is a good thing; I love how the abrupt end of "The Mystery Zone" bleeds perfectly into the hazy "Who Makes Your Money." The imperfect quality of Transference gives its songs plenty of breathing room; with each listen the songs sound a little bigger, more defined. The album's closer, "Nobody Gets Me but You," provides a perfect snapshot of the album's being. The song begins as a tight composition featuring voice, bass and drums, but descends into a beautifully disjointed affair in which a broken piano interjects obtuse notes; everything falls away, and the final four seconds are flooded by the sounds of a distorted organ. To love Transference is to love the imperfect beauty of an underdeveloped photograph. I really like this album.
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Friday was a bad day for conservative Republicans. It began in Kansas and mercifully ended in Baltimore. Indiana Congressman Mike Pence organized a question-and-answer session with President Obama at a Republican retreat in the Maryland city. For 70 minutes the President schooled House GOP leaders over issues like health-care reform, the economy, federal spending, and the stimulus package. The entire session was broadcast live on MSNBC (it was also aired on Fox News, but the GOP TV machine refused to air the final twenty minutes – I wonder why) and made for enthralling political theater. It was very similar to Britain's "question time," in which lawmakers in the House of Commons have direct access to the prime minister. It was also encouraging to see the Obama that I voted for – the fire, the passion, the common-sense approach to national issues.
The questions were sharp and the President's responses were pointed, both of which were refreshing because the presidential response is usually sanitized and the questions dignified, but these questions were coming from House Republicans, and what do they know about dignity? After the President's opening remarks, Pence asked the first question, a question in which he used "a little boy, an African American boy, named David Cater, Jr." as a pawn for tax cuts. "The first question I would pose to you, Mr. President, is would you be willing to consider embracing – in the name of little David Carter, Jr. and his dad, in the name of every struggling family in this country – the kind of across-the-board tax relief that Republicans have advocated?" The very premise of this question was absurd (as were most of the following questions, the President would later label such deceitful questions as "talking point[s] for running a campaign") because Pence met the child and his father at a Salvation Army homeless facility – little David's father wouldn't be rich enough for a Republican tax cut. And how are such "across-the-board" tax cuts supposed to help the economy? Under the leadership of ol' W. such tax breaks were in place for nearly eight years, the culmination of which was the birth of the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression.
After the session MSNBC's Luke Russert spoke off the record to a Republican official who said that allowing the "cameras to roll like that" was a "mistake." Indeed, the President articulately demonstrated that the chasm between reality and the GOP's demagoguery is large enough to swallow the entire Republican Party, which is probably why Pence, when he later appeared on Hardball with Chris Matthews, scoffed at the idea of instituting a regularly scheduled question-and-answer session with the House. I just wish more people had been paying attention.
Minutes before the President began his dismantling of the Right, Conservatives were dealt their first blow when anti-abortionist hero Scott Roeder was convicted of first-degree murder of abortion doctor George Tiller. On 31 May 2009 Roeder allegedly drove from Kansas City to Tiller's church in Wichita, Kansas, where he, in front of other churchgoers, shot the doctor point-blank in the head. The defense never disputed the facts of the case and wanted the jury to consider a voluntary manslaughter charge, a charge based on the premise that Roeder killed Tiller to "protect unborn babies"; Judge Warren Wilbert ruled against the manslaughter charge. After deliberating for just 37 minutes, the jury found Roeder guilty of first-degree murder and two counts of aggravated assault. The 51-year-old gun-toting crusader faces a minimum sentence of life in prison. He'll be sentenced 9 March.
It is true that some Right-wing groups have condemned the murder of Tiller, but some groups see the murder, like Roeder, as a justified act. When will Americans see that the real terrorists are not bearded cave-dwellers in the Middle East, but middle-aged white men who embrace the radical ideologies of the Right? Indeed, the Right wants you to believe the real terror threat comes from overseas (the land of brown people, more specifically), but it's the Right who are not only attempting to delegitimize a black President by questioning his citizenship, but encourage its fringe elements to take action against a "radical" President who wishes to void the Second Amendment; a "communist" who believes in expanding government into every home (remind me, who penned the Patriot Act?); and a "socialist" who wishes to institute a national health-care plan in which "death panels" determine who lives and who dies. The true threat to America and its freedoms does not reside in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen, or Iran; it lies within our borders, and it uses a holy text to justify its motives. Indeed, the threat is among us. And Islam is not its religion.
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Before I left for Panda Bear's on Friday I taped the aforementioned letter on my roommate's bedroom door. He, of course, was on the living room recliner. I left the letter on his door in lieu of giving it to him personally because I did not want any interaction with him; we haven't spoken in months, and I intend to keep it that way. However, after discussing the letter with Panda Bear, I now wonder if there will be a personal confrontation with him. I hope, instead, he will either leave a response on my door or be mute. As I have written previously, my passive-aggressive tendencies do not exist unacknowledged. I'm much aware of them. What can I say? I don't like confrontation. Who does? I know I'm not a perfect roommate, but if being a passive-aggressive roommate is my worst quality then I'm certainly comfortable with that. I would prefer to live with a passive-aggressive instead of a slob. Wouldn't you? Seriously.
Yes, I agree that it might be rather selfish to ask someone to alter his recuperation from a major surgery so that it minimizes its impact on me (I acknowledge this selfishness in the final sentence of my letter), but this selfishness is moot because it is a direct response to his inconsiderate behavior – behavior that I've dealt with for months. I mean, look at this – is that acceptable? Would you transform a shared living space into that without asking your roommate? Perhaps you wouldn't ask because you think such a transformation would be insignificant, acceptable. Really? You think that mess – which occupies a SHARED living space – is acceptable?
Tomorrow afternoon I'll be back in Bloomington, back in my shit apartment with my shit roommate. Future post to come…
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The shit has finally hit the fan with my POS roommate. On Monday he had a serious operation performed on his knee, which has rendered him practically immobile. Apparently he has decided to make the living room his rehab camp; he's planted himself into the recliner – he's there every day and every night (yes, he sleeps there too). Oh, and dude hasn't fucking showered since the surgery.
Now I'm living like a prisoner: I'm confined to my room without the luxury of television (I watch very little TV, but that isn't the point) – wait, even prisoners get televisions in their cells – FUCK! Anyway, all of this is pushing me to the brink of hysterics. Seriously. I'm losing sleep. My hatred for him rattles my eyes and boils my blood as I lay in bed. I can't focus on my school work. I'm so disgusted. So angry.
So I wrote this letter. I'll give it to him tomorrow when I leave for Panda Bear's place.
FML.
Sept. 11 was certainly a tragedy, yet more people are killed on our highways each month or two than were killed on that day. One deadly airplane crash is about a day's worth of highway fatalities. Maybe the press should cover highway safety more and rare incidents less. We'd all be safer.
Last night I watched Open Water and Wonderland. Here are my thoughts.
Open Water (2004) Synopsis from the Netflix envelope: "It's Jaws meets the Blair Witch Project when a vacationing couple on a scuba diving expedition accidentally gets left behind and must fend for themselves in shark-infested waters. Directed by Chris Kentis, the movie features unknown actors and was filmed on a shoestring budget, sans camera tricks or mechanical man eaters. The circling sharks you see are… real!"
I never got into this movie. The "vacationing couple" were flat, cardboard cutouts. Yes, I understand that Open Water isn't an epic drama, and I shouldn't expect deep characters who are driven by unconscious desires, but even in a low-budget horror flick the characters have to give you a reason to care about them; otherwise, why watch the movie? Two stars out of five.
Wonderland (2003) From the Netflix envelope: "The scorching summer of 1981 turns grisly when a number of murder victims are discovered in a mansion on Laurel Canyon's Wonderland Avenue. Were they victims of a drug deal gone awry? Or is the tale even more menacing? And exactly what role did fading porn star John Holmes (Val Kilmer) – who's torn between his teenage girlfriend (Kate Bosworth) and his wife (Lisa Kudrow) – play in the crime? Co-stars Josh Lucas and Dylan McDermott."
Contrary to the 35% scored on Rotten Tomatoes, I really liked this movie. Wonderland began rather sluggishly, and the opening twenty minutes suffered from over-stylized and unnecessary production, but the story soon straightened itself out. Val Kilmer is great (why isn't he in more films that showcase his skills?), and Eric Bogosian is perfect as sleaze-ball Eddie Nash. Make no mistake, Wonderland is crawling with seedy creatures from the netherworld, but there's something compelling about watching such people, well, live. Add the well-endowed porn star (and freebase addict) John Holmes to the mix and you have a train wreck of a tale worth watching. If you're a fan of true-crime programs like Dateline, 48 Hours and the like, check out Wonderland. Four stars out of five.
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I loved Before the Devil Knows You're Dead so much I had to buy a copy for my library; I found it used on eBay for a buck. I love this movie, and for whatever reason (I think it's simply the great acting) I can watch it repeatedly, which I have.
Flicks for this weekend: Open Water; Wonderland; and the director's cut of Dark City (I watched the original cut in theaters in '98 and, aside from Jennifer Connelly, don't recall much about it).
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