Friday Evening Videos: “It’s Always Something”

Between working in an understaffed office populated by inconsiderate ignoramuses and presided over by a hard-headed old skinflint, and a bad case of a medical condition called “positional vertigo,” The Girlfriend has been suffering through a truly craptacular week. So I’m going to dedicate this week’s music video to her, in the hopes that it will provide a little comfort. Or at least make her smile for a second.

“It’s Always Something” is a 1999 song by our mutual main man that gradually over the years has become one of my all-time favorites of his. Yes, it’s right up there with “Jessie’s Girl” in my book, believe it or not. I find a lot of meaning and resonance in this tune, and also a genuine sense of optimism that I often have trouble generating on my own. Just like Rick Springfield himself I would guess, based on what I’ve learned about him in the past 12 months. It’s a great song, in my humble opinion, one that in a more just universe would’ve been a tremendous hit. As it is, though, I didn’t even hear it until a couple of years after it came out. C’est la vie, I guess, and certainly right in line with the song’s own ironic narrative.

This isn’t a music video per se; it’s a live performance clip from a concert Rick gave earlier this year, so unfortunately you get the shaky-cam effect and the sound is kind of dodgy in places. But it’s the best clip I could find, and Anne knows the lyrics anyhow…

If any of the Loyal Readers out there don’t know the lyrics and can’t decipher them from the video (and also give a damn), you can find them in an earlier entry I wrote about this song…

Dec082011

Because I Tend to Obsess over Things

Here’s another look at what’s happening with Discovery‘s replica engine nozzles. (I guess it’s not really correct to keep calling them replicas, considering they’re authentic spaceflown hardware, but NASA’s own Kennedy Space Center Twitter feed — from whence I snagged this photo, incidentally — refers to them as replica shuttle main engines, or RSMEs, so there you go, straight from the astronaut’s mouth. Or something.)

Anyhow, I thought I’d share this shot because (a) it shows all three nozzles now back in place, and (b) it’s a little easier to discern what you’re looking at than in the one I posted yesterday. And also because I just like posting pics of space shuttles. Deal. Soon they’ll be in their respective museums and you won’t have to see any more of this stuff for a while, at least not until I get out to them and take my own photos…

Dec072011

This Is What I Think of Your Fancy iPhone

Dec072011

Putting Discovery Back Together

This is going to sound kind of silly, but something that’s really been troubling me about the three surviving spaceflown shuttles being taxidermied for museum display is the thought of their mighty main engines ripped out and replaced by wood or fiberglass replicas. It’s not rational, I know. The shuttles are just big butterflies pinned to a board at this point, dead things that will never soar again, so what does it matter if their guts are missing? I don’t have a good answer for that question, to be honest. It just feels wrong to me. When I go see them in future years — and I do intend to make pilgrimages to each of them once they’ve arrived in their new, earthbound homes — I want to know that what I’m seeing is whole, that these are the actual machines that stoked the dreams of a generation of nerds like myself. Not mock-ups, not empty shells… that they could, in theory at least, be revived someday and sent up again. It’s a matter of authenticity, I guess. It’s the difference between seeing the well-intentioned King Tut’s tomb exhibit that used to be at the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, and visiting the real thing in Egypt. The Vegas version looked pretty realistic, and certainly gave you a better idea of what the discovery of the tomb must’ve been like than a description in a book, but when you came right down to it, the walls were just painted stucco over sheet-rock, and somehow you could sense that. I think phony fiberglass engines stuck on the back of the orbiters would evoke a similar feeling… that somehow you were being cheated.

It turns out, however, I’ve been wrong in my assumption that these replicas would be complete fakes. According to the article from which I grabbed the fascinating image above, what’s going back into the engine sockets on Discovery, and eventually Endeavour and Atlantis as well, are real rocket nozzles that flew in space as part of earlier-generation engine packages. They’re not complete engines — compare what you can see in that image above to the one I posted a while back, and you’ll immediately notice that the big knob of plumbing that normally sits above the nozzle is missing — but at least they’re authentic space hardware. They’ve been up there. They’ve earned the right to be attached to my beloved orbiters.

I highly recommend you follow that link. There’s a whole mess of photos over there showing this nozzle and its re-installation into Discovery. The glimpses of men crawling around inside her aft end make me happy. They remind me of backyard mechanics like my dad wriggling underneath a lovingly restored hot rod…

Dec062011

Sometimes Living in the Future Ain’t So Bad

As far as I’m concerned, few things in this life are as satisfying as a good cheeseburger. Now, your definition of “good” may (and probably does) vary from mine. My personal ideal is the simple, old-fashioned, Jimmy Buffett-style burger: a juicy, medium-well-done patty on a buttery toasted bun; cheddar or American cheese; a big leaf of lettuce (none of this finely chopped McRoughage crap); a ripe, flavorful tomato; onion (sliced into rings or at least crescents; again, none of the teeny-tiny shard things you get at many fast-fooderies); the holy trifecta of condiments, i.e., mayo-ketchup-mustard; a pickle spear on the side along with a heap of crispy krinkle-cut fries; and all of it washed down with an icy Coke (or my more recent obsession, iced tea) or a good beer… and no, I’d probably better not go off on a tangent about what constitutes “good” beer, because that’s a whole other blog entry. But however you like your burgers, I’ll bet it’s never occurred to you that it wasn’t really possible to enjoy one until relatively recently in human history. It certainly hadn’t occurred to me.

But there’s a cat named Waldo Jaquith who has considered the problem, and his findings are… provocative:

A cheeseburger cannot exist outside of a highly developed, post-agrarian society. It requires a complex interaction between a handful of vendors–in all likelihood, a couple of dozen–and the ability to ship ingredients vast distances while keeping them fresh. The cheeseburger couldn’t have existed until nearly a century ago as, indeed, it did not.

Just something to think about the next time you’re feeling (as I frequently do) like that whole Industrial Revolution might not have been the best idea. I mean, who really cares if Five Guys is superior to In-N-Out, or if you (like me) prefer a local mom-and-pop cafe burger (when I can find them)… at least we have the option of arguing over such things! Seriously, this is an issue that irreparably skews that whole “which time period would you like to live in?” question for me.

And now, it’s off to dinner… three guesses what I’m in the mood to eat…

Dec032011

Welcome to Bennion’s Black-and-White Old-Tymey Movie Theatre!

Good evening… come on in. Why don’t you get yourself some popcorn and a Coke from our stunning black-on-silver art-deco refreshment stand? (Be nice to the charming and vivacious young lady manning the counter; you’ll find her attitude very different from the sullen mouth-breathers at the multiplex. She actually likes her job.) Yes, I know our modestly sized bags of corn look puny compared to those MegaTubs you’re accustomed to getting at the other places, but trust me: this is all you need.

Feel free to peruse the vintage one-sheets lining the walls of our lobby. Beautiful, aren’t they? Every one a genuine work of art, individually designed to uniquely showcase the films in question, painted by skilled craftsmen who’ve never heard of Photoshop.

Ah, here we are at the usher’s podium. We called it the chopper back in my day. But of course that means nothing to you, does it? Here, let me take your ticket. That little slip of inch-wide red cardstock there. What’s that? You wonder why it doesn’t tell you which film you’re seeing? But why would you… oh, I see why you’re confused. This ticket says only “Admit One,” without all the other extraneous information that’s printed on other movie tickets nowadays. But we don’t need all that nonsense here at the Black-and-White; you see, we have only the one screen. Now, go on into the auditorium and find a seat… watch your step, please, it’s a bit darker than what you’re probably used to. Slip into one of our low-back red-velvet seats. No, I’m sorry, they don’t rock, but you should find them comfortable enough. I have made one concession to your modern sensibilities: you’ll find the cupholder right there in front of you. There you are.

I hope you’ll use the last few minutes before the movie starts to relax or to converse quietly with your date. We have no pre-show reel to distract you with mindless advertising; this space is supposed to be isolated from the outside world, a bit of escapism even before the movie begins. Isn’t the hushed atmosphere so much nicer than all the blather that usually surrounds us? Please, don’t do that. You won’t be able to text or surf the web, not in my establishment. And no calls in or out, either, not while we’re here in the auditorium. Mobile phones don’t work here, not even the clock function, so you may as well put it back in your pocket and forget all about it for a couple hours. In a moment, there will be nothing trying to grab your attention except the film itself…. and here we go. The big waterfall curtain rises, the lights go down.

Tonight’s feature at Bennion’s Black-and-White Old-Tymey Movie Theatre is… Charlie Chan in Panama! A little bit of pre-war intrigue involving sabotage, a deadly plague, poisoned cigarettes, and the US Navy, all set against the exotic backdrop of the Panama Canal! SEE… a beautiful refugee countess hiding out as a nightclub singer! SEE… the suave Latino club owner who has a secret identity! SEE… the author of countless “blood-and-thunder” adventure novels, drawn into a real-life web of danger!

Okay, I’ll drop the silly patter. Sorry. I was just having a bit of fun remembering/imagining the way movie-going used to be back when there was still some glamour to it. The truth is, Black-and-White Theatre tonight consisted of me sitting on the couch in my bathrobe in front of my hi-def TV, spinning a DVD of a flick from 1940 that I doubt anyone reading this has even heard of. A far cry from the fabled movie palaces of old… or even those far more modest neighborhood movie-houses that used to lure people inside during the hot summers with promises of air conditioning and all-day programs for a dime. They’re all gone now, the palaces and the small houses, all exterminated by the rise of the multiplex. But I love the movies that would’ve run at those places. Black-and-white is not inferior, kids! And just because something is old doesn’t mean it doesn’t still have the power to entertain…

Nov282011

The Way I See Myself

Last night, a buddy of mine sent me some photos from the good old days when we worked together at Movies 9, a.k.a. the Niner, a.k.a. the Shithole, i.e., the multiplex movie theater that looms inordinately large in my memories of my late teens and early twenties. The image above is my favorite of the batch, one I don’t remember ever seeing before. That’s me, of course, sitting behind the wheel of my beloved Cruising Vessel, the 1963 Ford Galaxie that also loomed inordinately large over my youth. The stories I could tell involving that machine… nah, probably better not. Have to protect the innocent, you know. Or the not-so-innocent for whom the statue of limitations still applies.

Anyhow, I have this notion, based on no solid evidence whatsoever, that everyone has a moment in their lives when they are most authentically the person they’re meant to be. For most folks, I imagine, this moment comes when they’re relatively young, before the compromises and disappointments of grown-up life begin to weigh them down too much. What you see in that photo there, taken sometime around 1991 or ’92, was my moment. I knew exactly who I was and who I was going to be, there was still time for everything I wanted to do in life, and I even still had most of my hair! This is the guy I still expect to see when I look in the mirror, and I am always slightly wounded when I don’t…

Nov272011

Wherein I Travel to the Fringe…

In my wandering across the InterWebs this holiday weekend, I encountered something pretty fascinating. It’s a short documentary film about a little-known power-generating technology fueled by a substance called thorium, as well as the enthusiasts who are hoping to make this stuff the energy source of the future. I’ve run across references to thorium reactors before, but it seems like they’ve always been in the context of science fiction — if I recall correctly, that comic book I mentioned last week, The Micronauts, featured thorium-powered spaceships — or else they were coming out of the same dank, yeasty-smelling lairs where people assert that the government is suppressing cars that run on water and there was more to the Philadelphia Experiment than just a 1980s B-movie starring Michael Paré. However, unlike all the other paranoid-fringe, pseudo-scientific technobabble I’ve heard over the years — and for some strange reason, I’ve heard quite a bit of it — thorium reactors apparently are for real. Or at least they could be, given the proper funding and interest. And if the proponents of this technology are correct, thorium could solve just about every energy-related problem this planet has got, from safety to fuel supply to environmental concerns. Thorium itself is plentiful, even ubiquitous, and even though it’s radioactive and produces a form of nuclear energy, it’s not especially dangerous. It’s also difficult to create bombs with it. The promise of thorium is near-limitless power that would carry us far into the future with little in the way of harmful waste material or proliferation of nuclear weapons.

Or so thorium fans claim. It’s hard for me to completely buy into their utopian visions, given that I’ve been hearing cheap and abundant solar power is right around the corner since I was a kid in the ’70s. And of course every Utahn of a certain age remembers the hype surrounding cold fusion, and how quickly it turned into a punchline. You know the cliche: if it seems too good to be true…

And yet it seems to this admittedly ill-informed layperson that thorium power is something the United States ought to at least be investigating. Other countries are pursuing it as we speak, and there was an experimental reactor built on U.S. soil back in the ’60s. (The documentary implies that the test program was killed by the Nixon administration because Tricky Dick had personal problems with Alvin Weinberg, the scientist in charge. Honestly, I think future historians are going to someday trace every single thread of America’s decline back to that paranoid, small-minded, corrupt, twitchy little weasel of a man.) Even if you don’t believe in peak oil and global climate change, I don’t see any good reason not to explore a potentially better form of energy than what we’re using now. Aside from the fact that we don’t fund basic research in this country anymore, not unless there’s a guaranteed return on investment. In more rational times, we would have justified it as a patriotic thing, like the Space Race, in which the goal is to put America back in the forefront of emerging technology and big engineering goals that would benefit all mankind… and wouldn’t that be grand?

Anyhow, here’s the doc. Give it a look. It’s just under 30 minutes, and like I said, I found it to be fascinating and fairly convincing, even if some of the people interviewed seem to have the same social maladjustments I sometimes encounter in a certain class of nerdy sci-fi fandom. But then, I suppose that’s to be expected given the subject matter, isn’t it? Also, watch out for the wild-eyed environmentalist doing the “Fukishima scream” at about 17 minutes in; I think the subject loses a little credibility for including her, but that’s just me…

If you have any trouble with the embedded video, you can watch it at the source. Thorium power… hey, lots of other science fiction seems to be coming true these days, so maybe…

Nov242011

And Now a Special Thanksgiving Day PSA…

…from our old friend, Bill:

(This has been making the rounds for a couple of weeks, but I finally took a minute to watch it just this morning. Pretty funny, I thought, but a legitimate point. These fryer things can be dangerous. So if you’ve got a hankering for deep-fried anything today, be careful. Have a happy — and safe — Thanksgiving, everyone!)

Nov232011

My Next Must-See: The Artist

I spotted the one-sheet for a new film called The Artist a couple weeks ago, but while I thought it was striking and classy — a wonderfully refreshing change from the Photoshopped headshot montages that comprise the vast majority of movie posters these days — it gave me absolutely no idea what the movie was actually about. Now I know… and I love it, at least as a concept. The Artist is a silent movie. Yes, a silent… as in “no audible dialogue” and only occasional intertitles instead of subtitles. Just like the ones made up until 1927 or thereabouts. And it was even shot in black and white. Here’s the trailer:

Looks good, doesn’t it? Beautiful cinematography and mood. The music is anachronistic, of course — Louis Prima didn’t record the first version of “Sing Sing Sing” until 1936, almost ten years after The Jazz Singer effectively ended the silent period — but otherwise this thing looks about as authentic as you can get, short of throwing in a little simulated nitrate decomposition. The dog even resembles Asta, the canine costar of the Thin Man series from the ’30s and ’40s. But it’s not just the retro gimmick that’s grabbed my attention; the story intrigues me as well. The movie is about a silent film star whose career and life is about to dissolve due to that new innovation, talking pictures. Simultaneously, the pretty extra he helped discover is becoming a Big Deal. Yes, it’s the same premise as A Star Is Born, but that’s okay.

Although The Artist was shot in Los Angeles using many locations authentic to the silent age, and using several American actors — you may have noticed John Goodman, James Cromwell, and Penelope Ann Miller in the trailer — this is technically a French movie, the brainchild of a gutsy man named Michel Hazanavicius. And you know, that doesn’t really surprise me, considering how utterly risk-averse Hollywood has become in the last 20 years. No American film studio would take a chance on an insane project like a modern-day silent; they prefer sure-things like remakes and sequels. Ever since my college days, I’ve been defending Hollywood movies to the film-snob, subtitle-loving, popularity-hating people I occasionally run across in my social circles, but just lately… Well, it says something interesting that the coming-soon attractions that have most excited me the past couple years — this, The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec, and Space Battleship Yamato — have all been foreign films. But then the movies I really love tend to be made by people who love movies, and, as far as I can tell, Hollywood is run these days by people who love brands…

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