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Showing posts from December, 2008

Bruce Vs. the Uppity Pricks: Bruce Campbell LIVE at the NuArt, Saturday, December 20, 2008, Pt. I

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Onstage at the NuArt Theatre in Los Angeles, Bruce Campbell referred to the New York Times movie critics, as a whole, as “uppity pricks.”

While I myself read the Times reviewers somewhat thoroughly each and every week, and particularly like A.O. Scott’s writing, I found it hard not to agree. Knowing full well that Campbell was referring to a recent nose-thumbing by someone on that paper towards Campbell’s latest directorial, producing and acting effort, the obsessively self-referential My Name is Bruce, I was pretty certain of the attitude that the review likely took.

Sure enough, returning home that evening and checking out the squat, barely five-paragraph long review from a few weeks back (which I somehow missed, and which therefore adds a touch of truth to my previous phrase “somewhat thoroughly”), I found an article titled “The Evil Dumb” and a statement from writer Stephen Holden which basically posits that My Name is Bruce, a low-budget meta-B-movie venture is the type of film tha…

Notes on Seattle, November 29, 2008, Pt. II - A Sonic Disappointment, A Visual Skullpoke

Anyone that knows me even slightly well understands how much music means to me. Those that know me pretty well are aware that I have an immense affection for Louie Louie (with comma or without) which gained massive prominence via the music scene in the Pacific Northwest in the 1960s, and that after collecting music most of my life, I now own and cherish a great many versions of the song. Those that know me extremely well know that I rave once in a while about a band from the Pacific Northwest called the Sonics, and that I would devour the souls of those that would come in between me and the music of the Sonics.

And so I find myself in the Experience Music Project, basically a shrine to Jimi Hendrix and the Seattle scene overall throughout the history of music, staring at what amounts to a "oh, yeah... there were these guys" plaque and a couple of album covers as the main testament to the fact that the Sonics even crawled out of the local area. Of course, they would say, spac…

Notes on Seattle, November 29, 2008, Pt. I - Robot Talking All Day Long

Mind wakes up at 4:30, and I can definitely tell the gin is still soaking my system. Didn't have a crazy amount of it last night, but it was more than Thanksgiving night -- Chris made my first G&T especially heavy on it, and my last drink I downed half of it in a slug instead of sipping, and it was right before bedtime. Slept better because of this, but still my unusual amount (and I say "unusual" because it contains the word "usual," meaning the amount sufficed for my own precious self, but would be "un-" for nearly everybody else in my realm of existence). I laid in bed for another hour though, trying to shut down the thought processes long enough to catch a bit of a doze, but it doesn't work, and I arise just after 5:30. Within minutes, I have popped open a giant bottle of Pellegrino to try and flood the gin out of my blood cells, and have started writing on the Maakie (that is my term of endearment for the MacBook Pro I have liberated from…

Notes on Seattle, November 28, 2008, Pt. III - My Enemies Now Have the Proof That They Need

Chris and Chelz tell me of a Lenin statue in Fremont, and I immediately hear them say "Lennon." In a town so filled with rock history, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if someone erected a statue to John Lennon, even if he had, as far as I know, nothing to do with Seattle, except perhaps in the overall influence he has laid upon the whole planet.

"No, not Lennon," Chris says. "Lenin. Vladimir Ilyich Lenin."

"Oh," I reply, rather bemused. "Fantastic. Everyone calls me a commie at work anyway. By all means... let's go!"

Fremont seems a rather cool place, with a barbershop that we pass holding a copy of Giant Robot in its magazine holder. And sure enough, while more weirdly unbalancing than cool, there is a monstrous 16-foot high Lenin statue standing oddly in front of a Mexican restaurant. Apparently saved from a mudhole in Czechoslovakia by a local carpenter who mortgaged his house to acquire it, Vladimir Lenin is a strange sig…

Notes on Seattle, November 28, 2008, Part II - The Path Includes Mole Sauce and Zombie Finger Puppets

While the intent straight upon leaving Fantagraphics was to get some food, after Chris and I wander around Georgetown before finding out Chelsea is already back in the car, we each declared that a restroom was to be called for immediately. We drive to the International District and stop at the Uwajimaya Market, not just for some easy bladder relief, but so that the Eel and I can look at the section of Japanese toys, hoping for some swell kaiju-related items. About a year back or so, I was taken on my first visit to a 99 Ranch Market store, a rather large Asian-based superstore which has several locations in our area. (Raw Meat and I stocked up on tasty and often smelly snacks, which we snuck into a showing of Satoshi Kon's Paprika.) Uwajimaya reminded me of a larger, more hopping version of 99 Ranch, and indeed, "larger" includes its own parking garage, a bank, numerous other services, a food court with about nine different specialty counters and an entire apartment com…

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