Thursday, June 29, 2006

A Sort of Homecoming



In case you somehow missed it, Pedro Martinez has been town recently. My previous thoughts on the man can be found here and here; I can't really think of anything else to add.

Here are some other worthwhile posts about Petey:

Cursed and First

Bullshit Memorial Stadium

12 eight

Touching All the Bases

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Sunday, June 25, 2006

Off The Shelf

What I've read so far this year. As usual, actual reviews will follow at (undoubtedly lengthy) interval.

1. Void Moon - Michael Connelly
2. Ghost Wars - Steve Coll
3. Shoedog - George Pelecanos
4. The Five Gold Bands - Jack Vance
5. Across the Wall - Garth Nix
6. Armageddon: the Battle for Germany, 1944-1945 - Max Hastings
7. Hitler's Peace - Philip Kerr
8. Viriconium - M. John Harrison
9. Old Boys - Charles McCarry
10. Not A Good Day To Die: the Untold Story of Operation Anaconda - Sean Naylor
11. A German Requiem - Philip Kerr
12. The Western Way of War: Infantry Battle in Classical Greece - Victor Davis Hanson
13. Into the Valley - John Hersey
14. Deadwood - Peter Dexter
15. More Than Honor - David Weber (ed.)
16. Gates Of Fire - Steven Pressfield
17. The Silver Sun - Nancy Springer
18. Killing Pablo - Mark Bowden
19. How Right You Are, Jeeves - P.G. Wodehouse
20. My Name Escapes Me - Alec Guiness
21. Cash: The Autobiography- Johnny Cash
22. Predator's Gold - Philip Reeve
23. The Rat On Fire - George V. Higgins
24. Not For Glory - Joel Rosenberg
25. Damnation Alley - Roger Zelazny
26. A Stainless Steel Rat Is Born - Harry Harrison
27. The Lonely Silver Rain - John D. MacDonald
28. H.P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life - Michel Houellebecq
29. Showdown At Yellow Butte - Louis L'Amour
30. Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King
31. Ghosts of Tsavo - Philip Caputo
32. The Dark Frigate - Charles Boardman Hawes
33. The Godfather Returns - Mark Winegardner
34. Knife of Dreams - Robert Jordan
35. Song of Susannah - Stephen King
36. Kennedy For The Defence - George V. Higgins
37. Black Mass: The Irish Mob, The FBI, And A Devil's Deal - Dick Lehr & Gerard O'Neil

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Saturday, June 24, 2006

Rainy Day Afternoon

Stuck inside? Here's a fine way to pass the time on a rainy afternoon:

Pitchfork Feature: 100 Awesome Music Videos

I would direct your attention to David Hasselhoff's entry, in all its magnificent awfulness. Plus, there's plenty of old friends for fellow children of the 80's.

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Friday, June 16, 2006

By Way Of Sorrows


Today Denton asks:


Other than the Trop, is there a park in all of baseball as miserable as the Metrodome?
My answer is, yes and no.

Yes, and the place was called Veteran's Stadium.

No, because the Vet has now gone the way of the Dodo and free baseball on TV and exists no more.

For the record I have been to the Metrodome, and it has the distinct honor of being the only ballpark I've ever visited that was spooky. As in the place gave me the creeps. Allow me to explain.

I flew out to Minneapolis in 1998 (or maybe 1999 - my recall is not 100% on this) to attend a wedding. While there we - my then girlfriend and I - decided to catch a game. Tickets were easy to come by, because the Twins were playing, er, not so well at the time. Now here's were we start to get to the creepy parts.

We caught a cab from the hotel to the Metrodome and the first thing I noticed was how empty the streets were. No crowds, hell, no people. This shook me - I was used to the crowds of vendors and fans the fill the streets around Fenway and Camden Yards on gameday - there was none of that. The streets around the Metrodome were flat out empty. Ever seen one of those post-apocalptic movies where the hero awakes from a coma or suspended animation or some shit like that, and everyone is dead, and the hero wanders the deserted streets looking for other humans? Yeah, I'm talking that empty. So empty that there was a brief moment when I wondered if the cab driver was lost and had driven us in an entirely different direction from the Metrodome.

So, we arrived at the ballpark and needless to say, the lack of crowds in the street was due to the entire lack of fans at the game. I forget how many were in attendance that night, but I'm sure they wouldn't have filled McCoy Stadium, let alone a major league ball park. And this is where we get to the part that creeped me out.

Since this was a ball game I had some beers, and where beers are had, trips to the restroom follow. So I left my seat, went up the stairs to the concourse, and stopped. I looked to my left. Nobody in sight. I looked to the right. Same thing. I felt like the Omega Man. Even better - or weirder or creepier - was the fact that as I tromped off to the men's room I noticed I could hear my footsteps. Think about it - you can expect to hear a whole lot of things during a visit to the ballpark, but your own footsteps in an empty concourse is generally not one of them.

The men's room was the ookiest part of this trip. For those of you have never been in one, let me tell you what a men's room in a major league ball park is normally like. They are big, crowded, dirty, sweaty, all for the reasons you might guess. What a men's room in a major league ball park is usually not is sparkly clean (because no one had used it) and completely empty. It was entirely too easy to stand at the sink washing your hands and imagine that not only were you the only one in the men's room, but you were also the only one in the giant building that surrounded the men's room.

Now, I won't say that as I washed my hands I used the mirror above the sink to watch the stalls behind me, in case a zombie nipped out of one to jump me from behind.

But I won't say I didn't either.

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Thursday, June 15, 2006

The 100 Best Living Songwriters?

I haven't seen the issue yet, but apparently the latest edition of Paste magazine features a list, compiled by 50 or so journalists and musicians. I love lists. Not only do they satisfy the obsessive that lurks within me, they also provide fodder for endless discussion and argument.

Anyway... here's the list. Just for s. and g. I have bolded artists who records I own and crossed the ones I've never heard of (because I am contrary like that). Maybe I'll throw in some brief comments at the end.

1. Bob Dylan
2. Neil Young
3. Bruce Springsteen
4. Waits/Brennan
5. Paul McCartney
6. Leonard Cohen
7. Brian Wilson
8. Elvis Costello
9. Joni Mitchell
10. Prince
11. Randy Newman
12. Jagger/Richards
13. Paul Simon
14. Stevie Wonder
15. Willie Nelson
16. David Bowie
17. Holland/Dozier/Holland
18. U2
19. Patty Griffin
20. Van Morrison
21. Lou Reed
22. Lucinda Williams
23. John/Taupin
24. Jeff Tweedy
25. Chuck Berry
26. R.E.M.
27. Radiohead
28. Robbie Robertson
29. Tom Petty
30. John Prine
31. Carole King
32. Leiber/Stoller
33. Pete Townshend
34. John Fogerty
35. Steve Earle
36. Beck
37. Smokey Robinson
38. Kris Kristofferson
39. Led Zeppelin
40. Bacharach/David
41. Ray Davies
42. Loretta Lynn
43. Ryan Adams
44. Al Green
45. Jackson Browne
46. David Byrne
47. Sufjan Stevens
48. Welch/Rawlings
49. Cat Stevens
50. Public Enemy
51. Penn/Oldham
52. Paul Westerberg
53. James Taylor
54. Aimee Mann
55. Dolly Parton
56. James Brown
57. Morrissey
58. Sly Stone
59. Jack White
60. Jimmy Webb
61. John Hiatt
62. Sting
63. Richard Thompson
64. Andy Partridge
65. Bill Mallonee
66. Charles Thompson
67. Conor Oberst
68. Allen Toussaint
69. Merle Haggard
70. Alex Chilton
71. Vic Chesnutt
72. Michael Jackson
73. Julie Miller
74. Over the Rhine
75. Ron Sexsmith
76. Will Oldham
77. Bruce Cockburn
78. Robert Pollard
79. Stephen Malkmus
80. Pink Floyd
81. The Flaming Lips
82. John Darnielle
83. Fleetwood Mac
84. They Might Be Giants
85. David Bazan
86. Sam Beam
87. Lyle Lovett
88. Parliament
89. Victoria Williams
90. Nick Cave
91. Drive-By Truckers
92. Alejandro Escovedo
93. Joseph Arthur
94. Sam Phillips
95. Patti Smith
96. Jimmy Cliff
97. Josh Ritter
98. Jay Farrar
99. Outkast
100. T. Bone Burnett

Well, there's a lot of names struck out at the bottom of that list, presumably newer artists unknown to me. Which shows how unhip I am.

I see Shane MacGowan did not make the list, which I find inexplicable as he is (technically) still alive.

I would've put Lucinda Williams, Paul Westerberg and Richard Thompson higher up the list. Certainly ahead of Tom Petty.

No Neil Diamond? I am serious here - Bacharach and King make it, but Diamond doesn't? WTF?

Anyone else think it strange to see 'Morrissey' listed instead of 'Morrissey/Marr?' Why not just list the Smiths?

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Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Thinking Out Loud

You know, maybe when the Bunny gets all married and stuff, he'll have access to a computer again and will resume blogging.

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When Akira Met George

For extreme film geeks: this bit of apocrypha will either give you a chuckle or leave you sratching your head in puzzlement.

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Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Some Speculation

Dan Simmons is a science fiction that I am somewhat familiar with; his novel Hyperion has been on my 'to read' list for some now. A couple of months ago he wrote this piece on his website; it excited so much commentary - and controversy - that he felt obliged to write a follow-up essay.

I would recomend you read them both. They are very thought provoking, as no doubt Mr. Simmons intended. Some of you may find the essays upsetting. Here is the author's caveat (from the second of the two pieces):

Do be warned that if you are new to my books and my writing and my web site and—perhaps most pertinently—to my monthly Messages, and if you were brought here by some blog- or web-link only to the "controversial" previous message, you will be disappointed by the following discussion. You’ll be especially disappointed if you are expecting polemics, apologetics, pure politics, or a simple reinforcement of whatever prejudice or passion you’re bringing to the proceedings.

This is a writer’s web site.

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Monday, June 12, 2006

Always Be Closing

Keith Foulke continues to struggle to regain his 2004 form, and just like last year, hears the abuse from the fans. A sad state of affairs.

As far as I'm concerned, Keith Foulke will always be The Closer. When someone says 'Red Sox closer' and my brain goes into data retrieval mode, the name and image that my cerebellum coughs up is always that of Foulke. Yes I know that Jonathan Papelbon is having an amazing rookie season in that role, delivering more than we fans could have hoped for within reason. Yes, I know Keith Foulke will not feature as the Red Sox closer this year, and maybe never again. And I am thrilled everytime I see Papelbon stroll to the mound. Yet I still keep thinking 'he's keeping Foulke's seat warm.' And when someone else follows Papelbon as closer, well, I'll think of that person as keeping Foulke's spot warm. Some players just permanently implant themselves in your mind as the archetype of their position with your local nine. Nomar will always be The Shortstop. Petey will always The Ace. Foulke will always be The Closer.

When the Red Sox season came to an inglorious close last October, I was not ready for it to end. I understood they just didn't have the horses to go the distance that year, that they lost to a better team. I just wanted baseball to stay with me a little longer, to comfort me with its familiar rythms for a just a few more days before the cold winds truly began to blow. Rather than quit baseball and the Red Sox cold turkey - again - I eased the withdrawal with Red Sox 2004 World Series Collector's Edition. Seven ALCS games. Four World Serious games. I played them all over that first empty weekend. Sometimes I just had them on in the background, as if they were real games I was watching while I went about various household chores. Sometimes I sat and watched, putting aside the ironing or the dishes to focus on a particular at bat or a particular pitch.

I re-watched all of Keithe Foulke's outings over the 2004 postseason, and I still had trouble grasping what he did. I still do. For most of my life the script for the Red Sox in the postseason always came to a head with the pitching, exposed as the team's Achilles heel, usually in the late innings and usually in a dramatic and painful fashion. Flawed pitching. Not enough pitching. There's no need to go into details here; from 1967 to 2003 it was all variations on a theme.

2004 was different, and to be sure there were other contributors than Keith Foulke, but his postseason performance still seems to me the most improbable. Game Four of the ALCS alone beggars the imagination: two and 2/3 innings (50 pitches) of scoreless baseball. To be followed the next night by a further inning and a third, followed by yet another scoreless inning the next night. All told Foulke pitched six innings over five games, allowing one hit and no earned runs. And then there's his World Series performance...

As I said, I know plenty of others contributed to that championship run, but for me Keith Foulke was the linchpin. He didn't just change the script, he re-wrote it, with a big fucking exclamation point. No more late inning heartache.

As far as I'm concerned, Keith Folke will always be The Closer.

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Friday, June 09, 2006

Leigh Brackett

I'm a long-time science fiction fan, so I'm not unfamiliar with the name of Leigh Brackett. But I have to confess I've never read any of her work, and I was completely unaware that she wrote for the movies, let alone for some of my favorite movies. Unaware anyway, until I read Queen of the Martian Mysteries: An Appreciation of Leigh Brackett. Here's an excerpt about Brackett and Howard Hughes:

It was a tribute to Howard Hawks that he wasn't phased by the famous revelation that the guy he had hired for The Big Sleep was actually a gal in a gingham dress. Hawks was as famous for his regard for strong women as he was for his
exploitation of weaker ones. And Leigh's steady integrity impressed him. She stayed on the picture. There are many who believe she materially helped make it the classic it became. She worked with Hawks and Wayne on movies like Hatari! (about which she had some hilarious stories) and Rio Lobo, as well as the classic Rio Bravo and she also wrote for television.
A little bit more about Brackett and Hughes:

Only once, with The Empire Strikes Back, did she ever script a science fantasy tale. In a sense she had the privilege of self-imitation, just as she had when doing Eldorado, which she knew was a rehash of Rio Bravo. At one point she had suggested to Hawks that he simply change the names of her previous script and save himself some money.
Considering that Empire is easily the best of the Star Wars films, it's a shame she didn't write the screenplays for all of them. Consider this:

But, of course, Leigh was also influential in Hollywood. Her contribution to Star Wars wasn't limited to the script she did for The Empire Strikes Back. When I saw the first Star Wars movie I was disappointed. I had expected something as good as Brackett. What I got was a dilute of Brackett and the Brackett style. Han Solo's origins lie, it seems to me, in those tough, semi-piratical spacers who took the interplanetary work nobody else would do. I suspect they all looked a bit like Bogart in Leigh's mind! Which says something for Bogart, I'd say, since Leigh got to know him when she was working with Faulkner on the The Big Sleep. She and Bogie enjoyed each other's company. They were the same kind of tough-talking romantics. Her spacegoing heroes were not a million miles away from the seagoing Bogart of Key Largo.

First - how fucking cool is it to find a line, a connection between a Bogie character and Han Solo? Is this not why the internet was invented, to delight geeks worldwide?

Ok, anyways... Harrison Ford's Han Solo is clearly the star of The Empire Strikes Back. I have no idea if this was intentional or not, but like Eli Wallach's Tuco in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Han Solo in TESB is a secondary or supporting character who leaps to the forefront and dominates the picture . Not only does he have the best lines in the film (again like Tuco) but he seems to be more fully realized. Luke Skywalker and The Man With No Name are archtypes (or cardboard cutouts depending on your taste in movies) - great fun to watch but a bit one-dimensional. Han Solo and Tuco seem like real people, however odd it may be to apply the term 'real' to movie characters. Luke is a whiny farm boy on your standard Joe Campbell hero quest; The Man With No Name is a mysterious stranger, with no past to speak of*, who laconically shoots a whole bunch of people. Han and Tuco, in contrast, have personality. They have a past, sometimes only hinted at, that the viewer can imagine occurring off screen before the film starts, and a future too. Don't you wonder what Tuco got up to after 'Blondie' rode off and left him in the graveyard? You know just know what Eastwood's character did - shoot some more people. But what kind of trouble did Tuco get into? What kind of scams did he think up? You wonder because you think of him as real. And you get mad when Lucas changed the Cantina scene to have Greedo shoot first because goddamit you know Han Solo, you know there's no freakin' way he'd let Greedo get the drop on him like that.

*I think the reason that Unforgiven and The Outlaw Josey Wales are my favorite Eastwood films are because they seem to me to round-out the Man With No Name character that made Eastwood famous.

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The Internet is a Circle

From a column on James Bond and spies in general comes this tidbit...
The first modern spies were indeed identified with Empire. They were those who played the “Great Game” for imperial stakes on the North West Frontier of India. But they were real people, some of them coming to ends that even Largo, Rosa Klebb and the cat-eating Oddjob might have hesitated to inflict. It was the spies of the Indian Political Service, in direct descent from Sleeman and Malcolm, the infiltrators and destroyers of the Thuggi gangs who infested the north Indian roads, who gave rise to the first great modern spy story — Kipling’s Kim, published in the last gasp of the Victorian era.
...which sounded to me like the kernel of a story far more fascinating than any Bond movie or novel. The kind of story that would make for a ripping historical novel, an engrossing non-fiction read, or a movie. And wouldn't you know, a little digging turned up The Deceivers, a 1988 film (based on a novel) about the infiltration of the Thuggee cult - starring Pierce Brosnan, who as everyone their dog is aware, took a turn as Bond.

This wikipedia entry lists several books on films on the Thuggee. I intend to track some of them down, as it really does sound like a fascinating episode of history.

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