http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Thu, 26 Feb 2004 22:32:12 EST http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/02/26/223212.php Paul PalubickiA lot has been said about the violence in The Passion of the Christ, with many critics comically stumbling over themselves in describing their revulsion to the acts of torture depicted in the film. I find this odd, as Passion follows the traditional American belief in the redemptive power of violence. It's a theme woven throughout our Westerns and our culture. For example, Saving Private Ryan (a far more gory film) followed a squad of American G.I.'s who are killed in hyper-realistic fashion by anonymous Germans. At the end of the movie, Private Ryan, and indeed the world, is saved through their violent sacrifice on his (and our) behalf. In Schindler's List (a far more psychologically disturbing film), we follow a group of Jews who are marginalized, terrorized and brutalized by Germans. As they are cast-out of their ghetto, they walk a gauntlet of taunting Poles who throw stones and mock them mercilessly. Only one non-Jew in this movie is depicted in a sympathetic light: Oscar Schindler, who's actions on their behalf save them from annihilation. For what purpose, I ask, would someone pay money to watch American servicemen and innocent Jews mocked, beaten, broken, and murdered? And why are those films rightly praised, while The Passion of the Christ seems to be judged by a different standard? For the answer, we have to turn to The Empire Strikes Back. When Yoda instructs Luke to enter the Cave, Skywalker asks, "What's in there?" Yoda replies, "Only what you take with you." What you bring into the theater will largely determine how you view this film.The Passion of the Christ is indeed a violent movie. In fact, I would urge parents to leave their children at home should they decide to watch it. I know it's a bizarre thing to say about an R-Rated movie-- it should be self-evident. But we live in a world where the momentary exposure of a single breast threatens the moral fiber of our youth, while exposing them to two hours of relentless brutality is considered appropriate, if not necessary. I do not share this view.The Passion of the Christ begins with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, apparently fearing what lies ahead and asking God to let him off the hook. The full moon, blue light, and mist set the ominous mood, and you would be forgiven for believing you'd mistakenly entered a Werewolf movie. After he gives three of his sleeping disciples a kick in the pants and a rebuke, he goes off by himself again to pray. Satan appears and poses questions of doubt, but Jesus ignores them and re-affirms his faith in God, made manifest in both word and deed, for he stamps-out a snake that managed to slither its way out of Satan's robe. I don't remember reading anything about Satan in Gethsemane, so I'll chock it up to a Catholic tradition unknown to me. The entire Gethsemane sequence is very powerful, however, as is the rest of the Act leading up to Jesus' presentation before the Sanhedrin. With only a couple of exceptions, this is the only part of the movie where Jim Caviezel shines, as he is merely a cipher to be beaten and whipped throughout the rest of the movie. After Jesus' trial in the Garden, Judas and some Temple Toughs appear to arrest him. Judas gives his Kiss of Betrayal and the toughs move in to seize Jesus, while two disciples run away and Peter does his best to defend his master, even cutting off one of the guards' ears. Jesus remains motionless as the tumult rages about him, until he commands Peter to stop. He heals the ear of the tough and peacefully surrenders himself to the guards. The beatings immediately commence.After a brief interlude involving Judas hiding under a bridge, Jesus being tossed off the same bridge, and Judas meeting a Werewolf, we come to the Sanhedrin's kangaroo court. I can easily see where the charges of Anti-Semitism come from, especially with this sequence. The High Priest, his Lackey and the witnesses all share a soft caricature at this point, but the only over-the-top thing in this scene is the High Priest's acting. In fact, I noticed throughout the movie that the only two Jews who really have a bug up their butts about Jesus are the High Priest Caiaphas and his Lackey. They are the main instigators and the only ones who really push for Jesus to be crucified, though it's never really explained why. Jesus declaring himself to be God would naturally be distressing to any pious Jew, but we're not talking about a pious Jew. We're talking about a political appointee of Rome whose job is to keep the Jews pacified. Why is he obsessed with having Jesus crucified? Is it to protect his phoney-baloney job? When we later meet Pilate, his motivations are made clear, but the High Priest's are not. Jesus says he's God and Caiaphas wants him dead no matter what. And we move on to the next scene. What follows is what I've always called the "Passing the Buck" sequence of the Gospel. The High Priest passes Jesus off to Pilate for some good old-fashioned Roman Justice, but Jesus is one hot potato that Pilate wants no part of. We see the amorphous "crowd" for the first time, and it's never made clear just who they are or why they're there. Were they just some Jews off the street, or members of Jerusalem's political elite following their leader's instructions? Again, it's never made clear. There's a crowd, Caiaphas and his Lackey want blood and Pilate figures he can get Jesus off his hands by passing him off to King Herod the Metrosexual. Every Herod sequence in every Jesus movie is the same: The bloody and battered Jesus stands in quiet dignity before the opulent splendor of Herod's court, while a freaky and half-retarded Herod questions Jesus. Even though this Herod and his court look like something from a Fellini film, the impact is no less powerful. The True King's mere presence puts the lie to Herod's temporal kingship and Herod passes Jesus back off to Pilate.So we come back to Pilate's courtyard, complete with bloodthirsty High Priest and crowd. Again, the crowd calls for Jesus' crucifixion at the instigation of Caiaphas. Pilate offers them a choice: the murderer Barabbas or the blasphemer Jesus. Caiaphas, in near apoplexy, demands the release of Barabbas. The crowd echoes the High Priest's choice. If there were a defining Anti-Semitic moment in the movie, this is it. The way Caiaphas and his Lackey carry-on in this sequence is evocative of the worst sort of Jewish caricature. It was embarassing to watch, and I still didn't know who was in that crowd and why they too called for Barabbas. Was it a case of a people merely following the cues of their leader? If they were common Jews, they probably knew Caiaphas better than they knew Jesus, plus Caiaphas held the exalted position of High Priest. Perhaps Caiaphas told them Jesus was a threat that had to be eliminated and they naturally believed him. It wouldn't be the first time a charasmatic leader in a trusted position abused his Office and employed fear to sway the people's emotions in his favor. Or was the crowd composed mostly of the Temple Elite, gathered by Caiaphas for the purpose of supporting him in his call to murder Jesus? We don't know. All we know is that the High Priest wants Barabbas freed and Jesus crucified. The crowd agrees. Pilate seeks a compromise. He'll "severely punish" Jesus and then release him back to the Jews. What follows is the scourging sequence. I've heard a lot about this scene and its powerful impact. It didn't resonate with me at all. I'm aware that certain traditions place a Christological import on the scourging, and Mel Gibson is obviously of those traditions, but I am not. What's important to me is that Jesus willingly laid down his life so that all may have the Life Everlasting. The means used to effect his sacrifice don't matter as much as the sacrifice itself. He could've been stoned to death, as was his brother James, and he would've Risen on the third day. He could've been pushed off a cliff, and he still would've Risen. His scourging and crucifixion were the way the World chose to murder him, not the Father's. For instance, God did not tell Abraham to flay Isaac's skin and beat him mercilessly before sacrificing him. The lamb sacrificed in the Temple was not abused before having its throat cut. The tradition of the "scapegoat," which Jesus is often associated with, is a tradition of men, not of God. We must also not forget that the World could've chosen not to murder Jesus, and who knows what great things may have followed as a result? As it is, I found this particularly violent passage of the film to be violence for violence's sake. I was not spiritually fortified by watching a depiction of the scourging. Only the Word of God can accomplish that. In fact, I found the flashbacks to Jesus' life and ministry far more satisfying than the blood and the gore. I kept saying to myself, "Where's this movie? I want to watch this movie!" The only time I found myself emotionally responsive to this film was when Jesus spoke. The rest of the movie was mere brutality without context or meaning, much like that found in Blackhawk Down.The rest of the movie follows Catholic liturgy and tradition quite closely, including every Station of the Cross. Jesus is crucified, Satan screams and we are in the tomb. Jesus' burial shroud deflates as Christ rises and walks off to the sound of martial drums. I was expecting something a bit more triumphant, especially given the last two hours of unremitting brutality, but it was not to be. The ending wasn't so much, "He is Risen! Hallelujah!" as it was, "He is Risen and He is Pissed." For me, the Resurrection is the Triumphant Climax to Jesus' crucifixion. It's as dramatic and important as Moses parting the Red Sea. On one side sit the Hebrews in the land of their long bondage, with the thundering roar of Pharoah's approaching chariots heralding their impending doom. They are fearful, and some lose faith in God, but Moses parts the Red Sea, leading the Hebrews through the waters to Freedom on the other side and bringing death to the Egyptians as the waters crash over them. As Moses led the Hebrews to freedom, so too did Jesus part the waters of Death and emerge on the other side, leading us to Everlasting Life. Moses led the Hebrews to physical freedom. Jesus released us from the bondage and fear of Death and freed us to Life. The magnificence of Christ's Triumph isn't even hinted at in The Passion, but this isn't my movie, it's Mel's. As I left the theater, I found that the film's impact immediately evaporated even before I reached the car. In the end, The Passion of the Christ is an illusion of light and shadow cast onto a screen for our entertainment. And like a shadow, it immediately vanished in the full light of the noon-day sun. I didn't take the dancing shadows on the wall to be the light of God's fire, and I don't see why you should, either. Video13184@blogcritics.org Thu, 26 Feb 2004 22:32:12 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/02/19/144614.php Paul PalubickiYou know, people come up to me all the time and say, "Paul, TV isn't what it used to be. Why does it suck so much?" I really don't know the answer to that question, but that doesn't mean I haven't knocked a few theories around. Now, I love TV. It's been my constant companion all these long years and it goes without saying that if I were to suddenly find myself in the nightmarish world of Willy Wonka, I'd be Mike TV. I know TV. I doubt I could normally function without TV. If I could get paid to sit around and watch TV all day, that's what I would be doing. Some are called to the priesthood. I'm called to the couch.But my friends bring up a good point. Why does modern television suck? Well, one theory closely resembles an answer to another bothersome question: Why does modern baseball suck? It's called the "Thinning of Talent" theory. Major League Baseball initiated one of the most ridiculous expansion programs in modern sport during the 1990's, resulting in a dilution of talent as new teams filled their rosters with a bunch of has-beens and never-weres. The quality of pitching and basic fielding suffered, ushering in an explosion of hits and home runs by creatine-engorged veteran hitters. The only thing preventing a total tilt toward batting dominance was an influx of equally poor hitters better suited for slow-pitch softball and aluminum bats than the big leagues. Today, Japanese players play in the States with a fair amount of success. Japan used to be the place where worn-out American players went to die, but with expansion, those American players can continue their mediocre play right here in the States. With pitching and batting being what it is nowadays, the Japanese can successfully compete with American players, which is something that couldn't have happened prior to the 90's. If it weren't for our doped-up players, the Japanese, with their technical perfection and drive to win, would probably dominate the game. Television is in much the same fix as baseball, what with the explosion of cable channels and all. There's only so many writers and producers in the world to create and maintain television series, so the talent is spread thin across the dial. Also, many of our current programs are watered-down knockoffs of superior British television shows. We import British creative ideas, slap some American accents on the actors and pass it off as fresh and original programming. If you want to see what the networks are going to offer in the future, then watch BBC America. It's sad, but true. But given all that, I still don't buy the "thinned talent" theory, since cable television is home to some of the best shows ever produced. A few even approach movie-level quality, which I guess isn't really saying much, but that's a subject for another time. Besides, most cable tv channels are devoted to re-runs and documentaries rather than original entertainment programming, so the problem isn't with cable as much as it is with the traditional networks. What to do, what to do? I think the problem is a lack of annual physical conditioning, where the stars compete against each other in grueling athletic competition at Pepperdine University. That's right, BATTLE OF THE NETWORK STARS! Now, I know you're saying, "Paul, how can today's network stars hope to compare with the stars of yester-year? The stars of the 70's and 80's were a different breed of actor, from a time when intense physical activity was the norm and actors would play through severe scrapes and other boo-boos for the good of the team. Today's network stars stand in the shadows of Gerrard, Savales, Ferrigno, Evigan and the force behind NBC's early dominance: Robert 'I Want a Re-Match' Conrad. These were men whose gutsy exploits and grim determination in the face of adversity echo throughout the centuries."I think it can work, even with the poor pool of talent presently available. "But the cocaine! Remember the cocaine!" Okay, okay. I get it. How can the pot-smoking stars of today match the coke-fueled intensity of their 1970's forebears? Will we have to get their publicists to push them around the track in wheelbarrows? No. We will find new ways to motivate them. Just imagine if BNS had existed while the cast of Friends were in contract negotiations...We want a million an episode.Then win the tug-of-war, if you can, you anemic little waifs.Money. Money and job security will motivate the stars of today to excel on both the field and in the studio. Are you facing cancellation? Then perhaps you might think about winning the obstacle course. Are you hoping for a mid-season pick-up? Then make a spectacular catch reminiscent of Richard Hatch's game-winning reception in the end zone during BNS '78. Some of you may be wondering, "What about Fox, UPN or the WB?" We can dump UPN and WB offhand, since they're basically a bunch of UHF stations with delusions of grandeur. Fox is the closest thing to a real network among the three, but its network stars are cartoons and wild animals. Perhaps we can have the stars of When Animals Attack participate in the competition. Having a pack of rabid dogs chasing competitors would make even that guy from King of Queens fleet of foot and push the CBS team to victory in the relay. This could be a new Golden Age of Television, if only the networks could pool their efforts and subject their stars to abject anguish and pitiless humiliation. If that fails... well, I hear the circus is in town. Video12936@blogcritics.org Thu, 19 Feb 2004 14:46:14 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/02/19/142012.php Paul PalubickiOne thing I've noticed from the Arab world is a tendency toward psychedelic colors and patterns. Not White Rabbit psychedelics, mind you, but a more Burt Bacharach, suburban pyschedelica that matches the furniture. But check out the guy's look. This ain't some Osama-come-lately jazzin' on camo jackets in a cave. No sirree Bob, this guy's been Queer Eyed into a swingin' 90's bachelor hangin' out in his retro love shack. Is that a Lava Lamp he's delicately gripping in a quasi-phallic manner? And get a load of that "come hither" look. As I'm staring at it, I can't escape the feeling that he's about to break out into "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye.I've been really tryin, baby Tryin to hold back these feelings for so long And if you feel, like I feel baby Come on, oh come on Let's get it onYou're a real smooth talker, sheik. Culture12935@blogcritics.org Thu, 19 Feb 2004 14:20:12 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/02/19/121451.php Paul PalubickiWith all the hoopla surrounding The Passion of the Christ, I thought it might be fun to to take a look at past Jesus flicks. You'd think the Jesus Genre would be a goldmine of cinematic quality --after all, the story basically writes itself. But you would be wrong. Some pictures are mind-numbingly boring (The Greatest Story Ever Told), while others are just plain stupid (Godspell). The Jesus Genre is a hodge-podge of mediocrity with only the occasional gem worthy of a DVD purchase, yet if you were to edit them all together, you'd probably have the Greatest Jesus Movie Ever Made. Unfortunately, Cecil B. DeMille is dead, so we're left with multiple flicks showcasing all the different angles of the Jesus story, instead of having everything rolled-up into one mega-movie, as was the case for Moses. Hey, just like the Bible!King of Kings (1961) or I Was a Teenage Jesus:For all the historical inaccuracies and typical melodrama common to CinemaScope pictures of the 60's, I really like this film. Why? I don't really know. Sure, Jeffrey Hunter doesn't resemble a 1st Century Palestinian Jew, but who cares? It's just a movie. I'm a big fan of 50's-60's historical epics, which probably explains the movie's appeal to me. Even though the film is about 3 hours long, the directing and structure of the story is a marvel of economy that maintains a quiet reverence for its subject. My favorite part of the film is when the Roman guard tells Barabbas that he's free to go and why. Barabbas incredulously asks, "They picked me?" to which the Roman centurion replies, "Your people yelled the loudest!" A perfect line with a perfect delivery. The other scene of note in the film is when Jesus visits the chained Baptist in his dungeon and the two reach out to each other across a chasm. John must climb up a ramp as far as his chains will allow to touch the outstretched hand of Jesus, who is limited by the bars on the window. They barely manage to grasp each others' fingers before John slides back down into his dungeon. That's a beautifully staged and shot scene that I would include in my "Greatest Jesus Movie Ever Made." Trivia: They had to re-shoot the Jesus on the Cross scene because test audiences didn't want the crucified Lord to have chest hair. Ray Bradbury also wrote the narration.The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) or How the Resurrection Was Won:I know what you're thinking: It's got Charleton Heston, so how bad can it be? Well, if George Kennedy was in it, we'd have a full-fledged disaster epic. In this movie, Jesus wanders around Galilee and Judea, meeting horribly miscast A- and B-List stars fresh off the Tonight Show couch. There are so many, in fact, that it distracts from the film, which might be a good thing considering how ponderous and overwrought this movie really is. When Jesus is before Pilate, you half-expect Telly Savales to ask, "Who loves ya, baby?" I can see where they were going with this film. Many of the set-pieces are evocative of Rennaissance-era paintings and there seems to have been a conscious effort to display the Glory of Christ, but there's one crucial element lacking in this production: Pacing. My god, the story drags. Combined with a cast featuring a who's-who of Hollywood at the time, the film ends up being an indelicate mixture of the sacred and the profane. The only saving grace of this movie is the montage set to Handel's Messiah, which demands inclusion into my "Greatest Jesus Movie Ever Made." Sadly, the Duke uttering the line, "Truly, this man was the Son of God, wah-ha" doesn't make the cut.Trivia: The cinematographer died of a heart attack during filming and David Lean directed a few scenes.Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) or How Jesus Got His Groove Back:I don't even know if I want to spend more than a couple of minutes on a film that doesn't contribute anything to my "Greatest Jesus Movie Ever Made," except that I'd somehow manage to CGI Carl Anderson's Judas into my film. Godspell (1973) or I Saw Jesus at Woodstock, Man!:These were the types of movies being made when I was born. Crap, crap, crap, crap. The dance sequence atop the World Trade Center, to the tune of "All for the Best," is discomforting for obvious reasons.Trivia: The guy who plays "Jesus" was in Titanic.Jesus of Nazareth (1977)This is The Greatest Story Ever Told done right. Even though it's long (it was a TV mini-series) and features various celebrities (Ernest Borgnine!), they were all cast rather well. The great bulk of my "Greatest Jesus Film" would include most of this movie, with this dude being Jesus, even though he constantly has the look of someone relieving himself at the urinal after holding his liquid for too long. I guess some call that "Looking to God." If there was a way to combine the feel of a CinemaScope picture with the intimate humanity of Jesus portrayed in this film, you'd have a perfect visual representation of the Gospels.Trivia: This film was surrounded by controversy when Franco Zefirelli said he wanted to make a film focusing on Jesus' humanity.The Day Christ Died (1980) or The Search for the Historical Jesus Film:This is a pretty low-key movie that ushered in the bland TV Jesus pics of the 80's and 90's. The movie is competent, but it's one notable feature is that it features Jesus carrying a cross-beam that's not squared and true. Instead, he's hefting half of a log with the bark still in place, which strikes me as being more authentic than more traditional representations of the same thing. I doubt the Romans would've expended the serious man-hours required to hew and carve a squared cross (or even the cross-beam) that looks fresh off the Home Depot lumber yard just to execute a petty Jew. This facet of the movie merits inclusion into the "Greatest Jesus Film Ever Made."The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) or The Family Man:A great what-if scenario: What if Satan saved his most diabolical temptation for the exact moment when Jesus was at his most desperate? The film is interesting from a purely artistic standpoint, if only for the odd imagery Scorcese employs throughout the movie. Storywise, the film is superb, and the amount of controversy surrounding its release is baffling, considering the entire fantasy "Temptation" portion of the film is just that: A Satanic Temptation of a man who was not only fully god, but fully human as well. Satan tempts that human part of Jesus with the most deliciously banal thing of all: a normal life. At the end, Jesus rejects the comfort of a normal family life and chooses to die on the cross. Dafoe's portrayal of Jesus suffers from Scorcese's determination to present a completely human Jesus, doubts and all, before he became the Risen Christ. As a result, Jesus comes off as a bit of a wuss --even for a normal guy. I have to knock this movie down a few pegs for its artistic excess, but a Jesus who makes Crosses for a living definitely makes it into my "Greatest Jesus Movie" purely for irony's sake. I think I'll bring Barbara Hershey's Mary Magdelene in as well, minus the dermal adornment. Trivia: The movie is completely banned in Chile (you have to surrender any copies you posess at customs) and banned from the airwaves in Bulgaria. Separation of Church and State: It's a wonderful thing.Jesus (1999) or Dude, I Just Wanted to Surf:This Made-for-TV movie features the most bland, watered-down and generic telling of Jesus' life that I've seen. In an attempt to please everyone (No Controversy!), the producers of this film end up presenting a great guy who just happens to get himself crucified. They seemed to have forgotten that, while a good guy, Jesus was also an apocalyptic prophet who pissed in one bowl of Wheaties too many. I personally liked Sisto's portrayal of Jesus, and if mated with Jesus of Nazareth, he would be in a great film. The rest of it is forgettable, except for the Satan in the Armani suit. That's going into my "Greatest Jesus" cut.Well, that's a run through all of the Jesus movies I've seen. I purposely left out Ben-Hur and The Robe, because those movies weren't specifically about the life of Jesus. The omission of Life of Brian was also intentional, even though it's the most hilarious sort-of Jesus movie ever made. Always look on the bright side of life. (Rumor has it a post similar to this one appeared at SSDB) Video12929@blogcritics.org Thu, 19 Feb 2004 12:14:51 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2003/08/16/064507.php Paul PalubickiI've listened to Green Tamborine at least a few hundred times, if not more, and I don't know why it is I love this song so much. Maybe it's the sitar riff at the beginning of the song, even though the sitar is employed much better in Norwegian Wood. Everything is second-rate in this song, from the simple three chords to the lame tambourine itself, but I'm compelled to listen to it. It resides in every playlist of mine and when I hear it on the radio, I'm unable to change the station. I'm trapped by its kooky power.The song itself doesn't make any sense. Look at the first couple of lines:Drop your silver in my tamborine help a poor man build a pretty dream give me pennies, I'll take anythingThere's nothing obviously amiss here. This damn dirty hippie is poor and looking to make some dough to fuel his reefer madness. Most people use a guitar case or a cup to collect loose pocket change and crumpled dollar bills, but this guy's so poor he can't afford such luxuries. All he has is his little tambourine. I feel sorry for Mr. Tamborine Man, who is most likely the subject of The Byrds' song of the same name, but more on that later. I want you to look at the very next line in the song:Now listen as I play my Green TamborineOkay, I know I'm a little slow in the head, but how the hell can you play the tamborine? It's got money in it. If you start banging on that thing, all those hard-earned pennies are going to fly out all over the place. You can bet your unwashed ass that all of your pretty dreams will disappear as street urchins and bums battle each other for the scattered copper loot. I'm starting to feel not-so-sorry for Mr. Tamborine Man, who's evidently thrown away thousands for want of a fully functional short term memory. But perhaps that's his plan.Maybe, just maybe, Tamborine Man serves as a central collection point for tourists' money, which he then distributes to his unfortunate neighbors in the most fair manner possible: by randomly scattering it about himself. Could that be his pretty dream --to bring money and happiness to orphans and winos who otherwise would go hungry because they have no talent with which to earn money? Is Tamborine Man the result of some complex mechanism of bum evolution which has produced a mutant of the species capable of a singular talent that confers a natural advantage over the others of his kind? If so, Tamborine Man's charitable efforts toward his unfortunate kinsmen are worthy of praise and respect.But this brings up another question: Who the hell wants to listen to someone play a friggin' tamborine, much less pay for the privelage? The lyrics contain an invaluable clue: Watch the jingle-jangle start to shine reflections of the music that is mine When you toss a coin, you'll hear it sing Now listen as I play my Green TamborineThis is no ordinary tamborine. A standard tamborine is just a simple wooden hoop with some irritating cymbols and a drumhead. A normal person's response to this instrumental kluge is to either get out of earshot in the quickest manner possible or to beat the tamborine player for offending the delicate tympanic membranes of the citizenry. So how is it that Tamborine Man escapes certain death when he heads out to the street corner to play? The answer is obvious. He plays a magic tamborine, as evidenced by its conspicous green color. As he beats upon its surface, the jingle-jangling of the mini-cymbals mesmerizes the audience into a stupor and opens them up to the hypnotic suggestion of the music that is his. The audience, in thrall of the tamborine, is compelled to throw money into the tamborine once the song is complete. As a reward, the tamborine itself "sings" to them. What devilish tune this hellspawn instrument whispers in their ears is unknown-- the lyrics are unclear on this point. But it can be inferred that the tamborine's song prevents them from questioning the insane act of actually giving someone money for playing the damnable instrument.The tamborine's magical properties help to answer another puzzle of the songs lyrics:Drop a dime before I walk away Any song you want I'll gladly play Money feeds my music machineIt is here that the song takes a disturbing turn. Not only does Tamborine Man feel confident enough to actually threaten walking away (which would be a welcome action), he's so sure of the tamborine's hypnotic power that he can actually convince people he is capable of playing songs. Now we all know that a tamborine is incapable of playing a song. It cannot reproduce notes. One can only beat on it in a sort of rhythm that may approximate a song's beat, and even then the reproduction is vague. Is that Walk Like an Egyptian or Love in an Elevator? Who knows? The zombified audience is too busy reaching into their pockets to feed his music machine.It's that description --music machine-- which highlights a potentially disturbing dimension to the song. You can take its meaning at face value: the tamborine has some sort of internal mechanism facilitating the hypnotic trance, perhaps by broadcasting high-pitched radio waves. The testing and R&D phase of that device must've been interesting. Did initial audiences soil themselves or form angry mobs bent on rooting out Communists from the film industry? Or did he forever alter their brainwaves during his test trials, changing them into mindless adult infants, interested only in peace, love and dope and unable to participate in society?Of course not. Such idle speculation of a mysterious internal device within the tamborine itself is ludicrous. This self-described poor man could not afford the components and sophisticated equipment necessary to fashion such a hypnotic device, which leads us to the only conclusion possible: the tamborine is the vessel of a malevolent spiritual entity.This conclusion is terrifying in its implications, for it suggests that Tamborine Man is not, as we guessed, a gifted street bum, but the victim of supernatural forces beyond his understanding and control. Perhaps he raided a gypsy camp and stole the accursed tamborine intending to pawn it, but was instead enslaved by its demonic power before he could relieve himself of it. Unable to resist the Green Tamborine, the man plays it in public, feeding the demon's insatiable need for pocket change. Its need of money is probably the result of some cosmic bargain that led to the demon's imprisonment within the tamborine itself. The spirit must collect within the maw of the instrument a certain amount of money before it can be set free, or worse, exchange places with whatever poor soul happened upon the tamborine.The Tamborine Man must've quickly ascertained the true nature of the instrument and being a good soul, fought to keep the monster locked within its cage by immediately dispersing the money after the collection. One can only imagine the terrible existence of Tamborine Man, locked in a contest of wills with an imp of enormous psychic power. One can also imagine the frustration of the tamborinic djinn, who sees his hour of freedom come tantalizingly close, only to have his hopes scattered with the money amongst the four winds.We should therefore not only pity the Tamborine Man, but also take strength from his example, for he demonstrates that even the lowliest of us has the power to stymie the efforts of the Dark Side. If you doubt the djinn's power, you need look no further than The Byrds' own Mr. Tamborine Man. The hypnotic power of the demon was so powerful and lasting that a group of musicians felt compelled to craft a song about the Tamborine Man and then perform it for years without question or hesitation. Even though their song was a result of demonic influence, it does allow us to view firsthand the power of the tamborine from the point of view of the audience, in contrast to the Tamborine Man's own lament and coded warning to stay away at any cost. Indeed, there may never have been a Mr. Tamborine Man had the Tamborine Man not released Green Tamborine. The djinn knew that Green Tamborine had the potential to keep him enslaved for eternity, so it was necessary to sing that special "song" for The Byrds to record, and so bring people from all over the globe to listen, toss money and hasten his liberation. Was its effort successful? Well, no more mention is made of Tamborine Man after The Byrds released their record. We can confidently assume that the genie was freed after a particularly large group of Japanese tourists heard the Tamborine Man play and tossed hundreds of thousands worth of Yen into the tamborine. In what might be the ultimate example of cosmic irony, the supernatural mechanism in place may not have factored in international exchange rates and so took the hundreds of thousands of Yen at face value and set the genie free for only thirteen dollars. So what became of the Tamborine Man after the malevolent spirit was freed and founded MicroSoft? Hopefully, he was freed of torment as well and completed his task of pawning the spritually benign instrument for some much need reefer money. Such a scenario may help us sleep peacefully at night, but the truth may be far more sinister. We must assume that somewhere in this world a possessed Green Tamborine, imbued with the spirit of an angry and tormented soul, quietly awaits its next unsuspecting victim. Music7630@blogcritics.org Sat, 16 Aug 2003 06:45:07 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2002/12/20/063108.php Paul PalubickiChild labor and abuse. Shattered dreams and an evil Republican cripple. Frustration, poverty and an idiot uncle. A wife who wasn't your first choice and a family you never really wanted. Drunk driving, bar fights and suicidal thoughts.Not exactly the stuff family holiday classics are made of, yet all this is in It's a Wonderful Life.Life is often derided as a hokey and syrupy bit of Americana, yet compared to today's movies, it's surprisingly dark and realistic. Turn on any teenybopper show on the WB or attend a commercially successful movie and you'll find the same dominant theme: Achieve your dream. You'll be sorry if you don't.I'm of the belief that a society most honestly expresses its values through popular mediums of entertainment. If true, the message of modern American society is that to be happy, you must do everything you can to achieve your dreams or you'll end up a bitter, frustrated person full of regrets. It's a Wonderful Life flies in the face of that philosophy and presents a man, not unlike you or I, who doesn't get a single thing he wanted out of life, yet winds up the richest man in town.The movie starts with the Magellenic Clouds rapping about George Bailey and the amount of requests coming in through the Prayer Line on his behalf. One cloud, named "Joseph" (putting to rest the eternal question of the Larger Magellenic Cloud's name), takes aside a nebula named "Clarence" and starts reviewing George's life. It's not a very happy tale.We first see George as a youngster saving his kid brother from certain drowning and later as an older boy working for Mr. Gower in a drug store. In both instances, he's saving the lives of others in spite of peril to himself. He braves freezing water to save his brother, loses hearing in one ear and gets slapped up side the head by Mr. Gower when he refuses to deliver poison to a sick boy. Unlike the heroes of today who spring into action without a second thought, George always hesitates just before making a decision -and that's an important distinction to make. He chooses to do what he does, and those choices involve helping others even if it hurts him to do so. As a child, his decisions result in physical pain, but as an adult, they result in pain that cuts deeper than the freezing cold of a New England river.In the same sequence involving the Mr. Gower Affair, George is introduced to his future opponent and thematic opposite, Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter's dialogue quickly establishes that he is everything George is not. He's the man who has everything and if given a choice, will choose what's best for him over the welfare of others. What's more, he's rich! He's the embodiment of today's message, yet instead of being a happy, fulfilled man, he's a lonely, bitter old man with no friends. There's a Message in that, but it'll have to wait until later on in the film.When we next see George, he's come of age and he's ready to see the world. Capra reinforces how important getting out of Bedford Falls is for George not only through dialogue, but also through simple imagery. George is shopping for a suitcase and goes on about how he wants a big steamer trunk that he can slap labels on for all the places he's going to visit. The shopkeeper pulls out a large, empty suitcase for George to inspect and it turns out it's from old Ear-Slapper himself, Mr. Gower- the man who's ass George saved all those years ago when he refused to take pills mistakenly filled with poison to a sick little boy.These scenes are very busy, full of movement and energy, conveying the feelings of expectation and excitement that come along with getting out and doing new things. In the dinner scene at home, someone's always moving in and out of frame instead of the traditional portrait of a family eating a meal together. The school dance scene follows, continuing the frenetic imagery as well as introducing us to the devious machinations of Alfalfa. George starts to get friendly with town hottie Violet, but a friend who wants George to give his kid sister Mary some company quickly pulls him away. Once again, George hesitates before finally deciding to do his friend a favor. After a brief introduction, he and Mary start doing the Charleston and take a dip in the pool thanks to the insidious Alfalfa.The energy of the previous scenes dies down for purposes of exposition as George and Mary take their stroll past the old, broken-down house. Mary's obviously taken with George and details her dream of living in that house and raising a family, but George is too wrapped up in his own plans to notice. George's attitude is, "Yea, you're nice, sister, but I'm outta here!" The scene shows George at his zenith, culminating in his boast to Mary of roping the moon and bringing it down to her. Only it'll be George who'll be roped, as is made clear when he goes to a meeting of the board at the Building & Loan to settle his father's affairs.Mr. Potter shows his nasty mug again, and he's still the greedy old SOB he always was. His selfish words irritate George to the point that even though he's leaving Bedford Falls for good, he still makes an impassioned speech for the Building & Loan. It's not that he really cares for the institution, but that he really hates Potter, and recognizes that if Potter can get rid of the Building & Loan, he'll own the whole damn town and they'll all be the worse for it. His rant finished, George makes tracks for the railroad station only to be stopped by one of the board members who says that the Building & Loan will remain, but only if George stays on as Executive Secretary. Capra is perfect in this moment. We've heard for the last half hour that the most important thing for George is getting out of Bedford Falls, and now comes the punch to the gut. Capra lets the scene hang on George's face as the realization sinks in. All the frenetic pacing of the earlier scenes suddenly stops and the effect is devastating. George hangs his head slightly and makes the decision to stay in town. George offers himself some hope as he figures he'll be able to leave once his younger brother gets back from college. He won't be able to go to Europe, but at least he'll get out of town eventually.A few years go by, and once again, the energy of the train station scene corresponds with George's expectations of getting out of town, since his brother's coming home from college. Once his brother gets off that train, George is free to go to college and get on with his life. Harry gets off the train and George is happy. Harry's unexpected wife gets off the train and George is happy. Harry's wife tells George about the job her father's offered Harry, and George is not so happy. Upon hearing the news, the scene comes to a dead stop as the camera focuses on George. We can see the wheels start turning in George's mind as he starts wrestling with the dilemna of fulfilling his own dreams against letting his brother get the chance to have a good life of his own. Unlike the previous Decision Scene, Capra let's this dilemma play out so we can see George really thinking this one over. That same evening, his mom pushes Mary on him, but George knows that if he hooks up with Mary, he'll never leave Bedford Falls; since Mary stated earlier her dream to settle down and raise a family. His mom points him towards Mary's house and George goes the other way.George bumps into Violet in the center of town, and let's forth a bunch of nonsense about climbing Mt. Bedford and feeling the grass between your toes, and all sorts of things that a guy who's looking for adventure would probably say. Violet kicks him to the curb for all his crazy talk and George eventually winds up at Mary's house. Through the whole scene, he's obviously irritated, but not necessarily with Mary. He knows that by settling down with Mary, his dream would be completely and utterly dead. In the same scene in Mary's house, Mary carefully places a picture of George Roping the Moon in a prominent location- a nice bit of irony considering George is the one being roped in. Before the scene ends, he makes his last protest about not wanting to get married or having kids before kissing Mary and sealing his fate. Dream Over. Turn in your empty suitcase for a briefcase.The rest of the film reinforces the notion of George being denied what he wants for the sake of helping someone else. His honeymoon is ruined by a bank scare that lands up costing him his entire savings, he's constantly going at it with Potter to keep the Building & Loan in operation and he's helping the community to get better housing than what Potter offers, at the expense of a good house for himself and his family.The film eventually comes to a head, as it must, when George's idiot uncle loses $8,000 dollars and the Bank Examiner shows up. Potter swears out a warrant and George realizes his number's up. He barks at his family and heads out to the bar to get drunk.It's at the bar where we see George at the end of his rope. This is where Capra's decision to have George make choices instead of being fate's fool pays off. If George had been a mere victim of circumstance instead of a willing participant in his life, this scene and the film itself wouldn't work. George knows that it's his decisions that have brought him to this point and he hates himself for it. He considers himself a failure because of the choices he's made and all that frustration at being denied again and again finally boils to the surface when he considers jumping off the bridge and ending it all.Thankfully, Clarence the Bumbling Angel jumps in the water, and George, being the guy he is, momentarily forgets his own problems and jumps in to save the guy. Saved from the icy torrent, Clarence and George sit down for a heart to heart and George lets off a flippant remark about wishing he had never been born. And so George gets to see what life would be like if he had never been born. It's not a pretty picture. Throughout all the scenes in this sequence, Clarence shows George that had he not made all those "wrong" decisions, the entire town would have been worse off. Sure, he may have not been able to leave Bedford Falls and see the world, but at the same time he enriched the lives of everyone else- including his own, though he was too damned blind to see it. And that's what makes this film superior to the crap put out today. People are encouraged to damn the world in pursuit of their dreams lest they be unfulfilled. But what of the rest of the world? In It's a Wonderful Life, we're shown the guy who supposedly has everything. Mr. Potter's rich, he owns half the damn town and he can get anything he wants. He's also a bitter old SOB with no friends or family of his own. If Potter hadn't existed, the world would have taken bare notice and would be no worse for having not known him, because he was only concerned about himself and the accumulation of material wealth. The world was obviously worse off for not having George Bailey around, and though he never pursued his dreams, he did choose to help those around him and by elevating the lot of his fellow man, he made his world a better place. He may not have had the best house or a fancy car, and his kids may not have had the best clothes, but he had a family and friends who loved him. Harry's not kidding when he calls his brother "the richest man in town," because in every way that matters, he is. If that weren't enough, Capra drives the point home with the inscription Clarence left on the inside cover of Tom Sawyer: Remember, no man is a failure who has friends. At the end of the movie, Capra presents the two main themes of the film in crystal clarity and their existence makes It's a Wonderful Life superior to any "feel good" movie made today. Reviewer Bias: 8I wrote the same thing here. Video2359@blogcritics.org Fri, 20 Dec 2002 06:31:08 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2002/10/10/221650.php Paul PalubickiA space creature has landed on the planet, disturbing someone's carefully tended lawn while an eclectic group of guests enjoy a dinner party. They take notice of the creature emerging from the ship and head out to huddle on the front porch. They stand in awe and wonder what to do. Doc Searls is the scientist who believes the Creature comes in peace. He approaches the alien with his hands up and with soft words, explains to the alien that he means no harm and welcomes the creature. Seconds later, Doc's head comes rolling towards the huddled group while the Creature disembowels his headless body.Dave Winer is the guy who believes Searls must've inadvertently provoked the Creature and tries to convince the remaining members of the group that the Creature is merely misunderstood and must not be made to feel threatened. Bill Quick is the guy who tells Winer that he's full of shit and the group should shoot the murdering creature down before it kills them all. The two argue back and forth before our square-jawed hero, a world-renowned atomic scientist and ace pilot with his own personal fighter jet, breaks them up and tries to apply some good old-fashioned common sense in dealing with the Creature. He figures the group oughtta split and notify the authorities so they can handle it.Bill Quick still wants to kill the thing. He ain't goin' nowhere. While the rest of the group leaves, Winer stays behind, convinced he can talk to the Creature and make it understand that they mean it no harm. As our Hero turns to leave, Winer grabs him by the arm and confidently (almost self-indulgently) proclaims that he will get through to the Creature. Both Winer and Our Hero suddenly turn at the sound of a pump-action shotgun. Quick's got his shotgun loaded and is taking aim at the Creature. Winer, shouting "You fool!", runs towards Quick just as Bill unloads on the Creature. Winer, grasping his stomach, collapses on the ground and is quickly devoured by the Space Alien. Quick reloads and begins pumping shell upon shell into the creature, to no effect. Our Hero desperately tries to convince Quick to give it up, but he'll have none of it. Bill shakes off the Hero, and with a mad look continues his sawed-off assault on the Alien Creature. The Hero nods, pats Bill on the shoulder and takes off with the scared-shitless girl. As our hero starts the car, he and his female companion turn with a start at Bill Quick's blood-curdling death cries. As they stare in horror at the old house, the cries suddenly cease and the stoic hero peels off, his tires squealing on the gravel country road.The Hero turns on the car radio and listens as the Newscaster gives up-to-the-minute information on the Creature's whereabouts and its intentions. The heroine looks worriedly at the hero and asks, "Ace, what are we going to do?"The deep-voiced Ace responds, "With any luck, Matt and Ken have gone to the papers to wire a report and request assistance from the military. Meanwhile, we'll find a phone and call the Sheriff." Ace pauses and points at an old watering hole on the side of the road, "That place should have a phone."Ace and Mary enter the IndyMedia Cafe to find the patrons listening to radio reports of the Creature. The barkeep, cleaning a shot glass with a dirty rag, turns and shakes his head, "Would you get a load of that?""Ah, it's just a conspiracy!" shouts a pasty, unkempt youth. The rest of the place chimes with agreement. Ace can't believe what he's hearing. It appears the patrons of the place believe that the Creature is actually a Tit Mouse, mutated by the radiological effects of the government's Atomic Testing Program. A small vocal minority insist that the Atomic Tit Mouse is a hoax perpetrated by the government in order to declare martial law and embark on a campaign of naughtiness unrivaled in history.Ace unsuccessfully tries to convince the patrons of their mortal peril and is dismissed as part of the Conspiracy. He asks the barkeep for a phone to call the Sheriff.The barkeep nods his head torward the door, "You don't need to, son. There he is."Ace turns to see the Sheriff enter the bar, and with relief shakes the Sheriff's hand. "Am I glad to see you! Listen, we are all in great danger! An alien Creature has-""Listen mac, give up that story right now. I won't have you causing a panic!" rebukes the portly Sheriff. He turns and addresses the patrons, "Folks, there's nothing to fear. It's just a drunken exaggeration on the part of Mr. Ace, here."As Ace and the Sheriff argue, our heroine looks out the door, her eyes growing wide in horror. Her shaking hands cover her mouth and she walks backwards in slow, halting steps. She bumps into Ace, interrupting his argument with the Sheriff. As both turn, Mary lets loose a banshee wail. Ace grabs Mary and they head out the back door while the Sheriff impotently fires at the Creature.As Ace and Mary squeal out of the dirt parking lot, they look back to see the Atomic Tit Mouse destroy the IndyMedia Cafe and its inhabitants. Ace turns on the car radio as the Newscaster recounts the recent events and relays the opinions of various people regarding the Creature and its intentions. As Ace absent-mindedly drives, he thinks aloud, "Let's just hope Matt and Ken got the word out."Indeed, Matt and Ken did get the word out, as a couple of days later, the Army is arrayed in all its glory against the Creature. Ace and Mary are there, as are Matt and Ken. The General give the order to fire and the Army gives its best against the alien, to no effect. The soldiers look on in shock as one particular soldier, sitting in his Jeep and minding his own business, is suddenly vaporized into nothingness just as he was about to light up, so the director can vividly demonstrate the awesome power of the Atomic Mouse's Death Ray. Mary buries her face into Ace's broad shoulder. Matt and Ken wonder why they ever left Czechoslovakia, where all they had to worry about was the odd Vampire skulking about. The Newscaster, reporting on the scene, tries to distract his audience from the horrid nightmare by relating an Englishman's views on Steel Tariffs.It seems all hope is lost before a single man steps into frame and turns to address the survivors of the Atomic Tit Mouse's Death Ray. He explains the impossibility of such rapid mutation and the unlikelihood that a space creature would cover the vast gulf of space just to destroy a small, Midwestern town. He says, quite simply, that such a creature (no matter its origin) cannot logically exist.The Creature, convinced by the power of Den Beste's logic, agrees and dissolves into nothingness. The survivors breathe a sigh of relief as Mary looks up from Ace's shoulder and exclaims through tears, "It's over! Thank God it's over!"Ace, looking manly and staring purposefully towards the direction of the Mutant Creature's Last Stand declares, with a bit of a warning, "We licked him today, but next time we may not be so lucky. Let's hope mankind can answer the Creature's puzzle before we're all destroyed."Cue triumphant music and fade to black. Culture1216@blogcritics.org Thu, 10 Oct 2002 22:16:50 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2002/10/10/221046.php Paul PalubickiWhile cleaning out some of the pockets in my laptop case, I found a copy of "The Sims". I never really played it that much when I first bought it, but I was bored so I figured I'd slap it in and give it a whirl. I've regretted that decision ever since. Those little bastards infuriate the hell out of me with their damned stupidity, yet I can't stop playing.One game in particular sent me over the edge. I had spent all this time creating a nice little Sim. I gave him a good home. I bought him lots of things to keep him happy. Was he thankful? Oh, hell no. This guy was the whiniest, most demanding blockhead of a Sim I've ever seen. Things started out well enough. He got a job and started making friends. All of his "mood indicators" were in the green and things were going along swimmingly. He was happy. I was happy. "Oh, the things I shall buy for you my wee creation! You will rise through the ranks and become powerful! Would you like a guinea pig? Here you go: a gift from your Creator. May his puffy cheeks and cute antics provide hours of entertainment."Little did I know that my Sim was about to unleash his inner Oscar Madison. I was a little disturbed that he had a voracious appetite for potato chips and would leave the empty wrappers all over the floor. It didn't seem to bother him. Even when the flies started buzzing around, it didn't bother him. Soon, his trashcan overflowed, leaving a pile of rubbish sitting right square in the middle of his kitchen. "That's all right," I thought, "I'll just hire a maid for him. No expense shall be spared to ensure Billy Bastard's happiness."Yet Billy seemed to resist all I did to make him happy. I kept pulling on the reigns, but like a stubborn mule, he just sat there wallowing in his misery. I noticed that his "Hunger" indicator was always in the red. I don't see how a man who consumed his weight in potato chips every day could be hungry, but I'm here to meet his needs. I bought him an expensive, shiny stove so he could make big, filling meals. I even bought a nice dining room table for him to chow down on. Upon noticing the new appliance, he stomped his little feet and clapped with joy. He cooked a meal and promptly set the oven on fire. "Put out the fire, Billy!", I yelled. All he could do was jump up and down in fright and point at it. "Yes, it's a fire. Extinguish!" The fire soon spread to the refrigerator which held his precious potato chips. "Ah, now he'll get on the ball!" Nope. I finally managed to get him to call the fire dept, and they rushed in and put the fire out, but not in time to save the stove and the fridge. Billy was still hungry, so I had to shell out another grand or so for replacement appkiances. Before allowing him near the stove again, I told him to read a Cooking book, since the game said that will help prevent further flame-ups. He refused.Excuse me?He stomped his feet and waved his arms at me while that little bubble above his head displayed a picture of other people. "Oh, Billy wants friends." I had him call up the Goths down the street and they said they'd be right over. Great.After hanging up the phone, Billy went to go get his bag o'chips and per routine, dropped the empty bag on the floor after finishing them. He then proceeded to take a shower. The Goths showed up and rang the doorbell. "Come on, Billy, answer the damned door!" Nope, the absent-minded Bastard kept singing in the shower and the Goths left in a huff. Two more times he called the Goths over, and both times he summarily rebuffed them while he went to go play with his guinea pig or work on his painting. After that, they refused to come over again. He was still hungry, lonely and unhappy. He was also tired. "Go to bed, Billy. We'll start over again in the morning."In the middle of the night, a burglar appeared. "Wake up, Billy!" Billy awoke and groggily shook his head. I told him to go after the burglar. Instead, he stomped his feet and held his ears. What? "He's taking your stuff, Billy! Go get him!" But it was too late. By the time Billy had finished throwing his little fit, the burglar had stuffed the 36" inch TV into his Bag of Holding and made off with the loot. Well if that don't beat all.Okay Billy, if that's the way you want it. If you don't care about all this shit I bought for you, I guess you can do without your comfy couch, your bookcase, your microwave and your easel. Oh, and say good-bye to your guinea pig. You can't even take care of yourself; I sure as hell don't trust you with the life of a small, innocent animal.Boy, did Billy throw a fit after that! He was stompin' mad, but I would not relent until he showed that he was sorry for being such a filthy, lazy, inconsiderate Bastard. I waited and waited for an apology, but none came. Okay, I guess you don't need that toilet or that shower, now. Do you? He was now all alone in his house with only his beloved potato chips to keep him company. He sought comfort, but found none. He sought relief, but finding none wet himself and the floor beneath him. No warm, soft bed awaited him at the end of the day. Still, he preferred to throw fits and wallow in his misery. Okay, I guess you don't need this floor, either. His only shelter was now the walls and roof of his house. He would have to walk and sleep on the grass that now served as his floor. The fridge had also disappeared. Perhaps the lack of his primary foodstuff will convince him of my seriousness.As all of his indicators bottomed out and he stood there crying in freakish misery, I told him, "Straighten up, and all will be forgiven. Your riches will be restored to you. Everything will be as it was before. Just say you're sorry."He was stubborn to the very end. At 7:18 in the evening, Billy went running out into his yard wearing his well-soiled pajamas. He began crying, collapsed onto the ground and died. Let his tombstone serve as a beacon to all the other Sims in the neighborhood. Let them gather round and reflect on Billy Bastard's life. Let it serve as a warning: Live well, and you will be rewarded. Live poorly, and this will be your future. Perhaps Billy's death will serve a greater purpose and make up for his sorry excuse for a life. We shall see when I play again. Culture1215@blogcritics.org Thu, 10 Oct 2002 22:10:46 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2002/09/25/235724.php Paul PalubickiThe next morning Wolf and I set out on our search for Dover"s bus station. Following the directions of the Trailways employee, we made our way to the Blue Hen Mall and then looked across the street. No bus station."Maybe it's behind the mall." Wolf offered."Naw, she said it was across the street from the mall."Wolf pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall that lie directly across from the Blue Hen. "There's nothing here except these stores and that Hertz place over there."I had to admit he was right. There was no evidence that a bus station existed, or had ever existed, in this area. Wolf arched his eyebrows, "Perhaps she meant the Dover Mall instead of the Blue Chicken."Hell, anything was possible at this point. We continued our drive up the road towards the Dover Mall, all the while keeping an eye out for our missing bus station.This was my second or third trip up Route 13 into Dover proper and like the salsa at Chi-Chi's, it had so far failed to impress me. It was a state capital, and having seen quite a few capitals in my time, I'd come to expect a certain look and feel: Big corporate buildings, hordes of people in a rush to get somewhere, congested traffic, honking horns, pollution -the whole spicy nine yards. Dover was nothing more than a highway with restaurants and hotels on either side with a Wal-Mart and a mall thrown in for flavor. My god, there was a small cornfield in between the Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken! The town barely rated a "Mild" on the Green Pepper Meter, but if the French could convince Americans to buy water in a bottle, then damned if Dover wasn't going to try and make lightning strike twice. They dumped a lot of crap into the bowl, hoping the sheer bulk of national superstore chains and the odd racetrack would distract the casual viewer enough so he wouldn't be aware of the thin, bland soup within which all these stale chunks floated. Dover was doing its best to convince you that it was genuine Pace Picante, but why did I always feel like someone passed the Old El Paso?As we drove past the Agricultural Museum, Wolf decided to share this Pearl of Wisdom: "As long as I"ve been here, I don"t ever remember seeing a bus station."Well thanks for telling me now, Captain Tardy. "But that woman wouldn't lie to me. She has to know where the hell she works. She made it sound like the easiest thing in the world to find."Wolf shook his head, "Look: there's the mall, the race track, the college... I don't see any bus station."This was just my kind of luck. It fucking figured. This lady tells me it's across the street from the Blue Chicken, plain as day, but there's no damned bus station. Now Wolf's telling me he's never ever seen one. Since Wolf had been here at Dover for a while, I automatically assumed he had seen all there was to see of the place. This was Dover we were talking about after all, not the bazaars of Cairo. If I had known that Wolf, while having an intimate knowledge of the Wesleyan College Dormitories and the surrounding environs, hadn't really explored every nook and cranny of Dover, I would've taken his words with a grain of salt. This being 1992, I accepted his judgment in this area without question and began thinking about other means of transport.As we were coming back down 13, Wolf asked if I was hungry. Yeah, sure. I'm always hungry. "Cool. I've gotta stop by the Pink Elephant to pick up some stuff first. I saw a Chinese take-out place at that strip mall that looked good. Wanna get some of that?"I replied in the affirmative as we pulled into the Pink Elephant's parking lot. The Pink Elephant was a liquor store, so-called because of the chain of pink pachyderms painted on the drive-thru side of the building. Yep, you heard right: drive-thru liquor, one of the greatest ideas since the invention of the electric lightbulb. Growing up in Virginia, I was only familiar with the ABC, or Alcoholic Beverage Commission. These stores were the only places in the Commonwealth that could sell hard liquor. They were drab, boring buildings with dark windows and a plain sign that read "ABC" up on the roof. I'd always thought these architectural blights had been the handiwork of some pious Southern Baptist, but logically we know that couldn't be the case. It'd have huge flames surrounding the entrance with a huge sign above the doorway reading, "Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here" along with an animatronic Billy Sunday standing outside barking biblical prohibitions against the Drink (all from the King James Version, of course). No, it couldn't have been the SBC's that were responsible for the designs. It must've been an Episcopalian who drafted the plans for the buildings. Simple and unassuming on the outside, yet one hell of a party on the inside. The Pink Elephant, unlike the fabled ABC stores of my youth, was festooned with what I have come to know as standard liquor store decor. Every square inch of the building save the drive-thru side was covered with Budweiser banners, Miller promotional posters and large white signs declaring, in handwritten black and red marker, "Wild Turkey 5.99 a Bottle!" India may have the Taj Mahal and New York the Statue of Liberty, but at that moment, nothing seemed so beautiful to me as the Pink Elephant Drive-Thru Liquor Store. Wolf had brought me to Mecca, and like any dry Pilgrim, I was overwhelmed by the power and majesty of the simple, gaudy building offering a Six Pack of MGD for only $2.35.As we entered the establishment, I noticed that the inside looked a lot like the outside, only with half-nekkid chicks in swimsuits adorning the walls. I'd already seen most of these posters hanging in everyone's rooms in the dorm. Come to think of it, my dorm was a miniature Louvre with classic works of promotional beer posters taped to the walls. Our Mona Lisa was the Killian's Red poster featuring Kathy Ireland. And lo! Here she was, just above the Bartles & James display. Even better, there's a box full of Kathy Ireland posters. So this is where everybody got theirs! They were free (always my favorite price), so I pulled one out for myself, unrolled it and just stared at it. Yes, you will occupy a place of honor in my personal gallery. Now if I could only find the "Cindy Crawford Crawling on the Beach Wearing a Thong", my collection would be complete; anchored by the two titans of skimpy swimwear.As I was gazing at my new piece of art, I muttered aloud, "Man, if they could bottle that, every man would go to bed happy.""They already have."I turned to see Wolf holding up a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon. "A couple swigs of this and every chick looks like her.""Yeah, but what about the morning after?""Got it covered." He drew a bottle of Yukon Jack whiskey from the brown paper bag. He pointed at the poster in my hand, "Can you get a couple of those for me?"As I was getting into Wolf's car, I did a double-take. There was a Trailways bus parked in front of the Hertz Rent-a-Car kiosk! A couple of people were boarding, which struck me as odd. I was in a pensive, yet confused state until a clue the size of softball came hurtling down upon my thick skull. Ouch! What the hell, man? THUD Across the Street THUD From the Blue Hen Mall THUD There's a Bus THUD With Passengers THUD Check it Out, Numbnuts!Revelation can often be a painful experience."Wolf, you mind driving over to the Hertz place for a minute?""No problem."We drove to the spot the bus had occupied mere moments before, and staring us right in the face was the red and white Trailways sign. In front of the windows sat a line of cracked plastic molded seats with faded powder blue paint mounted to a rusting tubular bar. This -THIS- was the state capital's "bus station": An afterthought slapped onto the front of a Hertz Rent-a-Car kiosk sitting in the middle of a strip mall's parking lot. Screw Old El Paso. This burg was a half empty Taco Bell sauce packet. I think Wolf summed it up best:"This is fucking lame."At any rate, I still needed a bus ticket, so I went inside and bought one for the coming Friday. Right after class, I'd take the J.G. Taxi out to the bus stop and hop the express on down to Norfolk. Everything was starting to come together. Culture914@blogcritics.org Wed, 25 Sep 2002 23:57:24 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2002/09/25/234643.php Paul PalubickiAll right, so I had a CD Player, but no CD's to play. My CD collection was down at my folk's place in Norfolk, but I had no car to drive down there to get them. As I sat there on the lower bunk, a glorious idea formed in my mind. "I'll take the bus!" Of course! Home's only three hours away, so it won't be that bad a trip. I jumped up out of my bed, walked out of my room and headed down the hall towards the pay phones to look up the bus station's phone number (I had no phone of my own). I reached the phones and discovered that my fellow dorm rats had pilfered all three phone books. Shit. I stood there in the hall trying to think of anyone I knew who had a phone and wouldn't mind being bothered. The guy next door had a phone, I was pretty sure. I could always hear him holding one-sided conversations. Since the walls of our rooms were apparently pieces of cardboard tacked up to studs, you could hear even the quietest whispers of your next-door neighbors, which made some evenings memorable. You never could look at the girls you saw leaving your neighbor's room with a straight face. Oh, they tried to look all proper and respectable in public, but that facade belied the fact they were screaming, "I'm a dirty whore!" just hours before. Sometimes you'd find out later that they were some Colonel's daughter, which made it even better. Daddy's little girl had found a new Daddy, as evidenced by the repeated cries of, "You're my Daddy! You're my Daddy! Spank my ass, Daddy!" that carried over to my room on a nightly basis.Okay, we're getting a little weird here. I'm supposed to be looking for a phone book. I stopped by the room of the dude who lived in Room 27 and made some tentative, half-hearted knocks on the door. At this time, I was still fairly new to the place and hadn't really spent any time getting to know the guys who lived in the hall, so I was pensive about bothering a total stranger about something as trivial as a phonebook. And let's face it- I was pretty embarrassed about my situation. I didn't have a car. I didn't have a phone. I didn't even have a decent stereo system. I was only 18, so I couldn't legally drink (save your comments on that for later. This story takes place before I was corrupted). I was an outsider. A geek. A clueless newbie. Wolf opened the door holding a Labatt's Blue in his hand. "What's up?""Do you have a phonebook I could borrow?""Yeah, sure. Hold on." He motioned me into his room, which looked like the room of the typical single dude. "Want a beer?""Naw man, I'm not legal."Wolf turned and gave me a look. "Whatever you say." He turned back to the task of clearing off month's worth of dirty clothes and old papers in his search for the phone book. He turned back around and tossed it at me. "There you go."The front page was missing and the back cover was half torn. What was left of it was covered in various numbers and other scribblings. Half the yellow pages had various dried substances of unknown nature splattered across their face. I finally found the listings for bus stations. There was only one, a Trailways "depot". I asked Wolf if I could borrow his phone. He tossed the handset at me and I dialed in the number. "Trailways, this is Janet. How may I help you?""Yes ma'am, what's your bus schedule?"She rattled through a chaotic schedule, where I caught the words "Saturday" and "4:00 PM". Well, now I was in business."Where are you located?""We're right across the street from the Blue Hen Mall on Route 13. You can't miss it."I thanked her and hung up the phone. "What do you need to take the bus for?" Wolf asked as he placed a cold Labatt's Blue on his aircraft windshield-turned-coffee table. I stared at the opened bottle, wispy vapor rising from its mouth. How could I turn it down? Would I be committing a serious social faux pas by refusing the beverage? What if I got caught? Why was I thinking so much about a stupid fucking beer? I picked up the beer and took a swig."I've gotta go down to my parent's house to pick up some of my stuff. I don't have a car, so..."Wolf nodded. "Bummer. You need a ride to the bus station?""Uh, yeah, sure. I need to find out where it's at first."His reply was interrupted by the passionate moans of a young woman making their way through the cardboard walls. "Goddamit!" Wolf blurted out in frustration. He turned to me as he stood up. "You know, it's kinda neat when you hear it the first half-dozen times, but it gets old real quick."He walked over to the wall and started pounding on it. "Quiet down you banshee whore of hell!"The sounds abruptly stopped. Wolf stood there motionless for a few seconds straining his ear and narrowing his eyes, waiting for any indication that the noises would erupt again. Satisfied that the problem had been addressed, he walked back over and sat down in his chair. "Did they say where it was at?""She said it was in town across the street from the...Blue Hen Mall?" I felt stupid saying "Blue Hen Mall". It sounded like some made up name. Who would name a mall "Blue Hen"?Wolf made an exaggerated head nod. "Yeah, I know where the mall's at. It's a shitty rundown rat's nest. I'll give you a ride over there tomorrow if you want."I was about to say, "Cool" when the quiet, jerky sounds of mattress bopping started up again. You'd hear a nice loud one, then quiet, then some really short staccato squeaks, then some more silence and finally a couple of loud ones. The moaning was more muffled and started to sound like soft grunts."Well, at least they're trying to be quiet." Wolf said, shrugging his shoulders. He then gave me a maliciously gleeful look and walked over to the wall again. He pounded on it with his fist and yelled, "I can still hear you!""Dammit!" came the reply from the other side. Wolf sat back down and we both watched the wall and drank our beers for the next 10 minutes as we listened to our neighbor and his girlfriend argue. At some points in the argument, Wolf would yell out his thoughts on the matter, resulting an another angry tirade by the sexually frustrated girl. I finished off the beer just as the slamming of our neighbor's door signaled that the night's entertainment had come to a conclusion. I thanked Wolf for the beer and headed next door to my room. Culture913@blogcritics.org Wed, 25 Sep 2002 23:46:43 EDT