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Posts for the date of Thursday, March 28, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:57 PM |
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Turns out I prefer my old look. Go figure. I got so used to it, I feel like it's an extension of myself. Apparently I feel stark white and simple. Yep. That sums me up pretty well.
If anyone wants to show some artistic talent and make a template for me, I have a piece of warm Juicy Fruit as payment. It's been in my pocket all day long. Nice and sticky.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:21 PM |
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I need validation that I’m a worthwhile father. Not in the sense of Parenting magazine I’m a Super Dad Who Supports My Children and Follows All The Latest Research On Child Rearing. No, I need to be the funniest damn person in the house.
I’ve already lost Kaitlyn. She’s nearing seven and . . . I’m just a dumb boy who doesn’t understand Barbies and tea parties. I’m the guy who controls the TV and tells her not to go outside without a jacket.
That leaves Gertrude, burgeoning flower of a four-month-old baby. Her personality is currently in development and there is still time to convince her that I am the familial equivalent of Second City comedy troupe.
Gertrude is a happy baby. She is content to lie on the floor and taste whatever comes into her hands. Toys, blankets, the cat. Whatever, as long as it fits.
It’s my chance. She’s learning how to laugh and acknowledge what amuses her.
She lays on the floor, ready to be amused. I crouch down, readying my repertoire.
Funny voices. Check. Goofy faces. Check. Age old TTT (Terrible Tickle Torture). Check. Bouncy toys. Check. Various fabrics perfect for peek-a-boo. Check.
I move in for the kill, giving her my best routine. Robin Williams on his best day couldn’t match my performance. I’m brilliant. I’m letting loose with infant tested material that is sure to cause hysterical fits. I move from one form of comedy to another, ensuring that Gertrude never bores of my particular material.
Exhausted, I ready myself for my final bow.
Nothing. Maybe a crooked grin.
Mom walks in and says, “Hi Gertrude” in a high-pitched voice. Squeals of delight from my little lumpy daughter.
Son of a . . .
I’ve failed. I’m not the funniest person in the house. It’s mom. And she doesn’t even have material! She is just . . . funny.
Perhaps I should take comfort in that. Gertrude takes me seriously while Mom is a laugh a minute riot. In the future Gertrude will listen to me and blow off mom because she’s just a clown.
Not likely. I’m already being set up to be majorly screwed when both the girls are grown.
Kaitlyn: Can we have a pizza?
Me: No, we shouldn’t spend the money.
Kaitlyn: Not even for your little princesses?
Me: How many do you want? Imported from Italy?
Even Gertrude has my number. At such a young age, she’s in complete control.
Gertrude: Gooo.
Me: Here’s twenty bucks.
She’ll need that money for her therapy bills in the future. I’m sure at some point her friends will wonder why her dad is jumping around making monkey noises and screaming, “I’m funny! See! Mom’s not funny, I am!”
Why am I so intent on winning the comic approval of an infant? She can’t even control her own bowels. Of course, that’s the first rule of comedy. “Get an audience with no control of their own bodily secretions.” Of course, I always get the audiences that can’t stop sweating.
That’s all for today. I have to go try out my newest material on the cat.
I hear feline humor is the latest rage.
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, March 27, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 10:41 PM |
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New look! Likey? No likey? I'm not sure.
Wish I was a designer, then I could make my own. However, not even a blind man would trust my sense of visual beauty. I can appreciate but cannot create.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 3:01 PM |
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At night I like to go out and look at the sky. Where I live, the star field isn’t spectacular, but I have a nice view. On clear nights, I can see the planets, as seasons allow.
When I stand out in the crisp evening air, after everyone has gone to bed, I look at those stars and my mind begins to wander . . . How many years it has taken for that light to reach my eye. The star I’m viewing may no longer exist. Who knows what is in its place now?
Are there others out there? What are they thinking right now, other than ways to give me the dreaded anal probe when they abduct me?
It amazes me that most of us walk around only aware of what exists in our field of vision. After all, the universe is as infinitely small as it is large. There are things going on all around us everyday that we either can’t see, or just won’t.
Those stars, to me, are so much more than flickering light thingies in the sky thing above me. They are evidence that there is something beyond me and my sphere of influence. These gigantic balls of gas are formed in ways that I will never understand, no matter how many books I read on the subject.
Stars, galaxies, other planets. My mind whirls at the possibilities of what will occur in this little universe of ours in the years to come.
We are only at the beginnings of our space faring. We may go to Mars, or discover the ability to travel among the stars. Of course, when we do we’ll probably litter all over the place and the star Sirius will become known as Disney’s Sirius.
Actually, I kind of look forward to some things . . . They’re currently working on something known as “The Space Elevator.” (Great name! Reminds me of the time I took the Giant Flying Cylinder to the Corporate Owned Park of Themed Amusements, Gifts and Hotels.) The Space Elevator will allow us to go into low orbit without a rocket. It’s long and complicated and I don’t understand it. However, that doesn’t stop me from thinking it’s cool.
Think about it, though. When space becomes commercial, how long before Disney opens Disneyland Orbit? Space Mountain in zero g!
I actually think a space theme park would be cool, though that means there will be a lot of ugly people who can’t control their kids in space. Perhaps we should only allow good parents to make the trip?
It also opens up the opportunity for people to figure out a way to live in space. After a year or two, gravity will become unbearable for them. They’ll be happiest floating outside the influence of Earth’s gravity. Could that be all that bad?
These are thoughts that float through my mind in my late evening visits with my celestial neighbors. Though I know I’ll never get to experience space myself, I’d love to leave this little marble for just a day and go out there to look. What is it like? What do the other planets look like up close? Hell, I’d be happy just to orbit the moon for a few hours. I’ve always wondered how much crap the Apollo astronauts left behind. I could go to the Earth, pick it up, and sell it on eBay!
My odd thoughts concluded, I come back into a house with is still with the calmness of my sleeping family. I walk through the dark house, look at the kids sleeping and crawl into bed with a feeling of wonderment.
I try to hold on to it for a while because, I know, by morning the wonderment will be gone. Replaced by the daily grind, the need for money, safety, health.
But, periodically through they day I’ll make rocket noises and pretend, just for a moment, that when I look out my window I’ll be magically transported to an orbiting space station held in place by the gravity of Jupiter.
Hell, I’d be happy if I looked out the window and saw a beach. But I figure, why dream small?
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Posts for the date of Monday, March 25, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 5:45 PM |
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Once again, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts managed to not surprise me with its ability to choose the mediocre.
The Oscars is a huge night at my house. I’m a movie geek, so even though I rarely believe the best films and performances of the year were selected, I watch with baited breath. I can’t help it.
Of course, half the fun is laughing over the insanely rich wearing clothes that wouldn’t sell at a garage sale. You know they spent thousands on their clothes, but you have to wonder why. Gwyneth Paltrow was wearing what looked to be an albino nipple S&M contraption. You could clearly see her nipples through this muslin like material. Over the muslin was a horribly random grouping of black fabric that caused her anorexic body to look as though giant fat rolls were spilling out everywhere.
Worse was Cameron Diaz, who appeared to be wearing a silk bathrobe and forgot to wash and comb her hair. Frighteningly, I’ll be her clothes cost more than my car. Jennifer Lopez looked like a refugee from Charlie’s Angels, with the Ultimate Immobile Curls. I kept expecting her to break out some roller-skates and boogie to The Ohio Players.
Why they keep hiring Whoopi Goldberg is beyond me. Periodically, she’d make me chuckle, but overall she seemed to be amusing herself. I missed the smart, self-deprecating, intelligent wit of Steve Martin. Goldberg is just . . . unfunny. She was showed up by Woody Allen’s off-the-cuff standup comments regarding his appearance at the awards. His five-minute routine was by far, the funniest moment of the evening.
The awards, of course, were somewhat predictable, though poorly selected. While I enjoyed Jim Broadbent, Ian McKellan was the superior performance. He transformed himself and brought a character to life. Denzel and Halle Berry certainly deserved their awards; though Berry’s maudlin speech was a little . . . well . . . maudlin. And long. Snore. I’m just not that interested in how these actors feel, I suppose. They give no glimpse into their psyche but, rather, give you an endless stream of excuses and agent product placements.
I was happy for Randy Newman. I love the man. Though I don’t think his best song won last night (Come on, “I Love to See You Smile” and “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” never one? Hell.) his composition was clearly the best song of the evening. His bitter sarcasm was truly welcomed in our house. I love that man.
The travesties of the evening were the fact that Amelie won nothing. (I suppose it was too original.) And that Shrek beat Monsters, Inc.
Let’s get serious here. Shrek is an ugly, intermittently funny film. It is just not that great. I thought Shrek's character design was about as ugly as you can get. Plus, the characters' interaction with the background was awful. It looked like colorforms. PDI, in my book, still has a lot of work to do. They had some nice movement, but in a poor vehicle. Also thought the script wasn't as sharp as everyone said it was . . .
That's one of DreamWorks' biggest faults, actually. They are not very good at blending elements. Look at their traditional animated films and the CG elements stick out. Disney is better, but they can all learn from the techniques Brad Bird used in The Iron Giant. Almost flawless.
Jimmy Neutron is a step in a great direction as well. Stylish, well designed and not trying for a hyper reality.
For sheer artistry, beauty and damn fine story telling, Pixar deserves a thousand awards.
In the end it doesn’t matter. The movies I like will never win these awards. I enjoy art mixed with entertainment. The general public, and the academy, seem to prefer pedestrian, manipulative pastiche. I can live with that.
As long as the art survives. When the aliens arrive and enslave us, I guarantee they’ll laugh and cry at Monsters, Inc. and say that Shrek, while technically interesting, is an ugly piece of animation. They’ll wonder at the beauty of Amelie and ponder over the oddities of Moulin Rouge. They’ll think A Beautiful Mind is a worthy effort, but nothing all that exciting.
And then they’ll watch Mulholland Drive and wonder, “What the hell was that?” And David Lynch will become their leader and we’ll all start seeing midgets.
Or something . . .
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