Nothing gets your heart going first thing in the morning like exciting dreams; today apparently it was still too calm, so I got to have TWO exciting dreams!
The first one began aboard one gigantic starship, which turned out to be the deep space version of an aircraft carrier. Everyone aboard was either a fighter jock, an engineer/mechanic, or a medic. After some initial fumbling about I realized I was (of course) a fighter jock.
The fighters were unconventional to say the least. They were not sleekly aerodynamic; why would they need to be? They were instead built for practicality. Nearly perfect ovoid shapes, heavily covered in ablative armor, and capable of carrying heavy shield generators, powerful engines, and turret mounted energy and mass-driver weaponry along with a central ring of hard points to mount short range high speed missiles. The fighters were also roomy enough to carry two comfortably, and four in a pinch (more on that later). The pilots "chairs" were more like lounges with restraining straps. In casual flight, you sat down, strapped in, and reclined slightly; controls were in the armrest mounted dual joysticks. In combat, the whole thing moved so you were lying flat, and rather than the view ports which covered over in combat you had a 360 degree monitor view in front of your face.
Our first scramble came minutes into the dream, and it began with almost literally diving in to the fighters in low-gee, then being ripple-launched from tubes all around the carrier. My first view of the space we were in was breathtaking. Far ahead of us were massive streamers of cloud and interstellar gas, stretching for light years away from where our ship was moving. We were skirting the fringe of a field of scattered asteroids and more wisps of dust and gas, covering a region of space the area of Earth's orbit. We were deep in interstellar space; the closest stars were at least 4 to 5 light years away. Every direction I looked was awe inspiring; millions of stars, vast nebulae, billion mile long streamers of dust lit faintly from within by stars forming, from without by the glow from stars already born. Far off, but still close enough to see and recognize with the naked eye was the Eagle Nebula, and the Pillars of Creation.
Our destination was an exoplanet (maybe one in the constellation Serpentis) about 300 light years from Earth. Our fleet had been under way for 10 to 20 years, roughly half way on the journey. Our FTL drives needed to "recharge" periodically, so we were traveling below light speed. At some point we had run into another space-faring race, and war had begun almost immediately. We had no idea what the other race was like. Apparently in the two years or so of running combat, no prisoners had been taken, and either the enemy ship were self-destructing, or were simply so damaged in battle no useful wreckage was ever recovered.
The first battle was like a swarm of wasps fighting another swarm of wasps. The enemy ships were designed very differently, like a stellated Dodecahedron (look it up) with some of the points truncated for weapons, or engine ports. They were a bit larger and harder to destroy, but slower than our fighters. The swirling battle had at least 100 ships from both sides fully engaged over volume of space large enough to float hold Jupiter. The enemy objective was clear, they were trying to punch through and take out at least one of our carriers; we were fighting defensively to stop them at all costs. Behind us I could see more of our fleet, but in glimpses so brief as to give me no clue about size or numbers. I was focused on my HUD and on killing the closest attacker while not getting destroyed myself. Somehow our weapons never struck one of our own ships; I guess "friendly fire" was turned off. Regardless the space around me still was getting criss-crossed with intense bars of light from the energy weapons, streaks of blue glowing mass driver shots, and the occasional missile, fireball, or filed of debris. I had no real idea how many enemy ships I hit or destroyed, although I was certain of one as I flew right in to the expanding ball of hot gas and debris as it exploded.
My fighter spun and tumbled from the shock wave and the multitude of hits, then ricocheted off some stupid chunk of ice and rock that had wandered into my area. By the time I recovered full control the fight was over. The remaining enemy ships were retreating towards the asteroid field and dust cloud, and we were forming up into a wall of coverage until our carrier called us back.
That was when I got my first look at what we were actually a part of. The fleet was massive; at least a hundred ships in all, spread out so far that it would take minutes to travel from one to another even at the full speed my fighter could produce. There were two dozen carriers at least forming a massive sphere around an inner ring of what guess were battleships or destroyers, and inside that was the core of 40 or 50 gigantic colony ships. Each of those was at least the size of a large city. Imagine New York City being ripped out of the ground, subways, sewers and all, then stuck into a roughly spherical mass with San Francisco and Las Vegas sticking out from the other sides. Glowing lights, towering structures and vast stretches of metal driven forward by huge clusters of engines. This was more than just a colonization, it was more like a diaspora of an entire country.
When I got back aboard the carrier I was launched from, my first objective was food then a shower. That plan changed however when I ran across one of our senior medical staff; she was on her way to drop off something in her lab then head to one of the cafeteria style restaurants aboard. I asked if I had time to shower and then join her for food, and she smiled and said "sure!" She had dark blonde hair just past her shoulders and a rather pixie-ish face, and was perhaps 5' 6" or so. I didn't have to look down much to look in her eyes. When she moved on and waved I picked up my pace and headed for the showers and some clean clothes. Since we all seemed to wear jump suits I didn't have to worry about fashion....
Dinner must have been successful, as the next part was a montage covering several days. A few more scramble missions, some scouting and "Combat Air Patrol" during which I got to look more at our fleet as well as more moments of talking to the woman (who must have had a name, but we never seemed to use any) and at one point waking up in either her room or mine and deciding that it was breakfast, regardless of what time it was aboard ship. She also seemed to be spending a great deal of time tending to my minor injuries or more serious injuries after each mission. I guess she liked me.
Finally during one of the lulls between fights where our scanners and patrols could find no sign of our opponents I invited her to take a short joy ride in my fighter. She had never been off the carrier, and had barely even had time to look at any of the displays of the space we were drifting through. We only had another day or two before we could resume FTL travel and I wanted to show her the fleet and the incredible views. Our launch was much less bullet-like as there was no threat, and I had a passenger. Her gasp came instead from the sudden view of the nebula directly ahead of us that filled a full quarter of the sky (I had carefully chosen where to launch from). Each slow turn of my ship brought another exclamation of joy or amazement from her, and several pats on my shoulder or back; it's hard to hug while wearing a flight suit. She was obviously having a spectacular time. Our tour cut short after only 20 minutes or so as a warning came that there had been possible contact reported. Before I could get us back aboard a flight of maybe a dozen enemy fighters screamed in towards us, and I was not going to dogfight with her aboard. That was up to our CAP to handle, and I fled at maximum toward the cover of the ring of battleships as they were closer than my carrier was, taking evasive action while staying as close as possible to a straight line course.
We made our escape with nothing more than minor scrapes and burns on the hull where something made it through the shield, and she was remarkably calm during the flight, only reacting once we were aboard the battleship. I thought a certain amount "ohmygodwheredidtheycomefromwealmost got killedareyou OK?" was called for myself. I was annoyed enough however by the stupid enemy doing enemy stuff that the moment my fighter was checked and fully armed I took off and joined a huge patrol group that was going to sweep the asteroid field several thousand kilometers away. Seemingly the little raiding party had attached their ships to some of the outlying bits of debris and powered down, lying in ambush. Taking the large number of fighters we did turned out to be an excellent decision, as a swarm of enemy fighters detached and engaged us as we began our sweep. Either they had nothing aboard their ships that allowed them to determine how many fighters we had until it was too late, or powering down left them unable to scan. Either way the result was the same. Our patrol contained nearly half the total number of fighters in the whole fleet, perhaps as many as six hundred all told.
We came in like a swarm of piranha, savaging the enemy fighters en passant with the lead ships and letting the ones behind us finish them off. Scanners lit up like fireworks as a single enemy carrier lurking deeper in the asteroid field scrambled to bring its own engines and weapons on-line before we struck. They didn't even come close to making it.
Fighter after fighter swept towards it almost completely ignoring the defenders it was trying to launch, unloading every missile and firing every weapon at the carrier as we closed, then making the hardest skew-turns possible in order to bring weapons to bear again. The fight was over in less than two minutes; silent explosions and gouts of debris, vapor and ignited gasses were shooting out from every section of the carrier. Even in zero gravity the vessel was pitched at a bizarre looking angle and tumbling as well, as engines and steering jets were firing in erratic bursts as control systems disintegrated, or simply blew apart themselves. Asteroids and smaller debris began adding to the destruction, and with the last enemy fighters savaged into vapor as well we turned back toward our fleet. Behind us another silent explosion of massive scale took place as the power sources aboard the carrier all failed, making a tiny and very short lived star.
Close to the edge of the field I broke off from our ragged formation; something had caught my eye near one of the smaller (house sized) chunks of ice/rock/iron floating about. Drifting along near it I saw a trail of debris, looking like the remains of an enemy fighter, but larger and more intact than ever. My best guess was that one of them had either struck or been struck by the small asteroid, and had come apart before whatever scuttling charge aboard could destroy the remains. Even more surprising was my realization that there were two humanoid suited figures there as well. I stopped my fighter relative to the rock and exited my ship. Sure enough there were two intact suits, looking like fantasy armor and with completely feature shrouding helmets. I secured them with some thin wire rope I had brought with me and stuffed them inside my fighter, then flew back to my own carrier.
For some reason I didn't signal ahead with the information of what I had found, so there was no one but the normal crew of engineers and medics, along with my new girlfriend when I arrived. The reaction when I pulled the dead or unconscious figures from my ship was as expected. The alarming part came when one of the crew yanked off the one helmet, then the other. The aliens inside where human, apparently just as much as we were; and they were also clones. Command personnel arrived, and since the cat was already out of the bag they told us the truth. These were in fact people from Earth, from our own country in fact. They had been sent out by a new government that was opposed to our journey, and they had been cloned and trained solely for the purpose of stopping us and eliminating every ship in the fleet.
The second dream was more prosaic by far. I was an actor in a troupe that had decided to produce a huge original production based in part on Treasure Island. The actors were expected to help the technical crew build sets, hang lights etcetera, as there was no way they could get the huge task completed on time otherwise.
Our director unfortunately was a blend of Uwe Boll and the crappy manager played by Meryl Streep in "The Devil Wears Prada". He had all sorts of huge visions for the show... which already used a full scale modular pirate ship as the stage.... but every facet of construction was micro-managed with sarcasm, harsh criticism and periodic outbursts like a verbal Vesuvius. At one point I was working with a fellow pirate, who was insisting on tacking down the black carpeting that covered all the deck surfaces without taking out the bulges and wrinkles. I was moving along behind him, re-tacking everything when the director saw me. "What are you doing? Are you a moron? Maybe you can't tell the difference between something that's done and something that isn't!" I stood up and pointed at a long ramp with so many bulges in the carpet it looked like a black Ruffles potato chip.
"You are going to have over twenty people all carrying swords and black powder pistols running up and down that ramp, sometimes under nothing but dim blue light. If you want to die that way, you play all the parts." He stared at me in utter disbelief for a moment, then turned on the other actor. "Are you some kind of low grade moron? What sort of utter idiot would leave ripples like that in stage carpeting? People could TRIP on that you half-wit! Both of you, get that carpet fixed NOW! Do I have to supervise every single step of this?!?" Off he stormed, and for a moment it was a toss-up between the other actor and I as to who was going to put a staple in him from behind. Instead we went back to pulling up the carpet and re-stapling it.
At some point we finished the construction, because we began performing the play itself. I have to say, either our skill overcame his directing or it was so well written no one could really screw it up; the audience loved it. Thunderous applause, cheers at the end of every fight scene, and an ovation at the end of the show. (I have no clue what the actual story was; this part of the dream was just rushing about, shooting, fighting, more rushing about, and the sounds of crowd joy...)
We must have done really well, because the next thing I knew we had taken the show on tour. This only added to the complexity our dear Fuehrer added. Now, we were building the whole thing so it could actually float, still come apart into various sections, and the audience would watch from bleachers built to look like ship hulls constructed on the shore of whatever damned lake we were now floating on. I was going not-so-quietly apeshit. Among other things I have an aversion to mixing power cable and water; this was true for the dream me as well. Now, to add verisimilitude (I guess) we were all wearing pirate garb while working, actors and tech crew alike. Not our actual costumes, cheaper stuff..... but still well made and fairly expensive. And hot. This included the director of course, who was now strutting about in a black velvet version of Captain Jack Sparrow's regalia, shouting orders, praising his vision, belittling our efforts and talent, and generally pissing everyone off.
The final coda came during a rehearsal on the new, floating, awkward, unstable set. During one scene another actor tripped as a set of stairs shifted under him. He turned to blame me, as he decided either I was the one who built them or because I was the closest. Regardless it was a very bad choice, as not only do I not tolerate being blamed for things that are not my fault in real life, at the time I had a cutlass in one hand and a (blank firing) Flintlock pistol in my belt. Before he finished his sentence I was in his face, and so close I could have either kissed him or bitten his nose off. I cut him off and delivered a quick warning about watching his mouth, with a large helping of adjectives and nouns added.
The director chose that particular moment to step up and open HIS mouth. I have no idea what he actually planned to say, as I took four quick steps over to him, lifted him by his stupid sash belt and a lapel, and threw him off the set. Deck. Whatever. He found out several things very quickly. Velvet is very heavy when wet. Lakes can be very cold. Water has no respect for you or your job, and goes where it wants. You can't yell and drown at the same time.
While he floundered about in all of four or five feet of water, I stepped right back into the face of the other actor. "Is there something you want? Something you have to say? No? Then shut up, pull that idiot out and shut HIM up, and then get back to work."
That unfortunately was where I woke up, with an odd sense of both accomplishment and sadness. The sadness was because my costumes were REALLY good, and I don't actually own any of them. Rats. At least now I know what to wear for Halloween.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Sunday, March 2, 2014
86th Academy Awards; Go Ellen!
86th Academy awards shows... and Ellen DeGeneres has firmly taken root amongst my favorites. Johnny Carson still reigns supreme in my book. Billy Crystal is second, with a tie by David Niven from 1974 for his adlib after a streaker ran across the stage "One of the nominees for short films, I see....." The MPAA tried Hugh Jackman, then dual hosts... then Seth McFarlane... who was only slightly worse than James Franco. OK, much worse. Finally, back to Ellen. She's funny. She's lively. She can poke fun without being an asshole. She has very bright blue eyes. Let's keep her.
So, on tonight and my completely biased view of both the ceremony itself and the winners. Deserving or not. First of all, the academy voters agreed with me on 13 out of 24 categories. Not bad guys; try to do better next year. I certainly should have placed some Vegas wagers on this. Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Animated Feature, Best Cinematography, Best Director, Best Documentary Feature and Short, Best Editing.... even best Foreign Language film (and the only one I saw... ). So, what went wrong with Best Picture/Actress/Supporting Actress... first off, "12 Years A Slave" was not a pleasant film. I did not enjoy what I felt followed in the giant footsteps of a brilliant film, "Amistad". The performances were wonderful, the story was compelling.... but I felt beaten over the head with the horrible treatment of people that my own ancestor opposed so vigorously. "Dallas Buyers Club" touched a nerve over something all too often swept under the rug, our federal and state agencies denial and suppression of AIDS related issues and treatment, as well as a personal issue, losing two good friends to AIDS in the late 80's. "Blue Jasmine" was wonderful, and I would be Cates PA in a heartbeat. No one takes care of you like a worshipper. I still thought Sandra Bullock stepping out of Rom-Com and lighter fare "Blind Side" not included, was better. I have a crush on her too, so.... and thank you Cate for "...the world is round!" Galadriel and Elizabeth have spoken Hollywood. You had better listen...
Supporting Actress was a little more of a struggle. My vote finally went to June because, well, she was funnier. Hard to be funny and charming while being an abused slave. Lupita certainly was well deserving of the Oscar. "Frozen" deserved both awards, even if I had to let go of the minions. No one can torch a song like Idina, and o...m....g..... I played it back twice. Very sad to learn that Chris Buck's son had died.
I was overjoyed to see "The Lady in Number 6" win... that film, and her story, were remarkable. Very sad to learn that Alice had died, on Feb 23rd of this year. Speaking of which, I both hate and love the "In Memoriam" section of the Oscars. Christopher Reeves death is till the one that hit the hardest, but I am always saddened to see my heroes, hated foes, lovable side-kicks and others fall along the way. Regardless of where they have gone, I miss not sharing the journey any more. Blessed Be to all of you. We loved you, even if you were sometimes pretending to be horrible people.
Some other moments stood out for me; and some of them I can't read my own notes for, so we will skip them (note to self; don't slam a glass of champagne for the first award... things get a bit iffy after that, like... penmanship). Thank you Angelina, for making the slow walk to help Mr. Poitier look like a stately procession. Kudos to Brad Pitt.. who is so much better now than he was 15 years ago... please re-make "Seven" for me Brad. Thanks to Bette for making the "In Memoriam" better with your voice... and how the hell do you singers keep it together long enough to sing??? Thank you Pink for a marvelous "Over the Rainbow", and Sandra O for a lovely ballad...because nothing says "punk goddess" (way to go, Zack.... look up the words "inspiration" and "aspiration" next time) like a prom formal and a moonlight acoustic serenade... and thank you Idina for knocking another one into low Earth orbit.
Also, I think Chris and Charlize should have kids. They would create perfect Vikings together.
So long, and thanks for all the fish.
So, on tonight and my completely biased view of both the ceremony itself and the winners. Deserving or not. First of all, the academy voters agreed with me on 13 out of 24 categories. Not bad guys; try to do better next year. I certainly should have placed some Vegas wagers on this. Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Animated Feature, Best Cinematography, Best Director, Best Documentary Feature and Short, Best Editing.... even best Foreign Language film (and the only one I saw... ). So, what went wrong with Best Picture/Actress/Supporting Actress... first off, "12 Years A Slave" was not a pleasant film. I did not enjoy what I felt followed in the giant footsteps of a brilliant film, "Amistad". The performances were wonderful, the story was compelling.... but I felt beaten over the head with the horrible treatment of people that my own ancestor opposed so vigorously. "Dallas Buyers Club" touched a nerve over something all too often swept under the rug, our federal and state agencies denial and suppression of AIDS related issues and treatment, as well as a personal issue, losing two good friends to AIDS in the late 80's. "Blue Jasmine" was wonderful, and I would be Cates PA in a heartbeat. No one takes care of you like a worshipper. I still thought Sandra Bullock stepping out of Rom-Com and lighter fare "Blind Side" not included, was better. I have a crush on her too, so.... and thank you Cate for "...the world is round!" Galadriel and Elizabeth have spoken Hollywood. You had better listen...
Supporting Actress was a little more of a struggle. My vote finally went to June because, well, she was funnier. Hard to be funny and charming while being an abused slave. Lupita certainly was well deserving of the Oscar. "Frozen" deserved both awards, even if I had to let go of the minions. No one can torch a song like Idina, and o...m....g..... I played it back twice. Very sad to learn that Chris Buck's son had died.
I was overjoyed to see "The Lady in Number 6" win... that film, and her story, were remarkable. Very sad to learn that Alice had died, on Feb 23rd of this year. Speaking of which, I both hate and love the "In Memoriam" section of the Oscars. Christopher Reeves death is till the one that hit the hardest, but I am always saddened to see my heroes, hated foes, lovable side-kicks and others fall along the way. Regardless of where they have gone, I miss not sharing the journey any more. Blessed Be to all of you. We loved you, even if you were sometimes pretending to be horrible people.
Some other moments stood out for me; and some of them I can't read my own notes for, so we will skip them (note to self; don't slam a glass of champagne for the first award... things get a bit iffy after that, like... penmanship). Thank you Angelina, for making the slow walk to help Mr. Poitier look like a stately procession. Kudos to Brad Pitt.. who is so much better now than he was 15 years ago... please re-make "Seven" for me Brad. Thanks to Bette for making the "In Memoriam" better with your voice... and how the hell do you singers keep it together long enough to sing??? Thank you Pink for a marvelous "Over the Rainbow", and Sandra O for a lovely ballad...because nothing says "punk goddess" (way to go, Zack.... look up the words "inspiration" and "aspiration" next time) like a prom formal and a moonlight acoustic serenade... and thank you Idina for knocking another one into low Earth orbit.
Also, I think Chris and Charlize should have kids. They would create perfect Vikings together.
So long, and thanks for all the fish.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Golden Rule
Here is what I don't get; the complete double standard that we STILL have to deal with, even now that the Hippy/Flower Child/Summer of Love teens are parents. How is it that they demanded change, and then fell right back in to the same rut? Why aren't the children born since 1980 more enlightened, more polite, more responsible? I just finished reading a post by Chris Brecheen; here's the link to the article: http://www.readability.com/read?url=http%3A%2F%2Fchrisbrecheen.blogspot.com.au%2F2013%2F07%2Fchanging-creepy-guy-narrative.html%3Fm%3D1
I was born into the upper middle class. My parents divorced when I was nine. My mom raised my brother and I, and never re-married. I don't recall any heavy-handed "No means no!" or "Women are people too!" lectures or rants. Is that why I don't act like the antagonist in this story? I don't think so. Was it theatre? I had some amazing role-models growing up, and as a teen boy several of the older men in the theatre companies "pitched in" to help, even if they were not dating my mother. Was that it? Again, I don't think so.
I'm also a pagan by nature and by choice. More to the point I am what has come to be known as Wiccan. I'm not obsessive about it; I don't advertise it with stickers on my cars, I don't talk about it incessantly, and I don't wear layers of intricate black lace, or pointy hats and robes with stars and moons on them. Except on special days. Wicca is about balance and equality in all things, including gender. Is that why? No, though it might contribute now.
I have met a number of confident, smart, talented, and yes, gorgeous women over the years, many in theatre of course. You all know who you are. Becky. Cathy. Barb. Val. Marge. Cory. Lyn. Some I was even lucky enough to date... you know who you are as well (grin). Are these women the reason I am not a "douchecanoe" (thanks for that new word Chris) when it comes to women? Once more, I don't think so.
I've been attracted to women for about as long as I can recall. I was flirting (badly) with older girls by the age of seven. If you want to know, that involved showing off my new bike to two ten year old girls from the neighborhood. I rode in a very tiny circle around them as they walked. Until I tipped over and crashed. The training wheels had only come off the week before. They laughed, helped me up, and walked off still laughing. Sigh. At the age of twelve on my first solo flight from California to New York, I hit on two college freshman sitting next to me. I didn't get any phone numbers.... but I did get a glass of wine.
Regardless, I am interested in women. A lot. I might have been interested in the girl on the BART train, especially if she was reading a Game of Thrones novel. I might even have said "How do you like.... " or "Did you just start reading them.." or "Is Peter Dinklage owning that role and that show, or what?" What I would not have done was keep on going if she said "I'm trying to read" or had just given me blank face. I would have nodded, maybe said "Sorry" and gone back to just sitting there. Nor would I have thought "You bitch."
Why is that? I've had some pretty snotty and, in my opinion, uncalled for reactions by women over the years. Once at a club I saw three women sitting at a table; I noticed after a while that none of them had dates lurking about. I walked over and asked one of them to dance. She looked me up and down like a butcher checking out a side of beef, slowly, then looked me in the eye and said "I don't think so" in a tone that was decidedly rude. "I was asking if you wanted to dance, not blow me in the parking lot." Turning to one of the others I said "Can I ask you to dance?" That one laughed and said "Sure". I once stopped to get gas, and as I was filling the tank a very pretty girl drove up. When she got out of her car she looked over at me. I nodded and, using all my years of practice and my skills, I said "Evening"... or "Hi" (mad skillz I have, yes.....). "Fuck off" was not the response I expected. "Rude much? I was being polite. Bitch." Yeah. I did that. Because the instant hostility from her was, in my opinion, uncalled for and unnecessary.
See, here's the thing. If I ask a woman to dance, that's all I am asking. "Hi" means hi. "Do you like reading books by an author who is slower than continental drift" means just that. I have no subtext. It's not code. There is no hidden agenda. I may think the woman is pretty; I might wonder, fantasize or pray that there would be more to follow. I don't expect it, and I don't plot for it. If I ask a woman to dinner, the movies, whatever, I don't assume that if she says yes I am going to get laid. I don't plan on that either. I'm asking what I am asking. Is that because many times, such simple beginnings have led to friendship, romance, or simply a wild weekend? OK, that would be "yes". I don't lose sleep over "no" either. My masculinity isn't damaged. Nor my ego.
I'm not a pillar of virtue. Far from it. What determines my actions is in fact probably absurdly self-centered. I don't do things to other people I would not enjoy having done to me. I don't run stop signs, because I would be furious if I got hit by someone who did. I don't like people pestering me, so I don't pester them. I hold doors open for women AND men, because I like it when it's done for me. It's really that simple. My manners and my morals are based pretty much on "do unto others". How is it that so many people act exactly the opposite? Sadly, I think we have managed to create a society where you are not held accountable for your actions, where you can get absolution by saying "Forgive me" even if you go right back out and do it again, where no one is willing to call people on their behavior, because it is "confrontational" or "aggressive" or "not correct".
I was born into the upper middle class. My parents divorced when I was nine. My mom raised my brother and I, and never re-married. I don't recall any heavy-handed "No means no!" or "Women are people too!" lectures or rants. Is that why I don't act like the antagonist in this story? I don't think so. Was it theatre? I had some amazing role-models growing up, and as a teen boy several of the older men in the theatre companies "pitched in" to help, even if they were not dating my mother. Was that it? Again, I don't think so.
I'm also a pagan by nature and by choice. More to the point I am what has come to be known as Wiccan. I'm not obsessive about it; I don't advertise it with stickers on my cars, I don't talk about it incessantly, and I don't wear layers of intricate black lace, or pointy hats and robes with stars and moons on them. Except on special days. Wicca is about balance and equality in all things, including gender. Is that why? No, though it might contribute now.
I have met a number of confident, smart, talented, and yes, gorgeous women over the years, many in theatre of course. You all know who you are. Becky. Cathy. Barb. Val. Marge. Cory. Lyn. Some I was even lucky enough to date... you know who you are as well (grin). Are these women the reason I am not a "douchecanoe" (thanks for that new word Chris) when it comes to women? Once more, I don't think so.
I've been attracted to women for about as long as I can recall. I was flirting (badly) with older girls by the age of seven. If you want to know, that involved showing off my new bike to two ten year old girls from the neighborhood. I rode in a very tiny circle around them as they walked. Until I tipped over and crashed. The training wheels had only come off the week before. They laughed, helped me up, and walked off still laughing. Sigh. At the age of twelve on my first solo flight from California to New York, I hit on two college freshman sitting next to me. I didn't get any phone numbers.... but I did get a glass of wine.
Regardless, I am interested in women. A lot. I might have been interested in the girl on the BART train, especially if she was reading a Game of Thrones novel. I might even have said "How do you like.... " or "Did you just start reading them.." or "Is Peter Dinklage owning that role and that show, or what?" What I would not have done was keep on going if she said "I'm trying to read" or had just given me blank face. I would have nodded, maybe said "Sorry" and gone back to just sitting there. Nor would I have thought "You bitch."
Why is that? I've had some pretty snotty and, in my opinion, uncalled for reactions by women over the years. Once at a club I saw three women sitting at a table; I noticed after a while that none of them had dates lurking about. I walked over and asked one of them to dance. She looked me up and down like a butcher checking out a side of beef, slowly, then looked me in the eye and said "I don't think so" in a tone that was decidedly rude. "I was asking if you wanted to dance, not blow me in the parking lot." Turning to one of the others I said "Can I ask you to dance?" That one laughed and said "Sure". I once stopped to get gas, and as I was filling the tank a very pretty girl drove up. When she got out of her car she looked over at me. I nodded and, using all my years of practice and my skills, I said "Evening"... or "Hi" (mad skillz I have, yes.....). "Fuck off" was not the response I expected. "Rude much? I was being polite. Bitch." Yeah. I did that. Because the instant hostility from her was, in my opinion, uncalled for and unnecessary.
See, here's the thing. If I ask a woman to dance, that's all I am asking. "Hi" means hi. "Do you like reading books by an author who is slower than continental drift" means just that. I have no subtext. It's not code. There is no hidden agenda. I may think the woman is pretty; I might wonder, fantasize or pray that there would be more to follow. I don't expect it, and I don't plot for it. If I ask a woman to dinner, the movies, whatever, I don't assume that if she says yes I am going to get laid. I don't plan on that either. I'm asking what I am asking. Is that because many times, such simple beginnings have led to friendship, romance, or simply a wild weekend? OK, that would be "yes". I don't lose sleep over "no" either. My masculinity isn't damaged. Nor my ego.
I'm not a pillar of virtue. Far from it. What determines my actions is in fact probably absurdly self-centered. I don't do things to other people I would not enjoy having done to me. I don't run stop signs, because I would be furious if I got hit by someone who did. I don't like people pestering me, so I don't pester them. I hold doors open for women AND men, because I like it when it's done for me. It's really that simple. My manners and my morals are based pretty much on "do unto others". How is it that so many people act exactly the opposite? Sadly, I think we have managed to create a society where you are not held accountable for your actions, where you can get absolution by saying "Forgive me" even if you go right back out and do it again, where no one is willing to call people on their behavior, because it is "confrontational" or "aggressive" or "not correct".
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Justincaseyouhadn't Noticedhe'sabitch
After working on Justin Bieber's first world tour in 2010, my opinion of him (not very high to begin with) dropped even further.
First there was the set. A monstrous collection of crap, and over 20 trucks. That usually indicates a talent issue. More trucks = less talent. Three stories tall.. and utterly bland. Second of all was the video wall; huge, and so lo-rez as to be nearly CGA. Wow. They paid for this? Next was the instruction to security; no signs allowed. Every fan was made to leave their signs on the floor outside or in the garbage, and some of these girls had put a lot off effort into them. Fourth, he was about 40 minutes late getting on stage; and he is so pompous, there is an hour/minute/second countdown displaying to the audience as to when he will actually start. Way to treat the fans, little boy. Finally was his conduct backstage after the show. At 16 years of age, Justin can't walk the 60 feet from backstage to his dressing room; he has an electric cart brought over. He sees all of us waiting for him to go away, and mistakes it for adulation; he stands up in the back of the cart and starts "throwing down gang sign". Ooooh. How street. Pffft. The only "street" for Justin is that he should still be holding his mom's hand when he crosses. The best part of this was that two of his male dancers (who did lots more work, but had to walk..) saw this, looked at each other and snorted back laughter, then shook their heads. Thye saw me laughing and shrugged as if to say "Watchu gonna do?? Boyz lame..."
Having him back just made it clear that he is a punk who will flame out faster than Brandy, and probably bigger than Brit or Lins or.... His stage is a large three story... and just as bland. He also has the same giant countdown displaying, which told he audience he was almost an hour late starting. Why? Some VIP's in the green room. Far more important than the paying fans (who recognized and shrieked when the came out into the house. No idea who they were. Other music punks, I guess. There are a pair of 15 foot wings he wears for his entrance that cost $150,000.00 to make. They don't move, or light up, or do anything but stick out. He rides in wearing them, flown on a half-million dollar "carousel" that takes 40 seconds to carry him from upper backstage to down stage center.... and then they go backstage and are dismantled and put back in a truck. The only interesting part of that bit is that he looks terrified while riding them in.. .and I've seen riskier stuff done by Cher, and Gaga, and even Bette Midler. He can't even unstrap himself; two (male...hmmmm....) dancers kneel in from of him and unstrap him.
Then the performance begins.. and he is as bland as his set. Towards the end he has his shirt off (spoon chested!) and is letting his black vinyl pant slide off his butt. So Justin, you know what that signifies, right? The final punkness is confirmed not just by his conduct at home, and the stupid car mods (like chroming one of them) and racing about... he has a pair of Segways. He uses them to go around back stage, while again the sweating hard working and professional dancers.. walk. Keep going Bieber; the sooner you wreck your career the better.
First there was the set. A monstrous collection of crap, and over 20 trucks. That usually indicates a talent issue. More trucks = less talent. Three stories tall.. and utterly bland. Second of all was the video wall; huge, and so lo-rez as to be nearly CGA. Wow. They paid for this? Next was the instruction to security; no signs allowed. Every fan was made to leave their signs on the floor outside or in the garbage, and some of these girls had put a lot off effort into them. Fourth, he was about 40 minutes late getting on stage; and he is so pompous, there is an hour/minute/second countdown displaying to the audience as to when he will actually start. Way to treat the fans, little boy. Finally was his conduct backstage after the show. At 16 years of age, Justin can't walk the 60 feet from backstage to his dressing room; he has an electric cart brought over. He sees all of us waiting for him to go away, and mistakes it for adulation; he stands up in the back of the cart and starts "throwing down gang sign". Ooooh. How street. Pffft. The only "street" for Justin is that he should still be holding his mom's hand when he crosses. The best part of this was that two of his male dancers (who did lots more work, but had to walk..) saw this, looked at each other and snorted back laughter, then shook their heads. Thye saw me laughing and shrugged as if to say "Watchu gonna do?? Boyz lame..."
Having him back just made it clear that he is a punk who will flame out faster than Brandy, and probably bigger than Brit or Lins or.... His stage is a large three story... and just as bland. He also has the same giant countdown displaying, which told he audience he was almost an hour late starting. Why? Some VIP's in the green room. Far more important than the paying fans (who recognized and shrieked when the came out into the house. No idea who they were. Other music punks, I guess. There are a pair of 15 foot wings he wears for his entrance that cost $150,000.00 to make. They don't move, or light up, or do anything but stick out. He rides in wearing them, flown on a half-million dollar "carousel" that takes 40 seconds to carry him from upper backstage to down stage center.... and then they go backstage and are dismantled and put back in a truck. The only interesting part of that bit is that he looks terrified while riding them in.. .and I've seen riskier stuff done by Cher, and Gaga, and even Bette Midler. He can't even unstrap himself; two (male...hmmmm....) dancers kneel in from of him and unstrap him.
Then the performance begins.. and he is as bland as his set. Towards the end he has his shirt off (spoon chested!) and is letting his black vinyl pant slide off his butt. So Justin, you know what that signifies, right? The final punkness is confirmed not just by his conduct at home, and the stupid car mods (like chroming one of them) and racing about... he has a pair of Segways. He uses them to go around back stage, while again the sweating hard working and professional dancers.. walk. Keep going Bieber; the sooner you wreck your career the better.
Friday, May 31, 2013
One for the records, even for my weird dreams. Zombies, Man eating Dolphins, I am both myself and a blonde girl. My dreams always have a certain level of "rules". For example, I might be on Earth in the Renaissance; in which case the basic laws of physics all apply, even if there is magic and we have dragons. Or I am in space on an FTL cruiser, so outside without a suit = dead, and a zero-G zone on the ship means we are in zero gravity, and things behave accordingly. I might be able to fly, but there are always limits of some sort. I can't fly supersonic, or out of the atmosphere, or I can only fly if one or more conditions apply, like I have to jump hard; and it might also have to be dark. Or I can only fly for short distances, like 100 yards at time.
Or else I am in "wherever", a place that may or may not be earth-like, and anything goes. Even there the "rules" remain constant. If I can fly, I can always fly. If ghosts can walk through walls but I can't, I can't ever walk through a wall. Other things can be wildly variable. I am not always me; I'm not always in First Person mode. I'm not always male. I can be female, a film or TV character, and watching from a spectator POV. Or once in a while, I body hop; I am always "me" then, but my persona can hop from person to person within the dream, changing POV each time.
This dream falls into the "wherever" category. The place is earthlike, has gravity and air, and transportation and tech are all modern day. We also have zombies, man eating land based dolphins who can swim through the ground and through floors, but rather like they are swimming through molasses; and a few women have "abilities" that both attract the dolphins as well as slowing and to a degree controlling them. We have to travel from place to place in cars, trucks etc, but we cannot stay outside for long periods, especially at night, because something will happen to us; and inside buildings is where the zombies and dolphins can hunt us. We seem to have no weapons such as guns or flamethrowers, though we can use bats and edged weapons. I am part of a group of three people; a woman I don't actually know who is brunette, me as myself, and also me as a blonde woman, also not a person I actually know.
It's after dark, and we are racing to find shelter for the night. I (from now on "I" is always me ion the woman's body, and "Scott" is me in my own body... make sense? Good. Explain it to me later) am not just looking for any old place; I know that a friend, Heidi Levin, is in a local hotel taking shelter, and that she is in trouble there. Heidi and I both have an ability to slow and control the man-eating dolphins, an essentially psychic power that lets us impose our will for short periods, but requires touch to initiate. Heidi is with another woman like me, and possibly one or two men.
Our van, which Scott is driving, swings around a corner and we have to swerve wildly, because there is a wreck directly in our path. Whatever danger haunts the night has upended a motor home, and is wreaking havoc inside it. We veer over the edge of an embankment and find ourselves careening down a hill ( went lucid here. the van doesn't crash, though it takes damage and can't move any further). Surprise, there is a Mustang Blackjack conveniently close by with a full tank and keys in the ignition. time to go! We race off from the now alerted dangerous thing, leaving it far behind. The powerful Pony, which Scott is driving, easily climbing back up to the street and tearing off.
Scott suddenly hits the brakes again and makes a hard right turn, tires screeching but holding on to the road. He has seen or sensed where Heidi and her friends are, the multi story apartment complex just a few blocks ahead. We roar in to the parking lot and stop underneath a balcony. Without touching the ground we jump atop the Mustang. Scott leaps up and grabs the balcony railing and pulls himself up, then grabs me and helps me up and over, then the other girl. Inside the apartment we can see Heidi and her group. At least a dozen zombies are in there, and half a dozen or more dolphins are circling around on the floor, diving and then trying to thrust up far enough to get one of the people, who have taken refuge atop a pile of sofas and chairs and tables. Heidi is reaching out and touching each dolphin any time one comes close, keeping them controlled and at bay, but she is clearly exhausted. There are two men and one other woman, who are using tables legs and one two-by-four to fend off and bludgeon the zombies.
We yank open the door and race across the room, knocking over several zombies as we go (they are the nice "slow" kind) and even stepping on and pressing under the floor briefly a pair of dolphins. Just as we reach the safe zone of piled furniture, a zombie gets a grip on the hand of the guy with the lumber, and pulls him off balance. He hits the floor and is taken immediately by a pair of dolphins and several zombies. Heidi is too weak to keep going, and sags into the brunette woman's arms, and it's up to me to take her place for a while. Scott take over where the one man went down, and lays into the zombies with a vengeance; he hasn't been fighting them off for an hour already, and has an aluminum bat. I turn and touch three dolphins in rapid order, sending them flopping back under the surface of the floor, and then smacking two other zombies with my own aluminum bat, hard enough to take the head off one (yay, threat ended!) and knock the other completely off its feet.
For a while, we just fight off everything that comes at us. Through the walls we can hear other people fighting and dying, and a few more zombies and dolphins now head our way. While this is going on the brunette manages to get some food and liquids into Heidi and the woman with her, and the remaining guy as well. We need Heidi to help control the added dolphins though, so her rest is short. Scott has a plan, and after getting us in specific positions Heidi and I bring six dolphins up at once, touch them rapidly and send them thrashing a path through the zombies. Scott jumps to the floor and I follow him, touching more dolphins, while Scott presses four zombie backwards, out the balcony doorway, and over the edge. They hit the ground, and that ends them as threats. We spin around and race back inside and now we are grabbing the zombies by clothing or arms and tossing them over the edge as fast as we can. We only have about 90 seconds before the dolphins shake off the effects of my touch and come after us. Heidi shouts at us, and we realize that we need to stop tossing out zombies. There is a threshold level of zombies to dolphins, and if we go below that more dolphins will join in.
Back inside, and I come up with a plan; if take the arms, legs and lower jaws off the zombies they stop being any kind of real threat; then we only need to deal with the dolphins, and they have limits on how high they can reach (they can't leap out of the thicker floor medium, it seems). "We can also cover more of the floor space with a double layer of tables!" Heidi shouts, and we have a measure of safety. Racing from room to room in little parties, we manage to drag back a motley collection of tables, a couple mattresses, and some dressers and another pair of sofa's and armchairs. We flip table upside down, then place tables atop them right-side up; this prevents the dolphins somehow from getting through underneath. We form a ring of sofas and armchairs with the backs facing outwards, and lay the mattresses in a double thick stack in the middle of the circle. One woman can now sleep or at least rest while the other patrols the perimeter, and one guy can stay with her to fend off zombies. Scott takes calculated risk and races out to the hallway to find a fire ax; and when he gets back has an extinguisher as well, so we can now blind the dolphins with CO2; we can't safely kill the dolphins, as doing so sends them into a frenzy, and the psychic charm doesn't work until the frenzy passes. But we now have a way to make a place safe overnight, and even create larger havens.
Or else I am in "wherever", a place that may or may not be earth-like, and anything goes. Even there the "rules" remain constant. If I can fly, I can always fly. If ghosts can walk through walls but I can't, I can't ever walk through a wall. Other things can be wildly variable. I am not always me; I'm not always in First Person mode. I'm not always male. I can be female, a film or TV character, and watching from a spectator POV. Or once in a while, I body hop; I am always "me" then, but my persona can hop from person to person within the dream, changing POV each time.
This dream falls into the "wherever" category. The place is earthlike, has gravity and air, and transportation and tech are all modern day. We also have zombies, man eating land based dolphins who can swim through the ground and through floors, but rather like they are swimming through molasses; and a few women have "abilities" that both attract the dolphins as well as slowing and to a degree controlling them. We have to travel from place to place in cars, trucks etc, but we cannot stay outside for long periods, especially at night, because something will happen to us; and inside buildings is where the zombies and dolphins can hunt us. We seem to have no weapons such as guns or flamethrowers, though we can use bats and edged weapons. I am part of a group of three people; a woman I don't actually know who is brunette, me as myself, and also me as a blonde woman, also not a person I actually know.
It's after dark, and we are racing to find shelter for the night. I (from now on "I" is always me ion the woman's body, and "Scott" is me in my own body... make sense? Good. Explain it to me later) am not just looking for any old place; I know that a friend, Heidi Levin, is in a local hotel taking shelter, and that she is in trouble there. Heidi and I both have an ability to slow and control the man-eating dolphins, an essentially psychic power that lets us impose our will for short periods, but requires touch to initiate. Heidi is with another woman like me, and possibly one or two men.
Our van, which Scott is driving, swings around a corner and we have to swerve wildly, because there is a wreck directly in our path. Whatever danger haunts the night has upended a motor home, and is wreaking havoc inside it. We veer over the edge of an embankment and find ourselves careening down a hill ( went lucid here. the van doesn't crash, though it takes damage and can't move any further). Surprise, there is a Mustang Blackjack conveniently close by with a full tank and keys in the ignition. time to go! We race off from the now alerted dangerous thing, leaving it far behind. The powerful Pony, which Scott is driving, easily climbing back up to the street and tearing off.
Scott suddenly hits the brakes again and makes a hard right turn, tires screeching but holding on to the road. He has seen or sensed where Heidi and her friends are, the multi story apartment complex just a few blocks ahead. We roar in to the parking lot and stop underneath a balcony. Without touching the ground we jump atop the Mustang. Scott leaps up and grabs the balcony railing and pulls himself up, then grabs me and helps me up and over, then the other girl. Inside the apartment we can see Heidi and her group. At least a dozen zombies are in there, and half a dozen or more dolphins are circling around on the floor, diving and then trying to thrust up far enough to get one of the people, who have taken refuge atop a pile of sofas and chairs and tables. Heidi is reaching out and touching each dolphin any time one comes close, keeping them controlled and at bay, but she is clearly exhausted. There are two men and one other woman, who are using tables legs and one two-by-four to fend off and bludgeon the zombies.
We yank open the door and race across the room, knocking over several zombies as we go (they are the nice "slow" kind) and even stepping on and pressing under the floor briefly a pair of dolphins. Just as we reach the safe zone of piled furniture, a zombie gets a grip on the hand of the guy with the lumber, and pulls him off balance. He hits the floor and is taken immediately by a pair of dolphins and several zombies. Heidi is too weak to keep going, and sags into the brunette woman's arms, and it's up to me to take her place for a while. Scott take over where the one man went down, and lays into the zombies with a vengeance; he hasn't been fighting them off for an hour already, and has an aluminum bat. I turn and touch three dolphins in rapid order, sending them flopping back under the surface of the floor, and then smacking two other zombies with my own aluminum bat, hard enough to take the head off one (yay, threat ended!) and knock the other completely off its feet.
For a while, we just fight off everything that comes at us. Through the walls we can hear other people fighting and dying, and a few more zombies and dolphins now head our way. While this is going on the brunette manages to get some food and liquids into Heidi and the woman with her, and the remaining guy as well. We need Heidi to help control the added dolphins though, so her rest is short. Scott has a plan, and after getting us in specific positions Heidi and I bring six dolphins up at once, touch them rapidly and send them thrashing a path through the zombies. Scott jumps to the floor and I follow him, touching more dolphins, while Scott presses four zombie backwards, out the balcony doorway, and over the edge. They hit the ground, and that ends them as threats. We spin around and race back inside and now we are grabbing the zombies by clothing or arms and tossing them over the edge as fast as we can. We only have about 90 seconds before the dolphins shake off the effects of my touch and come after us. Heidi shouts at us, and we realize that we need to stop tossing out zombies. There is a threshold level of zombies to dolphins, and if we go below that more dolphins will join in.
Back inside, and I come up with a plan; if take the arms, legs and lower jaws off the zombies they stop being any kind of real threat; then we only need to deal with the dolphins, and they have limits on how high they can reach (they can't leap out of the thicker floor medium, it seems). "We can also cover more of the floor space with a double layer of tables!" Heidi shouts, and we have a measure of safety. Racing from room to room in little parties, we manage to drag back a motley collection of tables, a couple mattresses, and some dressers and another pair of sofa's and armchairs. We flip table upside down, then place tables atop them right-side up; this prevents the dolphins somehow from getting through underneath. We form a ring of sofas and armchairs with the backs facing outwards, and lay the mattresses in a double thick stack in the middle of the circle. One woman can now sleep or at least rest while the other patrols the perimeter, and one guy can stay with her to fend off zombies. Scott takes calculated risk and races out to the hallway to find a fire ax; and when he gets back has an extinguisher as well, so we can now blind the dolphins with CO2; we can't safely kill the dolphins, as doing so sends them into a frenzy, and the psychic charm doesn't work until the frenzy passes. But we now have a way to make a place safe overnight, and even create larger havens.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Never make a Gypsy girl mad.....
Like many of my more epic dreams, this one began in fairly mundane fashion. I was back at my old San Jose office, and was looking out my window and having coffee, watching it rain. Our QA manager came in and was talking to me about an upcoming ISO audit, and was followed by our HR guy talking about a celebrity he had driven around in a limo (his weekend/evening gig), and then our AP clerk Gabby, who was trying to voucher stuff and having problems. Ho hum.
I noticed that in a rather large departure from my normal attire, I had on my black boots, and one of my black silk "poets" shirts, usually worn only at RenFaire or clubs. Hmm. Obviously, it was time for some mischief. I puttered about the office for a while, then made some absurd excuse and left. It had stopped raining but was very overcast outside.
From here on I began a series of small adventures and encounters. The first involved tracking someone who had done something reprehensible (and who I had actually worked with, a real sleaze named Bruce Bartley). My task was to verify he was the culprit, and inflict a suitable punishment. This began the weird; because what I did was use a bit of ritual magic, and make his "three times three" both literal and immediate. He had been treating a subordinate badly. On his drive to Los Angeles, he got stopped three times by police who treated him the same way. He rolled through a red light, and then narrowly missed getting hit three times. Each crappy little thing he did came back on him within minutes. I really liked that one.
A few similar types of events then, with total strangers. Then it was time to do some of my own karmic cleansing, and make a full-on effort to find a former girlfriend, Marge Balla. My little Romany lover had dropped out of touch almost twenty years ago; it was time to find her again and see if she was OK. To my great surprise, it turned out to be almost absurdly simple; some internet searching, contacting some people she had gone to high school with, and paying a PI to get her social security number from a former employer. Plus a bit more magic.
Step two didn't go quite as smoothly; actually talking to her was frustrating, to say the least. She was willing enough to talk briefly on the phone. A face to face didn't go as well; she was polite for about three minutes. Then the facade fell away. She blamed me for never staying in touch (not completely invalid) and for crushing her self-esteem by not keeping in touch with her, not being around when she needed me, which then escalated to never really loving her in the first place. "uhh wait, what? I ...." Hell hath no fury like a woman. She stormed off , and subsequent attempts to reach her were ignored. Fine then.
Not being one to give up easily, and hating to admit defeat.... I cheated. Off to see her mom, who had always liked me more than any of Marge's boyfriends. Easy enough to find mom; she was still living in the former home. This was now a three story San Francisco Victorian, rather than the actual Palo Alto Eikler. Crowded in amongst many similar, the "new" home had a gorgeous stained wood panel exterior rather than paint. The inside was like a cross between "Antiques Roadshow" and movie set for a Gypsie camp. Her mom was in full blown Romany clothing, something she never wore. Marge's room was draped and had an altar at one end (very Wiccan) and the rest of the house had fetishes and lace and candles galore. As I was exploring, listening to her mom lecture me about how I never should have let Marge get away, the atmosphere changed.
One minute it was dimly lit and atmospheric; the next it was dark and ominous. Something was approaching, and not from the Northwest. This was descending like a shroud over the whole block. Her mom instantly began a chant and warned me to take cover or run. As I moved quickly down the stairs, a spirit began to form almost directly ahead. A quick ward deflected it away from me, leaving it lost and confused; but I wasn't going to be able to that again and again. As I reached the room where her mom was sitting, telling a rosary and muttering a spell at the same time, I saw one quick option that might work. Some shawls and lace work that belonged to a grandmother were draped over a sofa. Like a kid hiding under the blankets, I wrapped the shawl around my head and shoulders and then literally dove under the lace work, pulling in even my feet. I could feel the heavy presence of something searching, and it so intense as to be nearly visible, like a purple searchlight sweeping the room.
After an interminable ten or twenty seconds it just vanished, like a circuit had been cut. The spells from Marge's mom perhaps, or whatever had sent it ending the summoning, or else it had simply given up, for now. Her mom insisted it wasn't the type of working Marge would ever do, or even could do; it was time for me to go talk to her again however, no matter how angry or unwilling she was. Her mother had me take one of the small lace objects, a black doylie, as a bit of deflection magic. Summoning both my rather frayed courage and a handy ward, I slipped off again into the night.
I noticed that in a rather large departure from my normal attire, I had on my black boots, and one of my black silk "poets" shirts, usually worn only at RenFaire or clubs. Hmm. Obviously, it was time for some mischief. I puttered about the office for a while, then made some absurd excuse and left. It had stopped raining but was very overcast outside.
From here on I began a series of small adventures and encounters. The first involved tracking someone who had done something reprehensible (and who I had actually worked with, a real sleaze named Bruce Bartley). My task was to verify he was the culprit, and inflict a suitable punishment. This began the weird; because what I did was use a bit of ritual magic, and make his "three times three" both literal and immediate. He had been treating a subordinate badly. On his drive to Los Angeles, he got stopped three times by police who treated him the same way. He rolled through a red light, and then narrowly missed getting hit three times. Each crappy little thing he did came back on him within minutes. I really liked that one.
A few similar types of events then, with total strangers. Then it was time to do some of my own karmic cleansing, and make a full-on effort to find a former girlfriend, Marge Balla. My little Romany lover had dropped out of touch almost twenty years ago; it was time to find her again and see if she was OK. To my great surprise, it turned out to be almost absurdly simple; some internet searching, contacting some people she had gone to high school with, and paying a PI to get her social security number from a former employer. Plus a bit more magic.
Step two didn't go quite as smoothly; actually talking to her was frustrating, to say the least. She was willing enough to talk briefly on the phone. A face to face didn't go as well; she was polite for about three minutes. Then the facade fell away. She blamed me for never staying in touch (not completely invalid) and for crushing her self-esteem by not keeping in touch with her, not being around when she needed me, which then escalated to never really loving her in the first place. "uhh wait, what? I ...." Hell hath no fury like a woman. She stormed off , and subsequent attempts to reach her were ignored. Fine then.
Not being one to give up easily, and hating to admit defeat.... I cheated. Off to see her mom, who had always liked me more than any of Marge's boyfriends. Easy enough to find mom; she was still living in the former home. This was now a three story San Francisco Victorian, rather than the actual Palo Alto Eikler. Crowded in amongst many similar, the "new" home had a gorgeous stained wood panel exterior rather than paint. The inside was like a cross between "Antiques Roadshow" and movie set for a Gypsie camp. Her mom was in full blown Romany clothing, something she never wore. Marge's room was draped and had an altar at one end (very Wiccan) and the rest of the house had fetishes and lace and candles galore. As I was exploring, listening to her mom lecture me about how I never should have let Marge get away, the atmosphere changed.
One minute it was dimly lit and atmospheric; the next it was dark and ominous. Something was approaching, and not from the Northwest. This was descending like a shroud over the whole block. Her mom instantly began a chant and warned me to take cover or run. As I moved quickly down the stairs, a spirit began to form almost directly ahead. A quick ward deflected it away from me, leaving it lost and confused; but I wasn't going to be able to that again and again. As I reached the room where her mom was sitting, telling a rosary and muttering a spell at the same time, I saw one quick option that might work. Some shawls and lace work that belonged to a grandmother were draped over a sofa. Like a kid hiding under the blankets, I wrapped the shawl around my head and shoulders and then literally dove under the lace work, pulling in even my feet. I could feel the heavy presence of something searching, and it so intense as to be nearly visible, like a purple searchlight sweeping the room.
After an interminable ten or twenty seconds it just vanished, like a circuit had been cut. The spells from Marge's mom perhaps, or whatever had sent it ending the summoning, or else it had simply given up, for now. Her mom insisted it wasn't the type of working Marge would ever do, or even could do; it was time for me to go talk to her again however, no matter how angry or unwilling she was. Her mother had me take one of the small lace objects, a black doylie, as a bit of deflection magic. Summoning both my rather frayed courage and a handy ward, I slipped off again into the night.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The commercials and halftime show for Super Bowl XLVII certainly were not good enough to take the stench of defeat away; nevertheless they were pretty good.
Car commercials were all good for a change, rather than the frequently bland ones, or those relying on special effects. The Dodge Ram commercial was a nice look at dedication to hard work, back by a Paul Harvey commentary on farmers. I think the winner for cars was the Audi commercial, with the kid going solo to the prom. Toyota was a near tie, with Kaley Cuoco on the roof as a Genie( I also liked the promo for BBT, with Leonard dressed wrong. Kaley looks good even in football gear ). Mercedes was my third place pick. Any company using "Sympathy for the Devil" as a score and Willem DaFoe as the devil, in a Bourbon Street diner setting ala "Angel Heart" is a winner. Dodge at fourth place, only because it was so serious. KIA came in last, because I think KIA's suck after my two experiences driving them, but mostly because Space Babies was not as funny as Audi, they didn't have Kaley in it, and it wasn't as creative as Mercedes.
The top place for food commercials goes to Nabisco. An Oreos battle in the library was just genius, and completely unexpected. The Rock's Milk commercial is a very close second place; way to go Dwayne! Dorito's goat commercial was third. After that would be the two Bud Light Voodoo commercials, then the (tired of it now...) "Crackin' Gungam Style".
The odds and ends had some great stuff; the commercial for Axe having an astronaut beat out the shark-punching lifeguard was great, as was the Speed Stick "I'd fold your panties any day" and the Gildan T-shirt as well. I didn't like the Sketchers ad at all; never deprive a Cheetah of food, you jerks. Also was not awed by the GoDaddy bit; the premise was funny, but it played like a bad SNL sketch. Seth Rogan I rarely find funny at all, so his bit falls off the bottom of my list.
My overall winner was the "Two Broke Girls" pole dance number, with the Budweiser Clydesdale a bare point behind. Teary eyed on both, for totally different reasons of course. I have yet to see anything as good as the FedEx commercial from Super Bowl XL; the cave man with the jerk boss was not only funny, but described my former Materials Manager, Dave Pyne to "T". They folowed that one up with the giant pigeon commercial, equally genius. Top slot ever still belongs to EDS for the cowboys herding cats.
Regarding the halftime show, as usual the speed and efficiency of the stage hands was epic. I loved the use of a video floor, and the synch of video to dancers when the short wall came up was perfect. Pyro was understated for a Super Bowl show, making it that much more effective, as you could see the precision of the opening squib/torch progression forming the outlines, without losing the lighting in the resulting haze. I especially like the wedge lead guitar with showers; gotta love a guitar player holding something shooting a jet of burning potassium chlorate, charcoal and aluminum powder out of both ends.
The elevator lifts for the dancers near the end executed perfectly! And while I am not a huge Beyonce fan musically, she has a lovely voice, a great figure, and she totally owned that crowd. Unlike many performers she also is not afraid of them, performing within easy reach. I only saw one person actually touch her, very gently. I would love to see how those sets are constructed, to roll without damaging the turf; presumably there is ply under them.
Car commercials were all good for a change, rather than the frequently bland ones, or those relying on special effects. The Dodge Ram commercial was a nice look at dedication to hard work, back by a Paul Harvey commentary on farmers. I think the winner for cars was the Audi commercial, with the kid going solo to the prom. Toyota was a near tie, with Kaley Cuoco on the roof as a Genie( I also liked the promo for BBT, with Leonard dressed wrong. Kaley looks good even in football gear ). Mercedes was my third place pick. Any company using "Sympathy for the Devil" as a score and Willem DaFoe as the devil, in a Bourbon Street diner setting ala "Angel Heart" is a winner. Dodge at fourth place, only because it was so serious. KIA came in last, because I think KIA's suck after my two experiences driving them, but mostly because Space Babies was not as funny as Audi, they didn't have Kaley in it, and it wasn't as creative as Mercedes.
The top place for food commercials goes to Nabisco. An Oreos battle in the library was just genius, and completely unexpected. The Rock's Milk commercial is a very close second place; way to go Dwayne! Dorito's goat commercial was third. After that would be the two Bud Light Voodoo commercials, then the (tired of it now...) "Crackin' Gungam Style".
The odds and ends had some great stuff; the commercial for Axe having an astronaut beat out the shark-punching lifeguard was great, as was the Speed Stick "I'd fold your panties any day" and the Gildan T-shirt as well. I didn't like the Sketchers ad at all; never deprive a Cheetah of food, you jerks. Also was not awed by the GoDaddy bit; the premise was funny, but it played like a bad SNL sketch. Seth Rogan I rarely find funny at all, so his bit falls off the bottom of my list.
My overall winner was the "Two Broke Girls" pole dance number, with the Budweiser Clydesdale a bare point behind. Teary eyed on both, for totally different reasons of course. I have yet to see anything as good as the FedEx commercial from Super Bowl XL; the cave man with the jerk boss was not only funny, but described my former Materials Manager, Dave Pyne to "T". They folowed that one up with the giant pigeon commercial, equally genius. Top slot ever still belongs to EDS for the cowboys herding cats.
Regarding the halftime show, as usual the speed and efficiency of the stage hands was epic. I loved the use of a video floor, and the synch of video to dancers when the short wall came up was perfect. Pyro was understated for a Super Bowl show, making it that much more effective, as you could see the precision of the opening squib/torch progression forming the outlines, without losing the lighting in the resulting haze. I especially like the wedge lead guitar with showers; gotta love a guitar player holding something shooting a jet of burning potassium chlorate, charcoal and aluminum powder out of both ends.
The elevator lifts for the dancers near the end executed perfectly! And while I am not a huge Beyonce fan musically, she has a lovely voice, a great figure, and she totally owned that crowd. Unlike many performers she also is not afraid of them, performing within easy reach. I only saw one person actually touch her, very gently. I would love to see how those sets are constructed, to roll without damaging the turf; presumably there is ply under them.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Wind and the Lion... my version.
Much better waking up after this one than the last .... ^..^
I am struggling through a series of narrow passages inside an Egyptian temple of massive proportions. Luxor and Karnak combined at the height of Egypt's empire, and connected to tombs and chambers like those of the Valley of the Kings. I am following my friend, guide and mentor; the Great Raisuli (yeah, it's Sean Connery).....
We have been on a raid into this temple, trying to capture or kill an evil magus who has usurped the crown of Egypt. He is a cross between Ernst Stavro Blofeld from the Bond films, Fu Manchu, and the magus from the John Fowles novel. If he doesn't actually have magical powers, he is a superb manipulator and illusionist.
Unfortunately the hunters have become the hunted; our small group of followers have been killed or cut off from us, and the pursuit is not only hot on our trail, but are obviously trying to drive us in a particular direction. In a sudden ambush Sean and I are able to break out of the closing net, and after narrowly avoiding several traps, we race towards a possible escape. By now we are down to practically nothing in terms of weapons. I am carrying a long knife, and Sean has the short remainder of his broken sword, now barely more than a dagger itself. Our guns have long since run out of ammo, used as clubs and hammers for a while, then finally discarded.
The escape route is an illusion however; a final trap, if not the one intended. Our foe appears just moments after we have dodged into a small chamber with a narrow window to the outer world, and bars have dropped behind us. He comes up with a small guard force, and takes some time to gloat over our impending death. While he can't easily get to us through the bars, and admits he may not even know how to reset them, he laughs because we have left ourselves only two exits; through a huge labyrinth that he has never explored fully, and that none of his teams have ever come out of, or out a small doorway further along, with a drop down a sheer wall of some 60 or 70 feet, to a vast section of desert patrolled by lions and other things. He gleefully says goodbye, and closes the outer doors.
With no other choice we enter the even narrower passage into the labyrinth. As we pass one huge block of stone it slides from the side wall, closing off the route back except for a small slot 3 or 4 inches wide at the top. The channel shows both the wear and tear of water or some other liquid rushing down it at great force, as well as char marks; I don't really like to think about the options that represents. Quickly we move down the corridor, and perhaps 50 feet along we can see a pair of small doors that open outwards.
With a lot of effort we force them open. Sure enough, the drop to the ground is a long one, and we can see numerous lionesses lounging in the shade of the tall facade. Rolling desert and light veldt stretch off for miles in around, and leaning out we can see that the building is met by a wall of equal height running off as far as we can see in either direction. Perhaps 8 to 10 miles off we can see what might be a low line of bushes and scattered trees. Well away from the wall in a weirdly ordered pile what appears to be clothing of various styles is lying. As we look out we can also see that piled up against the wall between the lions and the area directly below us, another mound has grown. This looks like a heap of torn and shredded cloth, rotting corpses, and animal dung. From the direction of the possible tree line, we can now hear an elephant's call.
There is another sound, something moving about behind us. Sean declares that one of us must try to escape outside, while the other braves the labyrinth alone. He grabs my arms, lowering me as far as he can out the doorway. I begin swinging and running along the wall, trying to throw myself towards the hopefully softer pile of refuse, even though that will put me close to the now watchful lionesses. Even hanging as low as I am, a straight drop would break if not shatter both legs. With one final swing I let go of Sean's wrists and sail out towards the pile. To my surprise, I land perfectly near the top, blasting it away from me into the face of a lioness charging towards me, and rolling back down the side I come up on my feet, knife out in front of me, just in time to catch a second lion leaping at me. She dies on the blade and knocks me into the wall as her corpse butts into me. There at my feet I can see a gold and black .45 automatic; without pause I grab the gun in my left hand, jack the slide and see at least one round, and fire into the other lionesses who are now racing along the ground. Two of them drop, and the rest run away from the gunfire, stopping well out of easy range. There they sit and watch me.
Looking about I can now see other weapons scattered about, and belts still holding clips and ammo pouches, even a few packs. Shouting back at Sean I tell him to wait, and I quickly gather up two more automatics, and nearly a dozen full clips. I run back and begin throwing them up to him, with rather remarkable success. Just in time also it seems, as no sooner has he loaded the first weapon than he spins and fires three times back into the corridor somewhere. I'm yelling at him to hold on, while I try to drag over as much of the pile as I can so he can try jumping as well. He yells back that there's no time, and fires again back into the labyrinth.
All the shooting has roused something else as well; from behind what must be some obscuring low dunes a dozen or more ragged men and women are approaching, armed with a collection of broken spears, makeshift clubs, and one or two knives. I'm about to fire on them when I realize that they aren't going to attack, but are coming forward to help me, and to drive the lions off or at least keep them at bay. I shout instructions to them to carry everything they can over to a spot below the wall as fast as they can run, set up three men who show that they know how to use the guns and rifles we are starting to find to hold off any attack, and then I dive in and start lugging clothes. Within what seems like less than two minutes I have a pile almost 20 feet around and 10 high, and I yell at Sean to jump. He spins about and empties both guns as he throws himself backwards out the window. Whatever the hell is in there, he wants to make sure it can't come out after him, and breaking his neck or his back is apparently better than the alternative. As he falls towards the pile of clothes something huge and dark fills the small doorway and blocks it. It is covered in what might be a mix of feathers and fur, with scales underneath; it is also so large that all I am seeing is part of a limb and it's side, shoulder, or hip. Sean crashes into the pile and rebounds off the side much as I did; but other than "a bruised dignity perhaps" he says he is unhurt.
Now we have a bit of peace and relative safety. Sean and I quickly discover that the rag-tag band of 16 men and women are mostly survivors of our enemy's "exploration teams". Victims he has had driven into the labyrinth to either kill them or see if they make it out. A few are from expeditions led to assault the temple, as far back as 30 years ago. As we begin to search the huge pile of clothes we had used to build the mound, I see that what we have looks like the costume trailers for a dozen Hollywood costume dramas have been looted and dumped here. There are dozens of cavalry officers uniforms, including hats, boots, and even sabers; Roman Legion tunics of wool or coarse linen, along with full sets of what turn out to be very ornate gold plated Lorica; Civil War uniforms, and even French Foreign Legion gear. Scattered about underneath is an assortment of rifles, swords, handguns, and best of all crates of ammunition. Quick examination shows that none of the ammo are blanks, and all of the clothing etc. appears to be nearly new. No one can explain how it got there or why; the only possible clue comes when a pair of good horse drawn wagons are found amidst the wreckage of several others, behind another set of dunes. Any horses that might have been used have long since been taken away, or perhaps eaten by the lions. None of the survivors had ever realized there might be usable weapons there; since most of them arrived alone, they had fled the lions, often losing several others in the process. Even with 16 of them together none had felt safe trying to come back and look, until they heard our gunshots.
We rapidly get our tiny army re-clothed and armed, and barring some language barriers establish at least the start of a plan. There is no way to get back up to the still open but now blocked doorway Sean and I had leapt from; there is also no obvious gap or opening in the wall in either direction, and none of our little band know if there is water or shelter beyond what is indeed a narrow belt of light forest. No one there has ever gone beyond the forest, as the other side reveals only more hot and arid veldt. We load up the carts with the remaining weapons and ammo, including a half dozen really fancy but very functional recurve bows, with nearly 1000 aluminum shafted hunting arrows at a rough count. The mix of modern and ancient has me truly baffled; but I'm not going to look too closely at the largesse. On a whim I load up as much of the (Clothing? Costumes?) as we can haul with ease as well. I figure we can try selling the stuff or trading it if we ever reach anything besides more wall.... finally, we skin and dress the dead lions, and fill every container we have with water from a clear but tiny stream that runs nearby. With no really good choices, we agree to head north along the path of the huge wall, well away from it while still keeping it visible to scouts on our flank. It seems the best choice, as in theory going north should eventually run us into the Mediterranean. Hopefully the damn wall ends long before that, and we can find a village, or nomads, anything and anyone that are not in league with our overly cunning enemy. I look at our tiny troop; some have dressed in the gear most like what they wore originally; some have dressed for comfort, some for style, some for safety. I have one guy wearing a pair of Foreign Legion white pants, tall Confederate cavalry boots, a loose white lined tunic with a Roman Lorica breastplate over it, a pair of bracers, and a cocky cavalry hat with a feather in it. He has a sword on one hip, a long rifle like a Martini-Henry or Enfield slung over his shoulder, and a .45 Colt revolver on his other hip. He might well drop from exhaustion, but at least he feels safe.... and actually looks sort of stylish. Sean has somehow found what looks like Bedouin dress, with a robe, tunic and baggy pants of linen, and a keffiya and headband. I am wearing a rather eclectic mix myself; the white Foreign Legion pants with a pair of black boots, a white loose cavalry shirt with an open black officers coat, and a black cavalry hat with a feather as well. Like my oddly clothed comrade I have a sword on my left hip, the gold and black .45 on the other, and a very nice rifle stuck into the side of a cart for ready access. Time to go; we all grab a cart handle, our two scouts fan out to the sides, and we head north. The lionesses are trotting cautiously off to the other side, back towards the carcasses of their former pride mates; possibly to see what we did to them, but more likely to take advantage of the free meal. Waste not, want not.......
I am struggling through a series of narrow passages inside an Egyptian temple of massive proportions. Luxor and Karnak combined at the height of Egypt's empire, and connected to tombs and chambers like those of the Valley of the Kings. I am following my friend, guide and mentor; the Great Raisuli (yeah, it's Sean Connery).....
We have been on a raid into this temple, trying to capture or kill an evil magus who has usurped the crown of Egypt. He is a cross between Ernst Stavro Blofeld from the Bond films, Fu Manchu, and the magus from the John Fowles novel. If he doesn't actually have magical powers, he is a superb manipulator and illusionist.
Unfortunately the hunters have become the hunted; our small group of followers have been killed or cut off from us, and the pursuit is not only hot on our trail, but are obviously trying to drive us in a particular direction. In a sudden ambush Sean and I are able to break out of the closing net, and after narrowly avoiding several traps, we race towards a possible escape. By now we are down to practically nothing in terms of weapons. I am carrying a long knife, and Sean has the short remainder of his broken sword, now barely more than a dagger itself. Our guns have long since run out of ammo, used as clubs and hammers for a while, then finally discarded.
The escape route is an illusion however; a final trap, if not the one intended. Our foe appears just moments after we have dodged into a small chamber with a narrow window to the outer world, and bars have dropped behind us. He comes up with a small guard force, and takes some time to gloat over our impending death. While he can't easily get to us through the bars, and admits he may not even know how to reset them, he laughs because we have left ourselves only two exits; through a huge labyrinth that he has never explored fully, and that none of his teams have ever come out of, or out a small doorway further along, with a drop down a sheer wall of some 60 or 70 feet, to a vast section of desert patrolled by lions and other things. He gleefully says goodbye, and closes the outer doors.
With no other choice we enter the even narrower passage into the labyrinth. As we pass one huge block of stone it slides from the side wall, closing off the route back except for a small slot 3 or 4 inches wide at the top. The channel shows both the wear and tear of water or some other liquid rushing down it at great force, as well as char marks; I don't really like to think about the options that represents. Quickly we move down the corridor, and perhaps 50 feet along we can see a pair of small doors that open outwards.
With a lot of effort we force them open. Sure enough, the drop to the ground is a long one, and we can see numerous lionesses lounging in the shade of the tall facade. Rolling desert and light veldt stretch off for miles in around, and leaning out we can see that the building is met by a wall of equal height running off as far as we can see in either direction. Perhaps 8 to 10 miles off we can see what might be a low line of bushes and scattered trees. Well away from the wall in a weirdly ordered pile what appears to be clothing of various styles is lying. As we look out we can also see that piled up against the wall between the lions and the area directly below us, another mound has grown. This looks like a heap of torn and shredded cloth, rotting corpses, and animal dung. From the direction of the possible tree line, we can now hear an elephant's call.
There is another sound, something moving about behind us. Sean declares that one of us must try to escape outside, while the other braves the labyrinth alone. He grabs my arms, lowering me as far as he can out the doorway. I begin swinging and running along the wall, trying to throw myself towards the hopefully softer pile of refuse, even though that will put me close to the now watchful lionesses. Even hanging as low as I am, a straight drop would break if not shatter both legs. With one final swing I let go of Sean's wrists and sail out towards the pile. To my surprise, I land perfectly near the top, blasting it away from me into the face of a lioness charging towards me, and rolling back down the side I come up on my feet, knife out in front of me, just in time to catch a second lion leaping at me. She dies on the blade and knocks me into the wall as her corpse butts into me. There at my feet I can see a gold and black .45 automatic; without pause I grab the gun in my left hand, jack the slide and see at least one round, and fire into the other lionesses who are now racing along the ground. Two of them drop, and the rest run away from the gunfire, stopping well out of easy range. There they sit and watch me.
Looking about I can now see other weapons scattered about, and belts still holding clips and ammo pouches, even a few packs. Shouting back at Sean I tell him to wait, and I quickly gather up two more automatics, and nearly a dozen full clips. I run back and begin throwing them up to him, with rather remarkable success. Just in time also it seems, as no sooner has he loaded the first weapon than he spins and fires three times back into the corridor somewhere. I'm yelling at him to hold on, while I try to drag over as much of the pile as I can so he can try jumping as well. He yells back that there's no time, and fires again back into the labyrinth.
All the shooting has roused something else as well; from behind what must be some obscuring low dunes a dozen or more ragged men and women are approaching, armed with a collection of broken spears, makeshift clubs, and one or two knives. I'm about to fire on them when I realize that they aren't going to attack, but are coming forward to help me, and to drive the lions off or at least keep them at bay. I shout instructions to them to carry everything they can over to a spot below the wall as fast as they can run, set up three men who show that they know how to use the guns and rifles we are starting to find to hold off any attack, and then I dive in and start lugging clothes. Within what seems like less than two minutes I have a pile almost 20 feet around and 10 high, and I yell at Sean to jump. He spins about and empties both guns as he throws himself backwards out the window. Whatever the hell is in there, he wants to make sure it can't come out after him, and breaking his neck or his back is apparently better than the alternative. As he falls towards the pile of clothes something huge and dark fills the small doorway and blocks it. It is covered in what might be a mix of feathers and fur, with scales underneath; it is also so large that all I am seeing is part of a limb and it's side, shoulder, or hip. Sean crashes into the pile and rebounds off the side much as I did; but other than "a bruised dignity perhaps" he says he is unhurt.
Now we have a bit of peace and relative safety. Sean and I quickly discover that the rag-tag band of 16 men and women are mostly survivors of our enemy's "exploration teams". Victims he has had driven into the labyrinth to either kill them or see if they make it out. A few are from expeditions led to assault the temple, as far back as 30 years ago. As we begin to search the huge pile of clothes we had used to build the mound, I see that what we have looks like the costume trailers for a dozen Hollywood costume dramas have been looted and dumped here. There are dozens of cavalry officers uniforms, including hats, boots, and even sabers; Roman Legion tunics of wool or coarse linen, along with full sets of what turn out to be very ornate gold plated Lorica; Civil War uniforms, and even French Foreign Legion gear. Scattered about underneath is an assortment of rifles, swords, handguns, and best of all crates of ammunition. Quick examination shows that none of the ammo are blanks, and all of the clothing etc. appears to be nearly new. No one can explain how it got there or why; the only possible clue comes when a pair of good horse drawn wagons are found amidst the wreckage of several others, behind another set of dunes. Any horses that might have been used have long since been taken away, or perhaps eaten by the lions. None of the survivors had ever realized there might be usable weapons there; since most of them arrived alone, they had fled the lions, often losing several others in the process. Even with 16 of them together none had felt safe trying to come back and look, until they heard our gunshots.
We rapidly get our tiny army re-clothed and armed, and barring some language barriers establish at least the start of a plan. There is no way to get back up to the still open but now blocked doorway Sean and I had leapt from; there is also no obvious gap or opening in the wall in either direction, and none of our little band know if there is water or shelter beyond what is indeed a narrow belt of light forest. No one there has ever gone beyond the forest, as the other side reveals only more hot and arid veldt. We load up the carts with the remaining weapons and ammo, including a half dozen really fancy but very functional recurve bows, with nearly 1000 aluminum shafted hunting arrows at a rough count. The mix of modern and ancient has me truly baffled; but I'm not going to look too closely at the largesse. On a whim I load up as much of the (Clothing? Costumes?) as we can haul with ease as well. I figure we can try selling the stuff or trading it if we ever reach anything besides more wall.... finally, we skin and dress the dead lions, and fill every container we have with water from a clear but tiny stream that runs nearby. With no really good choices, we agree to head north along the path of the huge wall, well away from it while still keeping it visible to scouts on our flank. It seems the best choice, as in theory going north should eventually run us into the Mediterranean. Hopefully the damn wall ends long before that, and we can find a village, or nomads, anything and anyone that are not in league with our overly cunning enemy. I look at our tiny troop; some have dressed in the gear most like what they wore originally; some have dressed for comfort, some for style, some for safety. I have one guy wearing a pair of Foreign Legion white pants, tall Confederate cavalry boots, a loose white lined tunic with a Roman Lorica breastplate over it, a pair of bracers, and a cocky cavalry hat with a feather in it. He has a sword on one hip, a long rifle like a Martini-Henry or Enfield slung over his shoulder, and a .45 Colt revolver on his other hip. He might well drop from exhaustion, but at least he feels safe.... and actually looks sort of stylish. Sean has somehow found what looks like Bedouin dress, with a robe, tunic and baggy pants of linen, and a keffiya and headband. I am wearing a rather eclectic mix myself; the white Foreign Legion pants with a pair of black boots, a white loose cavalry shirt with an open black officers coat, and a black cavalry hat with a feather as well. Like my oddly clothed comrade I have a sword on my left hip, the gold and black .45 on the other, and a very nice rifle stuck into the side of a cart for ready access. Time to go; we all grab a cart handle, our two scouts fan out to the sides, and we head north. The lionesses are trotting cautiously off to the other side, back towards the carcasses of their former pride mates; possibly to see what we did to them, but more likely to take advantage of the free meal. Waste not, want not.......
Sunday, September 9, 2012
To the manners born
I never know where my mind gets the raw materials for these dreams... maybe that's a good thing.
I had just purchased tickets to see a show at a remote concert venue. Much like the Mountain Winery, this site was located in the hills, and surrounded by trees and mostly open countryside. Unlike the Winery, the hill it was located on was low enough that you could easily walk up to it from the nearby roadway in less than 20 minutes.
Rather than driving I had chosen to ride my horse; a dapple grey gelding named Bulldozer. Perhaps my favorite of all time, he was a warmblood mix, and stood almost 17 hands high. Also one of the smartest I have ever encountered, with a tiger-like love of splashing about in ponds and shallow lakes.... regardless of whether you were still in the saddle or not. Rather than ride him down the hill I chose to walk alongside him, giving him a chance to nibble at interesting flora along the way.
We reached the bottom of the road that wound up to the concert site, and turned out on to the main two lane road that ran back towards the city, perhaps eight miles away through the lightly forested low hills and shallow dells. A few other people were also walking in the area, most just getting back to cars parked along the side of the road.
I watched as one man, for whatever reason, decided to cross the road and cut across-country, down a mild slope into an area of open field surrounded by scattered trees and clumps of bushes. The field must have been close to thirty acres over all, and incredibly uneven. He was followed by another man who was planning to drive his car along a rutted path that might have been good for horses or hay wagons; I expected to see him stuck within less than 200 feet.
Turning to the left and my way back home, I was just about to remount Bulldozer when I realized that the random stands of trees and ragged patches of bushes and plants had met up with heavily trimmed and sculpted greenery. Low hedges and tall arched rows of pruned trees led off towards a huge home. We could see that the surrounding land had been leveled and sculpted, to make a slowly rising terrace effect, leaving the house standing on a plateau perhaps ten feet above the outer grounds.
The house itself covered an area at least a full square acre in size. Coming closer I saw that the entire home and a low surrounding wall had been carved in intricate detail, like a Terracotta vase. An amazing pattern of leaves, flowers, and bundles of berries had been carved into the surface, covering almost ten feet before the pattern repeated. The stone had to have been machine cut, so precise was the detail and the pattern. On closer inspection of the wall I saw that additional hand carving had been done, adding small but important variance to the overall visual effect. I could also see now that at random intervals, a small concave leaf-shaped area had been carved into the stone, with a minimum of four or five feet separating each indentation. The concave curves had then been painted or plated with a metallic coating, in various tones from silver, to bronze, to gold. Each little hollow had a small amount of water cupped within. The sky was slightly overcast, so it took a moment before realization struck; under full sunlight or moonlight, these little areas would act like tiny mirrors, producing glimmers of colored light amongst the carvings.
I was so enthralled by the grandeur of the home and the landscaping, it was at several minutes before I noticed an object lying in the grass that surrounded the outer wall. I stepped forward, and realized that I was looking at a gold, or gold plated, device of some sort. An outer shell of metal in delicate filigree, like fine Spanish lace, covered a faceted inner sleeve of clear glass. Inside the glass was an intricate clockwork type mechanism. I had no idea what the thing was, but I could tell that it had fallen and broken. It appeared to have been hanging from the branch of a nearby tree, when the chain supporting it snapped. I was just about to pick it up for closer inspection when another man walking on the road caught up to me.
"You should leave that alone" he told me. "The people in that home are strange, and not very friendly. We don't even know what the family's name is." He went on to tell me that they wouldn't appreciate anyone taking the object, even though it had been lying there broken for months.
"I'm not going to steal it" I told him. "I was thinking I might be able to repair it, and it's too lovely to be left just lying here. I was going to go up and ask them if they would mind."
"Don't do that!" he said. "They hate anyone coming on the property, or bothering them, or....."
That decided me. I picked up the odd device and after leading Bulldozer to a small tree where I could loop his reins, allowing him to graze the neatly trimmed lawn, I approached the house from side. I was immediately struck by the immensity of the home. It reminded me of Chambord Castle in France, though that did not have all the carving. The stone also had a ruddy tone to it, again much like Terracotta, though not so dark.
As I got closer I could see through a ground floor window into a study. The room was filled with either ornate antique furniture (or modern and very expensive replicas of antique furniture). Seated at a low study table was a woman in her early thirties, working on a laptop. Several files were open on the table top, and she was looking through a small stack of papers. She might have been pretty; but there was an air of severity to her that ruined any charms she might have. Although she was alone, she was sitting rigidly upright at the table, as though at any minute she might be graded on her posture.
I could see now that there was a side door, opening onto an inner courtyard. What I had initially taken for the front door was merely the main doorway to the courtyard. As I stepped through the door into the courtyard itself, two young women were just stepping out of the house itself. Both were dressed for riding, and they appeared to be about thirteen or fourteen years old. They spotted me instantly and before I could say a word, they both began ordering me to stay away, to keep my distance, to "vacate our home immediately".... When I spoke, they shut up instantly, as if in shock that a commoner should reply... or as if a cow had spoken Shakespeare. It did occur to me that I was wearing faded blue jeans and a simple black T-shirt, but I had gone out riding an to pick up show tickets after all , not have dinner with the President.
"I would like to speak to your mother or your father, if either is home" I said. At that point the woman I had seen in the study came out through the same door the girls had, trailed by a boy who perhaps was as old as sixteen. He stepped forward and puffed himself up, clearly planning to defend the women from the barbarian at the gates. I was certain the woman was the mother of all three; the resemblance was quite apparent.
She began ordering me off the estate, with exactly the hauteur and arrogance I had expected. I stood there silently, letting her rant and not showing any expression at all, until she began to sputter and run out of steam. When she finally said "Well?" I responded.
"I did not mean to intrude or startle you; nor was I planning on stealing this, as you implied. It would be rather foolish to come up to the front door if I was planning to steal it, would it not? I found this lying by the road, where it appears to have fallen, and I thought I would offer to repair it for you. I believe I can do so, though it is not what I do for a living. " At that point she started up again, telling me they wouldn't pay for unwanted services, and how dare I presume to... at which point I cut her off. Something she was obviously not used to. Her children's eyes nearly popped out in shock.
"I said nothing about payment, nor would I expect any. Had you paid attention you would have noticed that. Rather than listen to you rave any more, I will assume you don't care what I do with this. If I can fix it, I will send it back to you. If I can't I will return it also. Good day."
I then turned and walked out the way I had come. I could hear them talking softly behind me, and when they saw me loose and mount Bulldozer I could clearly hear both girls saying "He rides! Oh my, look at that horse! He's lovely!" The mother must have shushed them and stormed back inside; I could hear the door shut "firmly" (slamming obviously being beneath her). Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of all three children opening the door again to watch me ride off.
After I got home I discovered that I was, in fact, able to repair what turned out to be some odd mix of wind chime and clock; the intricate works inside would stir at the slightest breeze, and a small gearing device wound a spring. A metronome like arm would then begin ticking, and every two hours another bar would begin tapping the hanging chimes in sequence. I was utterly enchanted by the thing. Making sure it was carefully wrapped, I placed it in a box and then decided to add a note, written on the nicest paper I had, and in my best hand. Once again riding Bulldozer I cantered along the road and up to the false front door; I knocked loudly three times, set the box with its note down and swung back into the saddle. I was quite pleased to hear the door open, and a gasp as the woman read the note.
"I am returning your marvelous clockwork chimes, as promised. I was in fact able to repair it, though I am not a craftsman by trade. While nearly thirty hours was spent working upon it, and a small amount of materials, I do not expect payment. Should you choose to do, the cost is a note saying "Thank You". Unlike you in this glittering midden heap, I value manners far more than money."
As I rode slowly off I waved without looking back, knowing they were watching me. They could not see the nearly ear-splitting grin I would not have been able to hide.
I had just purchased tickets to see a show at a remote concert venue. Much like the Mountain Winery, this site was located in the hills, and surrounded by trees and mostly open countryside. Unlike the Winery, the hill it was located on was low enough that you could easily walk up to it from the nearby roadway in less than 20 minutes.
Rather than driving I had chosen to ride my horse; a dapple grey gelding named Bulldozer. Perhaps my favorite of all time, he was a warmblood mix, and stood almost 17 hands high. Also one of the smartest I have ever encountered, with a tiger-like love of splashing about in ponds and shallow lakes.... regardless of whether you were still in the saddle or not. Rather than ride him down the hill I chose to walk alongside him, giving him a chance to nibble at interesting flora along the way.
We reached the bottom of the road that wound up to the concert site, and turned out on to the main two lane road that ran back towards the city, perhaps eight miles away through the lightly forested low hills and shallow dells. A few other people were also walking in the area, most just getting back to cars parked along the side of the road.
I watched as one man, for whatever reason, decided to cross the road and cut across-country, down a mild slope into an area of open field surrounded by scattered trees and clumps of bushes. The field must have been close to thirty acres over all, and incredibly uneven. He was followed by another man who was planning to drive his car along a rutted path that might have been good for horses or hay wagons; I expected to see him stuck within less than 200 feet.
Turning to the left and my way back home, I was just about to remount Bulldozer when I realized that the random stands of trees and ragged patches of bushes and plants had met up with heavily trimmed and sculpted greenery. Low hedges and tall arched rows of pruned trees led off towards a huge home. We could see that the surrounding land had been leveled and sculpted, to make a slowly rising terrace effect, leaving the house standing on a plateau perhaps ten feet above the outer grounds.
The house itself covered an area at least a full square acre in size. Coming closer I saw that the entire home and a low surrounding wall had been carved in intricate detail, like a Terracotta vase. An amazing pattern of leaves, flowers, and bundles of berries had been carved into the surface, covering almost ten feet before the pattern repeated. The stone had to have been machine cut, so precise was the detail and the pattern. On closer inspection of the wall I saw that additional hand carving had been done, adding small but important variance to the overall visual effect. I could also see now that at random intervals, a small concave leaf-shaped area had been carved into the stone, with a minimum of four or five feet separating each indentation. The concave curves had then been painted or plated with a metallic coating, in various tones from silver, to bronze, to gold. Each little hollow had a small amount of water cupped within. The sky was slightly overcast, so it took a moment before realization struck; under full sunlight or moonlight, these little areas would act like tiny mirrors, producing glimmers of colored light amongst the carvings.
I was so enthralled by the grandeur of the home and the landscaping, it was at several minutes before I noticed an object lying in the grass that surrounded the outer wall. I stepped forward, and realized that I was looking at a gold, or gold plated, device of some sort. An outer shell of metal in delicate filigree, like fine Spanish lace, covered a faceted inner sleeve of clear glass. Inside the glass was an intricate clockwork type mechanism. I had no idea what the thing was, but I could tell that it had fallen and broken. It appeared to have been hanging from the branch of a nearby tree, when the chain supporting it snapped. I was just about to pick it up for closer inspection when another man walking on the road caught up to me.
"You should leave that alone" he told me. "The people in that home are strange, and not very friendly. We don't even know what the family's name is." He went on to tell me that they wouldn't appreciate anyone taking the object, even though it had been lying there broken for months.
"I'm not going to steal it" I told him. "I was thinking I might be able to repair it, and it's too lovely to be left just lying here. I was going to go up and ask them if they would mind."
"Don't do that!" he said. "They hate anyone coming on the property, or bothering them, or....."
That decided me. I picked up the odd device and after leading Bulldozer to a small tree where I could loop his reins, allowing him to graze the neatly trimmed lawn, I approached the house from side. I was immediately struck by the immensity of the home. It reminded me of Chambord Castle in France, though that did not have all the carving. The stone also had a ruddy tone to it, again much like Terracotta, though not so dark.
As I got closer I could see through a ground floor window into a study. The room was filled with either ornate antique furniture (or modern and very expensive replicas of antique furniture). Seated at a low study table was a woman in her early thirties, working on a laptop. Several files were open on the table top, and she was looking through a small stack of papers. She might have been pretty; but there was an air of severity to her that ruined any charms she might have. Although she was alone, she was sitting rigidly upright at the table, as though at any minute she might be graded on her posture.
I could see now that there was a side door, opening onto an inner courtyard. What I had initially taken for the front door was merely the main doorway to the courtyard. As I stepped through the door into the courtyard itself, two young women were just stepping out of the house itself. Both were dressed for riding, and they appeared to be about thirteen or fourteen years old. They spotted me instantly and before I could say a word, they both began ordering me to stay away, to keep my distance, to "vacate our home immediately".... When I spoke, they shut up instantly, as if in shock that a commoner should reply... or as if a cow had spoken Shakespeare. It did occur to me that I was wearing faded blue jeans and a simple black T-shirt, but I had gone out riding an to pick up show tickets after all , not have dinner with the President.
"I would like to speak to your mother or your father, if either is home" I said. At that point the woman I had seen in the study came out through the same door the girls had, trailed by a boy who perhaps was as old as sixteen. He stepped forward and puffed himself up, clearly planning to defend the women from the barbarian at the gates. I was certain the woman was the mother of all three; the resemblance was quite apparent.
She began ordering me off the estate, with exactly the hauteur and arrogance I had expected. I stood there silently, letting her rant and not showing any expression at all, until she began to sputter and run out of steam. When she finally said "Well?" I responded.
"I did not mean to intrude or startle you; nor was I planning on stealing this, as you implied. It would be rather foolish to come up to the front door if I was planning to steal it, would it not? I found this lying by the road, where it appears to have fallen, and I thought I would offer to repair it for you. I believe I can do so, though it is not what I do for a living. " At that point she started up again, telling me they wouldn't pay for unwanted services, and how dare I presume to... at which point I cut her off. Something she was obviously not used to. Her children's eyes nearly popped out in shock.
"I said nothing about payment, nor would I expect any. Had you paid attention you would have noticed that. Rather than listen to you rave any more, I will assume you don't care what I do with this. If I can fix it, I will send it back to you. If I can't I will return it also. Good day."
I then turned and walked out the way I had come. I could hear them talking softly behind me, and when they saw me loose and mount Bulldozer I could clearly hear both girls saying "He rides! Oh my, look at that horse! He's lovely!" The mother must have shushed them and stormed back inside; I could hear the door shut "firmly" (slamming obviously being beneath her). Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of all three children opening the door again to watch me ride off.
After I got home I discovered that I was, in fact, able to repair what turned out to be some odd mix of wind chime and clock; the intricate works inside would stir at the slightest breeze, and a small gearing device wound a spring. A metronome like arm would then begin ticking, and every two hours another bar would begin tapping the hanging chimes in sequence. I was utterly enchanted by the thing. Making sure it was carefully wrapped, I placed it in a box and then decided to add a note, written on the nicest paper I had, and in my best hand. Once again riding Bulldozer I cantered along the road and up to the false front door; I knocked loudly three times, set the box with its note down and swung back into the saddle. I was quite pleased to hear the door open, and a gasp as the woman read the note.
"I am returning your marvelous clockwork chimes, as promised. I was in fact able to repair it, though I am not a craftsman by trade. While nearly thirty hours was spent working upon it, and a small amount of materials, I do not expect payment. Should you choose to do, the cost is a note saying "Thank You". Unlike you in this glittering midden heap, I value manners far more than money."
As I rode slowly off I waved without looking back, knowing they were watching me. They could not see the nearly ear-splitting grin I would not have been able to hide.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
2012 Olympic Ceremony; Genius Spotting
I was utterly spellbound watching the spectacular 2012 Olympics opening ceremony, created by Danny Boyle. I was going to watch it again before writing my impressions, and take some specific notes so I didn't get out of sequence or forget things. Pfffft. Within 10 minutes of the second playing, I realized I had forgotten to take a single note. So with apologies in advance for any errors or oversights, here I go.
The ceremony began with a video segment titled "Isles of Wonder", and began by tracing the Thames from its origin point through to the heart of London. Along the way, various classic pastoral images from the countryside began to mix with images of the high-speed rail, the subway (tubes or Underground if you prefer) and the more industrial areas along the banks. This was deftly underscored by music as varied as were the images; I heard one section that sounded like a baroque song written for Henry VIII, as well as assorted choral and pastoral music and I think some Andrew Lloyd Webber (not Cats...). As the camera got closer to London, I heard Pink Floyd (they also had a giant pig flying from a building... YAY Danny!) as well as "London Calling" by The Clash, "God Save the Queen" (in the London Underground stations) by The Sex Pistols (bold!) and some Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, David Bowie.... and Meredith Veira couldn't help singing along a bit. Oh, some band called "The Beatles" got time as well... I loved the use of a whole gamut of music here, and the very British sly poke at its own stodgy image, using music by the Sex Pistols.
All of this ended with the lights in the stadium revealing the first part of over 10,000 volunteers from all across the United Kingdom, who played key roles in the ceremony from start to fin¬ish. This first group was 10 clusters of children holding huge balloon batches numbered 10 to 1, which burst as a group as the entire stadium counted down. This was cute but not very inspiring. I was underwhelmed, after the superb video start. Little did I know.
The British cyclist (Brad Wiggins; had to look it up) who won the Tour de France days earlier came out and rang the world's largest tuned bell, cast for the show at Whitechapel Foundry. The bell was inscribed with part of a line from Shakespeare's "The Tempest": "Be not afraid, the isle is full of noises". This was part of the underlying and unifying theme of Boyles ceremony, bringing in diverse elements of historic UK culture that influenced the whole world. After the bell was wrung, the ceremony itself began inside the stadium. The entire floor of the stadium was covered in real sod, with a small replica English village, and a towering replica of Gastonbury Tor. A 9 year old boy began singing "Jerusalem" A Capella; and American Idol/The Voice hopefuls be warned; this kid can take all of you. Hands down. From there three other choral groups each took turns, singing similarly informal anthems for Ireland, "Danny Boy", and for Scotland and Wales in turn. I don't know what those were; they were still wonderful to hear.
The pace accelerated here, and Kenneth Brannagh came out as part of a group of Victorian businessmen, ushering in the Industrial Revolution. Brannagh delivered more of the "be not afraid" speech, and as he did so the hundreds of people who were portraying villagers were joined by men and women in Victorian workers clothing. The sections of sod were rolled up and carried out, and smokestacks began to rise from the now cobblestoned and "industrial" looking flooring that had been under the sod. Workers began to forge a huge ring in the center of the stadium, and as four other rings flew in from the rim of the stadium the center ring was raised to join them, forming the linked Olympic logo. Lighting and then some excellent pyro finished that segment. If you ever want to know what a Union Stagehand Rigger does, all the flying/lifting/suspended stuff was their work. Way to go rigging crews! Amazing! I might have used Derek Jacoby instead of Kenneth Brannagh, but that's just me.
There was a silent moment to honor the men and women lost in the two World Wars, then 1000 percussionists began to play syncopated cadence led by a woman who had been deaf since the age of 11... and yeah, I had to look her name up again. Dame Evelyn Glennie. She was awesome. Drummers and aspiring drummers, watch this show. These people basically kept playing from this point in the show until the end of the Procession of Countries...... about 2 hours.
More nods, and a few winks, to elements of British society here. A parade of people dressed ala "Sgt. Pepper", some mods, a group of Daleks (I think so anyway) and the Chelsea Pensioners, an organized group of retired British military. I think they did a "set change here; hard to tell, the way NBC kept cutting away for commercials. Take a page from the BBC for these things American Television; put your advertisers in a small clump just before the event starts. If there is a planned intermission or break, stick more in there, and leave the rest for after the finale. Better still..... use sponsors, run NO ads, and let us watch the event. It's not like you would go bankrupt if you did that, what, once every two years?
So, off the soapbox. Another short video clip, which took a minute for me to catch on to. Daniel Craig as James Bond, escorting HRH to a waiting helicopter in the Buckingham Palace courtyard. Great little bit as Daniel stood in the Queens small chamber.. where she sat writing a note, her back to him.... until he very politely "coughed". She turned around to look at him a moment later, and yes, I am certain that was in fact herself, Queen Elizabeth II. The helicopter took off, becoming a CGI for a bit, until appearing above the stadium. After looking down at the crowd, surveying the sky and the stadium as well... Bond jumped out of the helicopter, followed by the Queen, and they parasailed down to an area just outside the stadium. Yes, real parasailing people... dressed as Bond and Liz2. Really, folks, she's like 85 years old... again, a note of humor injected into what could easily be as sonorous as a Catholic wedding with full mass.
The queen herself then made her more stately entrance, along with Phillip, and of course William and Kate. The Queen was announced to the crowd, and the second part of the ceremony began. The lead in was a horde of doctors and nurses pushing beds with "patients" into the center area, representing the Greater Ormond Street Hospital, which is funded in major part by the estate of J.M. Barrie. These were in fact actual nurses and doctors from the hospital, who also volunteered their time and efforts. They pushed the self-illuminating beds in to form the smiling face and "GOSH", the hospital logo (probably visible from space) I think this also sent an unintended message to anyone who thinks "Socialized" medicine is evil... i.e. Tea Party and Republican half wits. It has worked just fine for 200 years in the UK folks. Doctors and nurses don't live in poverty, chained together like slaves, and the country is not overrun with communists and hippies.... sigh, OK, moving on...
They did a great little performance bit, with a short narrative from "Peter Pan" read by a (terrified) J.K. Rowling, then a group of baddies form English children's literature appeared; Captain Hook, the Red Queen, Voldemort.. and yay! Cruella DeVille! The children panicked until a horde of Mary Poppinseses.... Poppins's, Poppin Fresh... crap, a bunch of flying Nannies arrived on umbrellas. Nice work again rigging and flying crews! I mean, what else would you use to chase off evil? Mike Oldfield led a band performing a variant of his "Tubular Bells" under this whole segment.
That was followed by the London Symphony Orchestra, with Rowan Atkinson featured both as a pianist playing one note under the score... and getting bored so he dreams he's running in a modded clip from "Chariots of Fire".. cute, but not one of my favorite bits. Rowan can be screamingly funny, or hopelessly tedious. He was brilliant in "Black Adder". That segued into a pop culture segment with a boy and girl meeting through the medium of her lost cell phone, and featuring a medley of pop tunes from the last 40 years or so, ending with them meeting in person and kissing. Sigh. Cell phones... again. This also featured one of the best effects used in the presentation. Each seat in the stadium was equipped with an LED panel, and this allowed the entire stadium to used like a giant video wall. Remarkable effect. This was used just often enough to be compelling, not so often as to be predictable.
The torch was shown being carried on a speedboat along the Thames, driven by David Beckham. The parade of nations began, and all 204 nations had a flag bearer, who planted the flag on arrival at a designated point on the Glastonbury Tor, as well as a girl for each carrying a "copper petal", a sort of curled leaf or flower of smooth copper, about the size you would use to scoop watermelons up... I had no clue what these were for until later. The parade went by at nearly a trot; even the coverage people kept saying they had to skip notes and stuff to keep up. I think that, without the damn commercial breaks, all 204 countries entered and took their positions in under an hour. With the NBC breaks every eight minutes, it took almost half the total broadcast time.
Finally, time for the torch. Sir Steve Redgrave carried it from the Thames into the stadium where he lit a torch carried in turn by seven young athletes, all nominated by Olympians (that sounds weird), and they proceeded up to where all the copper "petals" had been laid in the center of the stadium. Each one of the seven lit their own torch from the original, then lit a spot on the outer ring of petals. Now I got to see the purpose; each petal formed a part of a ring of gas nozzles, fed through tubes they were now mounted on the ends of. Petals ignited until the entire 204 formed a gorgeous blazing ring, and then the tubes lifted up en masse to form a single unified "bowl" of flames, standing perhaps thirty feet high. Once again the theme of diversity and unification. Sir Paul McCartney was the final bit, playing "Hey Jude" and getting the stadium to sing along, and then the final, awesome, but never long enough, pyrotechnics show. Rings of fire racing about the stadium edge, firing off the Tower Bridge and seemingly all of the East End, and much of London.
I have seen a lot of posts about how this wasn't as good as Beijing, and how it was confusing, or weird, and of course how London wasn't as well organized as some guys 2002 effort. I disagree; casually with the Beijing fans. That was a spectacular show, and certainly a light year beyond Atlanta... but it had the virtue of being very ambitious, and a first. It was certainly extravagant, very carefully planned, and meticulously executed... but that was also part of its failing from my perspective. Certainly this show was just as carefully planned, and everything appeared to happen precisely when and as it was supposed to, yet the whole montage felt much looser and more playful. Certainly it embraced the rather unpredictable nature (to us barbarians) of British society. As for the other, well, I can't imagine why Romney showed up. I think the usher should have looked at the passes for Mitt and Anne and said:
"Sorry sir, These don't seem to be any good. Bit disorganized if you ask me, but what's a chap to do? Security, see these good people the exit if you please..."
The ceremony began with a video segment titled "Isles of Wonder", and began by tracing the Thames from its origin point through to the heart of London. Along the way, various classic pastoral images from the countryside began to mix with images of the high-speed rail, the subway (tubes or Underground if you prefer) and the more industrial areas along the banks. This was deftly underscored by music as varied as were the images; I heard one section that sounded like a baroque song written for Henry VIII, as well as assorted choral and pastoral music and I think some Andrew Lloyd Webber (not Cats...). As the camera got closer to London, I heard Pink Floyd (they also had a giant pig flying from a building... YAY Danny!) as well as "London Calling" by The Clash, "God Save the Queen" (in the London Underground stations) by The Sex Pistols (bold!) and some Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, David Bowie.... and Meredith Veira couldn't help singing along a bit. Oh, some band called "The Beatles" got time as well... I loved the use of a whole gamut of music here, and the very British sly poke at its own stodgy image, using music by the Sex Pistols.
All of this ended with the lights in the stadium revealing the first part of over 10,000 volunteers from all across the United Kingdom, who played key roles in the ceremony from start to fin¬ish. This first group was 10 clusters of children holding huge balloon batches numbered 10 to 1, which burst as a group as the entire stadium counted down. This was cute but not very inspiring. I was underwhelmed, after the superb video start. Little did I know.
The British cyclist (Brad Wiggins; had to look it up) who won the Tour de France days earlier came out and rang the world's largest tuned bell, cast for the show at Whitechapel Foundry. The bell was inscribed with part of a line from Shakespeare's "The Tempest": "Be not afraid, the isle is full of noises". This was part of the underlying and unifying theme of Boyles ceremony, bringing in diverse elements of historic UK culture that influenced the whole world. After the bell was wrung, the ceremony itself began inside the stadium. The entire floor of the stadium was covered in real sod, with a small replica English village, and a towering replica of Gastonbury Tor. A 9 year old boy began singing "Jerusalem" A Capella; and American Idol/The Voice hopefuls be warned; this kid can take all of you. Hands down. From there three other choral groups each took turns, singing similarly informal anthems for Ireland, "Danny Boy", and for Scotland and Wales in turn. I don't know what those were; they were still wonderful to hear.
The pace accelerated here, and Kenneth Brannagh came out as part of a group of Victorian businessmen, ushering in the Industrial Revolution. Brannagh delivered more of the "be not afraid" speech, and as he did so the hundreds of people who were portraying villagers were joined by men and women in Victorian workers clothing. The sections of sod were rolled up and carried out, and smokestacks began to rise from the now cobblestoned and "industrial" looking flooring that had been under the sod. Workers began to forge a huge ring in the center of the stadium, and as four other rings flew in from the rim of the stadium the center ring was raised to join them, forming the linked Olympic logo. Lighting and then some excellent pyro finished that segment. If you ever want to know what a Union Stagehand Rigger does, all the flying/lifting/suspended stuff was their work. Way to go rigging crews! Amazing! I might have used Derek Jacoby instead of Kenneth Brannagh, but that's just me.
There was a silent moment to honor the men and women lost in the two World Wars, then 1000 percussionists began to play syncopated cadence led by a woman who had been deaf since the age of 11... and yeah, I had to look her name up again. Dame Evelyn Glennie. She was awesome. Drummers and aspiring drummers, watch this show. These people basically kept playing from this point in the show until the end of the Procession of Countries...... about 2 hours.
More nods, and a few winks, to elements of British society here. A parade of people dressed ala "Sgt. Pepper", some mods, a group of Daleks (I think so anyway) and the Chelsea Pensioners, an organized group of retired British military. I think they did a "set change here; hard to tell, the way NBC kept cutting away for commercials. Take a page from the BBC for these things American Television; put your advertisers in a small clump just before the event starts. If there is a planned intermission or break, stick more in there, and leave the rest for after the finale. Better still..... use sponsors, run NO ads, and let us watch the event. It's not like you would go bankrupt if you did that, what, once every two years?
So, off the soapbox. Another short video clip, which took a minute for me to catch on to. Daniel Craig as James Bond, escorting HRH to a waiting helicopter in the Buckingham Palace courtyard. Great little bit as Daniel stood in the Queens small chamber.. where she sat writing a note, her back to him.... until he very politely "coughed". She turned around to look at him a moment later, and yes, I am certain that was in fact herself, Queen Elizabeth II. The helicopter took off, becoming a CGI for a bit, until appearing above the stadium. After looking down at the crowd, surveying the sky and the stadium as well... Bond jumped out of the helicopter, followed by the Queen, and they parasailed down to an area just outside the stadium. Yes, real parasailing people... dressed as Bond and Liz2. Really, folks, she's like 85 years old... again, a note of humor injected into what could easily be as sonorous as a Catholic wedding with full mass.
The queen herself then made her more stately entrance, along with Phillip, and of course William and Kate. The Queen was announced to the crowd, and the second part of the ceremony began. The lead in was a horde of doctors and nurses pushing beds with "patients" into the center area, representing the Greater Ormond Street Hospital, which is funded in major part by the estate of J.M. Barrie. These were in fact actual nurses and doctors from the hospital, who also volunteered their time and efforts. They pushed the self-illuminating beds in to form the smiling face and "GOSH", the hospital logo (probably visible from space) I think this also sent an unintended message to anyone who thinks "Socialized" medicine is evil... i.e. Tea Party and Republican half wits. It has worked just fine for 200 years in the UK folks. Doctors and nurses don't live in poverty, chained together like slaves, and the country is not overrun with communists and hippies.... sigh, OK, moving on...
They did a great little performance bit, with a short narrative from "Peter Pan" read by a (terrified) J.K. Rowling, then a group of baddies form English children's literature appeared; Captain Hook, the Red Queen, Voldemort.. and yay! Cruella DeVille! The children panicked until a horde of Mary Poppinseses.... Poppins's, Poppin Fresh... crap, a bunch of flying Nannies arrived on umbrellas. Nice work again rigging and flying crews! I mean, what else would you use to chase off evil? Mike Oldfield led a band performing a variant of his "Tubular Bells" under this whole segment.
That was followed by the London Symphony Orchestra, with Rowan Atkinson featured both as a pianist playing one note under the score... and getting bored so he dreams he's running in a modded clip from "Chariots of Fire".. cute, but not one of my favorite bits. Rowan can be screamingly funny, or hopelessly tedious. He was brilliant in "Black Adder". That segued into a pop culture segment with a boy and girl meeting through the medium of her lost cell phone, and featuring a medley of pop tunes from the last 40 years or so, ending with them meeting in person and kissing. Sigh. Cell phones... again. This also featured one of the best effects used in the presentation. Each seat in the stadium was equipped with an LED panel, and this allowed the entire stadium to used like a giant video wall. Remarkable effect. This was used just often enough to be compelling, not so often as to be predictable.
The torch was shown being carried on a speedboat along the Thames, driven by David Beckham. The parade of nations began, and all 204 nations had a flag bearer, who planted the flag on arrival at a designated point on the Glastonbury Tor, as well as a girl for each carrying a "copper petal", a sort of curled leaf or flower of smooth copper, about the size you would use to scoop watermelons up... I had no clue what these were for until later. The parade went by at nearly a trot; even the coverage people kept saying they had to skip notes and stuff to keep up. I think that, without the damn commercial breaks, all 204 countries entered and took their positions in under an hour. With the NBC breaks every eight minutes, it took almost half the total broadcast time.
Finally, time for the torch. Sir Steve Redgrave carried it from the Thames into the stadium where he lit a torch carried in turn by seven young athletes, all nominated by Olympians (that sounds weird), and they proceeded up to where all the copper "petals" had been laid in the center of the stadium. Each one of the seven lit their own torch from the original, then lit a spot on the outer ring of petals. Now I got to see the purpose; each petal formed a part of a ring of gas nozzles, fed through tubes they were now mounted on the ends of. Petals ignited until the entire 204 formed a gorgeous blazing ring, and then the tubes lifted up en masse to form a single unified "bowl" of flames, standing perhaps thirty feet high. Once again the theme of diversity and unification. Sir Paul McCartney was the final bit, playing "Hey Jude" and getting the stadium to sing along, and then the final, awesome, but never long enough, pyrotechnics show. Rings of fire racing about the stadium edge, firing off the Tower Bridge and seemingly all of the East End, and much of London.
I have seen a lot of posts about how this wasn't as good as Beijing, and how it was confusing, or weird, and of course how London wasn't as well organized as some guys 2002 effort. I disagree; casually with the Beijing fans. That was a spectacular show, and certainly a light year beyond Atlanta... but it had the virtue of being very ambitious, and a first. It was certainly extravagant, very carefully planned, and meticulously executed... but that was also part of its failing from my perspective. Certainly this show was just as carefully planned, and everything appeared to happen precisely when and as it was supposed to, yet the whole montage felt much looser and more playful. Certainly it embraced the rather unpredictable nature (to us barbarians) of British society. As for the other, well, I can't imagine why Romney showed up. I think the usher should have looked at the passes for Mitt and Anne and said:
"Sorry sir, These don't seem to be any good. Bit disorganized if you ask me, but what's a chap to do? Security, see these good people the exit if you please..."
Friday, July 27, 2012
What's on my mind? Way too much....
OK Facebook, you put this empty box on my page that says "What's on your mind?" So here it is 2AM, and I'm wide awake, and since you asked....
1) Mitt Romney. How can anyone want him as president? He supported sending jobs overseas, at the expense of US workers.... who are now out of work. He took credit for "saving" the US Olympics in 2002... using 100 BILLION in federal funding. Foreign policy credentials? I think they are stuck on the bottom of his shoe. If you can get it out of his mouth you might be able to read them. It's a short list. If you don't like Obama, fine. If you think that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the bank collapse and Unemployment are his fault, well, you are entitled to your opinion. I just widh you would base it on facts, not lies you get told.
2) The Tea Party. I simply fail to understand them at all. They all need to abandon the birth certificate/Muslim/Socialist talk about Obama, and admit to owning one or more of those special sets of white sheets. That is the only explanation for them I can find.
3) Anti-gun AND gun nuts. Meet in the middle you morons. It's 250 years too late to disarm the citizens; and we hae gun control laws. Put the same registration/delay/background checks on ALL guns. Police departments, stop making excuses about manpower shortages to do the background checks. There are these things called "computers", and the internet... for what you pay in overtime in one month, you could hire 12 people to do the work, and buy them new laptops. In case you hadn't noticed, there are lot of skilled workers who need jobs. Speaking of which... stop paying overtime. Hire more officers.
4) Anti-abortionist/Abortionists. Same problem, though much simpler. If you don't think abortion is right, don't get one. How dare you tell other people what they can and cannot do, when it has no effect on you or your life. I support your right to voice your opinion about it being wrong, for whatever reason. And (surprise) I support your stand that abortion is not a method of birth control. It is a medical, and a PERSONAL decision, and only the mothers final say matters. It is a hard choice for almost any woman to make; stop making it worse, and stop lying and showing false imagery. If you wave "Right to Life" signs about, then bomb a clinic or attack people, you are a hypocrite and a criminal. Period. I also want you to ask yourself this; how would you feel if you were told you could no longer go to church, or have any medical care at all? Abortion supporters; stop stirring the pot. Show the world how things really work... and stick to that process. Don't lie. Above all, if you see a girl five times in 8 months, she needs help and counseling and maybe brains... not her fifth abortion at the age of 16. (Yes. I saw TWO of these).
5) Anti gay/anti gay marriage. Again, how dare you. Do I come in to your house and tell you what to do, and what not to? Do I declare your actions immoral, and cite a "higher power" and a collection of stories, parables and dogma as my justification? I don't like basketball. I think it's boring and silly. Therefore, all basketball games are ended forever, especially since only mutants play it. If you have a hoop stuck on your roof, I will arrest you after I beat you up. If you are OK with that, go ahead and protest gay marriage and beat up gay people. I'll be over shortly.
6) American industry. Why are we so stressed all the time? Simple. Some idiot threw away everything we learned about business in the 50's and 60's, everything we learned about freedom and people since 1776, and told HR heads that profit sharing was bad, and merit increases, and Cost of Living... then they got bean counters to go along, and present numbers showing how much more profit could be made if workers were expected to be there 50 to 60 hours a week, and get paid for only 40. Workers should also take time off from work if they are sick... but if you are sick too often, because you are over-stressed, you get a black mark. If our business model is so much better, why aren't all the other countries bankrupt, and buying American products because it's the only stuff that works?
7) Health care. It's not "Obamacare". Knock that off. It's also not "socialist medicine". Unless Hawaii is a socialist country hiding as a US state... same for Canada, and Japan, and.... here is the problem. Doctors work too many hours a week, and surgeons even more. So they get paid absurd salaries. Over $450,000.00 a year for a proctologist in California. Really? OK, I would have to paid a lot to look at thousands of them a year... wait, I watch TV, and Congress is on TV along with Michelle Bachmann, Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, Dr. Phil.... time to send the networks a bill. Oh. Anyway... so doctors are overpaid and overworked. So are nurses; overworked, that is. Hospitals charge outrageous amounts above cost for everything. Example: I was charged $30.00 for surgical tape. They used about three feet. A roll is 50 yards, and costs $7.00 at Walgreens. Other charges are also inflated. The biggest cost to hospitals, doctors, nurses? Insurance. The insurance agencies are double dipping, and we keep allowing it. We get our costs raised "because of rising health care costs" which are in turn increased by the same insurers raising rates to medical professionals. I for one would cheer wildly for a complete socialist takeover of health care at this point.
Put me in charge for a year. All insurance rates would be cut by 50%, no doctor or nurse would work over 40 hours in one week or 8 hours in one day, fewer mistakes would be made in treatment and surgery, and medical care would be based on you and your doctors choices, not an actuary's tables. Police would have sufficient numbers to do their jobs without overtime and huge pensions; same for firefighters. Politicians would be given a mandatory 10% pay cut for each year they failed to balance the budget in a timely manner, and allowed unchecked greed and corruption to ruin our economy and our way of life. And no one, NO ONE, would be expected to sacrifice their time and their personal pleasures to earn a living. 40 hours work, 40 hours pay. Vacations. Raises. Health care.
The unemployment ranks would dwindle, as many would find themselves with new jobs and careers, and the only people out of work would be the parasitic, grasping, self-involved so called leaders and "captains of industry" and career politicians who represent not the people, but the lobbyists and financial backers.
There, maybe now I can sleep. Write me in when you vote in November... wouldn't THAT be a wakeup call to Washington. "Who? The president is who? Where the hell did HE come from????"
1) Mitt Romney. How can anyone want him as president? He supported sending jobs overseas, at the expense of US workers.... who are now out of work. He took credit for "saving" the US Olympics in 2002... using 100 BILLION in federal funding. Foreign policy credentials? I think they are stuck on the bottom of his shoe. If you can get it out of his mouth you might be able to read them. It's a short list. If you don't like Obama, fine. If you think that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the bank collapse and Unemployment are his fault, well, you are entitled to your opinion. I just widh you would base it on facts, not lies you get told.
2) The Tea Party. I simply fail to understand them at all. They all need to abandon the birth certificate/Muslim/Socialist talk about Obama, and admit to owning one or more of those special sets of white sheets. That is the only explanation for them I can find.
3) Anti-gun AND gun nuts. Meet in the middle you morons. It's 250 years too late to disarm the citizens; and we hae gun control laws. Put the same registration/delay/background checks on ALL guns. Police departments, stop making excuses about manpower shortages to do the background checks. There are these things called "computers", and the internet... for what you pay in overtime in one month, you could hire 12 people to do the work, and buy them new laptops. In case you hadn't noticed, there are lot of skilled workers who need jobs. Speaking of which... stop paying overtime. Hire more officers.
4) Anti-abortionist/Abortionists. Same problem, though much simpler. If you don't think abortion is right, don't get one. How dare you tell other people what they can and cannot do, when it has no effect on you or your life. I support your right to voice your opinion about it being wrong, for whatever reason. And (surprise) I support your stand that abortion is not a method of birth control. It is a medical, and a PERSONAL decision, and only the mothers final say matters. It is a hard choice for almost any woman to make; stop making it worse, and stop lying and showing false imagery. If you wave "Right to Life" signs about, then bomb a clinic or attack people, you are a hypocrite and a criminal. Period. I also want you to ask yourself this; how would you feel if you were told you could no longer go to church, or have any medical care at all? Abortion supporters; stop stirring the pot. Show the world how things really work... and stick to that process. Don't lie. Above all, if you see a girl five times in 8 months, she needs help and counseling and maybe brains... not her fifth abortion at the age of 16. (Yes. I saw TWO of these).
5) Anti gay/anti gay marriage. Again, how dare you. Do I come in to your house and tell you what to do, and what not to? Do I declare your actions immoral, and cite a "higher power" and a collection of stories, parables and dogma as my justification? I don't like basketball. I think it's boring and silly. Therefore, all basketball games are ended forever, especially since only mutants play it. If you have a hoop stuck on your roof, I will arrest you after I beat you up. If you are OK with that, go ahead and protest gay marriage and beat up gay people. I'll be over shortly.
6) American industry. Why are we so stressed all the time? Simple. Some idiot threw away everything we learned about business in the 50's and 60's, everything we learned about freedom and people since 1776, and told HR heads that profit sharing was bad, and merit increases, and Cost of Living... then they got bean counters to go along, and present numbers showing how much more profit could be made if workers were expected to be there 50 to 60 hours a week, and get paid for only 40. Workers should also take time off from work if they are sick... but if you are sick too often, because you are over-stressed, you get a black mark. If our business model is so much better, why aren't all the other countries bankrupt, and buying American products because it's the only stuff that works?
7) Health care. It's not "Obamacare". Knock that off. It's also not "socialist medicine". Unless Hawaii is a socialist country hiding as a US state... same for Canada, and Japan, and.... here is the problem. Doctors work too many hours a week, and surgeons even more. So they get paid absurd salaries. Over $450,000.00 a year for a proctologist in California. Really? OK, I would have to paid a lot to look at thousands of them a year... wait, I watch TV, and Congress is on TV along with Michelle Bachmann, Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, Dr. Phil.... time to send the networks a bill. Oh. Anyway... so doctors are overpaid and overworked. So are nurses; overworked, that is. Hospitals charge outrageous amounts above cost for everything. Example: I was charged $30.00 for surgical tape. They used about three feet. A roll is 50 yards, and costs $7.00 at Walgreens. Other charges are also inflated. The biggest cost to hospitals, doctors, nurses? Insurance. The insurance agencies are double dipping, and we keep allowing it. We get our costs raised "because of rising health care costs" which are in turn increased by the same insurers raising rates to medical professionals. I for one would cheer wildly for a complete socialist takeover of health care at this point.
Put me in charge for a year. All insurance rates would be cut by 50%, no doctor or nurse would work over 40 hours in one week or 8 hours in one day, fewer mistakes would be made in treatment and surgery, and medical care would be based on you and your doctors choices, not an actuary's tables. Police would have sufficient numbers to do their jobs without overtime and huge pensions; same for firefighters. Politicians would be given a mandatory 10% pay cut for each year they failed to balance the budget in a timely manner, and allowed unchecked greed and corruption to ruin our economy and our way of life. And no one, NO ONE, would be expected to sacrifice their time and their personal pleasures to earn a living. 40 hours work, 40 hours pay. Vacations. Raises. Health care.
The unemployment ranks would dwindle, as many would find themselves with new jobs and careers, and the only people out of work would be the parasitic, grasping, self-involved so called leaders and "captains of industry" and career politicians who represent not the people, but the lobbyists and financial backers.
There, maybe now I can sleep. Write me in when you vote in November... wouldn't THAT be a wakeup call to Washington. "Who? The president is who? Where the hell did HE come from????"
Friday, May 18, 2012
The Perils of Performance
I sort of thought I knew what "cluster fuck" looked like. That was the Jay Chou New Years eve show at the H P Pavillion. The gig I ran away from after the FIRST day of 12 hours loading in crap that apparently none of the road crew had ever seen before, or put together. We are so used to seeing equipment and sets roll out of the trucks like parts on a conveyor belt; crew leads who direct us step-by-step through a well rehearsed dance of creation. Walking into the Jay Chou load in was like getting smacked with a frozen salmon.
Today, I did it again... except that this time it was crammed into the vastly smaller Shoreline Amphitheatre. Hours of waiting while the LD looked at the set... then his board... then the truss. Set pieces and a video wall too heavy to hang or to put on the stage, brought in anyway, and then... left sitting on the dock for four hours, while people tried to figure out how to get all this stuff on stage.
I was working on lighting... and they seemed to have no idea what they wanted to put on the three trusses we had. OR where to run all the control cables. Or what should be run where. We started at 8 AM, and by 4 PM, we still didn't have all the truss in the air. It was 6 PM before we got there, and we then spent 2 more hours trying to clean up the rats nest of cabling on stage right. This included routing cable around one of the 2500 pound blocks of concrete.. yeah, that's right, a 3 foot by 3 foot concrete cube poured around a steel frame... one of twelve.....
All this for the one-shot "K-Pop" Korean pop music festival. We are going to be spending three days loading this in, for a single performance Monday night, and then we tear it all down again..... shoot me now.
So, to follow this up.... it turns out that this "KPOP" was initially going to be a private party for Google. At some point they decided to open it up to the general public... good move, as what they spent on labor for this show was astronomical. Spoiler alert for Google shareholders... roughly 60 stagehands came in Friday morning at 8 AM to load in the show. 12 hours and two meals later, they began to cut us. Some 20 people stayed until 11PM... and we were not finished. That 8 hours straight time, 4 hours overtime, and 3 hours Double time.
Then people came back Saturday, about 40 of them, to spend another 12 hour day. Most of the first 3 hours was spent waiting, while video finished up, and sound began to load in. Another key discovery here; the video wall, which our staff was told weighed well over the capacity of the roof beams to support... only weighed 3000 pounds. We could have hung that on the upstage truss along with all the lighting, and had room to spare. Maybe to hang the Artistic Director, who was 3 hours late arriving because he was "Shopping"... who began by wandering about on stage for a half hour, then asking "can we add LED lights to all the truss?" No. You don't have the money or the time to do that.
The show itself was quite successful. After rehearsing on Sunday, the show went off smoothly and was really well received by a packed crowd of over 17,000 by my estimate. "Wonder Girls" was the big hit of the night for the crowd... not so much for us. I've seen Britney Spears put more effort into looking like she was actually singing. As for the groups choreography.... well, there are only so many things you can do when the repertoire is "step left, step right, jazz hands, wave, spin". Still, they were pretty.
After that it was our turn. The stage went dark at 10:30 PM, and our crew of 70 began to load out. Lighting had to wait an hour and a half beginning at 3AM, because the upstage lighting truss had been trapped behind the scaffolding wall supporting the video wall (needlessly). So all the video had to come down first, then the top tier of scaffolding... all so we could get the 12 lights and 4 truss sections loaded. When I left at 5AM, they still had not finished breaking down and loading the scaffolding. Our poor crew of carpenters was still there at 6AM, while the rest of us were cut at 5 AM. So that came to 3 hours of regular time, and 6 hours of Double time... all in all, very lucrative for us. Not very good in terms of profit margin or efficiency.
Today, I did it again... except that this time it was crammed into the vastly smaller Shoreline Amphitheatre. Hours of waiting while the LD looked at the set... then his board... then the truss. Set pieces and a video wall too heavy to hang or to put on the stage, brought in anyway, and then... left sitting on the dock for four hours, while people tried to figure out how to get all this stuff on stage.
I was working on lighting... and they seemed to have no idea what they wanted to put on the three trusses we had. OR where to run all the control cables. Or what should be run where. We started at 8 AM, and by 4 PM, we still didn't have all the truss in the air. It was 6 PM before we got there, and we then spent 2 more hours trying to clean up the rats nest of cabling on stage right. This included routing cable around one of the 2500 pound blocks of concrete.. yeah, that's right, a 3 foot by 3 foot concrete cube poured around a steel frame... one of twelve.....
All this for the one-shot "K-Pop" Korean pop music festival. We are going to be spending three days loading this in, for a single performance Monday night, and then we tear it all down again..... shoot me now.
So, to follow this up.... it turns out that this "KPOP" was initially going to be a private party for Google. At some point they decided to open it up to the general public... good move, as what they spent on labor for this show was astronomical. Spoiler alert for Google shareholders... roughly 60 stagehands came in Friday morning at 8 AM to load in the show. 12 hours and two meals later, they began to cut us. Some 20 people stayed until 11PM... and we were not finished. That 8 hours straight time, 4 hours overtime, and 3 hours Double time.
Then people came back Saturday, about 40 of them, to spend another 12 hour day. Most of the first 3 hours was spent waiting, while video finished up, and sound began to load in. Another key discovery here; the video wall, which our staff was told weighed well over the capacity of the roof beams to support... only weighed 3000 pounds. We could have hung that on the upstage truss along with all the lighting, and had room to spare. Maybe to hang the Artistic Director, who was 3 hours late arriving because he was "Shopping"... who began by wandering about on stage for a half hour, then asking "can we add LED lights to all the truss?" No. You don't have the money or the time to do that.
The show itself was quite successful. After rehearsing on Sunday, the show went off smoothly and was really well received by a packed crowd of over 17,000 by my estimate. "Wonder Girls" was the big hit of the night for the crowd... not so much for us. I've seen Britney Spears put more effort into looking like she was actually singing. As for the groups choreography.... well, there are only so many things you can do when the repertoire is "step left, step right, jazz hands, wave, spin". Still, they were pretty.
After that it was our turn. The stage went dark at 10:30 PM, and our crew of 70 began to load out. Lighting had to wait an hour and a half beginning at 3AM, because the upstage lighting truss had been trapped behind the scaffolding wall supporting the video wall (needlessly). So all the video had to come down first, then the top tier of scaffolding... all so we could get the 12 lights and 4 truss sections loaded. When I left at 5AM, they still had not finished breaking down and loading the scaffolding. Our poor crew of carpenters was still there at 6AM, while the rest of us were cut at 5 AM. So that came to 3 hours of regular time, and 6 hours of Double time... all in all, very lucrative for us. Not very good in terms of profit margin or efficiency.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Not Grandpa's Dejah Thoris
This is not your grandfathers Dejah Thoris
Let me start by saying that as adaptations of classic novels go, the Disney "John Carter" film is closer in many respects than Peter Jackson's "Lord of The Rings"... at least by the time that Peter, Phillipa or Fran got their hands on Faramir. At the worst, it's no further off. Warhoon's are agro beasts; Tharks are not lots better until John and Tars Tarkas show them a few things. Therns are set up from the get-go as complete assholes, and of course the evil Zodangans are...back-stabbing evil guys.
And that's about it for the negatives. Visually the film is as compelling as "Avatar" in its own right, at least when seen in Imax 3D. The director also uses the 3D to enhance the breathtaking panorama of Barsoom; from the shattered cities, to the vast plains and canyons, much of which was provided by Moab, Arches, and other serene stretches of uninhabited waste. Thank you Arizona! Helium is gorgeous, the mobile city of Zodanga is pretty remarkable, and the whole thing has a very slight reddish tint to it. That includes the opening Disny logo; good work marketing department! Way to use what was learned by Warner with "Batman" and later "Harry Potter", as well as by 20th Century in "From Hell" and Universal for "Serenity" . You can start pulling the audience in and setting the tone of the film before the first scene opens.
The departures from the first E.R.B. novel "A Princess of Mars" are pretty numerous. Dejah isn't already a captive of the Tharks, for example. The Therns are messing about before John even gets to Mars. There are lots of other plot departures.... but no character departures. The things I di find a bit bothersome were that the armorer was obviously inspired more by Elven and some African sword styles than the canelure type rapier referred to in the novels. There is also none of the famous "fighting smile" or the figure eight defense. Mostly, it's John hurling himself into battle and swinging vigorously.
Dejah joins him in the mayhem. She wasn't exactly a blushing whining eye-candy in the books... but she didn't shove John behind her either, because she figured he couldn't fight. Lynn Collins also steals the film any time she shows up in frame. Which is a lot. The first time you get a look at her the hair is a bit dishevelled, she has on a sort of chain-mail type tiara... and some guy in the theatre said "...wowwww..." softly. It might well have been me. Yeah, I would leave my body in a cave here on earth to go flirt with her... no problem.
Taylor Kitsch didn't exactly inpsire me, but he worked well in every scene with Lynn. I also was not overly fond of Woola, who looked like a happy half-breed between White Shark and Salamander (they did get the ugly part right) as well being Roadrunner fast. I'm talking the car, by the way. Like 0 to 60 in 4.2 seconds. The Tharks reminded me strongly of the Marvel comics drawings from the late 70's (if I recall).
This won't pull the rug from under "Avatar" by any means. I still think it was worth the price of admission, and would happily see it again. For one thing, I can just stare at Lynn the whole time... and the previews for the new Ridley Scott "Alien" franchise film "Prometheus", and "The Avengers" trailer certainly didn't hurt any.
Did I mention that Red girls are hot?
Let me start by saying that as adaptations of classic novels go, the Disney "John Carter" film is closer in many respects than Peter Jackson's "Lord of The Rings"... at least by the time that Peter, Phillipa or Fran got their hands on Faramir. At the worst, it's no further off. Warhoon's are agro beasts; Tharks are not lots better until John and Tars Tarkas show them a few things. Therns are set up from the get-go as complete assholes, and of course the evil Zodangans are...back-stabbing evil guys.
And that's about it for the negatives. Visually the film is as compelling as "Avatar" in its own right, at least when seen in Imax 3D. The director also uses the 3D to enhance the breathtaking panorama of Barsoom; from the shattered cities, to the vast plains and canyons, much of which was provided by Moab, Arches, and other serene stretches of uninhabited waste. Thank you Arizona! Helium is gorgeous, the mobile city of Zodanga is pretty remarkable, and the whole thing has a very slight reddish tint to it. That includes the opening Disny logo; good work marketing department! Way to use what was learned by Warner with "Batman" and later "Harry Potter", as well as by 20th Century in "From Hell" and Universal for "Serenity" . You can start pulling the audience in and setting the tone of the film before the first scene opens.
The departures from the first E.R.B. novel "A Princess of Mars" are pretty numerous. Dejah isn't already a captive of the Tharks, for example. The Therns are messing about before John even gets to Mars. There are lots of other plot departures.... but no character departures. The things I di find a bit bothersome were that the armorer was obviously inspired more by Elven and some African sword styles than the canelure type rapier referred to in the novels. There is also none of the famous "fighting smile" or the figure eight defense. Mostly, it's John hurling himself into battle and swinging vigorously.
Dejah joins him in the mayhem. She wasn't exactly a blushing whining eye-candy in the books... but she didn't shove John behind her either, because she figured he couldn't fight. Lynn Collins also steals the film any time she shows up in frame. Which is a lot. The first time you get a look at her the hair is a bit dishevelled, she has on a sort of chain-mail type tiara... and some guy in the theatre said "...wowwww..." softly. It might well have been me. Yeah, I would leave my body in a cave here on earth to go flirt with her... no problem.
Taylor Kitsch didn't exactly inpsire me, but he worked well in every scene with Lynn. I also was not overly fond of Woola, who looked like a happy half-breed between White Shark and Salamander (they did get the ugly part right) as well being Roadrunner fast. I'm talking the car, by the way. Like 0 to 60 in 4.2 seconds. The Tharks reminded me strongly of the Marvel comics drawings from the late 70's (if I recall).
This won't pull the rug from under "Avatar" by any means. I still think it was worth the price of admission, and would happily see it again. For one thing, I can just stare at Lynn the whole time... and the previews for the new Ridley Scott "Alien" franchise film "Prometheus", and "The Avengers" trailer certainly didn't hurt any.
Did I mention that Red girls are hot?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The Cirque is in town!
Again, one of the jobs that make the crappy days being a stagehand worthwhile; I just spent two days loading the new Cirque Du Soliel show "Totem" in at the San Jose location the city has set aside for them. It displaces part of the personal parking for the San Jose PD. At the highest paid salary and largest most expensive retirement pack in the US for a police force, they can stop whining about the 6 weeks it runs..
Day One was pretty hard. Two crews of 6 "carpenters", split into stage left (my group) and stage right (the slow guys).
Pluses: Trish, the CDS (Cirque Du Soliel...) crew carpenter lead for stage left, from Boston; Nick, the crew chief from Manchester; and Katy, the head carpenter, from... wait for it... Tasmania! I was having trouble placing the accent. I knew she wasn't from New Zealand, she also didn't sound Aussie... I finally asked her. "New South Wales, maybe?" She laughed and said "No, Tasmania! Good one mate, not thinking I was an Oz or a Kiwi!" very cherubic 25 year old blonde. Too bad the comment about having a beer after was, I am sure, rhetorical rather than an actual invitation... "Only one?" I asked.. she laughed and said "Well, I'm not a Aussie...but I can drink like one..."
Mehs: "Carpenter" is sometimes.... frequently.... nearly always.... a complete misnomer when working CDS. I have worked a number of the shows locally. In (I think) the correct order going back to 1997; Saltimbanco, Alegria, Quidam, Dralion, Corteo, Kooza, Ovo and two of the arena shows "Because tents are for camping!" Delirium and Michael Jackson. I have worked on the carpentry crew four times. To date, I have never touched a single piece of wood that was not already attached to an aluminum or steel frame. This show was no different. We started by building out the lower framework for the main stage. Steel cross-members, anywhere from 2 feet to 8 feet long, weighing 30 to 90 pounds each. Once we had that built, we added the decking, a 1 inch thick plywood base with a rubberized laminate top surface, covered with a front-projection capable coating of grey. Then we built a second framework above that, the platform on which the musicians sit and perform. The upper section was raised up 10 feet by a pair of forklifts (sketch! very sketch!) and we then replaced the small standoffs from the lower level with the performance steel uprights, 8 foot long 3 x 3 posts.
That took us up to lunchtime, at which point we all fled for an hour. When we came back, it was time to build the backstage flooring. This was the only real negative to the day. We had to shim all four corners of each section of decking, again a plywood and rubberized laminate on a heavy structural aluminum frame. The sections were smaller, from 2 foot by 4 foot to 4 foot by 4 foot. There were a LOT of them, unfortunately. Maybe 120 or so, for each side of the stage. The shims were small squares of plywood 3/4 of an inch thick, and each corner got a small steel plate with four short pins sticking up; these locked the floor sections together. We had to shim each section up and level it, then move on... that took 5 full hours.
Day Two was much more fun! That day was devoted to nothing but :Le Squelette", the skeleton frame of a giant tortoise shell. A framework of 3 inch diameter structural steel tubing, with a spray foam and fiberglass mat covering, painted in a dusty orange/yellow motif. There were four primary sections, each roughly 8 foot by 8 foot arched "squares", heavy enough it took our entire crew of 8 guys to lift and carry in. Then there were the connecting sections and cross members...
This gives a good idea of the scale (wish I could have found an image of the steel deck frames...). These had to be handled very carefully, as the covering was very hard to repair. Again, our CDS crew heads were excellent; Nick another down-under migrant from New Zealand this time, and Spencer, a mere Canadian. (grin)
The first order from them was simple; "Take your time; there is no rush to this." I've always found this to be typical of the CDS attitude; they don't want people loafing, but they don't want a frenzied atmosphere and screaming leads, causing an injury or damage. And injury is a constant danger. The sets, lighting, even the props are all large, many of them are very heavy, as they have to support huge amounts of weight or torque... we finished the framework well ahead of schedule, In fact, we were so far ahead that Nick offered us up to Katy again, who was thrilled to able to go work on special projects, leaving four of us to scurry about under the main stage, installing the flooring used by the clowns (mostly) to scoot about under the deck on little flat carts and pop up through trap doors.
Day One was pretty hard. Two crews of 6 "carpenters", split into stage left (my group) and stage right (the slow guys).
Pluses: Trish, the CDS (Cirque Du Soliel...) crew carpenter lead for stage left, from Boston; Nick, the crew chief from Manchester; and Katy, the head carpenter, from... wait for it... Tasmania! I was having trouble placing the accent. I knew she wasn't from New Zealand, she also didn't sound Aussie... I finally asked her. "New South Wales, maybe?" She laughed and said "No, Tasmania! Good one mate, not thinking I was an Oz or a Kiwi!" very cherubic 25 year old blonde. Too bad the comment about having a beer after was, I am sure, rhetorical rather than an actual invitation... "Only one?" I asked.. she laughed and said "Well, I'm not a Aussie...but I can drink like one..."
Mehs: "Carpenter" is sometimes.... frequently.... nearly always.... a complete misnomer when working CDS. I have worked a number of the shows locally. In (I think) the correct order going back to 1997; Saltimbanco, Alegria, Quidam, Dralion, Corteo, Kooza, Ovo and two of the arena shows "Because tents are for camping!" Delirium and Michael Jackson. I have worked on the carpentry crew four times. To date, I have never touched a single piece of wood that was not already attached to an aluminum or steel frame. This show was no different. We started by building out the lower framework for the main stage. Steel cross-members, anywhere from 2 feet to 8 feet long, weighing 30 to 90 pounds each. Once we had that built, we added the decking, a 1 inch thick plywood base with a rubberized laminate top surface, covered with a front-projection capable coating of grey. Then we built a second framework above that, the platform on which the musicians sit and perform. The upper section was raised up 10 feet by a pair of forklifts (sketch! very sketch!) and we then replaced the small standoffs from the lower level with the performance steel uprights, 8 foot long 3 x 3 posts.
That took us up to lunchtime, at which point we all fled for an hour. When we came back, it was time to build the backstage flooring. This was the only real negative to the day. We had to shim all four corners of each section of decking, again a plywood and rubberized laminate on a heavy structural aluminum frame. The sections were smaller, from 2 foot by 4 foot to 4 foot by 4 foot. There were a LOT of them, unfortunately. Maybe 120 or so, for each side of the stage. The shims were small squares of plywood 3/4 of an inch thick, and each corner got a small steel plate with four short pins sticking up; these locked the floor sections together. We had to shim each section up and level it, then move on... that took 5 full hours.
Day Two was much more fun! That day was devoted to nothing but :Le Squelette", the skeleton frame of a giant tortoise shell. A framework of 3 inch diameter structural steel tubing, with a spray foam and fiberglass mat covering, painted in a dusty orange/yellow motif. There were four primary sections, each roughly 8 foot by 8 foot arched "squares", heavy enough it took our entire crew of 8 guys to lift and carry in. Then there were the connecting sections and cross members...
This gives a good idea of the scale (wish I could have found an image of the steel deck frames...). These had to be handled very carefully, as the covering was very hard to repair. Again, our CDS crew heads were excellent; Nick another down-under migrant from New Zealand this time, and Spencer, a mere Canadian. (grin)
The first order from them was simple; "Take your time; there is no rush to this." I've always found this to be typical of the CDS attitude; they don't want people loafing, but they don't want a frenzied atmosphere and screaming leads, causing an injury or damage. And injury is a constant danger. The sets, lighting, even the props are all large, many of them are very heavy, as they have to support huge amounts of weight or torque... we finished the framework well ahead of schedule, In fact, we were so far ahead that Nick offered us up to Katy again, who was thrilled to able to go work on special projects, leaving four of us to scurry about under the main stage, installing the flooring used by the clowns (mostly) to scoot about under the deck on little flat carts and pop up through trap doors.
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