Think of the children!

Looks like there's a good chance the final could turn out to be that vision of soccer hell I was talking about earlier. A primer:


Euro 2004 Ad for the Guardian UK

The SF Chron had a nice piece lamenting the problems some teams have had staying erect, and how it may be influencing our next generation of players:

A thrilling World Cup is still one big flop -- CW Nevius, SF Chronicle

The 'I' is silent

Ai meu deus!

After an 11 game run from the law of averages, the Brazilian National Soccer Team turned themselves in peacefully Saturday to French authorities in Germany. A few of many stories:

Brazilians come to terms with 'national shame' -- Calgary Sun

Brazil fans destroy Ronaldinho statue -- Radio New Zealand

Three Men Protest Brazil's Game Against Ghana In The Nude -- All Headline News

A rough google search

Yes, soccer is a team sport, but individuals can have a defining influence. On Saturday, France had Zidane. After watching this man and Henry work for about the first 20 minutes there wasn't much doubt in my mind who deserved the win.

Brasil naturally has a whole bunch of I's on their team, but in a more formal sense Parreira seemed to pin the team's fortunes on Ronaldo. Apparently a lot of the folks still really love the guy, and to a degree I do too, but I was perpetually aggravated by the missed passes and stumbling throughout the tournament. It's like the whole team kept trying to feed him the ball, but he was too often a step too far behind it or sluggish and lumbering on the movement afterwards. Can't take anything away from the goals he did score, but it felt like too much of the offensive focus was on him when it really didn't need to be.

One thing I began to notice was the sort of denial the ESPN sportscasters had about the whole thing. Going by their commentary, you would've seriously thought Brasil was dangerous throughout the match. But even with their frantic efforts in the last minutes, Brasil never seemed like it had much control of the game, and never looked like a real threat. (ONE -- count 'em -- ONE official shot on goal through the whole game.)

Anyway, Brasil's out, their national morale and stock exchanges will be in the toilet for a few days, but on the bright side I can let the World Cup fall slightly lower on my list of concerns. Apparently Ronaldinho can prioritize other interests as well.

In terms of rooting interest, I really did like what I saw from the French Saturday. This isn't some issue of pride -- I just really want to see Zidane and Henry play some more. You always hear about the legendary players like Beckam, Ronaldo, and Ronaldinho, but the one guy that really brought it this time appears to be Zidane.

This is also by the process of elimination. I positively hate the Italian team's flop-focused style of play. Portugal falls into kind of the same style, but actually nastier. Germany's style I can respect a little more, but they do seem a little thuggish as well. I'd prefer a Germany-France final for the game, and I'd watch the Italy-Portugal 3rd place match as a kind of window onto football hell, where two whiny, floppy, bullying teams make life miserable for each other, fans, and refs.

No comment

From a Guardian Unlimited review:

After flirting with Looney Tunes comedy, Hollywood pastiche, Peter Jackson-style grandiosity, and seafront pantomime, it eventually becomes clear what course the Pirates franchise has really plotted: a packed universe of characters; epic action; strange lands; freakish monsters; a curiously sexless central couple. This isn't an updated swashbuckler, it's a backdated Star Wars! The comparisons are too plentiful to put down to coincidence. Not only does the narrative arc parallel that of the Empire Strikes Back, but virtually every character here has a Star Wars equivalent. Mackenzie Crook and Lee Arenberg are the substitutes for R2D2 and C3PO, commenting from the sidelines, while Naomie Harris's swamp-dwelling prophetess is a Yoda surrogate. One wonders what George Lucas's reaction will be when he watches the movie.

Unfortunately, the Star Wars connection applies to Orlando Bloom, too. He's a Mark Hamill in the making. He's simply too boyish to conjure any sort of heroic authority. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if Keira Knightley turned out to be his sister, and there are hints that Depp's Jack Sparrow has the potential to do a Han Solo.

Don't look at me man, I just work here. Saw it last week and think it's worth knocking out a review for. I'll try that over this (hot damn!) 4 day weekend.

Well, do you?

Discrediting Americana has become something of a favorite theme in reality TV, or at least the supposedly highbrow ones like Antiques Roadshow. I haven't watched it much, but I understand the chief attraction is watching some middle-aged housewife get her cherished beliefs about the history of some well-guarded trinket dashed to pieces.

It's not that I don't enjoy this kind of thing (though I found I really didn't in that case), but that this kind of crap sat its fat ass on the timeslots once occupied by awesome specials where people flew helicopters over erupting volcanoes or showed all kinds of funky stuff through micro- or tele- scopes. In the end they're just different flavors of infotainment, but I really doubt the Roadshow has inspired many kids to become scientists and engineers.Those 'making of' specials about certain space fantasy epics were the very first place I learned about the very company I'm working for now. If appraisals of porcelain trinkets is the alternative to Yu-Gi-Oh these days, it's no wonder kids are getting less and less interested in educational entertainment or any of the things it inspires.

No, they're not Italian. And note the absence of red and green overalls.

Sci-Fi Channel's "100% Real"(1) Ghost Hunters series fits into all of this in that it mixes that crackpot-humiliation element with IR and false-color thermography footage of crap like I've absolutely never seen. blee turned me onto the show over a dinner conversation in which at least one pair of eyeballs rolled, but I sat rapt.

The reality show follows a pair of plumbers who, after (or often, instead of) fulfilling the obligations of work and family, run The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS), a paranormal investigations group. Taking calls from homeowners, innkeepers, and civil service officers in states ranging from bemused to concerned (rarely panicked), the pair spends one to two weekend nights free of charge at the site of said hauntings with some fairly sophisticated equipment and a team of wide-eyed cohorts.

At this point the show totally splits off from all of those ridiculous Halloween-time specials in which ambiguity is not so much considered as it is tapped and forcibly siphoned out of grainy footage and photography that would in all other cases prompt the reasonable person to consider better equipment rather than the influence of the supernatural. The pair, Jason and Grant, ask the things anybody should when they see some of this stuff and to their credit, in most of the shows they really do find zilch, or have to disappoint that wide-eyed cohort that got really excited over some lens flare or odd dust hit that they just found after sifting through several hours of footage.

The reveal of this utter lack of evidence to the homeowner or innkeeper very invested, sometimes financially, in their site's hauntings makes for that roadshow component. Particularly irritating are those old ladies that insist they or some family member has some sixth sense and throughout the investigation tries to spook people out by saying they feel like they're being watched or exclaiming "it's here!" or "what's that???" while gesturing off camera. Also the leaders of fraternal chapters to TAPS that by all appearances have taken time out from their busy action-figure collection circuits to freak out over some dust glint whose irregular shape they are convinced is the face and headdress of some Victorian-era bride tragically murdered on that site.

But, oh, that 20%. Provided they are indeed true to their word that they aren't and hate dicking around with evidence, you will quite likely be keeping a few more lights on around the house the evening after you watch an episode. True to their transparency, much of this footage they keep on their website and invite skepticism as Jason and Grant are themselves doggedly skeptical to the last in the majority of the cases.

Apparently they've built up enough of a following or encounter clients sufficiently invested in their would-be haunting that forgery comes up on occasion, and they do indeed catch it, as you'd discover in one of their deleted scenes. In one case a 'black shadow' literally looks like some guy zipping by in a dark cape, though there was enough skepticism of the skepticism that they felt it was worth presenting.

Ghosts and extreme, sudden changes in velocity are the two major fears of childhood I now crave. With ghosts I'm skeptical, but I like the idea of a universe with these kinds of things, even if in the distant future they turn out to be some quirk of quantum physics or what have you. Whatever it is, having some ambiguity and mystery in the universe keeps it interesting, and any show that deals with it without totally insulting my intelligence will sustain my attention. Finally having a non-seasonal show on the subject without some throaty voiceover intoning "... or is it???" at the end of each episode is very refreshing.


(1) The DVD packaging says as much.

RE: Brasil Futbol

Feeling a little better, but still a little queasy.

It's the law

This is my favorite ad ever for the World Cup. It's from 1998, when Brasil lost so badly in the final that conspiracy theories abound about some fix on the part of the team or Ronaldo or what have you.

That aside, though, I've been sort of lucky in that since the World Cup popped onto my radar in 1994(1) (as it did for much of the US, I imagine, since we hosted it), Brasil's been dominant, with the championship in '94, a second place in '98, and another championship in '02.

They've always been a threat, of course, but it's not like they win every single year, and I'm beginning to wonder if the law of averages has finally caught up to them this year. Brasil's first game last week was possibly the most horrifying thing I've ever seen from them. Maybe nostalgia has tainted my memory, but I'm not used to seeing them making that many bad passes and getting the ball stolen from them quite that much. Ronaldo's received a lot of grief about his weight gain, and given his performance Wednesday, it seems to be deserved. You really would've forgotten he was on the pitch.

One thing I learned this past visit to Brasil was that many folks there don't pay much attention to it until at least the qualifiers. So I don't feel like such a ridiculous poseur for not following club football there or here in the meantime. Some things I've learned:

1. It is indeed legitimately called 'soccer' in the English-speaking world. In England, where the modern version of the game was created complete with a common rule set conferred and drafted in 1848, 'soccer' is a contraction of 'assoc' football, itself a contraction of the full name, association football. They didn't just call it 'football' because there were two kinds -- association football and rugby football. Rugby football evolved into that thing we have a big annual bowl game for. I like to call soccer 'football' myself, but there's nothing wrong with calling it 'soccer' simply for clarity's sake.



2. The offside rule is the most frustrating thing about watching these games, sort of like the holding call in the NFL. It just seems to come up out of nowhere to negate spectacular plays and goals. Apparently the motivation for it back in the day was that people would just post guys back by the opponent's goal and do huge clearing kicks to them to knock into the goal. As to why that's a bad thing, I'd figure it's because the fun of soccer is watching folks move the ball up the field through a defense, not just punting the ball back and forth across the field.
   
   It does kill scoring, though. Also, some teams have exploited it by sort of scooting away from their own goal at crucial moments (often corner kicks) to draw the offside call on their opponent. FIFA revamped the rules back in 2003 into something somewhat more obtuse in some attempt to deal with this. Basically as it is now, simply being offside isn't necessarily an offense. It's based on the ref's opinion on if the player is interfering with a defender or using it to gain some kind of advantage in play. Given the officiating we saw in today's USA-Italy game, that's really, really scary.

Anyway, that's all that comes to mind for now. Waking up in the AM for the Brasil-Australia game. Hopefully we'll see some improvement.

1) 1994 might seem like a ridiculously late date for a native to take interest in World Cup, but frankly the family wasn't that into it as I grew up here, so I never knew. It's just one more of those things about my country of origin that I didn't really explore until late in my teenage years.

Vent!

I'm about a month into the new position. It's been a lot of fun, but I gotta admit it's really pushing me in some areas. I talked a bit before about the payroll and common titles(1): junior @rtist and assistant technic@l director, respectively. It's odd how the bureaucratese/payroll title sounds so much more organic. The common title is more in line with what was advertised and what I was expecting. Damned technocratic, though.

But I guess things never work out quite as expected, and I'm working a lot more these days in the 'junior @rtist' sense of my position, which is to say I'm working on shots. That's awesome, but the pressures remain for the technical stuff, and I feel like I'm dropping the ball on that end because the shot production stuff has been taking precedence, and frankly is a lot more fun.

I'm finding the tech stuff is remarkably like working at a supermarket. I generally know how stuff works, but I don't know where some obscure library or software update or patch is. They've got a nice system for all this, but in the end you still have to know what it's called, what version to get, who can answer questions on it, etc.. Software/command/library names perfectly sensible in some contexts can be impossible to intuit in slightly different ones. We've got a terrific alias for fellow @TDs, but I feel if I send more than about 10 messages to it per day I've begun to overstay my welcome, friendly and helpful as the other teammates continue to be.

An unexpected source of stress lately, though, has been people. Everyone else has been incredibly cool, but I feel like I might have been a little short with folks lately. Part of it is how people calling me or dropping by my desk totally interrupt my already clumsy juggling of different roles and duties. In my old position where stuff had gotten a little too easy, I'd welcome the interruption, but it's been a little aggravating in my current state where I'm still trying to get my bearings. I also think there's some inevitable arrogance that seeps in after any kind of promotion that I really, really should know better than to indulge. A rare luxury about the place I work is that I really do work with some sharp people, but I wonder if some of the things I've said these last weeks might give people the impression that I think otherwise.

Titanic on a boat!

Terrific combination:

1. Read the title essay in David Foster Wallace's anthology "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again". (Settle in -- it's at least 60 dense, footnoted pages, if I recall correctly.)


2. Watch "Poseidon".

At the risk of spoiling it for Grumpy, I'm going to have to disclose that Fun Thing details Wallace's experiences as 'your correspondent' for Harper's on a subsidized 7 Night Luxury Cruise. Poseidon details the experiences of a group of off-the-shelf characters trying to escape the same, except in their case the boat's been capsized by a rogue wave and lies belly up on the ocean taking on water from what was its top.

One of the things I've been enjoying about Wallace's correspondent pieces is how they mix vivid description, insightful observation, and multi-layered analysis in such a way that I almost feel like I don't actually have to experience the subject event myself anymore -- it really feels like I've been there.

So when Poseidon cuts to shots of the service staff working in the galley after the terrific long, sweeping shot of Josh Lucas jogging around on the decks of an entirely CG cruise ship, I remained fully engaged. For one, I wondered if they toiled under the same service-industry oppression that turned Wallace's insistence on carrying his own duffel bag to his cabin into something of a federal case, prompting a personal visit and apology for the deck's baggage handler's incompetency from the manager. I pondered the feasibility of sneaking one's girlfriend onto a cruise like one of the galley staff's characters had done when, as Wallace found, every nook of one's cabin is mysteriously cleaned to perfection anytime one leaves it for longer than 30 minutes. When the curtain went up on the saucy Latin songstress during the ship's formal New Year's party, I wondered if her act was preceded by a passenger talent show and hypnotist/comedian much like the main act at the final night's formal on Wallace's cruise.

Taking stock...

As we meet the characters, I wonder about the statistical aberration of having an ex-NYC mayor, an ex-Navy professional gambler, and so many young, attractive, pre-retirement people on the same cruise boat. I wonder how many of the bridge officers are Greek, which would have been consistent with Wallace's findings that most cruise lines were operated out of Greece, tending to skew the composition of the officers towards the same.

Basically, whenever large volumes of rushing, flooding, pouring, bubbling, drowning water weren't on screen, I had plenty of things to keep me occupied. So that I found the 'character-driven' moments not entirely unbearable will have to be taken with a huge grain of salt. Accomplishing that, the story was able to maintain at least some minimal alignment between what it wanted me to care about and what I actually did care about as I watched the passengers get abused by those spectacular torrents of water.

It's coming!

And they truly are spectacular, orgasmic in much the way Wallace describes in another piece of his, "F/X porn". I had wondered what else was to be done for CG water after Perfect Storm besides maybe tweaking a few things on the simulators and maybe doing a better job on the color. I saw that there were indeed many more interesting things to be done, particularly the colors we see as the ship's festive lighting gets smothered by cascades of whitewater and various systems short and blow out during the impact sequence. Also worth mentioning are the rather graphic scenes of humans getting incinerated in flash fires, dropping onto ballroom ceilings, or getting themselves crushed or impaled on various shipboard implements made hazardous simply by being flipped upside down.

You'll endure this all together with the characters, and by extension, Wallace. And as the characters finally poke their heads out above water in the end, you'll find an amazing synergy between them, your proverbial correspondent, and yourself as together you sigh and are just happy to have survived the experience.

I am not a Cylon!

Ever wonder why I say I grew up in this town but it seems nobody I 'knew' is around? Or that the few people who do are strangely connected either to Wushu (El 'Sickness') or military equipment (Jerry at the surplus?) Or how it seems most of my friends from college come from the same high school in, of ALL places, San Diego? Or my aesthetic affinity for machines and technology?

Stop wondering.



I had a childhood, dammit! See? I got pictures to prove it. I wasn't artificially created by machines in a plot to destroy humanity!

Just picked up a scanner, partly motivated by irrational exuberance,
partly by this mess of negatives I found while cleaning out the house a few weeks back. I don't know what happened, but most of the actual photos from my childhood have been missing pretty much since I started college. I figure it's a mix of bad organizational skills and moving two or three dozen times. Not everything is there, and some are my brother's forays into photography (not half bad, actually), but I guess at this point I'll take what I can get.

I picked up the Canon Canoscan LiDE 500F(1), mainly 'cause it could fit in one of my drawers, looked cool, and happened to get some nice reviews. Its film and negative scanning definitely is definitely intended for casual use, though -- scanning several slides takes a lot more mucking about than I'd like. I'll have to exercise much editorial license in what gets preserved and what will be lost to the ages.

That photo is unflattering, but so appropriate.

(1) I admit I mention this so precisely because I'm curious what ads would get put up for it.

Art School Space

It doesn't take very much exposure to the arts for one to develop all kinds of wild notions of just what the hell it is that goes on in art school. Surely, most of us have had our sense of aesthetics and taste violated and molested by some piece of tripe flung limply at us from straight out of left, failing to go the distance and instead of landing solidly in our grasp, drops short, splatters, makes a huge mess, takes a bad hop, and beans us squarely on the temple.

Coming to and nursing our wounds, we can only wonder. Why? WHY???

And then... HOW?

Art School Confidential (the film) doesn't answer this, and in many ways, I don't think any of us expect it to. I was hoping simply for therapy of the sort 'Office Space' offered to white collar cube-dwellers everywhere. Office Space didn't just expose the evils of corporate platitudes and politeness, it gave us *coping* strategies. All other countermeasures exhausted, we could retreat into safety by putting the vapid, blithely ignorant boss into the Lumberg slot, the infuriatingly chipper co-worker either into the 'case-of-the-Mondays' woman or that tool with all the flare from Chotchkie's(1). We'd then chuckle a bit with the co-workers that understood and found it in ourselves to slog through the rest of the day.(2)

Confidential offers no such retreat. When(3) you again find yourself stuck in an overlong, plodding 'art' film or mediocre gallery exhibition, you won't have acquired any comic archetypes to cling to while you sip on your smuggled-in flask or overpriced glass of Merlot.

From an environment rich with eccentrics and inflated egos and what I'm told is brilliant source material, Confidential takes on the style of the conventional college coming-of-age comedy complete with dopey romance, slacker cohort/guru-figure, sublimely-perfect aryan villain figure, and occasional interjections by the world-weary faculty by equal parts accomplished and mediocre.

Much like Office Space, Confidential seems to split into two films. You'll really find the parallels striking. The First half sets up the satire. The second half switches gears and becomes something of a caper flick, methodically tying up all the loose ends and adding a lot of uncharacteristic action.

Given the spectacular disconnect that can occur between artist and audience in some projects, the satire is incredibly unsatisfying. There are freaks spouting pretentious, half-baked bullshit, of course, but not enough and not to the degree that we can believe that these are the same people that have inflicted such suffering upon us in theaters and galleries across the country.

Oddly enough, I'm left admiring somewhat the abrupt switch to the caper mode in the second half. While parts seem out of character for this kind of film, there's a cynicism underlying it that rings true and deserved deeper exploration for the kind of darkly comic take that the overall movie would've benefited from.

The cast does fine, but it really would've worked better as an ensemble presentation than focusing on a few central characters. Malkovich stands out, as well he should. The rest of the cast doesn't really offend either, and overall the film seems competently made. I'm just left stumped at how a movie could make art school students boring in comparison to office workers.

(1) Even writing this down now, I'm compelled to reach out and strangle a small rodent or something when I think of the guy.
(2) Comforting, but not necessarily a healthy thing. As many have observed, the irony of the sort that office humor sources like Dilbert and, alas, Office Space mine may indeed be the kind raw resource that the proverbial /Man/ needs to help keep us all placated enough not to affect actual change. Basically, if taping up a Dilbert strip about some grave corporate injustice that mirrors your own or quoting Office Space behind your manager's back satisfies your sense of insurgency, who's really benefiting? It's not entirely a rhetorical question.
(3) Not 'if'.