Site-ings

The Philippines is a predominantly Catholic country, but most people I know would readily agree that for most Filipinos, fulfilling the tenets of their faith is largely determined by convenience. If you felt even a twinge of guilt reading the previous sentence, then both you and Gil Grissom would find Absolution Online worth at least the length of time it takes to send an errant pop-up back to virtual Hell.

I don't know what bugs me more though, the fact that their latest update has this proofread gem, "We should always remember that harming against this amazing planet is a sin," that the same update goes on to intone that "While they are not a Christian group, we feel they should be supported - they do not appear to suffer from the blight of paganism which taints so many environmental groups," or that they have an eConfessional.

Still, don't let me stop you from checking it out.

Picture of Gil Grissom comes courtesy of microservios.

Of Mansions and Marriages

When it comes to finance, I could hardly be called an expert; my financial acumen is roughly the equivalent of Homer Simpson's. But I came across some rather interesting articles in Slate that some numbers people might find interesting.

In his article entitled Haunted Mansion, Daniel Gross reports that according to a working paper titled "Where are the Shareholders' Mansions?" David Yermack of New York University and Crocker Liu of Arizona State argue that the bigger the CEO's mansion, the worse their companies' stocks perform.

Gross writes:

Yermack and Liu insist there's a solid academic reason to look through the keyholes. They want to figure out if a mansion purchase signals commitment or cashing out. A CEO who buys a 12,000-square-foot mansion could be showing his intent to stay for the long haul and to bust his butt so that he'll have the cash to pay off the huge mortgage. In which case, you'd expect stocks of the companies where the CEO just bought an obscenely large house to thrive. Buy!

Or the purchase of an absurdly large house could signal entrenchment: The CEO is too comfortable with his position and his personal finances. He has made so much money that he can't really be bothered with running the company. And the willingness to spend gazillions on a house—not to mention the furnishings, artwork, and baubles to fill it—betokens a general inattentiveness to costs. In which case, you'd expect stocks of the companies where the CEO just bought an obscenely large house to fare poorly. Sell!

Then, there's the relatively obscure William McAdoo, the man that Daniel Gross (again!) terms as The Unknown Financial Superhero. The most interesting part of this article deals with the convergence of skill, determination, and, for the lack of a better word, luck, which allowed McAdoo to well, do what he did:

Why did McAdoo triumph? Silber argues that it's because the former railroad executive, who had no formal economics education, thought like a businessman. He acted quickly and decisively, and focused on an exit strategy. Of course, McAdoo could not have succeeded without the support of President Woodrow Wilson, who happened to be his father-in-law. In March 1914, McAdoo had made one of the smartest career moves any executive can make: He got engaged to the boss's daughter.


Picture of Homer Simpson comes courtesy of Zapin.info.

Acquired Tastes: The Way Of The John-D

I will never truly go on the record as being a child of the '80s and '90s, but I will go as far as expressing a more than academic interest in the popular culture commonly associated with that time frame. Following that vein, is there anyone who represents the '80s and '90s as completely as Patrick Swayze? Swayze either starred in, or played a pivotal role onscreen for the following movies: Youngblood, Dirty Dancing, Road House, and Ghost. Doesn't anyone find it even remotely interesting that Swayze, following an improbably glorious run of finding work in the aforementioned popular cult classics, simply vanished off the face of the planet after 1991?

Patrick Swayze is an interesting enough pop culture phenomenon to at least nudge the A.V. Club to begin an autopsy, er, inquiry into, if not his whereabouts, then his influence on the generation he meant the most to.

Noel Murray writes:

For a good long stretch in the late '80s and early '90s, Patrick Swayze was the go-to guy for Hollywood casting agents looking for a rugged action hero with heart and soul—deep, but not too deep. Whole websites and mini-cults have sprung up around Swayze's Road House character, a philosophy major with a Zen-like understanding of when to fight and when to "be nice." But Road House is just one tile in Swayze's mosaic of manhood. Below are some key quotes that outline how anyone can become the dancin'-est, truckin'-est, surfin'-est tough guy on the block. How to be, in essence, "The Swayze."


If only there was a need for the emergence of a thoughtful, mildly amusing, endearing, philosophically-inclined, but fundamentally happy teacher with abs that were used in the Spartan movie, 300, and the widest repertoire of cheesy power ballads from the '80s, '90s, and beyond: to wit, "The John-D". Now wouldn't that be an improvement on "The Swayze"? I'm thinking of turning off the comments for this particular post, by my faith in humanity prevents me from doing so. Any thoughts?

Picture of Patrick Swayze from Point Break comes courtesy of A.V. Club

Picture of Yours Truly need not be credited, because The John-D need only answer to himself.

Acquired Tastes: The Onion Dispatch

I have to admit. This made me laugh out loud.

Heroic Secret Service Agent Takes Question Intended For Bush

WASHINGTON, DC—Agent Anthony Panucci dives in between the president and a hostile reporter.

The blurb, which is complemented by that fantastic picture you see to your right, is classic The Onion. And in that vein, it gets better, almost as if this were some throwback article from the early 21st century:

WASHINGTON, DC—White House Secret Service Agent Anthony Panucci is being called a hero after intercepting what could have been a critically damaging question aimed directly at President Bush during a press conference in the Rose Garden Tuesday.

According to eyewitnesses, the press conference began with Bush fielding routine questions about March Madness and the dedication of a World War II memorial near his home in Crawford, TX. However, approximately seven minutes into the event, a lone reporter somehow managed to maneuver to the front of the press corps group and fire off a loaded, highly charged question concerning Bush's role in the controversial dismissal of eight federal attorneys last year.

"I just followed my training and did what I was supposed to do—put myself between the president and irreparable harm," said Panucci, who is credited with safely deflecting the attack away from Bush, as well as acting before the reporter had a chance to get off a follow-up question at close range."

Enjoy the rest of the article by clicking at the beginning of this entry, and while you're at it, have fun sending the entire article to friends in the States. Hey, there's got to be some drawbacks to being in one of the richest, most powerful nations in the world, right? Peace!

Picture comes courtesy of America's Finest News Source.

Of Lies and Men (Writing Them, That Is)

I'm still checking papers, and while the general quality of the papers have not really improved, at least I haven't caught anyone trying to pass off other people's ideas as their own. Fellow blogger and academic Brian Belen already discussed plagiarism in the context of the new technologies we use to communicate with other people, and it's worth checking out, if only to click on that link to myself. Ah, vanity! I admit...I have yet to escape your rich, rose scented clutches. At any rate, Brian's observations on academic dishonest are worth revisiting:

Anyone who knows me is well aware that I take a very hard line about plagiarism. If memory serves, in the two years I spent teaching at the University of Asia and the Pacific I caught upwards of twenty cases of plagiarism among my students. Within an academic environment, plagiarism strikes me as a cop-out for laziness rooted in poor values, undoubtedly performed with malice. It doesn't take that much effort to cite a source, and plagiarism belies an intention to deceive, where "submission for submission's sake" or "the need to make the grade" become more important than the learning that underlie such requirements. This is the same point I would try to get across to my students: Have some self-respect. Take pride in your work. And exert the effort to give credit where credit is due.

Brian's remarks on the roots of plagiarism are worth considering to round out Slate's discussion of media ethics in reportage. This article resonated with me not only because of the all-too-real spectre of dishonesty, or the gross disrespect shown one of my favorite essayists, Anne Fadiman, but for the remarkably rational and thoughtful way in which Slate editor Jack Shafer concludes:

Randall's wartime lies remind journalists that if a source's story is too good to be true, it probably isn't. The Sedaris inquiry instructs readers not to become too invested in a personal history that seems too funny, too sad, or too true. And the Schott affair suggests ever so gently that sometimes memory is a liar.

The lesson here, as always, is that honesty is truly the best policy. In the end, the truth will set you free.

I better rest before getting back to checking papers though. The fact that I rattled off two successive clichés doesn't bode well for the quality of my checking.

Picture comes courtesy of Glatt Plagiarism Services, Inc..

Acquired Tastes: Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere

My mother-in-law has an absolute passion for literature and learning, which is why I wasn't even mildly surprised when I spied, next to her copy of Elie Wiesel's Messengers of God, the graphic adaptation of Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, a distinct combination of eclectic intelligentsia that merely confirms that Mama Dodie is a nerd of the highest order. Still, I borrowed her copy of Mike Carey's adaptation of Neil Gaiman's first full length novel with trepidation. Given my critical misgivings (and wholehearted, gleeful appreciation) of the cinematic adaptation of Frank Miller's 300, I understood all too clearly the dangers of adaptation.

Fortunately, we're in good hands with Mike Carey. In his introduction to Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere (a clunky title which is probably a source of profound embarrassment to Mr. Gaiman), Carey writes:

I was asked in an interview recently what I thought of the Constantine movie, and I said that it was very enjoyable as long as you didn't go into it expecting "the film of the book." What that glib comment conceals is the extent--the enormous extent--to which any adaptation splits itself off from its source and becomes its own journey: its own answer to a set of questions that only formulate themselves as you set to work. Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings, Ridley Scott's Bladerunner, Brecht and Weil's Threepenny Opera, the stage versions of The Producers and His Dark Materials, they're all straight jazz riffs on their wonderful originals rather than straight translations. Because straight translation from one medium to another is both impossible and undesirable.

It is this understanding of the problems involved in adaptation, as well as the gorgeous art by Glenn Fabry, that probably accounts for my enjoyment of Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere. I heartily recommend it, even if you aren't slogging through less than triumphant adaptations of scholastic thought that my students have been submitting lately. It's one way to get through the painstaking task of walking the fine line between constructive criticism and the utter annihilation that shoddy academic work deserves.

Oh well. One has to be several kinds of madman to even want to teach, really. To borrow liberally from Mr. Gaiman's insight into the character of Emperor Joshua Norton in "Three Septembers and a January", my madness keeps me sane.

Picture of Neverwhere comes courtesy of Amazon.

Acquired Tastes: Tolkien and Herbert

Just as soon as I was ready to return to the daunting pile of papers which currently constitute my very own Annapurna, I stumbled across the startling news that the The Children of Húrin, the posthumous Lord of the Rings novel that Christopher Tolkien spent close to three decades preparing for publication will be released worldwide on April 17, 2007. Appropriately enough, breaking news of this sort got an enthusiastic response from geek haven Fark, where in true geek fashion the responses were largely negative, if only because Tolkien has always been a sort of a rite of passage for all would-be geeks. While it would be interesting to offer a digression on the schismatic qualities of Tolkien's work, that's a post for another day. Instead, here's a sample of the comments that the aforementioned news spawned:

Nerdlinger

I will never claim LOTR is great literature, but seriously, if you are in a bookstore you should pick up the Silmarillion and read a page or two. You will be willing to nominate LOTR for the Nobel Prize after you stop throwing up.

Faethe

You have to be into way sappy stuff. It's cheese. English cheese. Stiltson. Good on everything, but way stinky.

Tolkien is like that.

Oddly enough, the writer who get the raw end of the deal for this particular post was Frank Herbert's son, Brian. To wit:

Paulson

I hope he doesn't follow in the footsteps of Frank Herbert's son. The stuff he pissed out is an abomination to the Dune series and literature in general.

CowboyNinjaD

The new Dune books are pretty good if you ignore the weak writing, unlikely motivations of characters and at least a half-dozen things that contradict the first 100 pages of the original book.

But other than that, they're awesome.

Bring on the whored-out version of LOTR.

theexistent

Brian Herbert could be forgiven his sin of being a piss-poor writer (along with Kevin J. Anderson) if he at least evidenced an understanding of his father's Dune novels. Given that in his first prequel he conflicts with canon in the SECOND FREAKING SENTENCE it was pretty apparent he had no intention of remaining faithful to his father's vision. It also showed up that his lame excuse of writing sequels (he found his father's notes) was absolute BS. I hope there is an afterlife just so his father can give him an epic azz whooping for running such a beautiful universe into the sand.

Picture of The Children of Húrin comes courtesy of Amazon.

Acquired Tastes: The Onion Dispatch

I apologize for the lack of recent activity on this blog. Checking papers is an art which demands nothing less than one's very soul, if only out of respect for the amount of work that my students put in. And still, my workload looms like Mount Parnassus itself. Sigh. At any rate, here's a little something that tided me over when I was despairing at either my inability to teach, my students' seeming inability to learn, and sometimes, even both:

Child-Safety Experts Call For Restrictions On Childhood Imagination

WASHINGTON, DC—"By constantly reminding kids that they're human children with no magical skills, you ensure that they will live a prolonged life," child-safety expert Kenneth McMillan said.

Despite the fact that the article above represents the very antithesis of what I aspire to as a teacher, the following excerpts made me chuckle, just a bit:

"If your children are allowed to unlock their imaginations, anything from a backyard swing set to a child's own bedroom can be transformed into a dangerous undersea castle or dragon's lair," McMillan said. "But by encouraging your kids to think linearly and literally, and constantly reminding them they can never be anything but human children with no extraordinary characteristics, you can better ensure that they will lead prolonged lives."

As well as the dénouement:

Unfortunately, removing everything from a child's field of view that could stimulate his active young mind is extremely time-consuming, and infeasible as a long-term solution, McMillan acknowledges. "To truly protect your children, you must go to great lengths to completely eliminate their curiosity, crush their spirit of amazement, and eradicate their childlike glee. Watch for the danger signs: faraway expressions, giggle fits, and a general air of carefree contentment."

Added McMillan: "Remember, if you see a single sparkle of excitement in their eyes, you haven't done enough."

Hopefully, the rigor with which I check papers will somehow translate into helping kids rediscover a sense of wonder, that if they try hard enough, they will experience the many joys implicit in producing quality work. I know, it's a stretch. But even we teachers can dream...

Acquired Tastes: Anthony Lane

In my posted comments on Jason de Villa's elegantly informative entry on magazines worth checking out, I wrote:

Thanks for the heads up on Esquire. I checked out some back issues and in terms of content and fluid layout design, it’s top notch. I still prefer my The New Yorker, but I suppose it’s because I’m horribly sentimental, and a little Anthony Lane is better than no Anthony Lane at all.

To which Jason replied:

John-D: If you weren’t my friend I would say “What a literary snob!” Haha!

Well, allow this literary snob to point you in the direction of a more insightful, bitingly intelligent, and wonderfully witty snob, Mr. Anthony Lane. In his latest review, Mr. Lane takes on Adam Sandler in "Reign Over Me" and Sandra Bullock in "Premonition", much to the delight of this, admittedly, snobbish Lane fan:

Of all the things to make you pause, hand on wallet, before shelling out for a movie ticket, try this: a film about the aftermath of 9/11, starring Adam Sandler. What possible cultural need, one might ask, could be met by such a project? It is thus with a degree of amazement that I find myself nominating “Reign Over Me,” written and directed by Mike Binder, as a movie that might be worth your time.

Later, he makes some rather telling points regarding Sandler's startling effectivity in some decidely un-Happy Gilmore cinematic fare:

I cannot remember laughing at a single scene of his comedies, but here, for once, his chosen persona—the slurring and disconnected goofball—makes sense, although I still think of him as an oddly hollow presence on which to build a movie. His grief is less convincing than his vacancy, and one effect of “Reign Over Me” is to make you ask, Who will improve on Sandler?

I rather like Sandler's occasional flirtation with what could be considered good movies, like Spanglish and the decidedly un-Happy Gilmore art-house movie, Punch-Drunk Love. He might be an actor of very little range, but perhaps it is that sort of "hollow presence" and "vacancy" that allows talented storytellers to use him to tell good stories, where his celebrity is used to attract people to stories largely bereft of the distraction of an overwhelming star presence. Didn't this same quality make Keanu Reeves indispensable in The Matrix?

Illustration of Adam Sandler and Don Cheadle is by Edel Rodriguez, from The New Yorker.

Acquired Tastes: The Onion Dispatch

Here's another well-conceived sarcastic riposte from America's Finest News Source.

'Well, You Try To Reconstruct Iraq,' Says U.S. Defensive Dept.

WASHINGTON, DC-Responding to recent criticism of reconstruction efforts in Iraq, the U.S. Defensive Department released a statement to the public Monday suggesting that perhaps they could do better, since they're obviously so smart.

The petulant, defensive tone that the faux press release adopts is pitch perfect, and the humor is charmingly self-deprecating and positively dripping with elegant irony. One of the better recent efforts of The Onion. Here's some more "defensive" goodness:

"Well, it looks like you American people have figured it all out, then," the statement read in part. "There's no need for the old government to do anything, because the citizens know just how to handle this whole reconstruction-of-Iraq thing. Well, go ahead! If it's so simple, and if you're so smart, then what's stopping you? Come on."

"Oh, gosh!" the statement continued. "Wait! It looks like Iraq is a whole big country! And it seems that someone just fought a war there, to oust a despotic regime! So, gee, this might take a while, huh?"

Shakespeare and Basketball

I wasn't going to post any entries since it's the end of the semester and I have quite a lot of checking to do, but I couldn't resist. I got to this wonderfully written blog entry via Henry Abbott's new True Hoop site on ESPN. While Henry's migration to the self-proclaimed Worldwide Leader in Sports is news in itself, I decided to save the inevitable vitriol involved and instead credit True Hoop (and, by association, the Worldwide Leader) for leading me to Celtic Shakespeare. Here are some excerpts worth considering:

On the raison d'etre for the post:

I have seldom been accused of being overly cultured. I have stains on all my best shirts, eat with little to no regard for table manners, and I'm "that guy" that makes out of place comments at parties that stop conversations dead in their tracks.

However, I do hold on to at least one sophisticated acquired taste. I love Shakespeare. I've seen dozens of plays and read more than half of the Bard's works.

A lot of people simply can't stand the language and/or don't appreciate the poetry weaved into his prose. This will largely be lost on those people, but oh well. To everyone else, I hope you enjoy and feel free to chime in with your own in the comments.

On hope in Boston:

Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York - Richard III

It has been a long, hard winter of discontent for the Celtics, but there is hope for a glorious summer. We need a lot of luck and a lot of hard work by the management team. But there is hope ahead.

"Out, damned spot! out, I say!" --Lady Macbeth

To Vin Baker’s cap hit. The blight of Vin Baker will finally pass into the history books. We bought out his contract long ago, but the cap hit was spread across several years to lessen the blow. As of this summer, he’s no longer on the books!


On the talented, but sometimes overenthusiastic Bill Simmons:

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, and tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief. – Polonius (in Hamlet)

To Bill Simmons. If you read the context of this quote you’ll see the irony of it. Polonius is like Simmons in that he believes nothing is worth saying unless you can stretch it out to 20,000 words. I love Bill, but sometimes the best writing comes in small packages.


Picture of William Shakespeare comes courtesy of The Classic Literature Library Presents William Shakespeare.

Picture of Bill Simmons comes courtesy of Charlie Powell, in Slate.

Acquired Tastes: The Onion Dispatch

It's that time of the semester again, where teachers have to dig deep into themselves, to somehow uncurdle the milk of human kindness, so that the papers that they have to check are graded fairly objectively. To fortify myself for the arduous task of helping raw sentence fragments and non-sequiturs grow into elegantly balanced sentences and genuinely insightful papers characterized by wit and clarity of thought, I came upon the following, which I hope you will enjoy.

Girl Moved To Tears By Of Mice And Men Cliffs Notes

CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA—A visibly shaken Grace Weaver said she never wanted the synopsis to end.

Choice excerpts:

CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA—In what she described as "the most emotional moment" of her academic life, University of Virginia sophomore communications major Grace Weaver sobbed openly upon concluding Steinbeck's seminal work of American fiction Of Mice And Men's Cliffs Notes early last week.

"This book has changed me in a way that only great literature summaries can," said Weaver, who was so shaken by the experience that she requested an extension on her English 229 essay. "The humanity displayed in the Character Flowchart really stirred something in me. And Lennie's childlike innocence was beautifully captured through the simple, ranch-hand slang words like 'mentally handicapped' and 'retarded.'"

Added Weaver: "I never wanted the synopsis to end."

Heroic Computer Dies To Save World From Master's Thesis

Professors lauded the laptop for taking the literary atrocity with it into oblivion.

Choice excerpts:

WALTHAM, MA—A courageous young notebook computer committed a fatal, self-inflicted execution error late Sunday night, selflessly giving its own life so that professors, academic advisors, classmates, and even future generations of college students would never have to read Jill Samoskevich's 227-page master's thesis, sources close to the Brandeis University English graduate student reported Monday.

The brave laptop, even after fulfilling its mission, steadfastly resists a technician's data-recovery attempts.

"This fearless little machine saved me from unspoken hours of exasperated head-scratching and eyestrain, as well as years of agonizing self-doubt over my decision to devote my life to teaching," said professor John Rebson, who had already read through three drafts of Samoskevich's sprawling, 38,000-word dissertation, titled A Hermeneutical Exploration Of Onomatopoeia In The Works Of William Carlos Williams As It May Or May Not Relate To Post-Agrarian Appalachia. "It was an incredible act of bravery. This laptop sacrificed itself in order to put an end to Jill's senseless rambling."

If the humor is lost on any students reading this post (specifically, those who are busy trying to complete the final requirements for my classes), read these again in a couple of weeks. Till then, hang in there. Enjoy!

Acquired Tastes: Steve Nash

There's no question that the likes of Kobe, LBJ, D-Wade, Melo, Mister Zero, et al, are more athletic and more talented than the league's reigning MVP. But, as long as he has the basketball in his hands, none of these super-duper stars can match Steve Nash's sheer genius (Rosen, 2007).

Ever since that crusty old coot Charley Rosen became a believer in the wonder that is Steve Nash, which the normally grumpy Rosen giddily capped with a ringing endorsement of Suns basketball after that delightful Suns-Mavericks game where Nash willed the Suns to victory in Dallas, I suppose it is time to seriously reconsider Steve Nash for an unprecedented third regular season MVP trophy. I've seen quite a number of talented point guards in my lifetime, but I've never seen anyone make his team better, in such a joyful fashion, the way Nash does.

Nash's particular genius, I suspect, has a great deal to do with his documented excellence in another team sport, football. Here's a fascinating excerpt from The Arizona Republic:

On his first birthday, Nash received a soccer ball as a present. Nash's father, John, played for a semiprofessional league in England before moving to Johannesburg, South Africa, where a better-paying team was courting him. The family soon relocated to Canada because Nash's parents didn't want their son exposed to a culture of apartheid.

A love for soccer moved with the family.

Although Nash excelled in a variety of sports in high school, the year he was both his school's chess tournament champion and soccer MVP best foreshadowed what was to come.

"I've always thought soccer was a good explanation of who is he as a basketball player," said brother, Martin, 29, a professional soccer player in Canada. "Soccer is not a sport where you can be an individual. The role he played in soccer, playmaker, basically the point guard, is kind of the role he played in every sport, from rugby to lacrosse to hockey."

Steve Nash said people tell him that he "looks like a soccer player playing basketball."

"I'm not sure how it's manifested itself, but it certainly had an impact on me," he said.

This theory is supported enthusiastically even by football analysts. According to SoccerBlog.com:

Steve Nash said people tell him that he "looks like a soccer player playing basketball." In a radio interview he talks about soccer and its similarities to basketball, " the same angles, timing, and using space to your advantage." There is truth in his words. Many foreign born NBA stars who come from strong soccer playing countries seem to show much more creativity than their American counterparts. We see it in Dirk Nowitzki and Manu Ginobili (who unfortunately seems to have picked up the less salubrious aspects of soccer) Nash feels that is so. `You see it a lot in international players the influence soccer has had.

"It allowed them to gain an advantage somewhere along the line. Whether it be agility or footwork, or passing angles and finding creative ways to get the ball either to the basket or to pass it to someone. I think there is something to be transferred from each sport."

As one who plays, and fails to excel, in both sports, I can see how Nash's ability to create opportunities for his teammates where none are apparent is directly related to the mindset required of a football player. Short of recommending that aspiring Filipino basketball stars should start with developing their budding ball skills with football, and then fine tune their basketball specific skills from there, let me end this post with some Steve Nash football goodness. Click here and here. Enjoy!

Geeks Bearing Gifts

Allow me to share something that my wife stumbled on while checking her students' papers on classical literature.

On the one hand, consider the movie Helen of Troy, an Emmy-nominated television series with surprisingly good reviews.

On the other, consider the movie Troy, which was nominated for The Teen Choice Awards, and is burdened by, charitably, mixed reviews.

Now let us consider the efforts of forum users Cup of Jabba, Mithrandir, crevette, and MetalMan713, where they discuss, in true geek fashion, the merits of one over the other. To wit:


Troy had good parts.... Those being all the men wearing short skirts, leather and a fine layer of sweat and grime.

May angels sing Wolfgang Peterson to his sleep every night for keeping the women clothed and having the men strip at a moment's notice. Praise be to whatever closeted homo-erotic urges he was losing the fight with on this movie. Hosannah in the highest to whomever he hired to keep the men oiled and shiny. They did a bang up job.

It's worth wasting time on. Trust me. Always make time for forums with a plethora of user names inspired by Star Wars, Tolkien, or anime.

The I.C.C. Cricket World Cup, via "The Wanker!"

Ever since Sports Guy penned his entertaining, and ultimately misguided guide to the English Premiere League, I've been a Michael Davies fan due, oddly enough, to Simmons'preview of Chelsea:

Celebrity Fans: Michael Caine and fellow Page 2 columnist Michael Davies. As I mentioned earlier, I wanted to find a different team than Davies so we could have heated e-mail exchanges and use insulting words like "wanker."

After hurriedly googling (which, according to Wikipedia's entry on google is an acceptable term to refer to "to use the Google search engine to obtain information on the Internet"), I discovered that Michael Davis is not only charmingly funny, in that particularly deprecating British sort of way, but he is remarkably astute about what makes distinctly European sports worth following. Check out the mercenary work he did for ESPN, for starters.

He has another column on the self-proclaimed Worldwide Leader in Sports (which, if you've been paying attention, I've mentioned a second time without directly linking to) which helps demystify the wonderful world of cricket for us ignoramuses so thoroughly Americanized that we hardly know that the sport exists, much less, means so much to people worldwide. Enjoy the link, but not ESPN!

Picture of Michael Davies comes courtesy of (sigh) that which must be acknowledged, but not enjoyed. Damn my enslavement to proper citation, even to sports organizations dedicated to thoroughly homogenizing sports news content!

Decent?

At times, one could consider the description "decent" an indictment. Consider for example the exchange below:

"How was your meal?"
"Decent."

Isn't that eerily similar to:

"How was your date?"
"Mabait."
"No, really. How was your date?"

Which is why when Luigi Bercades and I stumbled onto Decent Films Guide, I approached it with the deep noncommitment implicit in the retort, "Mabait".

It didn't help that the very first line in About Decent Films read: "Welcome to the Decent Films Guide, a site of film appreciation, information, and criticism informed by Christian faith."

Fortunately, it gets a whole lot better from there. While I cannot bring myself to agree with some of the reviews that Mr. Greydanus pens, I have to admire the discipline with which he adheres to a rational Christian perspective, as in his review of the film American Beauty:

"Some movies have a moral. I say that as a mere statement of fact, with no implication that either having or not having a moral necessarily makes a movie better or worse. Some movies have a moral; American Beauty — and this is also a mere observation, not a value judgment — has an aesthetic."

As such, I suggest that people who are genuinely interested in exploring an overtly Christian film aesthetic to head on over to Decent Films Guide to, if not agree, then argue with Mr. Greydanus's thoughtful reviews. It's the "decent" thing to do, I suppose.

Picture Credits:
The person depicted above is, by no stretch of the imagination, "mabait".

Acquired Tastes: A.V. Club Features

The A.V. Club has an interesting feature entitled Inventory: 14 cover songs that are better than the originals. While most of their examples might seem unfamiliar (at least to these ears), their recommendations are generally well-thought of, and the comments posted by the A.V. Club readers provide an excellent source for referrals. Here are some choice recommendations from both the A.V. Club authors and some readers.

From A.V. Club:

The Mountain Goats, "The Sign"

Though he doesn't play it any more, Mountain Goats leader John Darnielle turned his interpretation of Ace Of Base's cheesy mid-'90s hit into one of the best covers ever performed onstage. There's a relatively straight version of it—with the programming replaced by an acoustic guitar, of course—on the Songs For Peter Hughes seven-inch (which was later included on the Bitter Melon Farm compilation), but when Darnielle played it live, he'd pepper it with the Swedish band's backstory. The result was beautifully hilarious, and not just because he could get a club full of hip indie kids to enthusiastically sing along to the chorus. Though Darnielle starts off the recorded version by saying "I never get tired of this song," he eventually eliminated it from his set list because, as he recently explained, "It sort of seemed like every indie band in the world had some pop staple they played for laughs. I really loved 'The Sign,' thought it was an awesome song, [and] didn't want anything to do with anything that might resemble liking something ironically."

From reader (come on), 5:12 PM Mon March 12, 2007:

all along the watchtower

by come on


i was really disappointed (but not particularly) surprised to see hendrix's "all along the watchtower" on this list. "searing and eerie" is an apt enough description of the dylan original, and i suppose the hendrix version is more "epic" but i don't think that makes it better.

"all along the watchtower" is a disquieting, apocalyptic song, but hendrix doesn't really seem attentive to that in his version. he turns it into a fist-pumping anthem, and it sounds like it doesn't really matter what words he's singing. his version may be louder and noisier, but dylan's is actually *scary*.

the truth is that however many people try, nobody does dylan better than dylan. there are plenty of serviceable dylan covers, but most of them tend to miss something about the original. dylan, despite all the knocks against his voice, was a great singer--for the simple reason that he always sounded like he *meant* it.

this, i think, is the real secret to great covers. this list's most glaring failure is the absence of any covers by johnny cash, and cash sang great covers because, like dylan, he always meant what he sang.

the best covers, though, find something in the song that nobody else knew was there to begin with, and cash did this better than anyone else, i think. U2's original version of "one" is intolerably preachy and overdramatic, but cash's graceful understatement make it deeply affecting. or, to take a different kind of example, look at the cover of "thunder road" bonnie prince billy did with tortoise. their version of the song is on a completely different emotional register than springsteen's, but it also sounds like something they found in the song itself.

All in all, a pretty good thread, and one that provided many new leads for me to download on Frostwire. While I don't have the time, really, to sift through all the reader suggestions, I would welcome the efforts of people who would (hint, hint).

Any other great covers out there?

Picture of Ace of Base comes courtesy of Jerzbear.
Picture of Johnny Cash comes courtesy by way of Amazon.

Acquired Tastes: The UA&P Chorale

Ever since my wife and I discovered that our then hyperactive one-year old bundle of joy was no match for the first seven songs of their debut CD, "One", we've had a very high opinion of
the University of Asia and the Pacific (UA&P) Chorale. Sure, the soporific effect of Dona Els Requiem or Sicut Cervus is better than Benadryl on a long international flight with no layovers, but there is more to the UA&P Chorale than the simple ability to buy some much needed rest for both baby and parents.

To this day, long car trips with Juan are not complete without listening to the Chorale's Duerme Negrito (a personal favorite of Gabbie Reyes), The Lion Sleeps Tonight, and the wonderfully inventive Rubber Duckie (which they greeted us with after their triumphant return from Greece after winning gold medals in the 23rd International Choral Festival of Preveza - 11th International Competition of Sacred Music).

Here's an invitation from their indefatigable Audience Development and Marketing Officer Marie Puyat:

Take a break and enjoy a relaxing evening of music with the UA&P Chorale and choirmaster Danilo Monte as they present their first concert for 2007…


"Tunay Na Ligaya"


This Friday
March 16, 2007
at 7:45 in the evening

Study Hall B
Ground Floor, APEC Communications Bldg.
University of Asia and the Pacific
Pearl Drive, Ortigas Center, Pasig City


Featuring an all-new repertoire of pop and jazz love songs, including:

* Tunay Na Ligaya
* Di Bale Na Lang
* You
* Tea for Two

…and many more!


FREE ADMISSION!!!

That certainly sounds better than an evening spent fuming over the state of Philippine politics, or the travesty that is David Caruso.

Picture of the UA&P Chorale in Preveza comes courtesy of The Official Blog Site of the University of Asia and the Pacific Chorale, which is quite a mouthful, but trust me, they have mouths full of joy.

Acquired Tastes: Not David Caruso!

As my last class didn't end quite the way I expected it to, not quite the definition of tragedy, but definitely somewhere along the definition for exasperation, I decided to post a quickie. So soon after my parenthetical reference to the cheesy acting machine that is David Caruso, here comes an unconfirmed anecdote courtesy of Wikipedia:

"On an episode of the Late Show with David Letterman that aired on March 8, 2007 comedian Jim Carey satirically impersonated Caruso. Carey asked for an 'intense close up' from the camera, spoke in a deep voice and put sunglasses on. Paul Schaffer and the Late Night Band played the CSI: Miami theme and Carey ran off screen."

Is there a hammier actor than David Caruso? He isn't even a cool, one-trick, pop culture phenomenon like the wonderful William Shatner, his almost corpulence Alec Baldwin, or even the German pop sensation David Hasselhoff. He's just an annoying one-trick pony, whose distinguishing characteristic is an inability to stop acting for an Emmy while delivering unforgettable lines such as "Miami style", or while gathering epithelials.

Annoying!

Oh well. That felt good. Cathartic, even. Thanks, David Caruso!

Picture of David Caruso comes courtesy of The fame and glory of David Caruso: a fan page. Is there a more stinging indictment of the mediocrity that is David Caruso? Just check out the fan page above. Fantastically bitter stuff here. I swear...

Madness? This is Sparta!

It all began with a text from my good friend and respected film teacher Art Vito Cruz, who suggested that the ode to Spartan manliness could hardly be called good cinema, but was oddly invigorating nonetheless. Intrigued, my wife, brother-in-law, and I trooped over to the Podium to catch 300.

Two hours later, I realized that Art was right. Watching 300, despite the many cringe inducing scenes that cater a bit too obviously to its predetermined fanbase of geek boys and gay men (an observation made in Jessica Zafra's blog), was oddly exhilarating.

At its worst, the movie had the hypnotic quality of David Caruso at his hammy, overacting best (which was lovingly compiled recently by stewmurray47 on YouTube as Endless Caruso One-Liners ). At its best, the movie is an invaluable aid for those who have some difficulty imagining what epic battle must have been like during ancient Greek times. In fact, in an otherwise scathing review, The New York Times movie scribe A.O. Scott notes that there are some "sequences that achieve a grim, brutal grandeur, notably an early engagement in which the Spartans, hunkered behind their shields, push back against a Persian line, forcing enemy soldiers off a cliff into the water", and I agree: in a movie filled with overblown graphic spectacle (which I guiltily enjoyed) no other scene rings truer than the sight of the Spartans literally pushing their foes off the face of the earth.

I suspect that it is the relentless tone of primordial, almost pre-rational, bravery that most viewers react to in the movie, and there's nothing wrong with being moved by that sort of savage satisfaction. Watch this ludicrously bombastic ode to war as reimagined by geeky fan boys the way it should be seen: as good old-fashioned popcorn fodder for the summer.

Picture of 300 comes courtesy of Worst Previews 300 Gallery.

Acquired Tastes: The Onion Dispatch and Bill Simmons

As the entire family was wiped out by the preternatural cuteness of the assembled grandsons last night at Papalo's 60th birthday party (the picture to your left is one of the few still shots of Juan and cousin Miguel that came out well, from Papa's Portico dinner), I had absolutely no intention of posting anything new. Eyes dulled from lack of sleep and muscles aching from overexertion, I went through the motions of checking my mail and my favorite links when I first came across this:

Vince Carter Hires On-Court Assistant

EAST RUTHERFORD, NJ—New Jersey Nets shooting guard Vince Carter announced Wednesday that he had hired an on-court assistant to handle all...

This could have been an actual quote from the soulless entertainer masquerading as a ball player that is Vince Carter:

"I'm proud to introduce Miss Juliet Werner, who will be dribbling for me, setting my picks, attempting to get me steals, doing my passing, and all other manner of stuff that's been getting in the way of my shot," Carter said in a press conference held to introduce the 5'4" Werner to the public. "Juliet will be my right hand, especially as I concentrate on dunking with my left in order to become a more complete player."


And then this from Bill Simmons, the Sports Guy:

"After the Celtics inexplicably rolled off a four-game win streak and fell two games behind Memphis for pole position in the Durant/Oden Sweepstakes, I thought about flying back to Boston to kidnap Al Jefferson and stick Paul Pierce with a mononucleosis-infected needle. Instead, I decided to stay home, watch the Rockets-Celts game and jinx the streak with a running diary."

Looks like a good day for sports blogging. Enjoy!

Acquired Tastes: Poetry

While I never could write decent poetry, I remain very much in awe of people who can. It is this willingness to be "blown away" or thunderstruck, I think, that is responsible for whatever critical faculties I possess in appreciating good poetry. (Please note that my inability to properly, and accurately, convey the impact poetry has on me is indicative of my meager poetry writing skills.)

First, allow me to share a link to Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project, a site dedicated towards celebrating, documenting and promoting poetry's role in Americans' lives. It's a laudable venture, if only for assuming that poetry still plays a vital role in the lives of everyday people. That charming conceit, among others, will probably keep me visiting the site.

Second, here is a link to a poem read by Freeman Rogers on Slate entitled The Gaijin in the Teachers' Room in December, which ends:

Instead, he scribbles: what's inside of me,
even as I try to be dutiful,
that makes me dread
the cold will spread
and snow will turn the dreary scenery
to something beautiful?

Lastly, here is an admonition from yours truly: live everyday as if you were a poem. It is only by doing so that we encounter, on a daily basis, a grace akin to truly great poetry.

Acquired Tastes: The New Yorker

Ever since I discovered, and fell in love with, the spirited critical tradition of cineastes Pauline Kael and Anthony Lane, I've been an avid The New Yorker reader. Now that Pauline Kael is delivering reviews from on high, and Anthony Lane seems to be on hiatus, the cudgels for cinematic common sense have been taken up by the underrated David Denby. The current online issue of The New Yorker is a good introduction to the quietly intelligent Mr. Denby. In this issue, he discusses, to a certain extent, how current critical cinema favors disordered narratives. Another worthwhile read.

Photo Credits:
Picture of the February 13 & 20, 2006 issue of The New Yorker comes courtesy of Hellen Van Meene.

Acquired Tastes: The Onion Dispatch

This is kinda old, but just in case you missed this hilarious snippet from America's Finest News Source, here it is:

Kevin Garnett: 'I Want To Stay In Minnesota Because I Like Losing'

MINNEAPOLIS—Star forward Kevin Garnett reiterated his desire to remain with the third-place 26-30 Timberwolves—the team with which he...

I applaud the surreal humor of the faux Garnett quote: "To me, there is no feeling quite like losing. I've always said that losing is the most important thing, and I feel like I can lose in Minnesota this year as well as for years to come," Garnett said. "Sure, I might have a better chance of losing in Memphis or Milwaukee, but it would just be more special to lose in front of the fans in Minnesota." Enjoy!

How to Deal

The Discovery Channel has just aired another controversial documentary, The Lost Tomb of Jesus. Before Christians start overreacting to the documentary or the actions of the executive producer, Oscar award-winning filmmaker James Cameron, kindly read this from Rod Bennett's blog, Tremendous Trifles. While you're there, find time to click on the online version of Hilaire Belloc's classic essay, The Approach to the Skeptic. Good reading.

Picture of Indiana Jones comes courtesy of Indiana Jones.

Losing our Religion? Have a Little Faith!

I dropped by Jessica Zafra's blog recently, which had this entry on the new wiki, Conservapedia,:

“In Christian discourse, the name Jesus almost always refers specifically to Jesus of Nazareth, believed by Christian followers to be God’s dad, who came to earth as a human c 2 AD. However, God has recently revealed on His blog that Jesus is actually His nephew, not His son.”

This prompted Ms. Zafra to conclude: "The American religious right: Stephen Colbert’s unpaid writers pool."

Of course, the corresponding entry on Jesus has been changed to this, but the damage has been done. The Onion's A.V. Club already has an entry on the supposed inaccuracies of Conservapedia, which ends with:

"I don't know about all of you, but I'm really looking forward to the day when conservatives, in response to the obvious liberal bias of the angle of the spigots, make their own separate, conservative drinking fountains."

For people looking for a reasonable, insightful and well-intentioned alternative to the overly conservative Christian resources out there, a personal favorite is Mark Shea's blog, Catholic and Enjoying it!, which offers commentary such as "The Antichrist is the reduction of Christianity to an ideology, instead of a personal encounter with the Savior." (an observation which stems from a meditation message delivered by Roman Catholic Cardinal Giacomo Biff) as well as fun entries such as the satirical "Uncomfortable Questions about the Death Star Attack":

6) How could any pilot shoot a missile into a 2 meter-wide exhaust port, let alone a pilot with no formal training, whose only claim to fame was his ability to “bullseye womprats” on Tatooine? This shot, according to one pilot, would be “impossible, even for a computer.” Yet, according to additional evidence, the pilot who allegedly fired the missile turned off his targeting computer when he was supposedly firing the shot that destroyed the Death Star. Why have these discrepancies never been investigated, let alone explained?

7) Why has their been no investigation into evidence that the droids who provided the rebels with the Death Star plans were once owned by none other than Lord Vader himself, and were found, conveniently, by the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, and who is also believed to be Lord Vader’s son? Evidence also shows that the droids were brought to one Ben Kenobi, who, records indicate, was Darth Vader’s teacher many years earlier! Are all these personal connections between the conspirators and a key figure in the Imperial government supposed to be coincidences?

8) How could a single missile destroy a battle station the size of a moon? No records, anywhere, show that any battle station or capital ship has ever been destroyed by a single missile. Furthermore, analysis of the tape of the last moments of the Death Star show numerous small explosions along its surface, prior to it exploding completely! Why does all evidence indicate that strategically placed explosives, not a single missile, is what destroyed the Death Star?

Mark Shea's intriguing mix of both highbrow intellectual debate with gently subversive humor, is, in the end, the best argument for Christianity. Check it out.

Picture of Darth Vader comes courtesy of Basement, #24, The Art of Barry Bradfield.

Equatorials 2007: A Batch Full of Poems

I apologize for the lack of activity in my blog last week, but I would like to state, in my defense, that I had a full plate. First, I helped out with Love, Lunacy, and Poetry, the Literature Department's culminating event for the school year. While my wife Tina was giddy with delight at having to entertain noted poet Dr. Gemino Abad (her unabashed admiration of the esteemed poet leads me to wonder why my son Manuel shares his ears, but that's a topic for another time), I had an equally, if not quite as self-serving duty myself: to bring Ol' Blue Eyes to the affair, by way of cool event music.

Next, I had to attend the Equatorial Celebrations for this year's Junior Batch in UA&P, if only because they mistakenly selected me as Batch Ninong yet again. Frankly, I'm surprised they're not sick of my dated antics, because I am. Still, the event in itself was truly an occasion for joy if only for Dr. Elizabeth Urgel's Batch Ninang address, Sam Macagba's tearful response on the part of the Junior Batch, and a surprise appearance by poet laureate Pablo Neruda, by way of his poem Tu Risa (Your Laughter), which I read to the Junior Batch in lieu of boring them with a metaphysical reflection on the nature of free will and sharing. Here's an excerpt (translated by Donald Walsh):

Take the bread from me, if you want
take the air from me, but
do not take from me your laughter

Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

Congratulations, Juniors! Some of you might never grow up to be poets of note, but by the sincere, irrepressible joy with which you engage life, never doubt that you are all poems worthy of being enshrined in the hallowed halls of classic poetry. Enjoy!