Why, Kiki!

2007-07-24T22:48:00.000-05:00

Oooh, I hate the establishment; what a surprise... I did myself a grave disservice on Monday & read Joe Klein's column in the latest time. It was an apologia for Joseph Biden (D - Del.), as the only "serious" candidate in the Democratic primary field, & the one most versed in foreign affairs (a skill-set that is desperately needed in the wake of G-Dub's ham-handed diplomacy & warring). I could only scoff.

To say that Biden is the most experienced diplomatic hand in the race, because he's been chair at various moments -- depending on upper-chamber majority -- of the Foreign Relations Committee begs credulity. Where was Ol' Joe when the Iraq resolution was up for votes? Where was his knowledge-base to vet the NIE & demonstrace with alacrity its hyperbole? I don't recall it being anywhere.

Instead, Joe happens to be an East Coast quasi-liberal of similar age (&, prolly, upbringing) to Klein, & that, coupled with Biden's three decade run in the world's most illustrious debating society nets him Klein's de facto (for the week, anyway) endorsement. All the while, Klein glosses over Bill Richardson's record as a diplomatic hand in the U.S. House, service as U.N. ambassador under Clinton (plus, sec'y at DOE, with its attendent interest in arms proliferation), & background as envoy to North Korea & Sudan. Clearly, Richardson has at least Biden's theoretic expertise, & much more practical expertise. But, he's a governor, & Clinton administration veteran (never forget Joe Klein as the anon author of Primary Colours, a fact about which he prevaricated for well past his cloaked shelf-life), & from NEW MEXICO (how close is that to the Hamptons, now?). Of course Klein would dismiss Richardson without any consideration at all.

I doubt, then, that I shall be reading another of Klein's immoderate moderate musings & shilling for the status quo. Of course, I won't further fault him for shame. That sales pitch of "revolution" but actual production in the same mediocre corporatist-fronting-with-a-dollop-of-protectionism-(industry-dependent)-to-the-unions has made Klein rich. He's gotten paid, which is the (only) important thing... Why does anyone need to get paid, then?

#### NTAC.

2007-06-05T20:53:00.000-05:00

In stitches... Eight years on, this couplet remains the funniest and wittiest that I have heard. & to think, it appeared on record BEFORE Columbine, BEFORE anybody even knew who he was to blame him, BEFORE the shooters (ICP fans, so, really, they would have loathed Mr Mathers) were making YouTube-ready (were YouTube to have existed) apologies (classic sense) for their violence.

To wit: I try to keep it positive, play it cool/ Shoot up the playground, & tell the kids to stay in school.

Honestly, nothing I have heard, even from those as adept at musical wordplay as Morrissey or Beck (mostly, on Midnite Vultures) or Diamond Dave or Kool Keith, has topped this.

(In point of fact, of course, several other lines on the same album as the above might be better, but given the cultural context -- lack thereof, really, since it hadn't happened by the time the song was recorded -- it is my favourite.)

2007-05-24T21:05:00.000-05:00

Rallying cry... I was never an hesher, in the boarding sense (nor the metal sense, but that is beside this), but as I rounded my teens & neared twenty, acquaintances, moreso acquaintances of acquaintances, were. They would take over a parking-lot, late, & "thrash". Then, they'd retire to their labyrinthine cocoons & listen to Snapcase & read Big Brother. & thru them, I was exposed to the latter, & for a coupla years thereafter would skim the various skateboarding mags on the rack at the local bookseller, for comedic value.

It was late '00 or early '01, then, when I was at Book World in Ripon, Wisc. -- my college town -- & saw the cover of an issue of TransWorld. It bore the tag "Black Dudes... In Sweden!". Apparently, some pro skaters had done a series of demos in the Northland, among them a coupla Afro-Americans. Now, of course, there are many "black dudes" in Sweden, typically of west or central African origin, & the writers at the magazine must have known this. They also knew, though, that the thought of non-Nordic looking Swedes was not what people think of when thinking of crawling Stockholm. So, in a contemporarily ironic style, they had a cover tag -- Black Dudes... In Sweden.

Black Dudes... In Sweden!

& since seeing this, I have taken to saying "black dudes in Sweden" whenever I see a person in a particular community that "looks ouf of place". A rainbow (gay pride) flag flying from a pole on South 68th in West Allis, for example -- black dudes in Sweden. & so it goes....

"Black dudes" -- they're everywhere.

2007-02-15T17:10:00.000-06:00

There at the end... Panda did not want to leave.

I was visiting, for the last time, as it would turn out, at Kate's on a Saturday when my father asked me to take the dog out. I acceded to the request. I have never minded walking the dog, regardless the temp. Oddly, though, Panda did not want to go out. I had noted her reticence to leave her mistress's side prior to this, too. I had sat on the left of the bed, opposite the home-health nurse, for fifteen or twenty minutes after getting in, & Panda was pacing around & under the bed, while deciding whether to make a roost at Kate's hip.

Of course, Panda did not -- explaining the necessity to walk her shortly -- but you develop a certain dread when you see an animal grow nervous & weary. I did, but I still wanted to get out for a walk, if for no other reason than to take my mind off the impending demise. The odd thing in the walk, though, was Panda chose to trace the block "backward" from what she would do usually when I would walk her. Rather than counterclockwise, approaching Newberry on the departure & Locust on the return, we went as does the clock.

In that decision, then, I was reminded of something. Nothing related -- directly -- to my stepmother, nor the disease that was ravaging her from the inside, but it still resonated with the moment. It was the song "Clockwise" by the Strike. I had not thought of that band in six months, and probably had not listened to it in a year, but as Panda & I turned the corner at Shepard, there it was. A song dissipated to just a moment when I was nineteen, pounding, chugging, back.

Shortly after, I got back to the house -- in probably ten minutes time (Panda made it a quick walk; she wanted to be home more than I) -- & I readied to leave, but not before stopping in the bedroom once more. The same lagging, but deep, diaphragmatic pushing, was there, but ever so slow; the force was going out. My stepmother had -- by my count -- seen & celebrated four Christmases since she had become aware of her plight, though this last was quite depressive in comparison to the three before, & she had visited or been visited by almost all of her significant (& due her geneaologic efforts, multiplicitous) relations, her countless friends from three decades of teaching, sailing, & hobbyism (bird-watching, bookclub), &, of course, her ever-present attendant, her dog.

When I left the house at mid-afternoon that Saturday, 4th February, then, my aunt had assumed the high-back chair where the nurse had previously sat, & Panda... Panda was nestled at Kate's hip, breathing with her, attentive to any final turn into the dark of the unknown. I almost cried, bawled, really, but I was able to hold back, content that Kate's vessel had proven as full as necessary.

& at that, I went forward. Always, forward. Time marches on, but as the melody that struck me instructs, so did, so will, I. Kate would not want anything but.

2007-02-07T18:37:00.000-06:00

Colo Colo, I think that we need to change one letter... Found this story on Deadspin, & I was moved to pen a short lyric poem in the style of Wesley Willis. (This marks my second Gawker Media appearance bringing the Wesley.) As it goes, the band Machuca -- great name, by the way -- was playing in Santiago (de Chile) & dedicated a song to their footballer favourites, Universidad. Mistake, mistake, mistake...

Well, let Kiki-as-Wesley explain:

This band played a show at the Puerta Doble
About 600 people were at the show
The jam session was awesome
It whipped an alpaca's ass

Machuca, Machuca
Machuca, Machuca

The band dedicated a song to their football favourites
They were Universidad de Chile
This angered the rock crowd
The crowd stormed the stage like a puma
The crowd whipped the band's ass

Machuca, Machuca
Machuca, Machuca

After order was restored by the roadies
The band played the rest of the show
The band got down
They got down on that crowd like a masochist
It was a fantastic rock show

Machuca, Machuca
Machuca, Machuca

Rock over London
Rock on Chicago
Rally's: You Gotta Eat

2007-01-24T22:28:00.000-06:00

Redaction... I knew that I would forget a film in compiling my top twenty, thus leaving a spot for an "undeserving" film. Fortunately, it happened at the twentieth spot. Thank you for smoking, which I found only mildly amusing, should not have been anywhere near even a top 35, let alone 20.

That said, I shall substitute You, me, & Dupree. Honestly, though, it should prolly bump several films, & be my twelfth or thirteenth pick. But for the sake of limiting my correction, just call it twenty, & be done with it.

2007-01-18T21:17:00.000-06:00

'Why, Kiki!' Housekeeping... If you would like to see my picks for the best cinema of the aught-six, please direct your attention to the posting of 28th November '06. The 'top twenty' list posted to that date, since such is when I began composing it.

I apologize for any inconvenience this causes.

Also, please note, I am blogging -- hopefully, longer entries -- at Wordpress, now, as well. The title is Imi Pare Rau. Check it.

2007-01-04T20:02:00.000-06:00

Allegory: The Big Lebowski... I cannot vouch for the originator of this theory, nor give proper (read: full) credit to the individuals from whom I learned of it, but while in Spain during the '00 Spring Term, I found myself at a bar -- Alpisco -- for the send-off of one of my house-mates at my host-family's flat. Therein, I met one of the instructors from Sam's study-abroad programme -- an American (Minnesotan, precisely) who taught English to the Spanish faculty -- & one of the teacher's friends from Minnesota. We discussed Lebowski, & they posited to me that the movie is a cinematic evocation of the Gulf War ('91).

This has gotten me to thinking, intermittently, & when bored of everything else, as to how the characters in the film line up with events & figures central (& not) to the Gulf conflict.

I have so far:

Jeffrey "Dude" Lebowski: Kuwait
Walter Sobczak: U.S. administration, namely defense, possibly Schwarzkopf (given Vietnam pedigree & physical immensity)
Donnie: Israel
The Big Lebowski: President Bush
Brandt: The U.N.
Bunny Lebowski: Saddam
Woo & his cohort: Iraqi Army
The Nihilists: The Elite Republican Guard (division of the Iraqi army)
Jackie Treehorn: Egypt
Sheriff of Malibu: Islamic Brotherhood
Smokey: Pacifists (the most literal symbol)
Jesus Quintana ("The Jesus"): Osama bin Laden
O'Brien (Jesus's partner): Ayman al-Zawahiri
The Stranger: CNN

More??

2006-12-28T20:55:00.000-06:00

Hombre... secreto... This took a bit of time to reach me, & I apologize for it, but Jack Bauer is James Bond. I realized this watching the latest 007 installment, its action harkening, first, to the Miami Vice cinematic-adaptation of earlier this year, then (moreso) to my three seasons of 24 viewing.

From there, I looked for other parallels. Namely, the intials, JB. Also, the names in full. James Bond, with the cold precision and clipped phrasing expected of the stiff-lipped Brits. Jack Bauer, a bit of the rogue and ethnic (German), the rugged frontiersman of the years before 1890. (Thesis Turner lives.)

But apart cosmetic coincidences, we also see in each a disregard for any permanence in their associations with women (namely, lovers), a new Bond Girl for each film, a new partner for Jack in each season. This is not exactly an execreble trait, of course, as it couples with the heroes's disregard for their own physical well-being.

Last, there is the woman behind the hero whom he never courts, nor has killed, & (in each's way) calls the shots when the chips are down: M. & Chloe. (Personally, though, if one of the super-agents were to be amourous with his boss (technically, of course, Jack outranks Chloe), I'd choose Bond to get with M. Oh, Judi Dench. May-December between Craig & Dench, anyone?)

2006-12-23T22:41:00.000-06:00

Expected age at death: 24... I've seen a website or three boasting various tests, including "your date of death will be..." examinations, & I've always marvelled at those who have taken them & are expected dead at 21, 22, 24, or 28. I always figured they were answering the questions facetiously, selecting the bubble that would most likely draw a "you should be dead, now" response. Alas, I have encountered something, not on the 'net/internets/ebay, that shows that death at 24, from alcohol poisoning, does happen.

In brief: I recognized the name coming across my desk -- for confidentiality reasons, I will not provide it -- from a few times out two years ago as a canvasser for the Kerry/Edwards campaign. I also recalled the individual not being in when I returned to her address of record, & the mother of individual not knowing to where her daugther had gotten, but assuring me that she would be voting as a Wisconsin resident & for John Kerry. (Fair enough, I thought.)

Now, I hadn't thought on this person for two-plus years, either. But, with the application that I had to send out, I knew for whom it was, right away. I almost decided, sight unseen, that it was for a deceased person. But, my mind doesn't drift to that assumption, just, for someone so young (two years my junior!).

This woman, 24, presumably politically aware & with all the accoutrements to lead a fulfilled life, was dead. Extreme intoxication from alcohol was the cause.

I have known a few like that, a few with whom a broken condom, tainted piercing or tattooing needle, or less forgiving professor(s), would have been S.O.L. & living a life not unlike those I see in my day-to-day work. (Point of fact, I've seen a few well-equipped people from my past in the position of my clientele, & all but one, much worse for the wear of a medium- to hard-life, since I knew them.) But, two days ago, there was the ultimate price for "doing what one wants, when one wants to, damn the consequences".

I only have to think, even if the consequence is death, at 24?

&, no, you won't always be as "lucky" as you've been. You aren't that special that you can take risks that will sometimes have (very) negative outcomes without ever facing such an outcome. Your choices will catch up to you, just as they have for my erstwhile likely-voter for John Kerry.

Postscript: I'm not saying it's a situation of "reaping as sown", I don't wish a child's death on any living parent, but life is not all seashells & balloons when so near the precipice. It's more, don't get too dizzy.

2006-12-03T18:02:00.000-06:00

Urban diction... Henceforth, the sexual act known as azz2mouf ("ass-to-mouth"), and involving the anal sodomy of one's partner by either real phallus or ersatz (read: strap-on) proceeded by the oral sodomy of same, shall be referred to as "goin' Alterra". This change is due the apparent commonplace of baristas at Alterra Coffee Roasters enjoying the act so much, to the detriment of other sexual pleasures. (Then again, you don't want to get pregnant by some anime-lovin', RPG-aficionado, Japanophile geek from the local cinema, when you already have a boyfriend of long-standing who doesn't know that you are in an open-relationship.)

Sample quotation: "Slurp this santorum off my junk. We're goin' Alterra tonite".

Also, as a play on the Outback ad, which is itself a play on an Of Montreal song:

Let's go Alterra tonite, there's so much ooze on my penis
Let's go Alterra tonite, have that shit-eatin' grin in the mornin'

2006-11-28T22:16:00.000-06:00

The year's top cinema... It's been a subtle progression, from auditory to visual, but where I once ranked albums as the year closed -- as recently as 2000, or 2002 if you want to get technical -- but now, it's Hollywood that drives me. Film in general, really. So, I offer my top 20 for twenty aught six.

01. The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada ... So be it that this was authentically, officially released in '05; this still makes the top of my '06 chart. Why, precisely? I saw it at one of the local "arthouses" in March of the past year, when Three Burials received its Milwaukee release. Beyond that, this debut from Tommy Lee Jones (as director) is the starkest evocation of Cervantes's opus, Don Quijote. The desolate South Texas borderland mirrors perfectly the Manchego terrain that the hero, astride Rocinante, roamed, while the personages of rancher (Jones) & border-guard (Barry Watson), in the effort to give the first man's immigrant laborer friend a proper burial in his Mexican hometown, are doubles for Quijote & Sancho. This film could not be more perfect. Another bold stroke from writer Guillermo Arriaga, who has taken nigh all the flack for the less-than-stellar Babel, even though it is Gonzalez Inarriatu who has yet to achieve a notable film sans Arriaga & cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto. But, in the end, Three Burials becomes much of for what that other film aimed. Funny, innit?

02. An Inconvenient Truth

03. Stranger than Fiction

04. Moartea Domnului Lazarescu ... Another film a year or more removed from its authentic release, I saw this in its limited Milwaukee cinema debut at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee's cinema in late October, & it surprised me how true to the details of Romanian urban life it is. From Lazarescu's neighbours, who assume that the cardiac episode he faces is actually just an hallucination brought on by drink, to the cool disregard of the educated staff at the several hospitals to which the medics take the patient, this film is superb.

05. Inside Man

06. The Last King of Scotland ... What to say, other than Academy favorite for best actor? Forrest Whitaker incarnates the late dictator Idi Amin as both benevolent ascendant to the presidency & rash "royal" in the succeeding years. The events surrounding the dictator might be rooted in conjecture more than fact, as well, but they only heighten one's growing awareness of the wooly & often bloody epoch that was the 1970s.

07. Little Miss Sunshine

08. Blood Diamond

09. Driving Lessons

10. Monster House ... I confess ignorance of the mid-nineties cartooning of Rob Schrab, though I knew the name from the interest of friends & their friends in his work. With that, I must admit I was a bit flabbergasted that the manic pacing & slapstick humour I was expecting in this Spielberg-produced feature was not there. This is an evenly paced kid's movies, but not unlike the better fare of animated comedy thru the years -- in particular, the Lebowski-cribbed "Powerpuff Girls" episode that I saw whilst in Romania -- it has enough adult shadings to keep the parents as well as the children rapt.

11. The Departed

12. Casino Royale

13. Lucky Number Slevin

14. Jonestown: The Tragedy of People's Temple ... Another offering inspired by the raucous & uncertain seventies epoch, this documentary left me quite well informed of not just "the Kool-aid", but what drove so many to fly several thousand miles, to an unpeopled jungle. It would appear that the congregants of People's Temple were of the greatest of intentions, and committed to the spirit of the homilies (sorry, I was raised Catholic; but, I know that Protestants give 'sermons') of the Rev. Jim Jones, but the roiling cauldron of the minister's psyche, when away from the pulpit, sabotaged their aims. & yes, that is grave understatement. Possibly the most powerful film I saw this year.

15. The Science of Sleep

16. Half-nelson

17. Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby ... This is where the hipster elite lose me. While any that Judd Apatow is golden, apparently it does not apply to this feature. The charicatures are too broad, the sentiment (especially toward the end) too gooey -- plus, its lead is a former featured player on Saturday Night Live (& we know THOSE people have never made a good film!). Pshaw, to that, I say. I enjoyed this considerably. Sublime performances by the heir to Ricky Bobby's race-team ownership & the heir's wife, plus a credible performance from Sacha Baron Cohen & softer touches from Michael Clarke Duncan & John C. Reilly than we are used to, & Ferrell's turn as a man stuck between the South's colourful but unlettered past & its checkered & heavily-capitalized future becomes perchance the best counter to the ascendance of the Texified GOP. Oh, & it's funny. & it has Amy Adams reprise the mesmerizing performance of Tawny Kitaen, from that Whitesnake video.

18. Miami Vice

19. Babel

20. Thank You for Smoking

2006-11-20T22:59:00.000-06:00

I can't get laid,... con't'd

from A. J.
hide details
9:02 pm (1½ hours ago)
to

Tim Melvin ,Ryan Schreiber

date
Nov 20, 2006 9:02 PM

subject
Re: I turn to you...

mailed-by
gmail.com

UPDATE!

Actually, though, the exclamation mark is wholly unnecessary, as the news is not so good.

Selah.

As to the progress (lack thereof) I have to report that I delivered a greeting to her as my shift started on Friday -- around eight pm -- saying, merely, "ey!" She responded with an "hello", but realizing the speaker (or so I have to think) she turned away. Didn't say anything to me the rest of the nite, & as she left for home (or the club) & I sat across from her path out of the breakroom -- I was on my break, but without malice aforethought, i.e. I had no expectation she'd be coming 'round (in fact, I was fifteen mins. into my break at her entry, with two other of the security staff), she quite purposefully (again, I have to think) looked anywhere but in the direction of my person.

So, bad luck. My radar -- well, the 3% of it that tilted to "does she have an interest in me? maybe" -- proved incorrect. Again. (Fortunately, I made no unmistakable effort to pursue her. So, embarassment at shooting out of my league averted, at least.)

... But, wait, there's more.

I'm at work yesterday, again readying for my late-eve break -- I was closing-shift usher, so not taking it 'til after all theatres, lavatories, & lounge-spaces were cleared of debris -- & ordering my pizza, when the assistent manager (Jessica, age 23, undergrad at UW-Milwaukee) for concessions asked me, "You can remember the number '313', no?"

It puzzled me at first. I figured, somehow, it was related to her counts, the candy-cart or drink-cups, prolly, & she wanted me to keep the number in mind since she didn't have afore her pen & paper with which to record their number.

Then again, I've never been asked to keep a count in my head -- & I've worked there two years.

Further, 313 is the employee i.d. for the female security staff that was giving me a weird vibe -- weird because it's south of normal for a female to show interest, any interest, even just social, in me -- so, yeah....

This whole scenario might have gotten quite a bit more sinister.

(I feel like I might be in an M. Night Shyamalan film!)

I mean, does the management of the theatre, et. al., have a betting line on me, when they can get me to crack & act as if faux female entreaties are true, thus embarassing myself?

But, yes, I would loller at this, as an impartial observer. As I am the object of this joke, though, I have to say, I would like to know if that is what it is... & I would like to have it over with, the punch-line gotten to, quite soon.

Quote Kool Keith, "I ain't the Elephant Man; what gives?"

-- ajs

2006-10-11T22:12:00.000-05:00

Why can't W. read?... I have not much time with which to post tonite, but I shall suffice with the slothful blogger's standby, below.

YouTube!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESLW9drlNRk

2006-10-09T22:36:00.000-05:00

Sentiment of the dancing... Of late, it has been the rarity that I buy from the new release rack at the local independent record store. But, that is not for reason of preferring ipod downloads, or previewing albums on a p2p site, then deciding they're not worth buying. Rather, my entertainment choice seems to favor film, followed by (non-pornographic) magazines.

That said, I bought the new Scissor Sisters album this Sunday, and I must say, it is everything that the first track promised, when I heard it over the p.a. at work, and more. To call it a retro-disco album, then, seems foolish. It remains me as much of the mid-nineties jazz of Squirrel Nut Zippers, or Beck in his turn-of-willenium loverboy phase. It has a baroque feel that a mere synth and dat cannot convey. & I like it.

This is a revelation. Now, let's dance. & make revolution?

Maybe....

2006-10-04T22:46:00.000-05:00

Bio-graph... Well, not so much. I do not intend this post to divulge that much which is personal, but that to which I have been personally exposed. Also, to show how a look back, every coupla years, changes one's perspective.

To wit: bar-none, this man is by far the most famous person I have known; also, prolly the most amenable and even-tempered. That said, I did not know him well. Merely, he served as my entree into the circle I kept, unbroken and unbowed, from the mid-90s to the turn of the Willenium. But, knowing that, I always respected him -- he had the temerity to welcome a relative newcomer to an insular group -- that I had known of, in part, from involvement with high-school debate -- but that I would not have had the guts to attempt to join. He was (and remains) a better man than any of the ones to whom I was a closer friend.

He is also the greatest achiever. Klaxon Exhaust (note: not his real name) might have gone on, after I parted ways, to slay the capitalist-militarist hegemon (insomuch as Milwaukee is now a socialist utopia in a "red-states sea") with the New Bomb Nationals (whose lead singer/guitarist now reviews albums, rather obviously, for the ONION), but his former high-school chum is a nationally-recognizable face. And a winner.

Likewise, I bought the second album from Milwaukee avant-core band Since by Man last summer, and made a point to scan the liner-jacket thank-you's list for names I would know: Chris Roberts, Joe Rizzo, et. al. Oddly, no such luck. Though, I did recognize one name: Sam Keck. Younger brother to a former employer of mine -- I painted houses on Matt Keck's crew after freshman year of college -- and punk-rock singer, Sam was, I thought, a legend in 'Stallis but nowhere else. No, he was not of the same scene as the crew from the Labyrinth, not down with the punker lifers. In fact, some might have even called him a poseur, by comparison. Yet, on the latest from Milwaukee hardcore stalwarts Since by Man, Keck the Younger was the only one of my acquaintance with the various local scenes at the turn of the Willenium to get a thank you. Not even Chris Roberts, now married to a total babe and drumming in the free-jazz collective the Silence, but who went to PXI with the SBM boys, merited a mention. But "poseur" Sam Keck...

Odd how time proves out.

2006-10-04T19:16:00.000-05:00

Keep on rockin' me baby... This day's first post, eighteen hours into the day as it is, is light. I got to thinking yesterday, at my part-time job, about band names. In particular, the multi-part phrasal and sentence names such as Panic! (At the Disco) and Tony Danza Tapdance Extravaganza. I have always considered the ludicrous band name to be a contemporary phenomenon, with roots in 80s punk and proto-indie (Steel Pole Bathtub, Teenage Fan Club), but it hit me: Strawberry Alarm Clock. That band came up in the late sixties, and boasts the incandescent hit "Incense & Peppermints". So, maybe it has been like this for the length of the rock era. I still do not have to like it, though.

But, I still like "Incense & Peppermints".

2006-10-02T19:08:00.000-05:00

Film romaneste... This has nothing to do with the better-known bloggeratti, & everything to do with where the better films are being made. Last year, it was Germany, and Hungary; both Schulze Gets the Blues and Kontroll made my year-end list, the former at number one (better than Crash). This year, I owe a tip of the hat to Moartea domnului Lazarescu. I saw it at the campus cinema in the Univ. of Wisc.-Milw. student union, & I was floored. The apparently digitally-shot feature about a pensioner's death as everyone watched -- his neighbours, who only thought to remind him to stop drinking; the doctors at three hospitals, as the paramedic and nurse brought him to them so he might receive the life-saving treatment required -- reminded me why I took to film (while a PCV in Romania, yes) so much. It spared no opportunity to expose the decrepit state of Romanian health-care, but it was not overbearing in so doing. Merely, the events captured in a most rudimentary, mundane style, bore that out. No shot was lingered on, nor any voice raised. But, everything was laid out.

Now, seeing this, and even remembering that Moartea... is a fiction, a movie narrative, I have to think how surprising that Romania got the nod from the EU in just the last week. I mean, Peace Corps remains there, as best I know. Peace Corps!

Romania is a country still on the upward side of the post-Communist mount that she must ascend to reach equality with the West, as the presence of PC bears out. No one would be clamouring to admit Mongolia to a trading bloc in East Asia, nor to allow Tanzania full entree to a similar bloc in Southern Africa. But, but... Romania! In the EU!

I have been there, though three years ago, and can say from that experience that any thought that the country, outside of Bucuresti, might share a place, for now, with Belgium, Finland, Spain, and Sweden, is mistaken.

But, we shall see. The new government in Romania, led by Basescu, could surprise with the speed of reform...

2006-10-02T18:46:00.000-05:00

Provenance... First, I see that the time-stamp on my initial post has not changed with my change of time-zone. (I had been defaulted to Los Angeles, unwittingly, when really, I am (in the same zona temporal) as the Mexico City (where the year is always '97, when Molotov was the epitome).) I am relieved to learn that. I did not want to post twice within minutes.

As it goes, why "why, kiki!"? The short answer is not for this -- Waikiki. While I do possess an affinity for such females, and their photographic evidence, my interest in the name Kiki pre-dates either the former, or the original Kiki. Rather, I always enjoyed the repetition of the "key" phoneme, dating to my youth, particularly when Kiki Diaz was a Milwaukee Brewers farmhand. I heard the name a lot, and it stuck to my memory like a pasty to a tit.

Eventually, then, I took the name Kiki as my own. But, yes, it was a lark. Yes, it was my part in a fictive 80s metal revival band, Rattt! Yes, I was but the drummer in said band. Still, finally, I could call it my own. In June 2003, in Bucuresti, Romania, I became Kiki.

Now, finally, I am writing under that name. I have a work-in-progress, what should be, at final count, a collection of some thirty essays, under that name, but nothing published. There is something, now, to prove that I own at least a little bit of Kiki. Even if I have never negotiated a contract with Carmelo Anthony.

(Kiki Vandeweghe -- perhaps the greatest name in NCAA basketball history -- was the Denver Nuggets GM at the time of Melo's selection in the draft.)

But, today -- I. Am. Kiki.

2006-10-02T17:53:00.000-05:00

I'm on the inside... I am twenty-six now, and have been playing rotisserie baseball since just after turning fourteen. This means, I have been a "fantasy-sports" geek for nigh half my life. Add to that, for that length, I have been a roto-loser (save for a winning Yahoo! NFL Pick 'em experience, two years ago). Now, though; now -- I finished... second.

Second.

Yes, still a loss. Yes, Reese Bobby would not smile on this outcome. But, for purposes of my recently bar mitzvah'd rotisserie league, good enough. There is a cash prize to each of the first, second, and third place finishers. In my case, second.

Second.

This also proves my highest finish ever, with a third in '96 -- though, sadly, two years before the prize-pool was expanded from two-deep to three -- and there remains the potential of boasting the (unofficial) provisional favorite for '07. (For historic and sentimental reasons, league founder Bernie C-----, is always accorded provisional favorite status, on an official basis.)

So, to my team, my warriors, the Wily Mo Mentum, that brought me so close to the champagne shower, and still pulled out an hardware-winning finish.

C, Ivan Rodriguez (Tigers), 1.80
C, Gregg Zaun (Blue Jays), 0.30
1b, Jason Giambi (Yankees), 2.70
2b, Marcus Giles (Braves), 1.60
Ss, Jose Reyes (Mets), 1.00
3b*, Wes Helms (Marlins), 0.90
Co, Carlos Delgado (Mets), 3.00
Mi, Chase Utley (Phillies), 0.80
Of, Alfredo Amezaga (Marlins), 0.10
Of, Rocco Baldelli (Devil Rays), 2.00
Of, Reed Johnson (Blue Jays), 0.80
Of, Wily Mo Pena (Red Sox), 0.60
Of, Alfonso Soriano (Nationals), 3.40
Dh, Dustin Pedroia (Red Sox), 0.70
* 3rd base prolly proved the most tumultuous position; after beginning the year with Sean Burroughs, I was able to "reserve" him and acquire Russell Branyan, whose 11 home-runs should not go unremarked upon, lastly having Wes Helms there, after Branyan's trade in MLB to San Diego.

P, Jeremy Bonderman (Tigers), 1.60
P, Joe Borowski (Marlins), 2.10
P, A.J. Burnett (Blue Jays), 2.10
P, Todd Jones (Tigers), 0.70
P, Ryan Madson (Phillies), 0.60
P, Mike Maroth (Tigers), 0.50
P, Kenny Rogers (Tigers), 0.80
P, Anibal Sanchez (Marlins), 0.70
P, Billy Wagner** (Mets), 2.80
** This acquisition, by trade, at mid-season, allowed me to smoke the competition in saves and lower my era and ratio to averages that put the Wily Mo Mentum in the league's top third. As well, Baldelli came along, and his .303-12-38-42-8 did not hurt me in the least. All that, for Logan Kensing (whom, yes, I may end up dreading having given up) and Endy Chavez.

So, there you have it. In the money, finally, and I am glad to see it happen with Burnett still on the team. He's been a stalwart of the originally Fighting Manicotti, in his tenure having been a Bowler, Dave Berg 5, and Wily Mo Mentum. In fact, he's the longest tenured on the squad, continuously or not, though in his case, continuously. From his impossible no-hitter in San Diego in '01, thru battles with Mc Keon in Florida, to another year of injury in Toronto (redeemed by a strong second-half; have to love 11-strikeout games), he's seen it all. Now, he can toast success.

If only Ryan Klesko, the one I feel I cheated worst, in all my years in the wilderness, were still a Brave, and still a part of my rotisserie side. He had his career best season in '96, when I came up short, then continued on as a Brave -- and Michael Falk, and Undead Kennedy -- thru '98, each season his MLB playing-time decreasing, his rotisserie fortunes descending into a morass that bottomed out with consecutive eighths (one of which was a last place finish, in '98; by '99, the league had expanded to nine-strong). I could have done better by the "big tub of goo".

Selah.

But, in a few weeks, to begin preparing for next year. I expect good tidings. Reyes, Utley, Pena, Pedroia, Bonderman, Madson, and ANIBAL! offer a solid, pennant-tested core around which to build the '07 champion. Yes!

Now, watch out Grimey, I'm coming for you.