So I'm one of those types who really like best-of lists at the end of the year (Which the internet seems to think is in November/early December, as that's when the majority of these lists pop up). But! However! Although! I thought it would be fun to take a moment in the time-vortex that is the week between Christmas and New Years and briefly talk about my personal bests in all things pop-culture this year. One simple rule, it does not have to be stuff that came out this year, as I'm not a professional critic, and don't get scads of stuff thrown at me gratis for reviewing. Also, as I'm feeling lazy today (too much nog!), I'm not going to describe them in too much detail, lest I spoil anything if you want to check these out. Here we go!
Best Movie: Dear Zachary. This documentary will completely wipe you out emotionally. I've never seen a movie that so effectively shows the absolute best and the absolute worst in people.
Best Music: The album of the year for me probably was In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by The Neutral Milk Hotel, but the best song of the year goes to The Middle East with their song Blood.
Best Book: Carter Beats the Devil by David Foster Wallace has everything I want in a book, and is probably in my top five books of all time (it's a very scientifically prepared list). I'll say nothing of the book except that you need to read it now.
Best Video Game: In a year where I played little to no new video games "Retro-Games Challenge" for the Nintendo DS was the most fun I had playing video games in a long while.
Best TV: I didn't watch a lot of TV this year, but I still never miss "The Office". I'm up for any show recommendations you may have.
That's about all I can think of now! Feel free to post a comment below listing your favorite stuff of the year! Enjoy the rest of 2009 and I'm planning to keep this blog going daily for 2010, so please keep reading!
There are two types of boring; good and bad. Imagine that you are sitting in a movie theater watching a little independent film called Transformers 2, and initially you find the special effects are rather neat, and the sound system certainly is good, but then the story begins to unfold, and this explosion looks very similar to the previous explosion and why are the robots talking like that and what is this thing about anyway and you look at your watch and you see that you have 90 minutes more of this and you sit and then you start to get bored and think in run-on sentences.
That’s the bad kind of boring, and believe-you-me when I say that there are endless variations on this theme. There’s the pretentious art-house-flick-and-performance-art kind of boring. There’s the soulless-kid-product/activity-type of boring. There’s the sit-in-this-cubicle-and-enter-25-pages-of-raw-data-into-this-spreadsheet kind of boring. All types! I could spend all my live-long day listing them, but I won’t do that, as lists are forbidden on the internet and I would get my internet club card withdrawn from me.
The good kind boring is a little hard to pin down, but Gilead is definitely boring—the best kind of boring. Imagine a nice little house in a small neighborhood, and that house has a front porch with a swing on it, and you’re sitting on that porch, maybe with a loved one and a cold glass of ice tea, and it’s hot but not too hot, and once in awhile there’s a nice breeze that blows your way. You’re sitting there, not saying a word, just rocking back and forth on that porch swing, not doing anything, just enjoying the moment.
That’s what the book Gilead is. The book is a long-length letter written by a 76-year-old minister to his seven-year-old son. In it he recounts the previous two generations of his family, his own time in the town of Gilead, and his hopes and worries for his son’s future, as he faces his own death. That’s about all you get. There really is no plot to speak of, (there is some plot surrounding a man with a veiled past) and the book moves at a sometimes frustratingly unhurried pace, almost more like a devotional than a novel. What you do get after being blissfully bored for the 250 or so pages of reading is an achingly beautiful and often times sad meditation on what it means to be a parent, what it means to have faith in uncertain world—though the book is religious, it does not preach at the reader—and how to love a world which at first glance, may not seem to love you back.
I may be selling this book short. It certainly is not for everyone. It contains no disgraced ex-CIA operatives or emo-teen vampires, and each page has been thoroughly coated with an unidentifiable chemical that wards off cynicism, but it is book that will slowly sneak up on you and reward your patience and effort.
(By the way, I promise this blog will be a lot more than just book reports. I’ve just been reading like a chicken on fire. They read incredibly fast, due to the whole being on fire situation.)
…and I kinda sorta almost liked it! Remember when your Mom used to say “I know James Dickey might not be immediately to your liking at first, what with your aversion to macho Cormac McCarthy-esque fiction about men who lovingly talk about their various hunting knives and page after page of meditation on the beauty of stark landscapes in contrast to the ugliness of man, and the ability to withdraw into these landscapes, to hide away from man’s folly, to become ‘one with nature’, if you will. But how will you know if you’ll like it if you don’t try it?” Remember when your Mom said that? She was pretty much right, and she makes the most delicious teacakes! When are you going to send me that recipe? Send it already!
This is not my type of book (Sagittarius). It was selected by the awesome people at The AV Club for their very eclectic online book club. But, as your mother said better than I ever could, (She is such a smarty! Seriously! Why aren’t you more like her? Can I date her?) I’m always willing to try something new. Who knows? Maybe I’ll like it? But what’s this? This guy has written books of poetry? Blech! He also wrote Deliverance?!? This guy writes deep books AND is indirectly responsible for The Burt Reynolds Situation? Sigh and double sigh Charlie Brown! Maybe I’ll like it. Maybe I’ll like it. Maybe I’ll like it.
And I did… kinda… sorta (see above). The book is basically a survival tale told from the perspective of an American WWII tail gunner named Muldrow. His plane gets gunned down the evening before a firebombing of Tokyo in 1945. This all happens within the first twenty pages or so. What follows are 250 more pages of Muldrow doing what he can to survive by maneuvering behind enemy lines. His main goal is to reach the northern islands of Japan, where he can live off the snow-covered lands in peace and solitude (He’s from Alaska, did I say that? He’s from Alaska. There. I said it.).
What was I not so hot on? Well, the whole story feels a little drawn out to me. There really wasn’t enough meat on this story to warrant an entire novel for me. This would be a great short-story, or even a nice novella! Who doesn’t like a nice novella? Jerks, that’s who! And as much as I can appreciate getting into the mind of someone I have nothing in common with, the book tends to fall into a lot of needless repetition that doesn’t enforce or clarify anything for me. The violence in the story may also put off a couple of you out there (You Weenies!). Plus, we get a lot of snow scenes and not one Magic Michael Keaton Snowman! What tha?!?
So what’s there to like? There is no question that J. Dickey can write. His prose style is direct and simple, yet profound. His character Muldrow, while not entirely sympathetic, or even likeable (he does some pretty despicable things in his pursuit of survival, Weenies!), is surprisingly complex. Whole sections of the book pass along in an almost dream-like haze. Plus there are bears! Who doesn’t like bears (beside novella-haters)? John Dickey may or may not. You’ll see what I mean.
So final verdict: I didn’t particularly enjoy reading this book, but I understood what its intentions were and I respect the fact that Dickey pulls it off so well (And that ending! It’s a good ending. You’ll like it!).
Besides, you may want to read this book, just so you can get the context behind what may be the greatest sentence ever written in the history of everything.
Well, it’s been a while but I’m back! Fresh Mutton is back! That’s right. All ten of you out there will be treated to an almost daily cavalcade of top-shelf blogging that you have come to expect from Fresh Mutton these last 14 years(!). I know that’s it been a while, and for that I apologize, to each and every one of you. But the wait will be worth it. You won’t believe some of the stuff I’m cooking up for you people. I’m slaving away here! Toiling! Laboring! Day after day. That’s right, I’m talking insightful commentary! I’m talking written opinions! “On the internet? Opinions? You sir, are crazy as a soup sandwich!” I hear you saying these things! To that I tell you NO! It can be done and it will be done! Using computers and gadgetry and good old-fashioned American ingenuity!
You may think that’s enough. “That’s enough!” you are thinking. But wait! I’m not done yet. Are you sitting down? You’re probably sitting down. I’m going to go the extra mile for all you people (Hi Mom!) and give you regular features! That’s right! I’m working round the clock here, sweating on the keyboard, getting these things to you all. There will be recurring features on this blog! Kinda like one of those magazines the people at the airports are always reading. And what features! I’m pulling out all the stops for you troglodytes. Here’s some of the things you have to look forward to:
Cute Marmot Monday!
That’s right, every Monday, I will be posting literally 100’s of cute marmot photos from my exhaustive collection. My life’s work! Ever wonder how cute a marmot looks in a chef’s hat? Want to see a marmot being little buddies with a pot-bellied pig? You’ll find out on Mondays! (Bonus Feature: Intentionally misspelled captions add to the hilarity!)
An 68-part expose on the rock group Enuff Z Nuff!
Were they pop? Were they metal? Were they awesome? Yes, yes, and sweet James Dickey yes! Once a week for the next 68 weeks, we will delve into the minutia of what made this one of the most influential and successful bands of the 80’s (and beyond!).
(Special Supplement Feature on Mr. Big!)
My 168-part serial novel; “The Webelos Versus the Ghost of Nietzsche”!
America’s 3rd-most beloved institution versus Germany’s most notorious philosopher! And he’s a ghost! And there will also be cold war stuff. And steam punk. I’ve got a lot of chapters to fill and a lot of space on my shelf for the inevitable awards. (Suck on it Joyce Carol Oates!)
Interactive Feature! What’s you favorite Archie Comics story-line?
Every other Wednesday, get ready to dig into your collection of Double-Digests and be prepared to share your favorite Archie story! Was it the one where Forsythe Pendleton “Jughead” Jones III ate a bunch of sandwiches? Or the one where Moose Mason sent a guy to the hospital for making eyes at his best gal Midge Klump? It’s up to you! (Stories about Big Ethel will not be accepted)
Also! Every other day I will get down on my hands and knees and grovel for a book-deal! All blogs have a book-deal! I’m going for a book series! Seven books! All essential!
And that’s just a tasting! A Whitman’s Sampler! A smackering! I’m telling you, you’re all going to love this thing. I’m going to go all out. There’s going to be custom graphics! Maybe an e-mail address for correspondence (electronic mail –ed.)! Lots of exclamation points! My advice? Just leave this page open all the time in it’s own special browser window. Never close it! Keep it close to your heart — to your soul! Tell people! Together, we can make this the best and only site on this decade’s internet! Excelsior!
My dad has a lot of great stories from his years working at a local Isaly’s. Here’s one of my favorites. Dad is closing up shop with his boss, complaining about the crazy customers that come in and order one slice of chipped ham, or demand elaborate ice cream dishes and not have the money to pay for them. Your typical griping about customers that all employees do. His boss pauses from counting the day’s profits and says, “The world is full of fucked up people Dave. Be glad your not one of em”. That story was swimming around in my head while watching the documentary “Crazy Love,” a movie that stars two of the most fucked up people you’ll ever come across. It’s your basic story of boy meets girl, boy dates girl, girl finds out boy is married, boy deceives girl about getting divorce from wife, girl finds out and dumps boy, boy hires thugs to throw lye in girl’s face causing her to lose almost all of her eyesight, boy ends up in jail for said shenanigans, boy gets out of jail, boy and girl get married. No doubt you have friends or family members who have been through this exact same story. Maybe even twice.
Now, I’m no Don Juan or anything, but I certainly wouldn’t recommend throwing lye in a girl’s face as a warm-up to a marriage proposal. But then again, it does have that element of surprise and danger that, say, a trip to Applebee’s followed by a showing of “Never Been Kissed” lacks. In fact, if given the choice between the two, I would take a moment and think carefully before choosing the Drew Barrymore film. (Thought I was going the other way with that didn’t you? Don’t be so dramatic.)
The first thing that you should immediately strike you in “Crazy Love” is the girl of the story, Linda Riss and her wig. “My God” said my wife “Just look at that thing”. That’s the great thing about my wife, she is always spot on when it comes to hairpiece assessments. My God.
Your second revelation will most likely be that the characters in the “Coffee Talk” skits on SNL are real people. Linda and her friends sit in their living rooms filled with little ceramic figurines and plastic-covered furniture. They smoke cigarettes as long as baboon arms, drink coffee and, well…tawk. No big whoop.
But let us not neglect the boy of the story; the ambulance-chasing, nightclub-owning, lye-throwing, horn-dog that is Burt Pugach. He seems like a charming old fella at first, if by “charming” you mean “narcissistic”, and by “fella” you mean “toolbox”. He is clearly one unsettled dude who back talks on his back talk. As each event unfolds, Burt ascends to new levels of assholery never before recorded by man. You gotta love a guy whose best friend comes to his defense by saying “even Hitler had friends”.
Their story is one best heard directly from the source, and they tell it gleefully. Linda and Burt are not camera-shy about their private lives. In fact, they seem to absorb nourishment from sensationalist publicity. There are shots of them appearing on countless news shows, talk shows, anything at all involving a camera and the public. We also get interviews with bewildered friends and families and snapshots of the two at various points in their lives (many of the photos are shown with a strange 3-D effect that didn’t seem particularly necessary).
The movie’s main flaw is that Burt and Linda’s story is the only story here. The director, Dan Klores, seems content with just letting the people involved talk in static takes. All very well and good, but what separates that from any other medium the Pugachs have used to tell their story? Nothing as far as I can see. There are even times that the music and editing by the directors give the story a cutesy feel that I personally don’t welcome in my lye-throwing love stories. Klores thinks that the eccentricities of the people involved is enough to elevate his documentary above the usual Court TV fare. But he ends up just replicating it.
I’ve seen films that are more than their sum of strange, twitchy parts. “The King of Kong” and “My Kid Could Paint That” are just a couple that spring to mind. These directors understand that while the underlying story is important, a documentary isn’t worth the film stock it’s recorded on if it doesn’t address larger, more universal issues. The King of Kong, while being about competitive video games and breathtaking mullets, is also about the concept of winning and what it means to get ahead in life, particularly in the American culture. “My Kid Could Paint That”, is about an artist who is only 4 years old, and is also about the pursuit of truth and what makes art worthwhile. “Crazy Love” is just about marrying the guy who blinded and disfigured you with lye. It may be also about the injustices of haute couture sunglasses, but I’m not certain.
I’m not saying that this makes it a bad movie. I certainly had fun watching these two crazy it up on my screen for 90 minutes. I love the way that Linda stretches the word “asshole” to about 12 syllables. I appreciate that Burt uses upsetting facial hair as a barometer for how insane he is at any given moment. I just get frustrated when I finish watching a good movie that I know could be a great one.
