FYI

A Tale of Two Cities

Two cities: Dekalb, Illinois and Sidney, Nebraska.

On the drive back from Chicago, Brad and I made two stops at towns along I-80 with the hopes of catching two World Cup games. The plan was simple. Drive until gametime. Find the nearest town and bar with a television tuned to ESPN. Eat, drink, and be merry.

It seemed like a good idea. It would break up the homogenic monotony of freeway travel and let us experience a little bit of the flavor of the midwestern states. The road less travelled.

Two cities, two very different results.

Dekalb was a dream.

Based on a random turn at an intersection we wound up at Fatty's, a tavern located on the edge of town. Our gamble was immediately rewarded. Both the World Cup and the White Sox game were on tap. The nachos were plentiful, the Newcastles a breezy two dollars, the crowd vocal and convivial. Brad explained the intricacies of soccer to an old man siting next to us. He explained to us the painful intricacies of losing a son.

Brad and I got back on the freeway pleased with our find. We anticipated what the next day would bring.

It brought Sidney, Nebraska.

It was Sunday. Downtown was all but closed. Brad and I tried two bars before finding success with Goldy's.

The scene was immediately unnerving. All turned to us as we approached the bar.

The response was curt. "This is America. We don't watch soccer."

As Nascar blared from the television, the mulleted two playing pool began slandering each other in unironic sexual and racial slurs. A country song "Size Does Matter" kicked up on the jukebox.

Brad and I got back into our car before we got hate crimed.

A highly effective sleep aid...

If you or your loved ones suffer from mild to severe insomnia, may I make a recommendation? (I know a surefire cure that I guaranteed will be the most effective treatment for insomnia ever!)

It’s Thom Yorke’s new solo album The Eraser. And it may just be the solution you’ve been looking for.

More than five times as effective as the leading sleep aid, The Eraser works by putting together nine droll, dreary songs that are nearly indistinguishable from each other. Building off the kind of musical acumen usually reserved for Radiohead b-sides, The Eraser is guaranteed to put you to sleep in a mere 49 minutes –– or less!

And unlike other sleep aids, Thom Yorke’s The Eraser is unlikely to become addictive.

Look for it on store shelves on July 11, 2006.

Warning: The Eraser should not be consumed if you will be driving or operating heavy machinery. Some members may experience a lack of appetite and minor erectile dysfunction after use. Although rare, some listeners may have the desire to hurt themselves or others after hearing The Eraser. If you feel that you may be a risk to yourself or others, please take The Eraser to the nearest used CD store or garbage can immediately!

So This Is Goodbye

Ignoration

So that’s it... a 2-1 loss to Ghana and it’s suddenly all over.

Well not suddenly. After the first big blowout against Czech Republic it wasn’t a big surprise really.

The wait until 2010 is on.

Now here my list of the little things that could make you feel better about the U.S. elimination:

Czech Republic was favored to win the Group E, but they’re out.

Ghana will most likely follow up their U.S. victory with a smashing defeat to Brazil.

Larry Brown was fired, and Isiah Thomas is taking over as head coach while remaining team president. So the Knicks are guaranteed to suck for at least another year or two.

The Dallas Mavericks were screwed over by the NBA referees worse than Team U.S.A. was screwed over by the World Cup referees.

Ian and Julie are getting married.

That Gnarls Barkley song “Crazy.”

Logan hates puppies and loves B S Goldsmith.

Wife swapping is your future

I might as well spread the news.

I recieved word today from Ian that he and Julie are officially engaged.

All you ever do is fade away
All you ever do is fade away

Tit-for-Tat in a Cyberstate of Warre

I woke up the day after my birthday to a most unwelcome present.

Negative feedback.

I have been using eBAY for well over six years (my first auction was number 268,007,914, my latest 6,638,937,886), and not once had I come close to a disparaging remark. On the contrary, people had gone to absurd lengths to post ridiculously positive feedback -- regardless of whether I truly deserved it or not.

From one seller, I received an "Excellent transaction, good communication and fast payment. Asset to ebay A++++"

More bizarrely, from another, "I LOVE HER!! The nicest, sweetest, best ebayer! And awesome taste! A++"

Then it happened. I received an e-mail from eBAY reassuring me that I was "a valued member of the eBay community" and that my "reputation on eBay is still solid" despite the "recently received negative feedback related to an eBay purchase."

I was stunned.

Considering the cartoonish praise I received for over one hundred transactions, what could I have possibly done wrong? Did I send a severed human head? Did I run over their cat? Did I engage in sexual intercourse with their spouse or significant other?

The answer was depressingly banal: I mistakenly shipped only one CD in a two CD set. My bad.

It is a testament to eBAY that instead of blowing off a small slight to my perceived internet integrity, I did everything in my power to rectify the situation with my disgruntled customer.

eBAY is a brilliantly regulated system of reciprocal altruism.

As the buyer and seller interact through anonymous screen names, the electronic auctioneering website should operate like the hypothetical state of nature without a sovereign and sword to hold people to their contracts. eBAY obviates this prisoner's dilemma of self-interested defection through a system of reputation. Every time an auction and a contract are completed, the buyer and seller leave feedback. Therefore sellers that play by the rules of the game will have a high feedback rating and this will in turn encourage other people to engage in transactions with them. Conversely, sellers with negative feedback will be ostracized as potential buyers refuse to deal with them.

[In Origins of Virtue, Matt Ridley describes a natural example of this strategy of tit-for-tat. Vampire bats play a cooperation game; each night that bats go out to hunt for blood, numerous bats return without catching anything. A single bat usually obtains more than it needs in a single meal and therefore some altruistic bats will regurgitate blood to a less fortunate bat. It seems that bats have a large enough neocortex to identify which fellow bats are generous and which ones are stingy. Bats are more likely to help out those who have helped them out than those who refuse to help. Therefore, in the context of the prisoner’s dilemma, when they encounter a bat the defects, they simply refuse to play with that bat again. This becomes a form of social ostracism, as bats can refuse to play with those who do not cooperate.]

This is the part of the story where I sound sanctimonious.

By restoring my immaculate reputation and in effect reaffirming the delicate tissue of community trust, I was able to sell a redundant Radiohead ticket for an astonishing 12x face value.

Should I attribute this boon to the financial insanity of fanatical Radiohead fans?

Probably.

But I do not think it would be unfair to give credit to the role cyberkarma played as well.

Ce n'est pas un match de football

"The Uruguayan FA have this week suspended five of their top officials for six months - including one referee who days earlier had been selected for the World Cup Finals.

Jorge Larrionda was due to be Uruguay's representative in Japan and Korea this summer [World Cup 2002] but Matias Vazquez, president of the Uruguayan Football Association's (AUF) School of Referees, said FIFA would be informed of the ban and that soccer's world governing body would routinely be expected to endorse it - causing Larrionda to miss the tournament"

Source: ESPN.com Soccernet 2002-01-10

The new...

Without further ado, here's a peek at my new apartment. Of course, to get the full effect, you'll actually have to come and visit me.

My bedroom...



My living room...



My desk...


My view...


My Kitchen...


What you'll enter when you come to visit me...

PictoSMACK!

PICTOSPAT

The X factor...

I can’t say that I know for sure what separates great, good or mediocre movie. Or how a particular movie could have been better.

Sometimes it seems pretty obvious. Movies like Poseidon, for instance, would be easily improved by simply not existing. Others movies – like Shaun of the Dead, the Big Lebowski and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind – are simply perfect and cannot be improved.

But mostly it’s more complicated than that. Case in point: X-men: The Last Stand.

It isn’t necessarily a bad movie. In fact, there is definite awesomeness in there.

Yet, for some reason, it isn’t very good. Consider:

There are bizarre continuity errors. For instance, Magneto moves the Golden Gate bridge to Alcatraz island during the day, with an ambiguous establishing shot that could mean sunrise or sunset. Then the final conflict occurs at night. Sure, this is likely a matter of a scene being cut out to keep the movie’s length at that 1:30-1:45 sweet spot. But I still think it shows a certain laziness in how the film is put together overall. Another example is when Wolverine is visiting Professor X’s grave and having that “I won’t let you down” moment. A bee lands on his jacket and crawls around he entire scene. What the hell?

The love triangle… no. Not Jean Grey, Wolverine and Cyclops. That was resolved. Right? I mean the love triangle between Rogue, Iceman and Shadowcat (who is, sorry Logan, awesome… wait… does saying that make me a pedophile?) It was introduced and then never resolved. Yes, there was that final scene where the now “cured” Rogue tells Iceman she’s ready to have sex with him (or something… I don’t know, I got bored). But that isn’t actually a conclusion to a plotline. At least, not at the school or narrative I’ve attended.

So Wolverine’s healing power protects him from an unstable and seemingly all-powerful villain. Riggghhhhhhttttt.

And that all powerful villain. Could she be any more boring? I don’t think so. Also… she couldn’t be more of a rip-off of the Dark Willow from season six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I know that my geek quotient just went off the charts with that comment. And there’s even a chicken and the egg thing (as Dark Willow is arguably inspired by Dark Phoenix)… but the veiny face thing really puts the point home.

I hate comic book “retcon.” And this movie is ripe with it. Besides the obvious first two scenes… it almost feels like Jean Grey’s character is completely rewritten for this movie. I know that’s a comic book thing to do… but it really screws up a movie trilogy.

I hate how the three bad mutants (one of whom is apparently Psylocke) are introduced and then evaporated.

The movie says that the “cure” and the company responsible seem dark and foreboding. But it doesn’t ever show that. Seems like a perfectly viable pharmaceutical to me.

Cyclops dies… and no one cares. Or remembers for more than 10 minutes.

Magneto loses his power (with much melodrama) and then regains them. Xavier dies… and then un-dies. (Notice how that is also a word for underwear.)

Overall… this movie just made me realize that – odd as it may sound – Over The Hedge was easily the best movie I’ve seen this year.

Seriously. Go see it.

First Things First

A couple weekends ago I was doing my regular check on the tapes at the Goodwill on MLK (where I sit on the floor and make it difficult for dudes in sweatpants to check out the Jane Fonda aerobics tapes behind me) when I discovered a Siamese Dream tape. Other previous selections from that bookcase have included a Salt 'n Pepa remix, a pink and black Pat Benatar tape (which is only worth it for "love is a battlefield"--and then only when you are by yourself), and my favorite OMD tape (if you haven't listened to "tesla girl" or "electricity", you need to very soon or my heart will be broken). The Smashing Pumpkins tape would not have been all that significant if I hadn't been recently going through a loud, distorted melodic guitar phase (see: Fugazi, Hum, Team Dresch, noisy Portland bands).

It also would not have been especially significant if I hadn't thought about Mark when I put on the tape later that day.

Late in high school, I went with Mark to a Smashing Pumpkins show at the Saltair. It wasn't really authentic Smashing Pumpkins (the Hole bassist + Billy Corgan and disgruntled band members version), but it was enough to fill some weird latent groove in my brain that is now letting its contents seep into how I play with my distortion pedal.

Back when I was listened to bad pop punk and ska bands (see: NOFX, Blink 182, Dance Hall Crashers), Mark was listening to dark, heavy guitars and beautiful melodies and probably secretly checking out the hot picture of D'arcy in the liner notes. And he was developing a repertoire of Joss Whedon jokes (which is a discussion for a later date) that none of us understood because we were too busy buying skate shoes and pretending to mosh (and definitely not checking out gothy girls in liner notes).

And now, 6 years later, I try (and fail) to get my band to cover 1979. And I wish I had more black t-shirts.

Mark got it way before I did.

(and once again, I'm late figuring things out.. but better late than never).
To make up for it, you all should accept this offering:

talking cats

Philosophy Mon Amour

I spent much of the day yesterday rereading a few sections in some of my old books from college. I miss school. I'm afraid the real world just doesn't really hold a candle to the insolated, esoteric, and self indulgent world of academia. Sorry L Dub.

"A new amatory world comes to the surface within the eternal return of historical and intellectual cycles. Following the winter of discontent comes the artifice of seeming; following the whiteness of boredom, the heartrending distraction of parody. And vice versa. Truth, in short, makes its way amid the shimmering of artificial amenities as well as asserting itself in painful mirror games. Does not the wonderment of psychic life after all stem from those alternations of protections and downfalls, smiles and tears, sunshine and melancholia?" -Julia Kristeva

Goldsmith's Two Cents - Æon Flux

Æon Flux (2005)

I think I was a little too young to fully appreciate the original Æon Flux series when it first aired, but I always watched it when it came on. I never totally understood the story line, but somehow it was always interesting enough to keep me from changing the channel. I liked the cartoon because of how visually interesting, imaginative, and intense it was. I didn't think the major motion picture version had a chance of doing the original justice. I was wrong.

Æon Flux totally owns. The visuals are awesome, the story great, and Æon kicks a dictator-clone's (clone-dictator's?) ass. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that it's a better movie than The Matrix. It's like the Matrix, but pretty. Plus there's no Æon Flux 2 to blow it. Yet.

Copa Mundial 2006

One last word about the World Cup... I promise.

Your local Univision affiliate will be airing every single game of the Copa Mundial.

I am watching Alemania contra Costa Rica before hitting Ratner to commence.

¡Que Golazo!

TV Roundup Endgame: Part Drei

Lost: I think it is fair to say that the second season has not been as well received as the first. I have discussed possible reasons for this on a couple of occasions, but now that the season has come to a close I feel the central problem is akin to what Mark mentioned earlier - a problem of continuity.

Or perhaps I should say, of consequence.

The second season succumbed to a narrative inertia centered around the new hatch status quo. Events occurred in isolated sequence. Actions lacked repercussion.

I was quite excited by "The Long Con." Sawyer was once again intimidating and his bid to be 'the new sherfiff in town' seemed like it would shakeup the beach community from its tranquil complacence. Yet an episode later, Hugo was helping ole James Ford hunt amphibians in the jungle. Or what of Sun being kidnapped and knocked unconscious? Or her pregnancy for that matter? I had forgotten she was expecting because it wasn't referenced until the finale -- eight episodes later (a third of the season).

Mark attributes his mythic amnesia to extra-textural affairs, but I blame it on the writers failing to sign-post or reestablish former action and current consequence (which leads me to believe there was a communication breakdown this season between the plotters and scripters).

While Lost may not have mastered the season finale, I feel the episode was rather successful in-and-of-itself for its reintegration of former plot threads - particularly with Locke finally expressing remorse for his role in Boone's death. [And that four-toed statue, while gratuitous, was pretty cool!]

I do, however, miss the sense of menace the series once had. The threat of infectional insurrection that Rousseau had prophesied. The nebulous monster which once stalked the island. The paranoia of othered infiltration.

And I worry that Lindelof's involvement with Abrams's reboot of the Star Trek franchise may divide his attention. [I have never seen Alias, but the risk of listlessness seems to loom large over any extended Abrams project.]

Like Six Feet Under, Lost may degenerate into a flawed series that coasts on the laurels of its principal season. I just hope Lindelof and Abrams can construct a pyre worthy of the characters they created.

Netflix Two Cents: F for Fake

F for Fake (1976)

Verdict: Playful and exuberant, Orson Welles's faux documentary of the forger Elmyr de Hory lambasts critics while teasing out the simultaneous duplicity and veracity of art.

HWBC: The Thinking Fan's Guide...

Now that I am reading for pleasure again, I can finally recommend books that aren't exclusively about fin-de-siècle and interwar Europe. I love ontological phenomenology as much as the next graduate student, but sometimes you need a bit of a breather from das Man.

The Thinking Fan's Guide to the World Cup is a collection of thirty-two essays each orbiting around football as it relates to one of the qualifying countries (sorry Greece, maybe next decade). The title is a bit of a misnomer; the actual mechanics of the sport are rarely discussed, usually only in reference to the inexpressible beauty and grace of the game. Instead, a majority of the essays are personal narratives written by English non-natives of their respective countries.

As such the book is fairly uneven.

Eric Schlosser's essay on the Swedish prison system, while fascinating, barely mentions soccer. I skipped William Finnegan's long account of a Portuguese surfing village - if you happen to read it, let me know if he ever got around to Luis Figo.

Still, the book is enormously entertaining. It is most successful when the writing focuses on the moments of bisection between the sport and the socio-political (such as the Barça role in Catalonian resistance) and when it describes former soccer greats (like the great Brazilian chain-smoking doctor Socrates).

Or when it manages both -- like the peerless Argentinean Diego Armando Maradona whose own handball in the 1986 match against England (and in the shadow of the Falklands Conflict) he described as,"A little bit by the hand of God, another bit by the head of Maradona." A decade later, Diego would write, "Now I feel I am able to say what I couldn't then... Bollocks was it the hand of God, it was the hand of Diego! And it felt a little bit like pickpocketing the English."

Added bonus: the book includes a comprehensive list of each country's performance in prior World Cups and how they fared on the path to qualification for the 2006 event in Germany. While this information may not be useful in divining bracket winners, the anecdotes contained in the thirty-two essays should help in deciding which teams to flippantly support:

Who knew Australian football fans actually sang Men At Work's "Land Down Under" as a victory chant?

"Can you hear can you hear the thunder?"

Needle Hit The Groove

dear diary,

tossed around the mellow earth biscuit. bought lemonade from some neighborhood kids. listened to the stone roses' self-titled.

and was delighted to find 57th street, a road i walk everyday to class, transformed into a chockablock art fair.

life is good.

xoxo~~logan

SBVRT NRMLTY

M S is moving...

I'm moving this weekend and I'm also not able to get my cable modem hooked up until next Friday. Until then expect much reduced markness (ergo, reduced awesomeness, profundity and serendipity).

The X-men 3 rant will therefore have to be postponed.

(Na Na Hey Hey) Goodbye.

Course work completed. Thesis bound. Regalia measured.






















University of Chicago, it's been real.