esprit d'escalier

It’s over.

But it was an amazing run. And I’m really looking forward to next year.

Although in the meantime, I’d love to see a few pieces moved around to make the team stronger next year.

I’d imagine that a KG is more or less out or reach. (Although ESPN.com’s trade machine does show a KG for Kirilenko and Okur trade going through.) But maybe a Gasol, or another aggressive 4/5 player could be acquired.

And yet I doubt any major moves will be made. Despite the two star players both mentioning some player's lack of heart.

But for now, that’s it for the Jazz.

In the words of Jim Morrison:
“This is the end...
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end”

(Oh well. One last look, for the ladies...)

Influence Factor: 12%

Well, despite the high profile Breaking News here, the Derelict Morning News (excuse me, Deseret...) is reporting overwhelming support for the skybridge.



Which, defluffed, means that about 47% of the people who matter definitely support it (to the 12% who definitely don't).

I hate Manu Ginobili.

Sasquatch Music Festival, The Gorge, 05/26/07

As previously reported, 3 of your most beloved bloggers (+1) took the four hour drive up to George, Washington (it look me half the trip to get that) to catch the first day of the Sasquatch Music Festival.

My base line of comparison for music festivals is Coachella, and while I will always reserve a special place in my heart for Indio and its windmills, Sasquatch strikes me as a much more manageable experience. After arriving half-way through The Hold Steady's set we threw down our blanket on the lawn looking down at the Main Stage and chilled out for the rest of the day. No hours of standing or rushing between stages.

And the Gorge Amphitheater [amplitheater?] is simply stunning. Even while sitting through the unbearable hour long set of Citizen Cope (seriously, who listens to this shit?), I was able to persevere by staring off into the Columbia river. The winds occasionally distorted the acoustics, but the setting is unparalleled.

All in all a positive experience, and depending on future line-ups I can imagine us all making the trek again in 2008.

Radio Transmission Directe

The Sins of the Fathers

In honor of my father, I have decided to create the greatest Christian-rock album of all time.

Here is the cover:



It's a metaphor.

everything is broken

Broken lines, broken strings,
Broken threads, broken springs,
Broken idols, broken heads,
People sleeping in broken beds.
Ain't no use jiving
Ain't no use joking
Everything is broken.

Broken bottles, broken plates,
Broken switches, broken gates,
Broken dishes, broken parts,
Streets are filled with broken hearts.
Broken words never meant to be spoken,
Everything is broken.

Seem like every time you stop and turn around
Something else just hit the ground

Broken cutters, broken saws,
Broken buckles, broken laws,
Broken bodies, broken bones,
Broken voices on broken phones.
Take a deep breath, feel like you're chokin',
Everything is broken.

Every time you leave and go off someplace
Things fall to pieces in my face

Broken hands on broken ploughs,
Broken treaties, broken vows,
Broken pipes, broken tools,
People bending broken rules.
Hound dog howling, bull frog croaking,
Everything is broken.

"I'm no fucking buddhist, but this is enlightenment."

On Saturday, Ben, Nell, Mason and I are making a four hour exodus up to the Gorge Amphitheater for the Sasquatch Music Festival in what will surely be an unparalleled day of music.

For those not in the know, Saturday's line-up is shaping up like this:

Björk
Arcade Fire
Manu Chao
The Long Winters
Citizen Cope
Neko Case
Ozomatli
The Hold Steady
Sarah Silverman

And in what has got to be some of the most disappointing news of the year: M.I.A. is going to be quite literally M.I.A. due to "unexpected delays" in acquiring her visa. I guess I can commiserate -- I after all studied abroad in Spain without a visa courtesy of consul bureaucracy. Still, do we no longer live in an age where these things can be "expedited"?

But really, none of that matters. Björk is playing.

Some of our long-time readers may remember that she topped the list of bands I am dying to see live. I would easily pay ten times the festival ticket price to see Björk live. Everything else is a pleasant bonus.

To get primed for Saturday I have cobbled together a modest sampler of sorts of the Björk oeuvre. In many ways, this mix is completely unessential: practically everybody knows (and I hope adores) Björk, and those who don't can be cured of such a terrible affliction by a few spins of the absolutely flawless Debut or Post or Homogenic or Vespertine.

But like every artist touched by the 90s muse of multiple single formats, many of her best songs spilled out beyond her albums, so I have tried to include a healthy dose of b-sides for those of you on more intimate terms with Björk (it was with a heavy heart that I excluded I Go Humble). I will accept criticism that I completely whitewash Medulla, an album I admire far more than I enjoy, and some of her non-canonical work such as Selmasongs and Restraint 9 (and I still need time to fully digest Volta). Hopefully you can take the "modest" modifier to heart and forgive these minor oversights.

[On a personal note, I should add that if push came to shove today, I would list Homogenic as my favorite record of all time; an album that still sounds a million years ahead of its time -- like the last transmission from some dying star.]

This is an alarm-call, so wake-up, wake-up now:

Björk: A Modest Sampler

1. Hidden Place (Vespertine)
2. Jóga (Homogenic)
3. Generous Palmstroke (Hidden Place Single 1)
4. Play Dead (Debut Bonus Track)
5. Army of Me (Army of Me Single 1)
6. It's Not Up To You (Vespertine)
7. All Neon Like (Homogenic)
8. Come to Me (Debut)
9. I Miss You (Post)
10. Crying (Debut)
11. Human Behavior (Debut)
12. Isobel (Post)
13. Bachelorette (Homogenic)
14. Oceania [Piano & Vocal] (Triumph Of A Heart DVD Single)
15. Alarm Call (Homogenic)
16. It's In Our Hands (It's In Our Hands Single 1)
17. All Is Full Of Love [Video Version] (All Is Full Of Love Single 1)

Like always, you can re-create the mixtape on your own vertebrae by vertebrae by vertebrae, or I can weave for you the marvelous web.

I'm sure Logan already knew this,

but I didn't. My cousin Max is reading this cool book called The Dangerous Book for Boys, which, among other things, lists the US Naval signal flags and their meanings. It turns out that these three flags are called "Yankee," "Hotel" and "Foxtrot," which, respectively, mean "Ship has visual communications duty," "I have a pilot on board" and "I am disabled. Communicate with me."






Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is, of course, the title of the fourth Wilco album, released in 2002.

I would like to salute
the ashes of American flags
And all the fallen leaves
filling up shopping bags

Famous Spoilers Throughout History, Part 1

John Wilkes Booth

April 15, 1865. President Lincoln is relaxing and watching a performance of the hit comedy “Our American Cousin” by Tom Taylor. Adding insult to injury, John Wilkes Booth leans over and whispers the ending to the play into Lincoln’s ear before brutally assassinating him.


Robert Newman, Captain John Pulling and Thomas Bernard

Nearly 100 years before, April 18, 1775, at the Old North Church in Boston. Not content to just sit on the information about the arrival of the British, Robert Newman, Captain John Pulling and Thomas Bernard develop a now-famous signal to spoil their arrival for everyone in Charleston.


Cassandra

The most notorious spoiler of all time. Cassandra was even considered a curse of the God’s in some circles. She single-handedly spoiled the Trojan Horse, Agamemnon’s death and her own death. Fortunately for her friends and family, no one ever listened.

Guiding Principals of Goldsmith

The other day Logan asked me if there are any guiding principals that I live by. I can’t remember exactly how he phrased the question and I’ll spare you the back-story, but he was essentially asking if there were any rules (mantras, for the JSLs in the crowd) that I live by. My answer was that I did indeed:

If I there are any other options whatsoever, NEVER, under any circumstances, drive behind a bus.

This answer was completely appropriate given the sarcastic nature of the conversation (plus it really is rock solid advice), but I do have several foundational observations/rules that I’ve found helpful over the years. In general I think I do pretty well for myself, so they probably aren’t completely misguided (at least not all of them). They’re listed here in no particular order. The fact that some of these things are colloquialisms or cliché doesn’t make them any less useful, nor is the one about people named David unfounded. And please forgive the inconsistent pronouns--Switching between I and you seemed less awkward than using one across the board.

___________________________

The more time I spend thinking about the things in my life that are bad, the less likely they are to change. If I want to be happy, I shouldn’t act like I’m sad. If I want to be able to sleep, I shouldn’t plan otherwise. Etc.

If someone asks for help, help.

Good or bad, nothing lasts forever. Make the most of it.

Measure twice, cut once.

Planning out my life is a waste of time. Things change more quickly than I ever imagine.

If I’m not acting deliberately, I’m not acting correctly.

A stitch in time saves nine.

A consensus of no less than three trusted people is needed to override my gut.

Unless I’m driving or otherwise going from point A to point B (which should obviously be done as quickly as possible), moving too slowly is always better than moving too quickly.

Going past second base with a person you don’t know to be uncrazy is like taking more than one milligram of Xanax at a time. It just isn’t worth it.

If you want something done right, get it done yourself.

It’s okay to judge people as long as you keep in mind that you’ve more than likely judged them incorrectly (though probably not unfairly).

Never burn your bridges before you cross them.

Never leave the toilet seat up.

People named David tend to prefer the company of men.

Never turn your back on a reality that’s hard to face. Face it head on and deal with the consequences.

All we can do is the best we can.

How are things on the West Coast?

Hello.

No quarter.

25. Quarter of a century. One of those milestones built for greeting cards.

Somebody asked me the other day if I was anxious about my next birthday.

I suppose not. The date is just as arbitrary as any other. It is not like my birthday has suddenly transformed into a menacing memento mori. As can be seen from my driver's license photo, I didn't even reach puberty until I was 22.

[Although a Sword of Damocles shaped-pastry would be a welcome and tasty gift.]

More often I suffer age vertigo in relation to other people.

Like my brother who just finished his AP American History exam and will be taking driving lessons this summer.

Or seeing old college friends. Who, sometime during the past year, have become hyper-aware of their own aging.

Marriage discussions? I can handle. 401(k)s? Whatever. All appropriate topics of conversation among interstitial adults.

But preemptive anti-aging lotions? That weirds me out. I just barely learned how to shave.

It is like they have already inherited the senescent anxiety of their Baby Boomer parents. That Herod's prophecy has finally been fulfilled: a generation of congenital gray hair (and crow's feet).

Maybe for them I should start a line of Cioran Hallmark Birthday Cards:

"My mission is to kill time, and time's to kill me in its turn. How comfortable one is among murderers."

I disagree.

Largely because a number of the movie series mentioned are not trilogies. Wikipedia is dead wrong on this one.

A true trilogy is one story that has been split into three parts by design.

The Godfather, for instance, is a movie series with three films –– but it is not a trilogy. Alien is a film franchise too. Already at four movies. Plus two, sort of. Likewise with the Terminator. Indiana Jones (as you admit). Shrek. Rush Hour. Pirates of the crappy movie series. And the Ocean's movies.

In these cases, three just happens to be where the studio or creative team stopped.

Lord of the Rings was a good, consistent trilogy.

Back to the Future is a trilogy too. But with those movies, the third is far than the second.

So I guess I don't agree with you entire premise about trilogies.

Nor do I agree with the assertion that Spiderman 3 is any more of a mess than the first two movies.

Tonally, 3 was absolutely consistent with the first two movies. There have always been too many plotlines.

Or did you forget about Peter's stress over his aunt losing her home, or his temporarily losing his powers, or his being later for all of MJ’s shows. I could list more examples, but I don’t feel the need. There has been too much in every Spiderman movie, and some characters and subplots had to be cut back. I just think that when it’s Venom and Gwen Stacy being cut... maybe comic book fans don’t like that as much?

And stupid plotlines... did I mention that in the second movie Spiderman temporarily lost his powers? I’d take amnesia over that any day of the week.

Spiderman 3 was at least as good as the first two movies. Watch them again. You very well may agree.

It was not Revolutions.

My troubles, they come in threes.

Movie trilogies.

Star Wars. Matrix. Godfather. Lord of the Rings. Back to the Future. Terminator. Vengeance.

Is there anything more disappointing than their concluding chapters?

I was disenchanted young. Alien 3 was probably the single most psychologically damaging moment of my childhood. [Don't even get me started on Resurrection.]

Somebody mentioned The Last Crusade as a good counterexample, but (un)fortunately Indiana Jones will be whipping Nazi ass in at least one more adventure.

[The only other acceptable answer is Army of Darkness. Maybe Naqoyqatsi.]

Still I strongly believed Spider-man 3 was going to buck the trend.

Spider-man 2 was superb and a strong leap in quality over its predecessor. And unlike X-men, the series still had its creative team intact. Even early trailers looked promising.

Alas it was not meant to be.

While not the unmitigated disaster of the Ratner Affair, Spider-man 3 is a mess. It feels like a film designed by executives with needless plot threads shoehorned in mid-development.

Nothing is adequately developed. The narrative never decides upon what course to commit (which suggests I should give more credit to Chabon for the story choices of Spider-man 2).

Amnesia is actually used as a plot device. Honestly. Watch.

Which is a shame as there are quite a few winning moments in the film.

Regardless, Hollywood will have plenty of chances to challenge my hypothesis this summer. They are really churning out the trilogies.

Shrek. Pirates of the Caribbean. Rush Hour. Ocean's.

All of which will make bazillions of dollars.

In terms of quality, however, I am putting my money on one last long shot:

The Bourne Ultimatum.

Do me proud Streisand.

Upset

So at about, say, the beginning of the basketball season. I picked the Dallas Mavericks to win the NBA championship.

It wasn’t a statement I would make lightly either. I was very confident that Dallas had the puzzle pieces they needed to avoid another meltdown (like in last year's Finals).

I was wrong.

Dallas lost, badly, to Golden State. A team I wouldn’t have picked for a playoff spot two months ago.

Then Utah beat the favored Houston in a game that was extremely difficult for me to watch.

Then Steve Nash almost broke his nose on the Frenchman's head.

And now I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Which is incredible.

"It's bean fun."

The final marquee of a bankrupt Coffee shop.

And a beautiful life philosophy.

Going down puns blazing.

Adult

The man behind me is telling the two guys in his row about a bar on 9,000 South.

Chekhov is holding my interest, in a way. There’s so much going on. The simple eloquence of the sentences. The mundane brilliance of the stories.

“And you have to go to Park City,” he says. “They have some really fun bars there.”

The plane is almost only in the air long enough for them to serve you drinks and peanuts. You’re at cruising altitude for maybe 20 minutes. Then the decline. Descent, they call it.

A flight attendant, Southwest Airline’s flight attendant of the month, leads the plane in a round of Happy Birthday to the Tami in 12F.

Rachel is playing Puzzle Quest. Before we board, someone tells Rachel that the DS is a good color. It matches her purse. Her daughter, she explains, has a pink one.

If I could just sleep on the plane, everything would get there faster.

Days of Future Past

What if?

Last night Heroes, in one of the best episodes of an already stellar season, engaged in a classic trope of the comic-book medium:

The dystopian alternative future.

It was a move already foreshadowed in the pilot when Hiro namechecked Kitty Pride as a precedent for time-traveling heroes everywhere.

And last night was a clear homage to Days of Future Past -- a hugely popular story featuring Wolverine and Kitty Pride as the sole surviving X-men in a future of concentration camps and genocidal sentinels.

[One of my personal favorite comic arcs of all time is The Age of Apocalypse, a Marvel Universe spanning arc that imagines an alternative timeline in which Legion goes back in time to assassinate Magneto only to accidently kill Professor X instead. His father. As you can imagine, things didn't turn out so well.]

There is something intensely satisfying about these alternate visions of the future.

For one, they add tremendous gravity to pressing dramatic crises. The audience is given an explicit image of what is at stake if our protagonists fail in their endeavor. If Hiro fails to kill Sylar, half of New York City is going to be wiped out and everybody is going to be sporting edgier, albeit sexier, personas.

It also grants the writers a gratifying liberty: the ability to epically kill a whole slew of major characters. Even though I knew it wasn't for keeps, I still gasped when Claire and Mr. Bennett bit the dust.

Perhaps more so, they expose how capricious we are as individuals. That slight changes in fate could have massive repercussions on our character. Presumably Parkman will not be a villain in the Hiro corrected time-stream -- his lapses in moral judgement were just the result of living in a post-exploding man world.

In history, these what-if exercises are called counter-factuals.

Most professional historians hate them -- ostensibly because they are unscientific, but I think part of the reason is they reveal just how contingent history truly is.

That we human beings are the vector sums of contingent pressures.

Richard Rorty presents this argument in his counter-factual essay On Heidegger's Nazism. What if Heidegger had married a Jewish woman? He probably would have joined Thomas Mann in preaching resistance to Hitler. And Rorty's conclusion is that a person's moral character is shaped by chance events in his or her life.

Perhaps you will find the analogy crass, but is this not the esssential philosophical premise posed by countless 'What if' comic one offs? [Avoiding, of course, the obscurantistic spelunking of such titles as #34 What if the Silver Surfer possessed the Infinity Gauntlet?]

To bring up a pertinent comic book example: the entire foundation of Spiderman's moral framework stems from the guilt of his uncle's death.

So, what if Uncle Ben never died?

Indeed, what if?

Bad Ass of the Month - May

An NBA player who exceeds expectations in his rookie year while managing a seriously rough case of Diabetes could on those merits alone achieve Bad Ass of the Week status across the blogisphere, but Adam Morrison has all that and a Che Guavara flag draped around his neck.

It seems that despite his new-found fame our crustached compadre spent the weekend at Coachella. A fellow concert goer recognized Morrison in the "mosh pit" during Rage Against the Machine's reunion performance and managed to snap this totally perfect photo. If he didn't always have that dazed, half awake look on his face, I'd say he was on drugs. But that's just kind of what he looks like.

Professional athletes who mosh to Rage while sporting Soviet red Che Guavara flags will henceforth receive automatic Bad Ass of the Month status.