godspeed, michael jackson

Last night, I was out with some friends watching a DJ set up for his late night set. WonQ posed this question, "When will the Michael Jackson tribute be?" I had not even thought about this obvious scenario as I had skimmed a few articles regarding his death during the afternoon and quickly put it out of mind. And then the DJ began his MJ homage with "Beat It", and the news finally struck me.

I have no personal relationship with the man, but the loss of greatness impacts everyone. And he was truly great.

People seem to act most "humanly" at a time of death. With his passing, the world can now begin to resurrect his genius and properly place him in the pantheon of musical brilliance. He easily stands up there with Lennon/McCartney, Mozart...the list is pretty short. It's a shame we didn't do this while he lived. Some of that was obviously self-imposed from improper/unusual behavior, but the reverberating shock stretching across the world today is tied to the fact that we slammed the door on him and abandoned him for over a decade. Amazingly, we all were able to distinguish between the man and his music. We never stopped lauding the music. Meanwhile, we denigrated the man named Michael Jackson to nothing more than a punchline, a freakish circus sideshow. I think that ceases now.

And to quickly touch upon all the improper behavior - is it innate or learned? Is it possible that it was an unavoidable discharge to counter all of the creativity? Or is it simply an outcome of being pushed too hard early in life because the genius is spotted quickly? It might be a combination of both. Either way, the world victimized him and in turn, he did the same. There are no excuses, just a modicum of understanding that those that are truly unique have difficulty fitting in with the masses. We celebrate them, we ridicule them. We expect them to be different from us and the same as us all at once. That's just how it is.

I would never intend to underestimate the magnitude of losing a father, a son, a friend. But as fans, for those of us Jackson has entertained, we can now remember him fondly. I am looking forward to that.

Enough words. Here's my favorite MJ music video. "Thriller" may be more historically significant, but "Smooth Criminal" is easily his best video creation:



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wonq and the dark knight

Recently, WonQ invited me to share some thoughts and words about The Dark Knight (2008) as part of his relentless march to watch 40 movies in 40 nights. Why 40 in 40? Because he is Catholic, and Jesus spent 40 days in the desert thwarting off Satan's temptations. So, I interpret this to mean that these films serve as a surrogate to his normal life of sexual deviance and hard core drugs.

I was flattered by the invitation until I realized it was a lazy attempt to write about this lengthy film without having to actually dedicate a night to watch it. I call, "Fraud!"

Irregardless, I had a great time bouncing thoughts off of each other. I believe WonQ envisioned an amiable, open exchange about the movie and the comic book film genre in general; I decided it would be more fun as an argument. I don't believe I will be invited for more.

You can find our epic battle here.

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picasa vs. flickr

I've been tinkering with Flickr lately and am convinced that an active account is necessary for any aspiring photographer. From the initial comparisons I've conducted, it appears as though some resolution is forfeited when embedding Picasa images as compared to Flickr images. Ultimately, there is utility for both, but I think I'll be posting images from Flickr going forward. Let's chalk one up for Yahoo!

Because you care.

Picasa:

Flickr:

Picasa:


Flickr:

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the beatles rock band

I don't remember all too much from my childhood, but I have a clear memory of my first introduction to The Beatles. I was in seventh grade, and I inserted a Beatles tape that Colonel Mustard had brought home from school. Years later, I would realize the track I listened to was "A Day in the Life" off of the Sgt. Pepper album. John Lennon's haunting vocal and the cacophony of the orchestra felt like some kind of assault on my ears and my mind. I freaked out and stopped the tape about fifteen seconds after I pressed play. Today, I think it's one of the most brilliant pieces of music ever composed/produced (but what do I know, I get excited by Lady Gaga these days).

A year later, The Beatles Anthology (0:55 to 3:18 or so is a must for any fan, but you should have your own DVD copy, right?) aired on ABC, and I was intrigued.

High school came, and I found the band to be a way for me to distinguish myself as an independent thinker (this is the honest truth). Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with the music. I spent all of my discretionary income purchasing CDs and memorizing lyrics. I educated C-Monster on which member sang vocals on a particular track.I chatted with other fans in Beatles' CHAT ROOMS (on a Netscape browser). I spent hours listening to classic rock stations listening for any Beatles' tunes I had never heard, which ultimately was an introduction into the entire genre - The Who, Led Zeppelin, Cream, Jimi Hendrix, the list goes on. And at the ripe age of 15, I was convinced that the good Lord had inadvertently displaced this sixties' soul in the wrong decade.

College came and my musical tastes diverged. But I kept my first love close to the chest (or ears). And then iPods broke onto the musical scene and completely revolutionized all of our musical catalogs. Any solid iTunes requires an eclectic mix of classic rock, eighties pop, indy rock, hip-hop, soulful R&B...all meant to add up to a musical persona with depth, heart, intelligence, and frivolity. It sounds silly, but we've all spent years fine-tuning our playlists. But I digress. The Beatles got lost in the fold. 

And then a few months ago, my appetite for the Fab Four was rejuvenated when I learned that a Beatles version of Rock Band would be hitting store shelves in September. I am subscribed to email updates, and until today, I've been teased with really meaningless information.

Today, the game's collaborators released a trailer, and it looks fantastic! The hair styles, the beards, the duds all perfectly match the time periods, venues, and records. The confirmed track list is fairly short at the moment, but the entire Abbey Road LP will be available for download not too long after the initial release. That leads me to believe that their entire catalog will be available at some point. I have a feeling I'll be buying the same Beatles music over and over again, in various formats, for the rest of my life.

I am way too excited for this.

There is a higher definition version of the video on the official Beatles Rock Band website.

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memorial day weekend, whale's vagina

Emmelle and I ushered in summer 2009 with a drive to Whale's Vagina* over the long weekend. We opted to trek down 101 rather than 5 to make some stops along the central coast which I personally have never taken the time to explore. Once we reached our final destination, I was pleased with my body's ability to endure the lengthy drive like road trips past (e.g., I once drove to Iowa with some buddies in about 30 hours). And then I slept for twelve hours on one of the nights to recuperate, and I still don't feel fully rested. 

My body is getting older (so is yours)...

Laetitia winery in Arroyo Grande about an hour north of Santa Barbara. The vineyard is located right off of 101, making it ideal for a quick stop to stretch the legs and sample some of the local grapes. There are some really nice wineries down here; it's amazing how Napa's marketing machine was able to brand itself as the pre-eminent region for California wine. Anyway, just throwing in this pic to gross you out. 

Cafe Firenze in Moorpark owned by Top Cheftestant Fabio from season 5. We were sadly underwhelmed by this establishment, a huge restaurant in a suburban strip mall. Absolutely no charm or intimacy, the decor was reminiscent of a Cheesecake Factory or some gaudy Las Vegas eatery. As for the food, it was decent. Again, nothing overwhelming. I did enjoy the beef carpaccio, a dish universally praised by the judges on the show.  

The zoo. I have been telling some folks that we vacation like an old, retired couple. Early to rise and early to bed with a touristy activity or two mixed in between. I can't handle anything else. My body is getting older.

The pictures aren't really meant to entertain or solicit a response. I'm just putting it out there more as a reminder that it's summer now. Fill up your weekend calendars and snap some memories.

Thanks for stopping by.

* Ron Burgundy: Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diego, which of course in German means a whale's vagina. 
Veronica Corningstone: No, there's no way that's correct. 
Ron Burgundy: I'm sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don't know what it means. I'll be honest, I don't think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago. 
Veronica Corningstone: Doesn't it mean Saint Diego? 
Ron Burgundy: No. No. 
Veronica Corningstone: No, that's - that's what it means. Really. 
Ron Burgundy: Agree to disagree. 

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greensandbrowns on twitter

Exciting happenings in the GreensandBrowns universe! 

The team has set up a Twitter account, and recent updates can now be found on the left-hand navigation bar. If you have an account, let's be Twitter mates. Wouldn't you rather have a barrage of G&B updates sent directly to your cell phone rather than the manual weekly check-in to the site that you are currently conducting (and by "weekly", we both really mean "daily" or "hourly")? Let's get my following count quickly up from a "0" to "1", and then quite possibly to "2" thereafter. You follow me, I follow you. The possibilities are endless.

The G&B Twitter account will be monitored by none other than Darth Sexual. 

Here are some samples of what you might expect (in 140 characters or less):

• i brewed beer at home. it tastes like my foot. i am willing to share
• there is a man that works on the fourth floor of my building. he takes poopies on the sixth (my) floor
• can somebody pick me up?
• xmen 3 on fx. gayest movie ever? fight in sf, marginalized for genetic mutation, mega-gay Archangel, bromance - Xavier & Magneto
• Emelle's pet fish died: http://alamonica.blogspot.com/2009/05/pet-fish.html Less competition, on my way to the top!

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canadia - part 2 (montreal)

"Paris without the jet lag." Bonjour! Emmelle (French spelling of ML) and I traveled by train from Toronto to Montreal for the second half of our Canadian vacation a couple of weeks ago. You can read Emmelle's detailed take here. My own mishmash of observations:

Montreal is the place to be in eastern Canadia, scratch that, probably all of Canadia. It's a charming city rooted in Canadian history and soaked in French culture.  "Rugged elegance" is how I would describe the mental still frames of its landscape, buildings, and people. The city has masterfully married the traditions and architecture of the past (cobblestone streets, beautiful basilicas) and the bright lights of modern big city life. All of these factors add up to a city and region that is neither Canadian nor French; it's something entirely unique - Quebec. Great food, fun atmosphere, pleasant people. We really loved this place.

Mont Royal.

Quebec like Texas. Leading up to the trip, we had read about the separatist movement that has existed in Quebec for years. After four days of passive ethnographic observation, GreensandBrowns officially endorses the secession movement. French is the primary language and the young people receive a consistent dosage of pop culture, music, and fashion from France. Even generations later, the people appear more "European" than elsewhere in North America, a likely result of homogeneous mixing within this region. Northern cities like Quebec City, we were told, are even more "French". Can this really be considered Canadian?

(On top of that, I would like to declare my full support of Texas leaving the US. Let's also give the Bible Belt an autonomous state (even if they don't want it). I also propose American colonization of British Columbia (Vancouver) in exchange for Montana and the Dakotas. Let's get rid of Arizona altogether.)

Notre Dame Basilica.

Gregory Jones. I'll conclude this entry by going back to the beginning. 

On our five hour train ride to Montreal, we sat next to a friendly Canadian called Greg. We first met him prior to boarding, and Greg mentioned that this was his first trip to Montreal. He was obviously not a novice traveler however as he carried a heavy duty backpack and wore worn hiking boots. On the train, he revealed that he recently completed a six month backpacking trip through Central America and parts of South America. He would be spending a few more weeks traveling through Canada until reaching Vancouver to spend the rest of the summer at an archaeological dig. He told us his name was Greg, but I think it might have been Dr. Henry Jones, Jr. (sans fedora and whip).

We are probably around the same age. But Young Indy most likely has visited more countries and experienced more cultures than I will in my life's entirety. I envy this, in a healthy way. I have the utmost admiration for life-long travelers. They have seen more colors, experienced more behaviors, immersed themselves in more histories. In my non-humble opinion, guys like Young Indy have a more holistic image of humanity, a better understanding of man's relationship with the earth.

My social constructs mandate life objectives that conflict with Young Indy's capricious lifestyle - stable job and income, stable living situation, a keen eye on making sure present decisions don't compromise future plans (basically the never-ending paper chase). While I suffer through intermittent bouts of wanderlust, they are always deflated by a laundry list of responsibilities. Why can't Emelle and I just take off to some exotic beach, sustained by blue collar work and replenished by an island sun? We can't...because we can't.

But we can weave these temporary excursions tighter into our lives. 

Traveling should be a responsibility in itself. I am calling upon myself to experience something more than the comfortable confines of home. The days may be long, but the years are short. And they grow shorter. With Emelle's fingers firmly intertwined in mine, we move forward towards our next adventure.

Merci.

Chocolate soup.

Cuisine: bone marrow, poutine (french fries, cheese curd, and gravy), mash potatoes with caviar

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canadia - part 1 (toronto)

I abstained from writing during a recent vacation to Toronto and Montreal to offer a complete thought rather than a stream of incoherent babble throughout the trip (a la Twitter and FaceBook updates).

ML and I flew to Toronto on Saturday, the 11^th and returned the following Friday from Montreal. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to follow a self-imposed decree that mandates one international sojourn each year, but we have complied two consecutive years. Our Canadia journey proceeds vacationing in the Maya Riviera in March 2008. We plan to leave this continent some day. Some day…

We settled on eastern Canadia, splitting time between Toronto to visit HoJo and Montreal to get a flavor of western Europe without actually flying there. My one regret is that we spent too much time in Toronto (sorry HoJo), losing out on an opportunity to do a day trip to Quebec City. Ultimately, Toronto feels like any other major American city except for the fact that I wanted to pull aside everyone we encountered and ask, “Do you realize that you are Canadian?”

We had a lay over at JFK before reaching our first destination Saturday night. While en route to the hotel, ML ruefully announces that she has misplaced her passport. I assure her that she must have transferred it into her main luggage, nestled safely in the underbelly of the moving shuttle bus. ML is not convinced and appears a bit frantic, attempting in vain to hide the alarm that has now settled upon her face. I, on the other hand, am much more confident that her passport is secured in one of her bags. I felt this way because ML is the least forgetful, least absent-minded person I have ever met in my life. Apparently, Canadian ML is American ML’s doppelganger. 

Canadia: 1, GreensandBrowns: 0

We scurry into the hotel lobby and rummage through her bags. Nothing. Her passport is gone. Mild concern quickly replaces first night excitement. We talk to a few people in the hotel and are instructed to file a police report. After unloading our bags, we make our way to the nearest Toronto police department. I am excited to meet the Mounties and pet their horses. We arrive; they are not Mounties. We waste our time filing a report that will make no impact on retrieving ML's passport. While the officer (not sure that they were actual cops as much as just hired administrative help) jots down relevant information, another "cop" begins to tell me about her brother that lives in San Francisco. He lives in Diamond Heights. He works for Sales Force on the Embarcadero. He used to live in Los Angeles. He may have worked for Google at one point or another. She is going for her second visit this August…

We leave the station a bit discouraged because Toronto’s finest won’t be able to help us at all. I really feel we need this guy to resolve our issue. Even worse, we are told that we won’t be able to settle the matter at the U.S. Consulate until Tuesday – the day we leave for Montreal – because Monday is a holiday. Which holiday you ask? You silly American. Easter Monday, of course. This makes perfect sense to me. I look forward to The Day After New Year's Day next year. 

I read online that an emergency passport can be processed and created within 24 hours; everyone we talk to estimates a week or longer. ML acquiesces to an unfortunate fate and mentally makes plans to take the BAR exam in Canadia. 

Being the great Catholics that we are, we cabbed to University of Toronto’s Newman Center to celebrate Easter Vigil mass and catch up with HoJo (Here is a good story about Hojo's calm demeanor - I call him prior to us walking to the police station and tell him that we may be late to mass because of the lost passport. I expect sympathy and some concern or shock. I get this: "OK. Well, you want to get there early if you want a seat. It will be crowded tonight..."). 

We endure the longest mass of all-time. The risen Lord would probably have wanted to take a cigarette break during this thing. Holy crap. I remain focused enough to lift up an earnest prayer to my Maker:

1. For an overlooked pocket in ML's luggage containing the passport (scratch this, this is too selfish)
2. For easy retrieval of ML's passport, preferably by way of a friendly Canadian Samaritan who will walk up to us and say, "I believe this belongs to you, eh." (scratch this, this is asking too much)
3. For ML, that she may dutifully accept her new life in Canadia (scratch this as well)
4. God's Will (ok, this will work)

Mass mercifully ends. (Did I mention that I am a great Catholic?) We finally meet up with HoJo and head with him and his people to a 24 hour pasta joint (It is past 2am by this point). I am eager to try some indigenous beer but am denied due to the late hour. I tell our server that it’s ok, “It’s only 11:30 in California.” She does not have a sense of humor. 

Canadia: 2, GreensandBrowns: 0

On our drive home, ML comments that homeless people are not prominent like in San Francisco. Unwilling to concede anything to the United States, HoJo corrects her and proudly claims there are plenty of homeless people in Toronto. We stop at a red light and HoJo points at a man lying underneath a blue tarp on the sidewalk, trying in vain to keep warm from the cold. HoJo points at the homeless man and says, “See, there is a homeless man.”

Canadia: 3, GreensandBrowns: 0

The next day, HoJo picks us up at our hotel room and we begin a tour of the Greater Toronto Area. As we drive through various boroughs and districts, HoJo informs us of its history and the type of people that reside in each respective area. HoJo returned to his motherland a couple of years ago to commence a career as a real estate investor. He spent the better part of two days teaching us about the up and coming neighbourhoods in Toronto. I couldn't help but think he was just driving through various areas for his own research.

We eat lunch in Greek Town at a spot called Mega (This reminds me of a joke that a high school kid told me when I used to teach Sunday School - "What do you call a gay dinosaur? Mega-sore-ass" - we called him Mega from that day forward). HoJo tells us about the various ethnic ghettos that are established in Toronto. He wonders out loud why “Jew Town” or “Little Israeli” has yet to be officially recognized by the city. Jew Town.

HoJo: 1, Jews: 0

The day passes fairly quickly. Thus far, ML has been a really good sport about losing her passport and being forced to live out the rest of her days in Canadia. 

We get back to the hotel and conduct a second barrage of phone calls to contact numbers we uncover on the internets. Lo and behold, the airport has a hold of her passport; she must have dropped it at some point after we passed through customs. Praise the risen Savior! 

We dart to the airport and ask a woman at the information booth where to go for a lost and found passport. She asks us if it is a Kenyan passport. Huh? Kenyan. Perhaps we should be thankful for her not assuming we are missing a Chinese or Japanese passport. ML politely explains it's a U.S. one. 

We reclaim the Precious.

Canadia: 3, GreensandBrowns: 1

There were other memorable happenings during the Toronto leg of our trip that have been carefully stored in photographs and memories. Thanks to HoJo for taking so much time out of his busy schedule (even hanging out with us on Easter Monday) and being such a terrific guide. See you in October!

Cuisine: Caribou pot pie (above), Greek style quail, East Indian style roti (ask me about this please!)

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where the wild things are

Dude! How freaking cool is this? Where The Wild Things Are, everyone's favorite read in kindergarten (first grade?) hits the big screen later this year. 

My initial skepticism was assuaged after learning that Spike Jonze directs the mystical world of our childhood adoration. Plus, I am a sucker for movie trailers and these frames appear to cradle the imaginative energy that captivated us in the first place.

It's funny how you can articulate childhood wonderment as a cognitive adult. I couldn't articulate my affection for this tale when it was at its most relevant in my life. But now I can. Looking back, the story possessed the greatest of possibilities for me; its pages rivaled the limits of my own imagination. I can't recall how many sleepless nights I longed to be that kid clothed in the white onesie with the pointy ears and tail. He represented an escapism that could not be identified by a child. His friends and adventures depicted a boundless world that I could somehow discover...somehow...

Ultimately, the print to film adaptation demands a small forfeit of imagination. The moving pictures and sounds don't leave any interpretation for how the boy's new found friends lurk and speak. That's why kids should read the book first before watching the movie. And that's why this is one of those seminal stories that we'll be sharing with our own kids, hopefully long before they get their paws on the movie (I won't say DVD because there will be a different format in a few years). 

For those who have read Where The Wild Things Are, there is nothing that can sully its lasting memory.

I really can't wait for this.

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D.O.G. makes an appearance

The Pinkberry obsession is not limited to the human species. ML captured D.O.G. (pronounced "Doe-gee") completely fixated on the creamy delight, so much so that his eyes reflected the fruit toppings (at least according to the camera).

It's important to exercise dominance over inferior species, especially unruly pomeranians. 

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