Black Light Tattoos
Cool, and yet sad! Someone finally invented a UV-reactive tattoo pigment, so that your hours of suffering under the needle are now rewarded by something invisible to the unaided eye. I can't tell if this is moving forward or backward.
Very good movie. Having been traumatised as a child by the Gene Wilder version, and it taking "Young Frankenstein" for me to realise that Wilder COULD be funny without freaking me straight the hell out, I went into the Depp/Burton version Sunday holding my breath. With both my daughters and wife in cahoots, no less, me risking their very sanity with mine. And what a relief--it has such a Burtonesque, friendly spookiness to it, and the addition of Wonka's dad was a positive change to the story instead of a negative to me. My only wish is that Vincent Price were still alive to have played Christopher Lee's role, because I can just SEE that long, frail face and gentle smile wrapped in the good doctor's white exam clothes.
My favourite part? The hilarious hommage to Kubrik's 2001: A Space Odyssey, played out in the Wonkavision scene. Insane! Best runner up? The Nut Sorting Room.
Tip: When you watch, look at the glass elevator buttons closely--"Competent Fools" and "Incompetent Fools"? *lmao* And the secretary at her desk, with a "Taste Accounting" plaque--sweet lord!
The Skeleton of Lindsay Lohan
You know, I was holding out hope, watching young Jennifer Conneley grow up (and deliciously out) that the era of the Flockhart-skinny actress was hearing it's death knell, and that we the viewing public would again be treated to heroines with attractive, full shapes. I saw proof in Lindsay Lohan; she seemed to be following Conneley's ground-breaking foosteps, until both of them mistakenly wandered into a Purging For Beginners class and both went the Karen Carpenter route. Boo, hiss ladies. Bring back the shapes! "Meat is for the man, bones are for the dogs."
What's up with you suddenly not going away? Granted it's nice, I rather like the rain, but it's rained once a day for the past week now, and my grass is growing audibly. Of course, the flowers are blooming too, and the fig tree is breaking branches under the weight of fruit (not necessarily a good thing, but the blue jays and squirrels are growing pendulously fat) but enough is enough, because when you stop the air temp is still in the high 90's, and when I step outside I expect to see a bench-full of huge, hairy Russian men wrapped in white fuzzy towels slapping each other as hard as they can on each other's backs, and another one pouring ladle-fulls of water on the heated rocks.
The Swing Restoration Blog
Has been taken down by me. The reason being that the above-mentioned summer heat has done a tremendous amount of keeping me from the shop. Last year seemed cooler, somehow, or I simply knuckled up and dealt with the heat. This year I seem too busy and too unwilling to sweat like a dog for it, and so work has proceeded slowly if at all. I'll post some pics here when it gets further, but it might be a bit.
The New Orifice
As we've taken to calling it is still not opened officially. We've got phones, new furniture, and most every box emptied already, and still we have no T-1 line. Right now I think we're holding on Sprint to test the lines, and we've been told by Corporate that anyone with at least one thumb and half a brain cell can hook the workstations into the network, but it's pretty useless when you have nothing to hook to, so for a third week now we're holding, in this sort of Microsoft Networking limbo. Me, I'm tired of feeling like we're some sort of criminal outfit, working out of a huge empty building on cardboard boxes and 2' wide desks, and telephones resting on patio chairs. It may work for Columbian drug overlord's front men and telemarketing scams, but it don't cut it in the Home Heath field.
The small, Italian manufacturer of works-of-art motorcycles has closed it's doors again. Ressurected in the late 90's, it's closed again, no reasons noted in the news that I've seen, and apparently the marque is back up for sale.
Kudos to Constantine
For it's portrayal of Gabriel (I assume 'the Archangel') as a fey, androgynous figure. The Christian god is reported to have made man "in his own image," but they never said anything about the angels. Of the apparent multitude of angelic host only two are actually named in the bible--Gabriel and Michael, both angels of the highest magnitude. It was quite interesting to see the Biblically important Gabriel portrayed as an attractive but asexual figure, neither one nor the other gender exactly, and when the requisite gigantic dove-grey wings were hoisted over a dark, tailored Armani pinstripe suit it was a very nice piece of cinema.
Okay, that's all you're getting for today. Go on, beat it, keep moving, nothing to see here.