Smiley's Tropical Escape

The Sandlot

nobody@vox.com(Smiley) — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 11:34:42 +0900

Back in college my roommates and I performed the most exacting sort of scientific experiment to determine the greatest guys' movie of all time. We sat down in a closed room with several young men and women and watched a selection of several films. Among them, Top Gun, Unforgiven, Tombstone, and the Sandlot.

Reactions were varied, of course, but when we compiled our data we learned one thing: Men love this movie, women think it's cute. Men think this movie represents everything that was best about childhood, friendship, overcoming adversity, the triumph of imagination, and baseball. Women think it's about a bunch of boys playing baseball.

Conclusion? The Sandlot is the greatest guys' movie of all time.

And it's finally on DVD.

My sister, who understands me, even if she doesn't always get me, sent me a copy for my birthday. My wife, who gets me, even if she doesn't always understand me, sat down with me last night to watch the movie.

She thought it was cute; it was a nice movie about little boys and baseball. I laughed until I couldn't breathe, and then I laughed some more, thinking about the movie, and about where I grew up and about my friends, back then and now, and the things we bond over and the idiot things we do in the name of adventure.

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Alternately

nobody@vox.com(Smiley) — Wed, 13 Jun 2007 22:03:41 +0900

Absolute Planetary

Warren Ellis

In "Planetary" number 10, Warren Ellis gives us a story featuring three characters suspiciously like Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, and Superman. For various reasons, none of the characters grow to be those super heroes.

But the odd thing...

The odd thing is that I find a world in which an alien baby does not grow up to be Superman to be far more comforting than one where I know there was never any alien baby to begin with.

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Requesting, no Demanding

nobody@vox.com(Smiley) — Wed, 13 Jun 2007 09:49:31 +0900

One of the cooler aspects of punk music in the past few years has been a return to the fun of the original aesthetic as represented by bands like the Ramones. The most visible example has been the embracing of cover versions of classic, and not so classic, songs to be redone in three chord power riffs by punk bands. Specific examples abound: NOFX covering Don McClean (Vincent) or Faith No More covering The Commodores (Easy). For that matter, the band Me First and the Gimme Gimmes is a punk supergroup devoted to nothing but covers.

There are many more examples and I love hearing them. We have had glimpses over the years of the opposite, of non-punk artists covering punk songs, like Tori Amos' incredible version of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and Nirvana covering the Meat Puppets acoustically, and I'm ready for more. I want to hear some of my favorite punk songs on the piano with a slowed time signature and more depth of feeling.

Maybe it's just my age showing, but here is a list of songs I want to hear covered, slowly:

Social Distortion's "Story of My Life"
Blink 182's "Dammit"
Rancid's "Ruby Soho"
The Ataris' "San Dimas High School Football Rules"
Vandals' "New You"
Descendants' "Everything Sucks"
Misfits' "Where Eagles Dare"
Ramones "53rd and 3rd"

That's a quick list, off the top of my head. If you know of any bluesy, folksy, acoustic covers of these songs, let me know, would you?

Cheers,

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Rock Star

nobody@vox.com(Smiley) — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 21:24:06 +0900

Florescent light gleamed off the card case I was holding against one of my flashcards, wondering if the one would fit into the other with a minimum of fuss and / or bending. A little girl, maybe about six, walked by, wide-eyed and curious. Her eyes stayed focused on me, even as she continued on into the next aisle. I smiled at her and went back to my contemplations.

After a moment or two the girl came back by, this time pausing and then changing course to meet me. She looked up at me and I saw that her chin still had a smudge of chocolate from some treat or another, giving her an almost cliche appearance. She spoke in a soft but clear voice. She said, "Konnichi wa."

I looked back at her, smiled and said, "Konnichi wa."

She backed up a step, speaking even softer, and to herself, in Japanese, "Wow, he spoke Japanese." She pondered this for a moment, then stepped back up to me. Her flipped her head to one side, looking at me from an angle. "Can you really speak Japanese?"

"Yes," I said, "although not as well as you can."

She flipped her head to the other side, still looking thoughtful. "Can you speak English too?"

I nodded.

She smiled, puffed out her chest and said, still speaking in Japanese, "I speak English."

"Really?" I said, "Do you study it in school?"

She nodded. Her hands moved in a series of gestures that I recognized from teaching school children; she mouthed the words of the song to herself and, after a moment, said, in bright, clear English, "Hello! How are you?"

I laughed and said, "Hello. I'm fine, thank you, and you?"

"I'm fine!" She giggled and ran off. A moment later, she popped her head around the end of the aisle and said "Bye bye!" and giggled again. As she left the store, I could hear her telling her mother, "Guess what? I saw a foreigner and I spoke English to him! It was so cool!"

I laughed out loud at hearing this and, smiling, went back to my cards and my boxes.

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