Archive for the 'coolness' Category

Short is good (but we all knew that…)

Presto

Beth has already pimped Wall-E over on her cozy corner of internets, though as much as I loved it, I think I loved Presto more.

Everyone who has seen Pixar’s movies knows about their commitment to keeping the art of short films alive, prefacing each of their major releases with a whimsical short in the Merrie Melodies tradition. I grew up on a steady diet of Warner Bros. stuff, so I am more than thrilled that such a reputable and brilliant creative house is on my side.

A simple story (a bunny wants his carrot, and is miffed when his owner/magician starts the show without providing it, violence and hilarity ensues in his quest to obtain said carrot) done impeccably well. Just like the best of Bugs, Daffy, Foghorn Leghorn, the Goofy Gophers (indubitably!), and their kin.

I know I’m not linking the whole thing here, as that would be illegal and improper (though enterprising types may well be able to find it on the series of tubes…), you should all go and see Wall-E to experience Alec (the above-pictured bunny) for yourself, on the big screen. It doesn’t hurt that Wall-E is possibly Pixar’s best picture to date, but I would almost dare say that Presto outstrips it, if only out of pure joy.

I mean, just lookit his little face! He’s so happy!

As if I needed more proof…

I’ve written before about how I have been karmically deducing that the Old 97s are meant to be my favourite band. It’s out of my hands. I can no longer be held responsible for my actions where they are concerned.

Never, in a million years, would I presume to see my two favourite things combined in such a way.

Is it kind of a crappy music video? Yeah. Is my inner geek mentally correcting the rather egregious typo that is throughout? Let’s just say that the phrase “There’s no ‘C’!” is repeated in my head frequently.

I mean, there’s something to be said for a random video that doesn’t relate to the song, and then there’s this. There’s the band having a minimal role in a video, and then there’s the weird tangential pass-bys that go on here (the band appears, or is even suggested, for about 16 seconds).

Do I still LOVE IT? Of course. If only just for what it represents if not for its execution.

It’s raining FBI agents

Song of the moment:

(There exists no actual video for this song, and the other Youtube mashups all involve a lot of footage of riots and tanks, or video game vidcaps — I almost took the Dead Rising one — so I just stuck with a simple playing of the song.)

P.S. Yes, I did get this from the finale of Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, but when there’s Cash playing while dead guys rain into a pool, from the POV of the pool, it makes for some pretty wicked compelling TV.

Only the Brits.

More specifically, only Stephen Fry, one of the most sterling examples of Brits.

Watch this. Now.

Done? Wasn’t it marvelous? Doesn’t it just grab you by the testicles, or by whichever testicular substitute/equivalent you may happen to possess, and shake you until something tears?

For Christmas, my dad gave us the first season/disc (as BBC seasons of TV are criminally short) of A Bit of Fry and Laurie, sketch comedy by the two gentlemen who most make sense in such a show, Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie (TV’s House, among many other wonderful things). This sketch appeared about midway through, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It very aptly summarizes many, many of the things I think about language, but which I also realize I believe/think almost solely because of previous Fry writings I’ve previously read. Language is amazing, and the substance of this sketch effectively illustrates why I have made working with it my life’s meat.

I mean, if you take out some of the quirks of delivery, and Hugh Laurie’s interjections, which were mostly likely only included to give him something to say in the four minutes this sketch takes to play out, this could essentially be a part of a History of the Language lecture at just about any university. There is stuff in here that is deliciously complex ⎯ things about culture and language and perception and and and … I love him.

Stephen Fry is a golden god.

Much of the series, as far as I can tell so far, is based very much around Fry’s notions of playfulness and flexibility of language as not only a purveyor of message, but a shaper therein. Things are funny not only because of how they are said or by whom (although those aspects are not hurt by the two immensely talented people saying them), but most essentially by exactly what is being said, down to the finest verbal detail. I must own it all.

It sure ai’is…

Quick note from work, in between thousand-word academic research papers (essentially) for Humber College faculty site.

I’m back on the interweebs on a weekly basis at Ain’t It Cool News, doing pre-air (in America anyway) reviews of the wonderful Pushing Daisies, which I pimped not so long ago in the post directly below this one.

CTV is nice enough to have filled it’s Wednesday night with mediocre stuff from other networks, so it airs a day early on Tuesdays, before ABC’s slot the next night.

My first two are here and here.

Read and enjoy, and check back there weekly on Wednesdays for my reviews (as L-Prime, as the site uses clever pseudonyms), unless the guy was serious about being flown up to Vancouver weekly to review it instead of us Canucks. Somehow I don’t believe they’re serious.

Multiplicity of the strangest kind

Work desk menagerie

So I brought my little squirrely friend from home to the new job the other day. He’s desk adornment.

I get here this morning, and he’s invited friends. I don’t know where they came from, or how they got here, but there is now a tropical party going on under my ginormous iMac.

And I’m fine with it.

What a week

Haven’t blogged in a while, but I’ve had a legit excuse for at least a week of that time.

First: this. Basically, Kaylee’s sick, so I’ve been worrying/given something to quantifiably obsess over. She’s got fluid in her chest, which needs to be drained periodically. I can monitor her breathing, resp. rate, food and water intake, and medicine. All of which means we’re dropping chunks of money on vet bills, but she’s family, so we don’t care. She’s got what is technically the best thing to have if you had to choose a disease that gives a cat fluid in the chest. Easily managable and not something that will affect any of the rest of her body. And she’s improving with each chest drain, less and less fluid, and she’s getting happier and happier.

Next: The week had a great distraction from the stupid cat-ness. Jon, one of my best friends in the whole wide world, and who works on the set of Battlestar Frakking Galactica, was in town visiting his brother for about 10 days, but his brother works during the days, so that basically meant we had about 3 1/2 solid days this week with a visitor and some fun to be had. He brought me scripts (different revision versions of three separate episodes so I can see how a script evolves through the editing process). I hope I can say this without him getting shot — but they’re long-aired episodes, so I can’t see the harm. I’m in geek heaven. It also gave me the inspiration and incentive to say ’screw practicality/realism’ and start writing a Galactica spec of my own. I’m already farther on it in 18 hours than I am in that old Supernatural spec in 2 1/2 months. And I’ve got it completely broken down story-wise, meaning I already know how it ends, a big problem with most things I start writing — I generally have no idea.

I’d held off writing a Galactica, because I was convinced I couldn’t do anything worthwhile in the canon of the show, and the act of even bothering to write a spec is generally dashed by how fast the show advances, making any story points you can think of moot. But I came up with a good idea. And it fits. So I’m doing it.

But as they say, and Beth pointed out to me not more than a week or two ago, once you start a project, something will get in the way of finishing it.

And something did.

A job.

In the time between starting this blog entry (earlier this afternoon) and now (dinner — Jon visiting for the final time got in the way), I received the call from the book reseller I interviewed at this week offering me the job. I am now a marketing assistant with *edited upon leaving*. For St. Catharines folks, think Book Depot, ‘cept (mostly) online. I think. For non-Niagarans, it’s remaindered and overstocked/overprinted books for cheap. There seemed to be a store/warehouse, but I’m not 100% clear on the specifics yet. I hope they’re not reading this now and regretting hiring someone who didn’t totally rock the homework on their company, but suffice to say I’m more than a little excited, as it seems like a great place to work (my job is writing blurbs for new books for the website, and designing catalogues and sales packs — ideal tasks for my skill set), and I loves me some discount books. This will help erase the credit card debt, help pay for the cat’s bills while she still needs the vet regularly, and maybe even let us move to someplace nicer (apartment-wise) down the road. At least I can spend some money on new clothes (mine are falling apart) and some fun stuff (a D100? 360? Not to go nuts, but I can actually think about things I want now, at least a little).

So yeah, good week. Very good week. I think I’m going to burn through this Galactica episode now. Maybe have a Coca-Cola. I think I’ve earned it.




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