We Always Treat Our Women Too Well

2007-02-05T11:37:00.000-08:00

One book

Daredevil #93 by Ed Brubaker & Michael Lark

Distressingly, Brubaker's latest issue has all the excitement of watching furniture being rearranged - Matt weaves an alibi for a press conference, gets reunited with the presumed-dead Foggy with as little fuss as possible, gets his various charges dropped within less than a page, manages to spring the Kingpin from the pen.... Any writer, regardless of quality, would seize upon the melodrama inherent in these details (the Kingpin trial virtually demands its own arc), yet Brubaker merely prods at the notions, fearful of letting the content intrude upon the generic tone he's set up in the previous issues.

It is a minor vice of criticism to reimagine the object at hand, the typical result being one careworn set of preoccupations (the artist's) being replaced with another equally forgettable set (those of the commentator), but even the scenes where Brubaker's competence makes itself known long for a bit of punch. For example, if one replaces the close ups of Matt in the press conference scene with illustrations of his wholly apocryphal tale, his dialogue in voice-over, the scene, once tightly bound in the visual stasis held over from the Bendis/Maleev era, suddenly becomes exciting to look at, casts genuine doubt upon whether Matt's public and private personae will ever be fully separated (a notion only glanced at in the scene's final panels), and takes a not altogether too disruptive tonal shift into actual humor (which didn't hold over from the Bendis/Maleev period).

Alas, the only amusement found herein proves wry - the contrast between the bullet-point storytelling of the current issue (racing from plot point to plot point in a variety of environments) to the previous, perhaps Brubaker's best yet - an issue-length conversation between two figures in a dark room.

2007-01-25T12:42:00.000-08:00

High Minded Gossip Galore

Some items (as ever) of interest

Written Lives by Javier Marias
A collection of biographical sketches of various (non-Spanish) writers, each shot through with Marias' infectious bemusement (talent seemingly correlative to ridiculousness) and affection - Lawrence Sterne and Malcolm Lowry (despite trying to murder his wife on two separate occasions) emerge as the most genuinely likable of the lot. A brief tome - even read, as seems almost inevitable, in a casual manner, the majority of the book is likely to pass within a single sitting (or, in my case, over the commutes which bookend my weekday) - you can't eat just one. Memorable observations: Nabokov "hated nearly all writers"; Mishima's death "has almost succeeded in obliterating the many other stupid things he did in his life"; all the glorious affectations which seem to have comprised Henry James' existence; and various et ceteras.

A Prairie Home Companion (D: Robert Altman, 2006)
Not quite An Autumn Afternoon (not many movies are), with which it shares obvious thematic and extracinematic similarities. Nonetheless, fairly good.

Dave Chappelle's Block Party (D: Michel Gondry, 2006)
Not quite Wattstax (not many movies are), with which it shares obvious thematic and extracinematic similarities. Probably better, actually.

2007-01-20T11:07:00.000-08:00

What a horrible, horrible few weeks that was.

Now I can't imagine anything going wrong ever again.

Some thoughts about funerals

or

FUNERAL FUNNIES

- Priests should really turn their cell phones to "vibrate" while the mass is being spoken over a body.

-And standing outside for a half-hour in 40 degree weather while the burial is being held isn't much of a hoot, either.

- Plus, you become an embarrassment to family, community, nation, and race when you are a pallbearer who accidentally drops his flower on the unsanctified earth and not upon the intended coffin.

To abruptly and uncomfortably return back to the typical fare found within this journal, here are some

Amusingly apt comments made the other day on the ilXor boards:

BECAUSE YOU'RE WORTH IT
-- Richard Baez, January 19th, 2007.

That's pretty cluttered for a Quietly piece!
-- M Perpetua, January 19th, 2007.

AYE - it's like he drew one of the battles I'd stage with my characters when I was three.
-- Richard Baez, January 19th, 2007.

In that sense, it totally works. And really, how else should you be approaching He-Man?
-- M Perpetua, January 19th, 2007.

2006-12-28T11:39:00.000-08:00

Emilio Baez 1933 - 2006

Grieving can take on many forms - for me, my grandfather's death entailed eating the greater portion of a large pizza and getting slightly drunk while watching Meet Me In St. Louis.

Henceforth, another hiatus. Hopefully shorter this time.

2006-12-19T11:05:00.000-08:00

If I ever start a hot dog review column, I shall call it "Frank Discussion"

Because certain things need to be said. Anyway, here are some

Comments:

Chronicle Of Anna Magdalena Bach (D: Jean-Marie Straub (but really Straub and Danielle Huillet)):
Why is the emphasis in every camera set-up either the vocals or Bach but never the instrumental sections? Should we presume that the Straubs have made a concession to the audience by placing the more identifiably and human elements in any given foreground, given the last question? Why do the images of documents stripped from the past which punctuate every narrative/diary section remind me of the literary habits of Sebald, Marias, et al.? (Actually Sebald seems a direct aesthetic descendent of the Straubs...hrm.)

The Science Service - Story and Art by Rian Hughes w/ John Freeman on vocals:
A neat curio from 1989, awash in the retro-futuristic aesthetic that (as this and Dare seem to indicate) preoccupied Hughes during the late eighties and early nineties. The story itself is fairly engaging (GET-IT-OVER-WITH PLOT SUMMARY: "corporate irresponsibility in the world o' tomorrow"; in a bid for profit and p.r., company pushes a problematic product which alters user's appearance - hijinx ensue) but the various high points are completely divorced from narrative - the establishing shot panels, with Hughes' designs in full view and aswarm with minutia, provide the most salient pleasures to be found herein. Fun.

Miracleman Book Three: Olympus - by Alan Moore and John Totleben:
Featuring the overripe prose which seems, of all Moore's eighties work placed on pantheon pedestals, to have only escaped Watchmen - the tendency, thankfully, diminshes as the chapters wear on (but dear lord, does the "Aphrodite" section drag!). While the "superheroes in the real world who deal with mature themes and RATED - R" theme is a well-plowed field of commentary, what's typically neglected are the delightful imaginative leaps which jut out prominently on every other page - the firedrake gene, the various myths which coalesce around the climactic battle, the goofy little and/oroid, the fantastic alien tribunal scene... There's a great deal more here to be mined.

2006-12-07T11:47:00.000-08:00

My name is Richard Baez

And I've been murdered by the Department Of Doubt. Let's see if I make it through the next few weeks.

Here are some stray notes that have passed through my mind's sandy terrain, with parched lips and eyes an unhealthy (yet aesthetically appealling to the camera) bloodshot red:

- Manny Farber's Negative Space proves both intimidating and inspirational, like Evel Kinievel. Having weaned myself from it over the past two years (throughout my thoroughly eventless school years it was pretty much my bible of aesthetics, as it's careworn condition will attest to), it now takes the place recently vacated by The Stories Of Vladimir Nabokov on my daily commute. There really should be more intelligent commentary on The Curse Of The Cat People floating around...

- A choice quote from the aforementioned Grand Old Man Of Creative Grammar: What a queer sensation to be face-to-face with a causeless film that can draw a "my God, I like it" remark. Which, in my context, refers to Cowards Bend The Knee, that Guy Maddin contraption from a few years back which escaped my sight for some reason, probably due to my lack of enthusiasm for The Saddest Music In The World (of which the only notable detail I can recall is the novelty of Mark McKinney as Serious Actor). A choice intertitle from Cowards: The Joy Joy Joy Of Meeting Someone New! Which sells itself really; now you have to see it. Will there be further comments ahoy for this cautionary tale of blue hands and incestuous themes? Please let it be so! Good intentions...

-Matt Fraction and his mastery of the first-person narrational tone, despite his relative inexperience. Exceptions: it's rather diluted in The Immortal Iron Fist, presumably by the presence of Brubaker (who, from my own reading experience, sticks with a flat competent tone based upon whatever genre he happens to be working in (despite the hossanahs, nobody ever quotes Sleeper, do they?)), which manages,nonetheless, to be a decent tale of kicking and punching; I suspect, of my Casanova collection, issue three remains in near-mint status thanks to it's lack of first-person. I first ascribed Fraction's gymnastics of phrasing to Casanova solely, but found my idea rebuffed by the very fine first issue of Punisher War Journal; Will Frank reference Get Smart! next issue? Stay tuned!

-Why blogging again? Partially because of this post by the estimable Jog but most likely because I reread a few earlier posts and kinda thought they counted as less embarrassing than I expected. I can say I sorta like the Delmer Daves review a few posts down, meaning the temptation to rewrite occurs to me with only every other sentence - with the current rather hasty post, it's all wincing.

-Why all the parenthetical asides?

-Ideas for future posts, almost all of which will be abandoned if my intentions are rebuffed by time and loss of interest (per the status quo of this blog):

Significant notes on Casanova, which I adore.
More Farber, this time with actual commentary.
Some extended comments on some songs.
A review of Funny Ha Ha, which I've now seen three times.
Cowards Bend The Knee review
Brief overview of all the Joann Sfar books I've read and why reading them will make you a better person, able to better function in society with only a minimum of ill-will held toward your fellow humans.
Some actual personal information about me, and why I've held you at an impersonal distance for so very long.

2006-11-13T13:48:00.000-08:00

More minutiae

-There's a Work In Progress just waiting to burst forth from the larva of a meek Word file into a glorious butterfly that'll glitter and flounce on the screen before your eyes; alas, it'll have to wait a bit longer before the spotlight shines upon it.

-While reality may become a grand perpetual motion study in impressionism, two weeks sans corrective lenses can prove problematic. Social interaction is muted, slapstick shenanigans ensue in unfamiliar environments, restaurants without tactile menus become unfeasible propositions, plus various et ceteras., among which is a smashing scene depicting our protagonist (male) and his accidental journey into the women's lavatory - yes, the giggles you hear are indeed those of teenage girls, further cementing that hoary trope...

2006-11-10T13:31:00.000-08:00

Six Months In A Leaky Boat

Placeholder!

A few notes:

-Man, that Bruno Schulz...

-Man, that book The Gift, by Vladimir Nabokov.... Having spent the past few months reading it at any random page I should happen upon whenever ten minutes can be stolen from more immediate matters, I seem to have digested it more fully than any other given work of art that comes to mind (aside from Flex Mentallo and His Girl Friday).

-Man, that Seven Soldiers Of Victory: Mister Miracle does beguile and infuriate, doesn't it? Issue two just clunks out on ya like some old rusty T-bird you can't help but adore, while three and four just rock out so awesomely, like that Edan album from last year. Also: seven trials in that black hole, which no one seems to have commented on - I imagine I'll enumerate them when I'm feeling more pedantic.

-Man that free time I don't have.... I adore it, cuz I'm doing so many more interesting things during those fictional hours than during my actual hours of leisure.

Something more substantial over the weekend, maybe.

2006-11-07T14:10:00.000-08:00

Soon

Watch this space.

2006-07-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

A variety of circumstances

have stunted the growth of this blog. Someday soon, I'll probably get things back in order but please bear with me. In lieu of a real post, here are some books I've enjoyed recently:

Adverbs by Daniel Handler
The Last Avant-Garde: The Making Of The New York School Of Poets by David Lehman
Love Roma Vol. 2 by Minoru Toyoda
The Maximortal by Rick Veitch (though the afterward/diatribe is fairly laughable)

So, there. Enjoy.

2006-06-28T22:05:00.000-07:00

But I was there.

Remedial cooking tip: Butter and rice should never be mixed in excess. Villain and victim was I...

Here's a movie I saw:

WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS? (D: Pedro Almodovar, 1984; mit spoilers)
Woman leads miserable life, one which will only permit two modes of existence: labor within a domestic setting (populated by a loutish husband with pretensions towards sophistication, a mother-in-law both vaguely ethereal and axiomatically disapproving, and two sons - a drug dealer, age 14, and a student, age 12 or thereabouts, who already leads an active social life with various older men) and labor within a professional setting (cleaning lady - and, yes, within that role, we, impressionable audience members, are allowed a view of her primarily in a submissive state, i.e. on all fours, scrubbin' away). And really that's it - how will our charmingly amoral lower middle-class hausfrau find some contentment whilst evading such wacky slings and arrows as her own addiction to caffeine pills, the fact that she's sold her son to the dentist, the gas bill, etc.? Even so, the film still has room for various subplots, each involving a fairly improbable supporting cast (the scheming writer and his generally unpleasant wife; the all-around amiable prostitute who lives next door; the impotent detective who's less a character and more a running motif ), but, without fail, these narrative branches trail off into resolutions inconsequential and mild. The overall sense is of Almodovar spinning his wheels and giving all those presumed auteurist preoccupations a good airing out - target practice before a bigger, more "important" work; I'll need to see that wholly hypothetical movie too before I can imitate Andrew Sarris with some authority and think upon this ultimately delightful series of gestures in a movie's disguise as a "transitional work". Also, there's a telekinetic little girl for no real reason, which counts as a bit of goodwill I simply can't ignore.

ALSO: Christopher Butcher, who I'm guessing will soon merit a place on my side bar, really liked SUPERMAN RETURNS. Which means you very well could too.

ADDENDUM! (6/29/06):

Cuteness/kitsch in relation to mid-twentieth century fascism, contra and pro. Discuss.

2006-06-18T21:49:00.000-07:00

The angels wanna wear my red shoes. Really, they do...

...if by angels, I mean the cashier at CD Exchange and another at Walgreen's.

Today I made what I consider to be my first completely successful foray into the culinary arts. Mind you, the meal was a minor dish - steak and fideo - which I imagine others would condescend toward, but every wee victory counts, no matter how mundane. But really - the fideo was properly burnt (people who play it safe with this pasta have no business dealing with it), the tomato sauce precisely measured, and the steak thoroughly brown but not overcooked. I'm genuinely enthused to say I can classify it as "edible", even without an excess of lemon pepper (which has covered my ass on so many occasions...). And now, I offer some

Notes Of Interest:

-Carl Orff's Gassenhauer, which you may recognize as a good luck charm heard in the first feature films of various directors (see BADLANDS (D: Terence Malick), RATCATCHER (D: Lynne Ramsey; notably used in a scene where a wee mouse named Snowball makes a voyage to the moon) and ME, YOU, AND EVERYONE WE KNOW (D: Miranda July; a film I've yet to see - sorry Becca!), has been made downloadable by the good people at Aurgasm. I'm fairly certain it resides within the hallowed halls of public domain, so no guilt allowed.

- As Ninth Art makes its abrupt transition from lively weekly webzine to moribund archive, Paul O'Brien offers, with his final Article 10 essay, a note on the future of superheroes: "Doom!" Of course he does it with less melodrama and more trademark dry exasperation, but I imagine you knew that...

-The new Haruki Murakami book, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (I think I've seen this movie - it was a 1948 Kenji Mizoguchi melodrama, wasn't it?), will hit foreign, yet Americanage-speaking, shores early next month. Predictably, it's already racked up its first hossanah, with perhaps more soon to follow. We Americans, perhaps due to our legendary ugliness, must wait till the end of August before we're exposed to Murakami's metaphoric glosses on wells and the inevitable scene where someone finds him or herself within another person's dream.

-THIS WEEK'S PULL LIST:
All-Star Superman #4 by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely - Jimmy Olsen gets a psychedelic coat! I want a psychedelic coat too! But more like Shade, the Changing Man!
Astonishing X-Men #15 by Joss Whedon and John Cassaday - Where Cassandra Nova makes fun of Beast for still being blue. But, hey screw you, Cassandra, he hasn't yet devolved into a worm!
52 #7 by Oh Dear Lord I'm Not Typing In All Those Names and probably Joe Bennett - Which promises to mix storytelling audacity with characters who'll probably frown the entire time while wearing, in hi-larious contrast, gaudy outfits! Oh, and maybe Booster Gold'll die.
Casanova #1 by Matt Fraction and Gabriel Ba - Which may also involve a psychedelic coat!
Can't Get No by Rich Veitch - Even though it doesn't involve Swamp Thing meeting Jesus Christ, I might get this!

-Reviews of FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT (wherein Joel McCrea goes and shows a Europe In Crisis how real reportin's done) and Scott Pilgrim And The Infinite Sadness (wherein the eponymous figure deals with infinite sadness, maybe?) await future readers of this site. As for when, I dunno - soon probably....

2006-06-13T23:44:00.000-07:00

Because, clearly, there is no such thing as overexposure when it comes to the Dave McKean design aesthetic.

See here. Will it collapse under it's own mannerisms? Stay tuned...

2006-06-11T23:04:00.000-07:00

“Living dead are in the place! And they’re completely amazed! By the sound and the flashlights!”

ITEMS RECENTLY PICKED UP/CHECKED OUT/PURCHASED/PAID MORE ATTENTION TO:

DARK PASSAGE (D: Delmer Daves, 1947) – (Spoilers, probably) Wherein Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall get involved in CONFLICT whilst engaging each other in chemistry honed by Howard Hawks and trademarked by Jack Warner. Or, more specifically (plot-wise), the film concerns an escaped convict (Bogie), sentenced (presumably for life) to San Quentin on a bum rap, who finds himself aided and abetted by a creature of compassion (Miss Bacall), with various hi-jinx ensuing from there (some of which involve Agnes Moorehead).

The film can probably be divided into three sections, the first of which might be termed identification (“bravura” (and, yes, it is) sequence where the misc en scene is dictated almost entirely by Bogart’s physical POV (as seen less successfully executed in LADY IN THE LAKE, SUZHOU RIVER and in Earth 2’s HEART OF DARKNESS (D: ORSON WELLES, 1939)). Here we follow Bogie and his very visible hands from prison sewer pipe to car to luxury apartment, et al. The most salient pleasure of this sequence (outside of the “launch-a-thousand-ships” image of Bacall) is the rogue’s gallery of character actors who show up as support – the lonesome cabbie, the vulnerable and likable pal, the backdoor plastic surgeon (check out that face!) – each delivering in such a way as to turn their respective scenes into set pieces worthy of study in fine acting schools across the land.

After about 40 minutes of not seeing Bogart’s face, we move onto the next section – immobilization – where the direction abruptly changes to the more comfortable realm of proscenium arch and the camera is relegated to the third person. And still, not a glimpse of Bogart’s face, his visage now covered in bandages as he recovers from having his face remodeled; the only thing we are allowed are the eyes, which portray an emotion somewhat foreign to his established persona – vulnerability (bit player Bogie, though…check out THE ROARING TWENTIES and watch’im squirm) - which becomes the dominant key he’ll play throughout the rest of the movie. Midway through this sequence we’re confronted by the appearance of Agnes Moorehead (her performance pretty much one long essay on “the banality of evil” – emphasis on “banality”) and a blandly handsome block of wood who goes by the name “Bob” (the status quo flipside to the workaday figures seen in the first sequence – upper middle-class fellow with virtually no presence or particular business being in a movie; the audience’s eyes can’t help but slide off him).

And finally- resolution; Bogart exposed (hey, he looks like a movie star!) and reborn in a suitably Campbellian “rebirth of the hero” fashion. A series of plot mechanisms set into place throughout the film each performs their coglike function and we reach the climax – as my own preoccupations lie far away from the concerns of actual story, I feel I can elide this section. Feel free to read this as a cop-out. The one particularly unique aspect of the final act is Moorehead’s performance as the heavy – she’s pretty much a less grandiose Iago, just as pitiful but more instinctive, Her shrill villainy is the product of someone who knows she’s ended up a supporting character in her own life story. It can be read as ironic that the one thing she may get genuine credit for is her own end – and thus she achieves a ridiculous yet honest victory.

TOP 10: THE FORTY-NINERS by Alan Moore and Gene Ha – Alan Moore’s tale of one city during a transitional period (a phrase which could easily be interpreted as “the best of times…the worst of times”) illustrated with a meticulous amount of pseudo-accuracy by Gene Ha. THE HOOK (IN MY OWN WORDS): “Let’s imagine a metropolis whose citizens comprise figures borne from the fringes of popular culture – pulp and superheros, dastardly villains, figures from comic strips and folklore…. How delightful it would be to see how these hitherto foreign concepts would ping-pong off each other and the wonderful plots that may arise!” THE CONTENT (IN MY OWN WORDS): “It’s 1949 and America, having weathered the tempests that defined the previous two decades, has finally found its identity. But what of the extraordinary figures who arose when needed and put themselves on the forefront of those conflicts? Where are they to go when they have been made redundant – the men and women of (and occasionally from) tomorrow who find that the abstract ideal toward which they strove is now concrete and, what more, has no need for them? Thus, the setting of our tale – Neopolis. Watch the newly born community as it attempts to set down the foundation stone upon which it may one day thrive; follow the day-to-day dramas – the travails and the victories - of the altogether uncommon figures, doomed to become the subject of myth, who make it their home.” IDEA BORNE FROM THE EXECUTION: Seeing Gene Ha’s art, which manages the extraordinary feat of shifting between photorealistic intimacy and McKay-esque whimsical distance, often within a single frame, I had a spark - Alan Moore should conduct a grand experimental narrative with Ha. My “grand experimental narrative” would basically be Jacques Tati’s PLAYTIME in comic-book form – one long, silent, narrative which consists of various smaller diverse narratives intersecting throughout his tale. Every panel would consist of at least two (out of perhaps a half-dozen) stories told simultaneously* - WATCHMEN, with the scores of recurring characters, was already half-way there (if we continue our film parallel we’d say it stands as more akin to Altman than Tati) but this would basically be character-driven and intimate, with less emphasis on sprawl. If Moore needs a direct purpose and a message to deliver (which I suspect is the case), let us state is as a “...showcase for a god's eye view of the world, where every gesture, from the lifting of a suitcase to the wiping of a tear from a newly bloodshot eye, is rendered equal.” Or something.

THE MAGICIAN’S DOUBTS: NABOKOV AND THE RISKS OF FICTION by Michael Wood – Which I’ve been infatuated with for a few years now and scored at an Half-Price Books for five bucks earlier this week. I’ve yet to read the entire book, but I do feel compelled to advertise my ownership. Wood is a joy to read, tossing off little epiphanies within an elliptical prose style – he’s not too far from the epic critical essays/prose poems of Geoffrey O’Brien or Roberto Calasso. I haven’t the time to explicate the whole of Wood’s keen observations, but one that sticks in memory is his dissection of the scene, late in BEND SINISTER, where Krug awaits the arrival of his son. It may be one of the greatest scenes that Nabokov has written (Wood can’t help but imply that the majority of the book is simply a well-written, yet minor, preamble for this scene) and Wood delivers a fantastic analysis of how Nabokov pulls it off.

WONDER WOMAN #1 by Allan Heinberg, Terry Dodson, and Rachel Dodson – Which is good. Trad superheroics played out w/ grace (including what would seem to be a nod (subconscious or no) to Morrison’s stunderful opening to ALL-STAR SUPERMAN #1, but with dialogue, alas) and sans any of the stumbling blocks that one would expect from a title that resulted from DC’s earth-shattering (literally, so I hear) hullabaloo of the last year or so. In lieu of a plot summarization, I’ll provide a few enticing and enigmatic details: three Wonder Women? multiple identities? cheetah people?

AND I THINK I’LL END THIS POST WITH A BIT OF INDULGENCE: Gosh, the latest DAT Politics album, “Wow Twist,” is neat. Last I heard (Tracto Flirt) they were an 8-bit Autechre and since then seem to be have come under the influence of the gospel of Devolution. And The Plastics. And helium (lowercase). A free and legit download can be found in Perpetua’s AP column for the next few days. And maybe you should check their Myspace page – further amusement may lurk there.

* I doubt this idea is original with me, but regardless - Ha’s art could serve as a platform for so many possibilities within such a format.

2006-06-08T23:52:00.000-07:00

Doesn't bode well for further original content, does it?

The estimable Fluxblog has posted an interview with Bryan Lee O'Malley, author of the superb comic series Scott Pilgrim (the third volume of which will soon be reviewed on this site - feel free to percieve the enthusiasm of this post as extending to said review). An added bonus to the interview is the selection of downloads included within (as is routine on Fluxblog), including the long out of print "Scott Pilgrim" by Plumtree, the wellspring from which O'Malley's bread and butter, um, sprung. It's an ebullient piece of pop which, unsurprisingly, matches the overall tone of the series - a sugar rush that, brilliantly and illogically, manages to constitute a full meal. I'm certain I've used up my credit with regard to both parentheses and metaphors with this post.

2006-06-06T18:30:00.000-07:00

Me = geeky. Expect more of this in future posts.

Oh Darn

2006-06-04T18:39:00.000-07:00

This really happened

EXT. - SUNSET: Reasonably upscale neighborhood, shopping district.

A YOUNG MAN, mid-twenties, walks down a sidewalk; his dress is modest, his manner unassuming, and his gait swift and homeward bound. Outside of both his visual and auditory focus, there is a shout.

FEMALE 1 : HEY!

The YOUNG MAN takes no heed - a course of action that's proven wise w/r/t similar situations in the past - typically these involve the shouter's dislike of homosexuals and a mistaken presumption of the YOUNG MAN's sexuality.

And once more -

FEMALE 1: HEY GUY!

And thus, perhaps irrationally, his head is turned - in his sight are TWO WOMEN in a gray truck at a stoplight. Both seem to be physically appealling from a vantage point of twenty to thirty feet - one, the shouter and driver, has short hair and appears to be of Anglo descent; the other has significantly longer hair and is likely, judging from his POV, Hispanic. They are both a few years older than our fellow; from his sight he'd judge them to be between the ages of 30 and 35. Our fellow responds, his tone hesitant.

YOUNG MAN: Uh...yeah?

FEMALE 1: DO YOU WANNA GO EAT WITH US?

FEMALE 2: WE'RE GOING TO HOOTERS! DO YOU WANNA COME?

YOUNG MAN (thrown for a loop -wouldn't you?): What?

FEMALE 1: DO YOU WANNA EAT WITH US? WE'RE GOING TO HOOTERS!

YOUNG MAN: Uh...no thank you! I'm fine!

FEMALE 2: OKAY, MAN!

YOUNG MAN: Good night!

The stoplight, signalling the end of this vignette, turns green. The gray truck WOMEN drive off, as expected, and our YOUNG MAN is left perplexed. If we are allowed to guess at his further actions, we'd say he will walk home and ponder this odd encounter for the next few hours. However, regardless of our ruminations, the scene will still FADE TO BLACK after the truck has left our sight and the camera has given us a brief glimpse of the YOUNG MAN's face as it registers confusion - his eyes a bit wider and mouth just slightly agape.

2006-05-18T23:18:00.000-07:00

Wherein the author, a rather effeminate male in his mid-twenties, presumes to pinpoint his sensibility for your reading pleasure. Nothing of import will be discussed and much gossip will be relayed, most likely about figures unknown to you and barely known to the author himself - frankly, he finds the detachment quite appealing. You may differ in your opinion. Actually, should you have an opinion you wish to express, do so in the comment box which will soon (maybe) be found below. Right now the central figure is listening to "Slanted And Enchanted" (an album he hasn't listened to in, perhaps, a year) and is basking in the fact that he doesn't have to work tomorrow. He's also wondering about how he can go about getting subject headings for these posts - he just presumed they were a given on Blogger, but now suspects he'll have to muck about with html to get the expected effect. And with that bit of indulgence, here we go.