Episode one plus one plus one

Openly embracing the Dark Side, I had to delay my first viewing of Star Wars: Episode III until this weekend. I mournfully wept in a hotel room in San Francisco on May 19th, and had to endure many more days of meetings, followed by an overabundance of California sunshine in that blessed city before making my way back east, towards a coca cola saturated theatre seat. Upon returning to DC, only one final hurdle stood in my way: I had to hunt down Episodes I and II to ensure that I was in the proper state of mind to enter the theatre. Good God that was impossible. I literally haunted the movie stores within a two mile radius (recall, I’ve no car in DC) to the point that when they saw me enter, they automatically searched the return bin to see if any copies had just returned. A bit of serendipity and dedication dictated that this HolyGrail-esque search took only two days (trust me, that was as fast as possible). Therefore, this weekend was dedicated almost exclusively to Star Wars in all its glory (this included a healthy dosing of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic X-Boxing, just to ensure a well-rounded understanding of the pre-history along with the more contemporary….long, long time ago….past).

The first episode made mammoth gains on my favorites list. I think I finally managed to come to terms with the excessive Jar Jar Binks dialogue and the underlying pedophilia and focus on the ingeniousness of the Pod Race, the intentional shortcomings of Trade Federation droids (hence, the switch to clone armies in Episode II), and the general thought paid to appeasing a demanding 1999 viewer while not alienating Episodes IV, V, and VI. Furthermore, I think I more fully understood and appreciated the Midichlorian revelation and its implications this time around (Damn, Anakin!), [a term that sounds strikingly similar to the little generators inside our own cells that pump out energy].

While festering in the frustration of having finished Episode I and having no access to Episode II, I comforted myself by checking out the accompaniment disk to Episode I. Here’s some trivia I picked up from that well-spent hour and a half:
-Although a completely digital character in the final release, Jar Jar Binks was played by an actor during live taping who wore a $100,000 suit…a suit that ultimately proved unnecessary.
-That suit must have been especially abhorrent when filming the Tatooine segments in 134 degree Tunisian heat
-A storm laid waste to a good chunk of Mos Espa, the city where Anakin and his mother, Shmi, were held captive by the Toydarian junkdealer Watto (notably, one of my favorite characters from all six episodes)(second note, their original owner was Gardulla the Hut, who sold them to Watto). This destruction forced a frantic and costly reconstruction of Mos Espa and a number of Pod Racers, along with necessitating a reordering of the filming schedule.

But this entry isn’t about Episode I. Nor is it about Episode II…which I finally got my greedy paws on a day later. All I have to say about that episode is that Yoda is a machine, and purple light sabers rule. Also, Christopher Lee looked cooler with long, white hair.

Now, Episode III: Revenge of the Sith.
As a level 7.92 (ten point scale) science fiction/fantasy nerd (more accurately, when engrossed in this milieu, my interest approaches ten, but I tend to stray away for extended periods of time to other pursuits), I entered this movie with astronomical expectations. I also entered with complete faith in Mr. Lucas (thank you, Jake) and his associates fulfilling those expectations. I walked out of the theatre 2 ½ hours later at peace with the world. As my (here's where i write 'girlfriend', but dammit that always sounds weird, what do i do? what do i do, kristy?) characterized it, I was in a state of “euphoria” (that euphoria even carried through the following few hours when I discovered that she is a way better tennis player than myself).

Now there’s a couple different levels on which to appreciate a movie such as this. I tried to keep my mindset elevated for the most part on this initial viewing, focusing on the overall flow and feel of the movie instead of delving too much into the particulars. With subsequent viewings (the first of which is tentatively scheduled for tomorrow), I hope to examine the intricacies of the movie.

A couple thoughts: I loved the movie. I loved it both as a Star Wars devotee and as an objective movie critic. The movie was dark, as suspected. This goes for the scenery and the content. In sharp contrast to the many calming shots of Naboo and the majestic shots of Coruscant from the previous movies, Naboo was largely non-existent and Coruscant was often shrouded in darkness or twilight. I loved how Anakin’s fall was accompanied by the setting rays of the star, as shadows became pronounced in the foreboding rays of twilight. Human suffering and malicious violence (aka. Anakin’s massacre of Jedi-in-training) materialized as never before.

The central character in the movie, Hayden Christiansen underscored the fact that he’s much more convincing as a sneering melancholic on the verge of self destruction than as a young paduan-learner spitting galactic game (“I hate sand, it’s rough and gets everywhere. Not like you. You’re soft and smooth.”…projectile vomit). Although he doesn’t vocally roar the way I’d like to hear a Darth Vader roar, his malevolent eyes and venomous expression enable him to pull it off.

Regarding the scenes in the movie, I thought that they utilized the established (successful) formula as well or better than any other Star Wars movie. What does Lucas do to create his fascinating worlds?...He simply takes an element of our world that is exotic, yet familiar (meaning we understand this feature as part of our world, yet still find it really interesting). Some of these planets we’d already been introduced to in previous episodes (ie. Coruscants’ enveloping cities) but received stunning new images in Episode III. Revenge of the Sith supplied us planet-hungry hordes with new imaginary playgrounds as well. Most notably, I loved Utapau’s endless cave corridors and Mustafar’s boiling, volcanic cauldrons. He uses a similar technique to make outrageous characters more endearing. For example, the creatures running around in the background often embody some kind of dinosaur/more-familiar-not-yet-extinct-animal hybid. Another example is how he anthropomorphizes an utterly bizarre alien character with a quirky human personality. A pretty simple plan yields ingenious results. Whereas the former technique exaggerates the familiar, the latter technique familiarizes the alien. It’s great.

The story itself spoke for itself years ago. Nobody’s going to this movie to find out that Anakin turns into Darth Vader (he does…maybe). All the key underpinnings of this plotline revealed themselves years ago. Instead, we’re going to this movie to see our imaginations projected on a 2-dimensional screen and pick up some small filler pieces at the same time. For instance, I thought Darth Vader’s mangled form from Episode VI resulted from years of festering underneath the mask of Vader. The explanation of Emperor Palpatine’s gnarled physiognomy enticed me, as well. So much attention was paid to these details and it all came together beautifully.

That being said, my list of complaints is rather curtailed. One might argue that I’ve been swept up in the hysteria of the movie. Perhaps there’s some validity to that stance, however, I think a more likely explanation is that I simply like these movies and similar pictures. In my opinion, the cheese-laden dialogue that vexes so many remains an inherent and unbothersome ingredient in these movies. Instead of being poor screenwriting, I think George Lucas utilizes such exchanges to engage and entertain a broader swath of moviegoers. That’s one of the ingenious characteristics of these movies: there’s something for everyone. An eight year old can drag her/his jaw on the ground as she/he watches a podrace or laugh uncontrollably as Hans Solo acts like one of their 3rd grade classmates, while an astute student of Jedi lore can gather a virtual library of background information on the ascension of the Hutts to power on Tatooine. These movies weren’t just made for Star Wars gurus, they were also made for kids and casual moviegoers, and Lukas, etc.’s ability to appease all categories floors me.

The scientist in me wonders why disintegrating spaceships often fall as though under the influence of gravity, when the battles occur deep in the floating echoes of space. Furthermore, I’ve had some trouble swallowing the fact that light doesn’t always move at the speed of light. But, hey! This was a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away and who are we to assume that the physical laws of the universe have remained constant ever since.

I remain unconvinced that Samuel Jackson should reign as one of the most influential members of the Jedi council. I can’t help but doubt that Jules Winnfield has really achieved a state of Zen and I continued to find his dialogue forced and unnatural. I think this is the one instance where selecting a well-known actor, with a fairly inflexible image proved problematic. Most people would add Natalie Portman to their list of weak characters but I agree with the boss, George Lucas (supplementary disk to Episode I), that she played the part exactly as it was intended.

While thinking about the Star Wars franchise and all the joy it’s brought to myself and billions of other people roaming this earth, I have one image ingrained in my mind: it’s a nauseatingly-staged shot at the end of the “Making of Episode I” that shows George Lucas sitting down alone at a quiet desk with a pad of paper and a pencil…he scribbles on a blank page in not-too legible handwriting “Episode II…” and I remember that this mania all traces its roots back to the imagination of one man. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not running away to Australia and joining the Jedi religion, but I am in awe of how far this thing has deservedly blown up.

Just for the fun of it, let's indulge ourselves in a little VII, VIII, and IX.

Now you can scream obscenities at delinquent ebay sellers from your cubicle...

I really wouldn't mind the cubicle world if it supplied me a bit more privacy. Windows are good and great, but they remind me that i'm stuck inside when i really want to be roaming around in the sun. It's the utter lack of privacy that drives me batty. My computer screen faces directly out my cubicle towards two office doors, where my virtual explorations can be constantly monitored (pun intended). Futhermore, the only private conversation afforded me is that done electronically by my fingers. Everything i say echoes off the walls in this ampitheatre of an office corridor. Although the former problem remains unsolved, these bearded dudes have concocted a way to diminish the severity of the latter. They invented a device that multiplies and scrambles voices that come within its range. I'm pretty sure that everyone in the viscinity of my cubicle would rather hear high-decibel Babble (name of device) than my after work plans. the only thing i'm worried about is the fact that my normal-speak is babble...does that mean everyone else will hear what i'm actually trying to say?

College degrees being put to good use...

Oh my god, i found something more entertaining than team Scrabble for a group of 8: it's this thing right here that you just gotta check out. Ingenuity is not dead. Somebody please, please, please get one of these things and invite me over. I'll supply all the Pabst. I'd get one but i'm afraid i'd stumble across it in the middle of the night and think it intended to devour me.

oh crap, it knows i like cindy lauper...

What I really want to do right now is sit down and pour out a passion-infused entry detailing how I’ve fallen deeply in love with the city of San Francisco. This love is not new, but I think I’ve unilaterally elevated the seriousness of our relationship to the next level. I’m so exhausted and brain weary, however, from almost 3 weeks of constant movement (which explains the inexcusable lack of entries lately) and stiff hotel sheets that I cannot do it justice. It will have to wait. Maybe for awhile.

But I did run into a little tidbit today that I found really interesting. There’s this company in Oakland, Savage Beast Technologies (I really like the fact that they base their name on one of my favorite quotes, check the webpage), that’s working on a really cool project called the Music Genome Project. This project will result in something that’s in essence nothing revolutionary: it will lend itself to a program where if you decide you like a song or an album, it will refer you to other similar music that you might like as well.

What distinguishes this company is the sophistication of their analysis. Instead of relying on something as simple as genre-matching or market research (where they identify patterns of people’s purchases to make connections between shared musical affinities, and hence, make recommendations to those who might not be aware of the other bands), they are attempting to break the songs down into their fundamental musical elements. To accomplish this, they utilize a team of experts highly educated in music theory, along with pretty wicked technology to categorize the music into particular subsets. These subsets might be something like ‘A minor theme with alternating F/G subtext’ or ‘violin coupled with electric acoustic’. This would result in traditionally unmatched music being matched together. A lot of time, this would probably be for the best. It will allow listeners to find that it’s not so easy to dismiss whole genres of music because there are overlapping elements in each. This program essentially digs deep into our subconscious to identify the basic components we like in our music to recommend other similar stuff we probably never would have looked into.

Like I mentioned, this is fundamentally the same thing you’d encounter when shopping on Amazon or at you local Best Buy (a customer of Savage Beast, apparently waiting to incorporate the Genome technology in the near future), but with a MUCH larger inventory of music and more sophisticated methods of matching potentially attractive tunes for anyone and everyone.

In an industry where 3% of the available products account for 80% of sales (which might be attributable to the surfeit of bad music, but, more likely is attributable to the reigning promotional/record companies holding sway over most consumers’ tastes=buying habits), this tells me that the little guys are going to have an increasingly better chance of getting their names circulating.

So if any of my super-cool, band playing friends are reading this entry, keep your eyes out for this technology that’s starting to be introduced and make sure that you get your stuff into their libraries. For people like me, who have always found it difficult to stay up on the mass of underground releases that often times prove the most innovative and interesting musically, this tool should help us stop buying Britney (impossible!) and look into something more worthwhile. In the same vein as blogging and podcasting, I see this tool as yet another weapon for those with talent (obviously not referring to this blog) but short on lucky breaks to promulgate their creations to a wider audience. Even for those without talent, keep in mind that Nelson made millions. It’s the dissemination of ideas that attracts me here. So keep playing that dulcimer because somebody listening to Nickel Creek might just spot you and give you a shove down the road to fame and fortune.

You will learn atleast two things from this blog entry

so i'm reading the book Freakonomics right now. I love when books teach me weird little factoids that i can throw at people to make them think i'm that super-cool weird fact guy. i thought i'd share the ones i found most interesting, so everyone else can be the super-cool weird fact guy/girl. Lots of people already read this book. Lot's of people know more things than i do. Therefore, you might not learn one thing from the following:

• The famous 1973 Supreme Court Case that legalized abortion in the US that pitted Jane Roe against Henry Wade (the Dallas County District attorney), Roe vs. Wade, actually pitted Norma McCorvey against Henry Wade. Norma's name was disguised as Jane Doe before the case reached the high court
• Americans spend $1 billion per year on chewing gum
• During the 15th century, 73 out of every 100,000 people in Italy were murdered. This number might not mean much until you consider the fact that between 1950 and 1994 only 1.5 people out of every 100,000 people in Italy were murdered...which is one of the highest rates in Europe
• 1987 was the first year when people filing tax returns in the US had to provide social security numbers whenever they claimed a dependent child. Seven million children who had existed on previous 1040 forms vanished!
• The Ku Klux Klan was founded by six young men (four of whom were lawyers) in Pulaski, Tennessee in the wake of the civil war. They saw themselves as a circle of like-minded friends. Therefore, they chose a slight alteration of the Greek word for 'circle', kuklos, as their call name. 'klan' was added to pay homage to their scotch-irish descent.
• prior to DuPont's introduction of nylons in 1941, women wore only silk stockings. that's alot of money and alot of silk that wasn't necessarily readily available

So as i conceded earlier, you might not have learned anything from that list. Anybody who picks up the book will read that stuff practically verbatim. But here's a couple things you didn't know:

• i wore a tie today
• i ate 'wild boar' tonight

These are the days of our lives

Disclaimer: Guess what, kids? Today Uncle Phil is going to transform into one of those really annoying bloggers that recounts what he did over the course of the previous weekend. So if you hate those guys, or you hate me, or you hate America, I wouldn’t recommend reading this entry. That being said, you shouldn’t hate America, so read on or Kansas won’t be happy.

It’s not easy hanging out with a bunch of rock stars in New York for a weekend, but that’s the punishment I had to endure the last couple days. What follows is an incomplete account of the weekend’s events.

The first such manifestation of downright absurdity came during our bus pit-stop in Delaware (a state whose size was roughly equal to the chip on our bus driver’s shoulder). Aside from the unique opportunity to punish my digestive tract with copious helpings of Roy Rogers’ burgers, those rest stops totally screw with me. It’s like you step into this warped reality where time loses its meaning, and people lose their minds. People wander around shielding their eyes from the assault of neon, stammering into each other, throwing their hard earned money at anything they can shovel down their throats. It’s like riding around on a carrousel that never returns to the same spot. Sinking deeper into oblivion, one of the more resilient members of our battalion managed to alert us to the imminent departure of our bus. Still dazed by the Wonka world, we stumbled outside and ran. The problem was that we ran in the wrong direction. The other problem was that none of use really knew that. So there we were, victims of the Pit-stop-mob-mentality plague, searching frantically for a bus that no longer existed. Meanwhile John, the aforementioned trooper who had developed an impressive immunity to the pernicious pit stop virus, screamed at each of our malfunctioning phones and the bus driver. The impervious bus driver stormed around the circular drive, intent on roaring onward to the Big Apple minus three poor souls. As he rounded the final curve, flames blazing from the back of the angry bus, we performed athletic feats beyond our wildest dreams in an attempt to flag down our only hope of ever leaving Delaware (much love, Lis), meanwhile inventing atleast five epic dance moves! Emotions ran high as anguish turned to hope, hope back to despair, and despair into the elation of resurrection. We made our bus.

That was before New York. Then New York happened. Oh, did it happen.

What’s the first thing that any sane person does as soon as they get to New York?…that’s right, they leave New York and jam over to Jersey City. Being the hipsters that we are, that’s exactly what we did. Not that it’s possible for Jersey City to ever be a let down, but if it was possible, it still wouldn’t have happened. Our buddy Josh, who graciously accommodated a swarm of rabblerousers (quick vote, is that a word?), lives in an apartment right on the edge of the Hudson River overlooking Manhattan. Positioned across from the village, in between the reigning giants of downtown and midtown, we had a commanding view of the best skyline in the world (in my admittedly meager experience). Plus we got to revert back to colle…high sch….juni….um….grade school, and play with suspiciously fun-looking shopping carts. First the shopping carts were empty. Then the shopping carts held gallons of Pabst. Then the shopping carts were empty again. Then the shopping carts held people who held gallons of Pabst in their stomachs. Then they were empty again. Later they held more people with more gallons of more things in their stomachs. Then they were empty again because those people careened head first out of the carts towards certain death. What does it all mean?

At some point we realized that New York City was really close and we should probably go check it out. So we did, apparently. The story goes that we paid due homage to the sacred artists of eighties rock at this ho-down house (according to this review, we only reverted back to college for our entertainment at this point….and it should be noted that the dancing did not suck!) where they beam the decadent eighties video with the correspondingly decadent eighties song all over the walls. So we’re all pretty sure that happened, and we did wake up in Jersey City the next day (some members running on slightly less than the recommended 8 hours).

…and on the second day, God did not rest…

Have you ever had a waiter/waitress do everything possible to talk you out of a dish? This happened to us at this stylin' noodle house we made our way to for breakfast/lunch/happy hour in the city. It just so happened to be the dish I was ready devour. I didn’t mind that she told us it was the most returned dish on the menu. I didn’t mind that she said, “I’m one of only four or five people that like it.” I didn’t mind that she spoke with such graven seriousness, as though there would be legal ramifications if she failed to enlighten us to the pending devastation that this dish might wreak upon our prostrate constitutions. All was well and good until she dropped the S-bomb on us. She actually had the gall to tell us this dish was ‘slimy’. Slimy! Of all the heinous-anus words anyone could ever use to describe an edible dish, I think she mined deepest and found the worst of the worst. It conjured up images of a toad’s slippery skin resting in an algae infested swamp. I had no intention of paying nine dollars to see that transported onto my plate. I politely passed, ordered another dish, and vomited out the window (the vomiting was a bit of a fabrication, although vomiting was never far from anybody’s mind over the course of this meal…for slightly different reasons). Luckily my second choice turned out to be amazing and cheap. Besides the excellent grub for a more-than-reasonable Manhattan price, I’d recommend this place for the funky pictures of noodle art on the wall. I never would have imagined that noodles could decorate a human body in such ways.

Everyone, in varying states of party or ‘slime’ induced nausea, made their way outside and relished a breath of fresh air. Maybe it was that way because Union Square, a nice little mecca of trees and grass lay across the street. Wait, maybe not. Although it is still a mecca of trees and grass, there’s other things to be found. Namely, an outdoor bar in the middle of a public park in the middle of Manhattan. Somebody explain this to me. Everyone felt compelled to research this anomaly and somehow ended up with coronas (one of which was roughly equivalent in cost to my lunch) or bloody mary’s in their hands. Ah, the beauty of nature.

The Fellowship of the Weekend, which was in peril of dissolving, rematerialized at this point stronger than ever. Back to Jersey City, back to bed for some, then the onslaught continued.

Brevity is the soul of wit. I’m a half wit. But I’m trying. So let me summarize the rest as follows… Feeling like we had short changed the Joshua Tree the night before, we mustered up all our energies and laid siege on that bastion of all that is cool once again. We did it right. Oh, did we do it right. And it really happened that night, according to all sources. Realizing that it was only 5 in the morning when we got back to Jersey City, the dance of the deranged continued on couches and in front of windows back in Jersey City. A final stroll along the water’s edge sometime deep in the six o’clock hour, where a small cadre of lunatics toasted mother NYC and all her demons, brought to a close a day to remember. A saffron orange sun, cloaked in the fumes of simmering city haze, rose above the pillars of man’s ingenuity and kissed us goodnight with her first rays of warmth.

Not so early the next day, the morose realization that our time in New Jersey was coming to a premature end began to loom large; therefore, we celebrated that fine state by dining in the finest eating establishment available: the local mall. The end was too painful, and I cannot recount it here. Perhaps with time I will muster up the courage to speak of our parting with New Jersey and all that it encapsulates.

For now, I offer my praise to those who sucked the marrow out of a weekend’s bones and lived to tell the tale.

These aren't poses folks, this is the real thing.

Soul sisters in swing

Mr. Hyde is alive and well

I’ve been pretending to be a big, important businessman the last week, hence, my reticence. So in order to get things fired up again, I’m dedicating this entry to the Sun. I’ve made the command decision that the Sun is one of the sweetest things I know about (aside from the other 200 billion stars in our galaxy, which is one of an estimated 500 billion galaxies). I really am starting to think that an enormous, glowing ball of chaotic, fiery wrath tearing through the fabric of space is an unusual thing. The little research I’ve done has freaked me out even more. Here’s what I found:

• The sun contains 98 percent of all the mass in the solar system
• 109 earths could be lined up from one side of the sun to the other side
• If earths were packed inside the sun like marbles, you could fit 1 million in that shell; if, however, you ground earth up into a pile of pourable dirt with the same original volume as our round earth, you could stuff the equivalent of 1.3 million earths into the fishbowl sun.
  Mind blowing side note: Some stars are 500 times bigger than the sun
• The ‘corona’ is the funky halo surrounding the sun and reaching out into the solar system, cheers!
• The pressure at the sun’s core is 340 billion times earth’s air pressure at sea level…you and I and a 1000 cubic foot block of steel would basically disappear
• The sun has roughly reached it’s half-life…having lived for 4.6 billion years, with enough fuel left to roast for another 5 billion….and that’s when the creepy thing happens: near the end of it’s modest lifetime, the sun will start to swell, ultimately expanding enough to swallow the earth….after this billion year period of portliness, it will go on a crack-diet and shrivel up into a tiny little white dwarf. Don’t worry though, it’s still gonna be warming our extinct toes for another trillion years or so before it completely cools off.
• To put into perspective how far away the sun is from earth, consider this: light travels around the earth roughly seven times in one second, but it takes light over eight minutes to reach the earth… so if the sun explodes or implodes, we’ll live happily for another eight minutes, not realizing that certain death is reaching its gnarled fingers out across space towards our unsuspecting masses. Another freakoid-factoid: once i decided i had no idea how to grasp that kind of distance, i punished myself by finding out how far the next closest star is to the earth. I found that Proxima CentauriAlpha Cen C star is 4.3 light years away from the earth, whereas the sun is a meager 0.00001 light years away from the earth.

The nerdy scientist can only stay hidden for so long (although i'm starting to think he's much cooler, anyways)…stay tuned for more uncontrollable outbreaks in the near future.

Gesundheit!

what happened to sleeping in until 8 pm?

Every once-in-a-great-while the stars sync up their cosmic whirling-dervish and align for a brief moment in the black heavens. Under an auspicious sky of void expanses dotted by burning jewels, I find myself lucky enough to do a bunch of really cool things over the course of a weekend for really cheap. This was the case last weekend.

Now although the dollar beers and epic Boggle clashes on Friday surely contributed to a memorable couple days, I’m alluding more to what started on Saturday night. Actually, it all started a couple weeks ago at work, of all places. There I was, staring at my computer screen in my cubicle world listening to the symphony of fax machines, click-clack typing, and ringing phones. I overheard a conversation in the copy room (side note: the only interesting conversations at work happen in the copy room under the false assumption of privacy) wherein this guy revealed he was a drummer for a bellydancing troupe. After much clandestine investigation that involved periscopes and tracking dogs, I managed to find this guy and introduce myself. He gave me the hook up on an upcoming show.

Saturday. So the upcoming show upcame. On Saturday, my accomplice in crime and I wandered into the underworld of tribal dancers. Tucked away behind this little artsy café down by China town (for all DC hipsters reading here, check out the Warehouse Theatre…it’s a cool spot that’s bringing in interesting shows but struggling to really get going) was a little theatre that couldn’t have sat more than 100 people gasping for oxygen and unsuccessfully looking around for the fire escape. It didn’t take long to realize that we were viewing an esoteric art with people who understood and probably followed it religiously. When one of the dancers performed an abnormally difficult pose (aka, balancing a plate of burning candles on her belly as she twisted her body into a contorted ball of aching muscles or gracefully pranced around the stage with two scimitars resting unsupported on her head) the audience would erupt with animalistic whoops that sounded like some kind of hungry whooping crane. But everyone sounded like the same crane…like they’d gone to a belly dancing cheer class.

Aside from any inconsequential feeling of alienation we experienced from the cliquey whoopers, it was an amazing show. Exotic music rattled the creaky wooden posts that supported plain black sheets…a simple backdrop that directed your attention to where it was deserved: the dancers. The first part consisted of a local troupe (DC Tribal) exhibiting their funkadelic freshness, followed by a visiting cadre of more prominent dancers. For all my readers in San Francisco…and when I say readers, I mean reader, thank you Blogmyers-can I get a Hayward in the house…check out Ultra Gypsy perform for a memorable night. For those anywhere near San Diego, Urban Tribal Dancers is the show to hit. Besides the elaborate costumes, absurdly athletic moves, and hypnotic theatrics, I loved how they seamlessly blended in modern elements (especially in the music) with the more traditional. It made me feel like I was watching something being created instead of looking at a 3-D, moving exhibit in a museum.

Sunday. Anyone who’s seen Good Will Hunting or has an inkling of appreciation for conscientious social criticism knows they should read Howard Zinn (i.e. A People’s History of the United States, You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train). I know this, yet still never have. I did get a chance to watch his film biography and listen to him speak, however, on Sunday at the American Film Institute in Maryland. I liked Howard’s story because he didn’t follow the traditional academic path. Instead, he spent a good deal of his youth scavenging around the streets of New York, working at the shipyards, and dropping bombs in World War II. I’m guessing this all contributed to what I liked best about him: he’s an idealist who’s realistic about the possibilities and means of change. It was cool to see someone who was integrally involved in social demonstrations during the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam speaking about Iraq in 2005. Perhaps my historical imagination is weak, but I oftentimes feel completely removed from the accounts I read in books or see in movies of those tumultuous times, regardless of how recently they occurred. Zinn helped to bridge the gap. The dude is old, but spry and healthy. He has a glimmer in his eye that bespeaks a life lived well. He’s a seasoned speaker with a patient mien who didn’t hesitate to let questioners talk longer than they should have. He made me want to read his books and get fired up about what’s going on in the world.

Monday (we’ll pretend that’s part of the weekend). I watched the Washington Wizards kick the Chicago Bulls’ ass to tie up the series 2-2 in the first round of the NBA playoffs Although they tried as hard as they could to give up their commanding lead in the 4th quarter, the Bulls managed to shoot so horrifically that the Wizards simply had to leave with a win. (Series now 3-2 Wizards, thanks to a last second shot by Gilbert Arenas after they tried their same strategy of giving up a 20 something point lead, but not quite being able to lose). It wasn’t all poor play, however. As a matter of fact, four minutes into the game the Wizards had scored enough points to be en route to racking up 180. That did not happen. That’s good, because I can’t count that high. I got to see miniature blimps, a magician help his counterpart change outfits really fast…over and over, and entertaining basketball. Plus, I had the option to drink my beer with a straw. Gotta love it.

Moral of the Story: I want more weekends where a twenty dollar bill reminds me that the world isn’t a staid complex of mindless masses shuffling to and from lego buildings…and still gets me change.

stupid people doing stupid things

Maybe you've been sitting around wondering, "why on earth would i ever need a video phone...in fact, I can't think of any other uses for this camera phone other than taking pictures of the oryx at the zoo." Well, let these nimrods convince you that a) you do have a use for that video or camera phone and, b) human beings have not evolved beyond gorillas.

Sleazy businessman alter-ego materializes...

I love you guys, so I desperately want to make you 25 bucks. Furthermore, I know you love me atleast 2/5 as much as I love you…so I’m sure you want to make me 10 bucks. Here’s the deal:

ING Direct, a branch of ING (a Dutch global financial institution with over 60 million customers in 50 countries…aka, they’re legit), offers an “Orange” savings account that pretty much kicks ass. ING Direct does their banking online, over the phone and by snail mail. This means they cut out all the money they’d be pouring into operating bank branches churning through electricity and leasing fees that also would require little bank people running around in snazzy blazers that would probably want a paycheck. So they’ve got a bunch of extra money to throw around. Being the altruistic souls that they are at ING Direct bank, they’ve decided to give a whole bunch of that money to you and me.

They now offer a savings account with 3% interest. Anybody whose banking experience meets or exceeds cashing one work check a month understands that 3% is a ridiculously high interest rate…

This is great option if you don’t have enough money to invest, haven’t performed ample stock market research, or simply don’t have the balls to throw your money into the stock market yet. I, to some degree, can check each of the previous three boxes. This savings account allows you to rack up an impressive amount of interest while keeping your money completely liquid. If you need money for rent, you electronically transfer (either on the internet or over the phone) from your ING Direct savings account to your established checking account elsewhere. I’ve tried it and it’s incredibly simple…just like transferring from my Bank of America Savings account to my BofA checking…but making a whole bunch more money in interest.

The more traditional mid-level option would be purchasing a CD, wherein you give some money to your bank for a certain amount of time and they give you a guaranteed return percentage if you don’t withdraw previous to your agreement ending. Most 1 year CD’s (meaning you can’t touch your money for atleast a year) don’t go much higher than 3%. If you run into an emergency and have to withdraw before that year, you lose your 3+ % interest rate. The ING Direct option, like I said before, lets you do whatever you want with your money whenever you want.

So the deal is that if you sign up through me, you get $25. Seriously. They just give you $25. They also give me $10 when you sign up. It’s a pretty sweet deal for everyone involved. Check out their website and do some research yourself if you want to become a little more familiar/comfortable with the idea. If you think it’s a go, shoot me an email (younglong80@yahoo.com) and I’ll send you the special link for this deal (you have to use the link that I send you or you don’t get the $25)…or leave a comment below.

Here’s to taking over the world.