it20040830 - Monday
Journal
I was fully expecting the Republicans to pimp out 9/11 as an election strategy, but this evening was ridiculous.
I was fully expecting the Republicans to pimp out 9/11 as an election strategy, but this evening was ridiculous.
From a social standpoint, this afternoon's brief and innocent trip to Lund's was downright deadly.
There's not much else I can say about that, although I guess I should probably stay inside more often.
From: Michael Danielson
To: Mark Danielson
Sent: Thursday, August 26, 2004 10:01 AM
Subject: Kerry Sucks... hehe
Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker huh, ha, I beat you. Kris and I got our Bush '04 stickers like three weeks ago. Ha! Did you read the article online about Koch, the former mayor of NYC? I guess he is a liberal Democrat who just happens to be supporting Bush. He still says that he doesn't agree with Bush on any issues on our homeland but is supporting him because finally someone has the "BALLS" to stand up against terrorism and is not afraid to stick their nose in someone else's business to help the world become a safer place.
Just wanted to know if you heard that or not. RNC this weekend. Can't wait to here my governor and Giuliani speak.
Michael
P.S. - Kerry looks like a herb! I think he would go down as the ugliest president ever.
From: Mark Danielson
To: Michael Danielson
Sent: Thursday, August 26, 2004 10:15 AM
Subject: RE: Kerry Sucks... hehe
A small dose of reality:
The president is elected by the Electoral College. As part of that process, whoever wins a state gets all the electoral votes from that state. There is no doubt California will go for Kerry. In other words, your vote for president this year will be of dubious value.
Minnesota is a swing state. Like Wisconsin, Ohio and Florida, the direction of the votes here will actually help decide the election.
-Mark
From: Michael Danielson
To: Mark Danielson
Sent: Thursday, August 26, 2004 10:19 AM
Subject: RE: Kerry Sucks... hehe
Thanks you dick, you didn't have to go that far. That was a little below the belt. So now that you went there, how's your living room? Did Putter get lost yet?
I finally got my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker in the mail today. As it happens, it was on the back of my car within two minutes of me opening my mailbox.
Not too much to report from this weekend. I helped Diana move to her new apartment this afternoon, but other than that, Saturday and Sunday were spent cleaning, filing and organizing. I could try to describe the chaos surrounding me right now, but it's probably easier to just show the floor of my living room:
And then there's the pile of boxes on the way to the dumpster:
Mind you, the living room was spotless less than a week ago, but the temporary pile of rubbish is a very necessary step. I've been hauling around boxes of disorganized crap since I left Northeastern Wisconsin almost eight years ago, and have spent much of the past few years trying to instill a little logic and organization to my belongings. (It's amazing what a lack of storage space can do.) Those efforts have been slow and difficult, but they're finally starting to pay off. I'm finally at the point where things either have to find an appropriate place to live or make their way to the garbage. (That's not to say I haven't trashed things before, of course. Over the past two years, I'd estimate I've junked over 25% of my "permanent" belongings.)
Thankfully, there's a deadline to all of this. I'll probably have people visiting over the Labor Day weekend, so the apartment has to be clean (or at least presentable) by then. It's not like the threat of visitors is necessary to encourage me, though. It's only been 48 hours since the tornado hit, and I'm already sick of the mess.
In related news, watch this space for offers of free stuff. There will be a lot I'll be giving away or donating over the next few weeks.
Best sign spotted while driving back from Rochester on US-52 this evening: CONCENTRATE ON DRIVING.
Thanks MnDOT. I drifted halfway into the neighboring lane while writing that one down.
My dad spent another long day getting poked, prodded and tested at the Mayo Clinic today. It'll be a while before the results of his numerous tests are in, but it still seems that the visits will be good for him. While the day had obviously worn him out, he seemed impressed with those he'd worked with and even a bit optimistic about his health. "Let me tell you something," he said. "If you ever get really sick don't bother with the doctors where you live. Go to the Mayo Clinic."
Considering he's practically made a sport out of complaining about doctors and medicine up to this point, that's progress. Now I just hope it sticks.
The evening finds me full of Grain Belt and Vietnamese food. (There's much more to say about the weekend, of course, but it'll have to come some other time.)
Walking back from SA early this morning, I was ambushed by a homeless man who quite literally jumped out of some bushes to block my path. Mumbling loudly, he held out a note written on a small piece of cardboard. "Deaf — Please help — Need change."
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head sympathetically. I didn't have any change, although that's not to say I would've given any if I had.
He turned over the note. "Please — God's watching." He pointed skyward for full effect.
I looked at him, incredulous. "Oh, fuck you."
That may or may not make me a bad person. I don't know.
"Well, it seems everyone is landing in Madison."
"So, when are you going?"
"Me? I'm not."
"Why not? I thought you were looking there."
"I don't know. I'm a liberal, but I'm not a Madison liberal."
"Don't like granola?"
"No, that's not it. It's just the place is kind of a bubble. I'd probably go nuts there."
"Maybe you should just admit you really like Minneapolis."
"Or maybe I should just get to Chicago."
Okay, travel plans. Let's try that again.
I'll be heading to Detroit for a few days beginning September 9th. The trip is paid for and non-refundable, so it's going to happen. I had to give up on British Columbia for this year, but October should still bring a road trip with stops in Arizona, California and a couple of other western states. November will bring the requisite trip to my folks' for Thanksgiving and, if all goes well, a week in Hong Kong.
Not surprisingly, my anticipation of the trips is inversely related to the likeliness of them actually happening, but we'll see what happens.
I've traditionally had four basic kinds of reactions to movies. For truly awful films I can feel profound regret, both for money lost and precious minutes wasted. (I felt that for Point Of No Return a decade ago, and, more recently, for ill-advised comedies such as Billy Madison and Corky Romano.) For bad movies, I can feel annoyance and the knowledge of a lesson learned. For good movies, I can feel a general kind of satisfaction, sort of like that funky little high one can get after a good meal. For great movies, I can feel the advance pain of money spent on a DVD purchase, and, in some cases, an urge to turn around and watch it again.
Lost In Translation kind of fits into the last category, but not quite: It's the first movie I ever felt I had to buy before returning the rental.
What a wonderful, wonderful film. It isn't a movie that really goes anywhere. Instead it drifts and floats along, its subjects in a haze surrounded by cleanliness and neon-lit clarity. Bill Murray is at his best in this film. He could've tried to be funny by making a caricature out of himself, but instead filled Bob Harris with emotion and depth. It's amazing how subtilely expressive his face can be; the scene where Bob is having his photo taken with the Suntory reps contains one of the most devastatingly sad looks I've ever seen on film.
That said, make no mistake: There are some hilarious moments to this film. It's all over the place, and we should be thankful for it.
Scarlett Johansson is great in this movie as well. Her character, Charlotte, is often more restrained that Murray's, and Johansson does a good job of portraying a bored soul stuck in a permanent state of contemplation. (A friend argued this wasn't really "acting", so to speak, as much as it was sitting and looking pretty. There may be some truth to this, but I haven't seen anything else with Johansson in it, so I can't say.) The movie does make a very big deal about how pretty Charlotte is, but often just to show how oblivious her husband is. Some have written that Giovanni Ribisi was wasted as Charlotte's husband, but I have to disagree. The story needed a couple of characters for us not necessarily to hate, but at least be very annoyed with, and Ribisi filled the role very well. Anna Faris was so good at playing the other annoying character of Kelly, a bubble-headed B-movie star, that I had to resist turning off the sound while she was on screen.
Did I mention that the movie is very pretty? It's one of those rare films one can pause at almost any moment to find a perfectly composed picture. It's almost like a Michael Mann film without the overly-tense characters and action sequences.
If there's one problem with this film—and, really, there's only one thing that throws me off about it—is that there are continuity errors all over the place. And I don't mean small ones, either. (Very minor spoiler ahead.) The location of the note under the door, Charlotte's toe while she's sitting on the window sill, there are blatantly obvious mistakes throughout. Every movie has continuity errors, of course, but Lost In Translation has enough of them that a viewer has to consciously work to look past them.
But if you can, well, it's a fantastic movie. 9/10.
This just in: The Onion lands in the Twin Cities September 2nd. An excerpt:
[Paper president Sean Mills] called the Twin Cities area "a perfect fit for us in every way. It's one of the most literate cities in America, it has a strong arts-based culture, a population that's progressive and well-educated, and an enormous college population."
So, not only do we get a funny satirical newspaper, but we get to feel smug, too. (Well, Eagan and Apple Valley probably don't, but that's OK.) And then there was this bit, which I'll probably be unable to pass along without comment:
Mills described the average Onion reader as "about 29, well-educated, not yet settled down, and active in attending movies and music events."
I guess three out of five isn't bad.
Another year, another Uptown Art Fair. As usual, it was warm, there were a lot of people, and there was art everywhere. For better or for worse, the thunderstorms promised for the afternoon never came.
Maybe I was just reacting to the warm weather, but I didn't find many artists who's work interested me all that much. Two photographers who seemed to stick out were Scott Gruss and Heather Novak-Peterson. While their styles were very different, both frequently used architecture for their subjects, so I guess I was in a moth-to-flame situation with both of them.
I'd like to think I'd be able to focus on the quality and technique of a photo as much as the subject of a photo, but I'm apparently unable to do that. At least, I was unable to do that today.
The entire apartment building smells like pot this evening.
I had no idea my parents were going to be at the Mayo Clinic today. Returning from an afternoon full of meetings, I found four messages on my voicemail asking me to call them. It took three tries to get a hold of them, and when we finally did get in contact, there was very little urgency in the conversation. On their end, anyway.
My mom answered. "Hi Mark."
"Hey Mom. What's going on?"
"Well, your father had a lot of tests today. He had a heart attack, and has some fractures in his feet."
"He had a heart attack?"
"Just a small one. He has one more blood test tomorrow, and then we're going to come back on the 17th so he can see a nutritionist." From that point, she went on about all the other small tests and visits that had gone on at the Mayo that day.
My dad came on a while later, and his first focus was not medical in nature: "Have you ever been to Famous Dave's?" They have really good ribs." Okay, Dad, but what about the heart attack? "It was just a small one." And? "I learned today that my body needs 3200 calories a day to maintain itself."
Well, alrighty. Apparently the fact that my father had a heart attack (albiet a "small one") is not something either of my parents would consider a big deal. I have to disagree with that position, of course, but I guess that's because I'm a son and am probably supposed to do so.
When the 17th rolls around, I'll be in Rochester.
And so it's August. It's strange to think summer is already slipping away from us.
It's been a fairly quiet week so far, although that's not really a bad thing. Sunday was capped off by an evening of lawn bowling at Brit's, Monday brought the confirmation of some travel plans, and this evening brought plenty of reading and, god forbid, a couple of visits to my dusty old journal. All of that is completely ordinary, of course, which is exactly what's so great about it. [Entry truncated.] Heck, next thing you know, I may find myself reading the paper on weekdays again.
Yeah, I know my desired routine probably seems boring to many, but I'm OK with that. I'll take comfortable contentment over needless excitement any day.
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