thanksgiving 09

many things were learned, experienced, underscored in the arizona desert. time permits me from addressing all of them but a smattering may/might include the following:

never eat at something called macaroni grill; a grace kelly double feature on tcm is a beautiful thing; never allow circumstance to loosen your guidelines and actually ingest something prepared at jack-in-the-box; when one party honors the strength and courage of the white pilgrim at a thanksgiving toast maybe you shouldn't just let it go unchallenged; if you discover mashed potatoes will be of the boxed, processed varietal prepare to run to the store instantly to correct; the desert is a beautiful place but you wouldn't want to live there; a museum that honors the extermination of native peoples while celebrating 'american expansion' may want to consider ramifications of presentation; oregon beer at cafe happy hour is glorious; under the watchful eye of peregrine falcon something you carry with you is left forever on thumb butte

pix are here

arizona, day/dusk

blood-brain barrier

An article in the ny times addresses a new approach to brain tumors - spraying cancer-killing drugs directly on to the tumor. one problem is the breaching the blood-brain barrier but that technique was perfected by a DR at OHSU. Awesome. Obviously at the starting line but getting there.

Introducing Taffy "Sunburst" McKittrick

I am reticent to get into the area of endorsement but I cannot deny the impact that a young singer/songwriter named Taffy McKittrick has had on me. At some point this year, maybe through this very blog, he tracked me down and announced his intention to become "internet BFF's" something I had no interest in. Thinking him a spammer or a phisher (or worse) I merely ignored him. But he sent repeated and multiple emails, urging me intensely to check out his blog. I finally broke down a few months ago and I duly admit to you - head hung low - that I read it from time to time. His songs and writings generally hover around a few topics (boring day job, thoughts of an artist, microwave burritos) but one cannot deny the sheer inadvertant ridiculousness they engender. What McKittrick lacks in talent he makes up for with eager full-throated ambition. I suppose that's a back-handed compliment. Taffy has urged me to make mention of him on this blog which I have resisted for quite some time. But, what can I say, he broke me:

If you have the stomach for it, you can experience Taffy McKittrick's blog writings here and his songcraft here (youtube) or here (vimeo).

I shall never mention him again. promise.

sentence of the day 11.14.09

"You smell like one of those barges floating around looking for an island to dump trash on"

Margaret urging me to seek immediate dental attention upon rising

sentence of the day 11.13.09

"I don't get the whole cuddle party thing"

Mike Rennie after hearing me and margaret discuss the parameters
of a semi-notorious social gathering (about which - let me be clear - we have only heard about)

i don't love wes anderson

Richard Brody's recent puff profile of Wes Anderson in the New Yorker (which can be read here ) vexed and perplexed me. This is partly due to Brody's semi-inappropriate cheerleading and back-patting of Anderson's efforts and partly due to Anderson himself who - according to the essay - seemingly makes movies to merely reference other movies, not because they're willed into creation by some deep internal necessity. This in turn breeds a certain, say,  inauthenticity in his characters which by some accounts is grand and by others grand folly. I'm in the latter camp. as is this assessment of life aquatic from n+1 which Brody references.

Don't get me wrong, I love love Bottle Rocket and like-love Rushmore - perhaps b/c the first has the ambitions of the nascent filmmaker on full display and the second has its roots in slight biography; they're also the least self-concious of his attempts -  but it's all been downhill from there, each sucessive movie a more labored effort to watch. Is the well dry?

I feel compelled to include that I have an inherent alarm bell that rings when the rich (c/f spike jonze) have these artistic vagabond narratives spun about their early formative experiences and then go on to get really into fashion and culture and being in magazines. maybe i'm just jealous.