2010年4月23日金曜日

How do you take your tea?

(sung to the melody, with variation, of "L-O-V-E" by Nat King Cole)

B is for the things he wants to Ban;

L is for the Libs who love this man;

A, well that’s for ACORN; neeeeed I even say more, n’

C’s for the Constitution, we have got to save it soon, n’

is for the Koran he’s reading;

B-L-A-C-K is really not my thing!

(one more time!)

B is for the Birth Certificate he can’t produce, can he?

L is for the Law to whack my Granny;

A’s for ACORN again, so you don’t forget, friend, and

C’s for Communism, NOT the Founding Fathers’ vision!

is for the way he thinks he’s King;

B-L-A-C-K is really not my thing!

(one more time!)

B’ for Borders that he won’t patrol;

L is for the Lenders on the dole;

A, shout out to ACORN, dabbling in kiddie porn,

and C’s for Competition,THAT’S the thing his program’s missin’

K is for the Kool Aid I’m drinking,


B-L-A-C-K is really not my thing!

It’s not my thing!

It just ain’t my thing!

Shoo be doo wah!

2010年4月15日木曜日

Won't you smile a while for me, Sara?

(click on image to enlarge)
Meet Sara, who just recently celebrated her eighth birthday! As a gift to the lady (and the lady who adores her), my good friend Roger bestowed upon me the honor of immortalizing her. Though far more dazzling in the fur, as no mere painting could possibly capture the intelligence and beauty of this snout turner, whatsoever there are by way of imperfections can hardly be attributed to a lack of dedication on the part of this beguiled portraitist.

2010年3月20日土曜日

A Menagerie Mystery Tour

Aw, two of my favorite subjects brought together, The Beatles, and animals (not The Animals, sorry Eric Burdon)! I remember reading a review of The White Album in The Rolling Stone magazine's 10th anniversary issue opining that not since Aesop's Fables, or Toba Sojo's rabbit and frog scrolls of the 11th century, had animals commingled their lives with humans so revealingly. Although that might be a bit of a stretch, it is certainly part of the legendary Liverpudlians' charm and appeal that they spiced up their repertoire with such whimsical oddities as "Octopus' Garden" and "Hey, Bulldog!" More so than other bands of the time, and perhaps before or since, they were fabulists at heart, and that is a key part of what makes them so endearing and enduring.

Dylan was cleverer. Hendrix rocked harder. Pink Floyd was weirder. And the Stones were just plain badder! But The Beatles captured the energy of their time better than any of their manifestly talented rivals. With titles such as "Magical Mystery Tour" and "Come Together", they seem to have clearly, almost mystically, understood and embraced their roles as cultural guides through a period of mystery and excitement and wonder. The times were fraught with peril, but The Beatles, accompanied by their animal familiars, were charging out in front, wanting to hold our hands as they guided us on a journey that included herbs, gurus and revolutions.

So, here then, is my tribute to the Fab Four and their four legged (or eight tentacled, etc.) companions. Fans will have fun picking out the songs the critters are culled from, and will also be aware of what is about to befall poor Edgar Allan Poe!

2010年3月17日水曜日

Animals & Books


Anyone who has followed this blog will have noticed that I love putting animals into my illustrations! Another thing that has occasionally popped up is literature. So, I am very happy to be working on a project for a bookstore in Tokyo that has me merging the theme of animals and books. Here are a couple of the sketches I have produced so far for the project. Although technically they are just "roughs", I feel that the breezy, simple rendering nicely enhances the whimsical theme. 

2010年3月15日月曜日

I Think, Therefore I'm Nuts!


And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them,That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.

- Genesis 6


I'm an ape man, I'm an ape ape man, oh I'm an ape man

- The Kinks


Recently, I wrote a post (Sade and the Body)proffering the idea that the roots of sadism, and peoples' fascination with it in films and literature, can be found in the nature of our consciousness, specifically that we humans are acutely aware of just how much our bodies are capable of suffering, under certain unwelcome conditions. In that essay, I referred to the mind's "hatred" of the body, a kind of psychosis arising from the mind's  awareness of this worrisome aspect of its nature. In the interests of fairness, I would like, with this essay, to consider the human body's predicament, the raw deal it gets from being attached to a mind that operates like no other in the animal kingdom.

As bodies go, yours and mine are nothing more than variations on a theme. They are closest in form to the chimpanzees and other higher apes, of course, but in fact they are not so different from hundreds of species having vertebrae, internal organs held within a rib cage, extenders such as arms, legs,  fingers, toes, etc. Our pinkish pigmentation can be found under the fur of numerous animals, from pigs to guinea pigs to dogs to prairie dogs. In terms of design, I think it fair to say that we have more in common with squirrels, physiologically and stylistically, than a Model T has to a Ferrari, and than either does to a bulldozer or a city bus. Our bodies are just another example of The Mammalian Success Story that has been going on since ancient cataclysms laid the dinosaurs low.

If a chimpanzee were to wake up one morning, and find it's body transformed, a la Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis, into that of a homo sapiens, leaving aside the muscular strength it would be sacrificing, we can imagine that it would be able to find its way around its new contraption fairly easily. If it felt an itch, or an urge, it would pretty much know what to do about it. And the alternative would be true for us as well. All that chimp hair may take some getting used to, as would being able to effortlessly rip doors off their hinges, but on the whole we'd probably be able to master our new equipment, eventually. Learning to function in our chimp body would probably be considerably less difficult than learning to fly an airplane or navigate a submarine.

Now, on the other hand, stick that chimpanzee's body with a human mind and tell me it wouldn't freak out! "What are all these...things?" They're called abstract thoughts. "WTF am I supposed to do with them?" Uh..., this is going to take some time. Our minds, with their abstract, logical, inventive, metaphoric, etc. ways of operating represent such an anomalous feature of evolution that if even our closest relatives were to suddenly come into the possession of one they would likely go flat out insane in a matter of seconds! We, fortunately, have had all of seven million years (since we broke off from the chimps, a mere blink of an eye in the history of evolution) to get used to our minds. We're comfortable with them, or are we?

It's not so much the minds themselves, which, unique as they are in the Wild Kingdom, nevertheless have clearly aided our survival and expansion over the various terrains of the earth. You don't find chimps living in harsh, dry deserts or frozen hinterlands, after all. But what we have done with our minds, how we have shaped our environment with them, has surely put tremendous strain on our poor animal bodies. Consider our eyes, hardly different than a chimp's, which evolved while looking at relatively few color schemes, primarily the greens of the jungle, the blues and grays of ocean and sky, the browns of the earth and mountains, etc. Seeking out the sudden stimulation that comes from finding attractive fruit, or the sudden rapid movement that alerts us that prey or predators are about. This is what our close relatives see, what they use their eyes for, up to this very day. Whereas we, on the other hand, are constantly blitzed with a mad barrage of colors, flashing images, tiny backlit characters on a computer screen that we put together to make words, etc. Other senses are similarly blitzed; our ears, certainly, to say nothing of our taste buds! We are a hyper-stimulated species, made so by the downright freakish environments we've built and placed ourselves in.

We spend so much time in boxes; buildings, rooms, cars, and, perhaps, that most unnatural environment of all, fifty thousand feet above the earth, in airplane cabins. Our air is conditioned, our light is electric, our drinking water comes to us through pipes. Our contact with other species is extremely limited. Our natural patterns of sleep and movement are severely compromised by the demands of the unnatural world we've engineered for ourselves. Oh, the poor human body! So near, by its very structure, to the natural world, and yet so distant!

It's bad enough that we modify our own bodies. We have gone further, employing our minds to mould oddities of biology that Natural Selection would have, er, naturally selected for extinction tout suite. Consider the poor pug, which sounds asthmatic as it manages to breathe through a flat apparatus that was meticulously squashed from a wolf's long snout by generations of breeding. Consider as well ears of corn with husks wrapped so tightly around the seeds they can't possibly be dispersed. Or bananas with seeds so useless the plants must be grown by cuttings. Cows with udders so huge, and geared toward milk production, they would possibly explode without human assistance. I wonder, if the beauty, vulnerability and exquisiteness of our own human bodies was fully appreciated and honored, would such manipulations of other creatures even be thinkable?

in 1968, Erich von Daniken published a book titled Chariots of the Gods. In it, he referred to certain passages from ancient literature, such as the one I begin this essay with, as indicating that human beings are in fact manifestations of an experiment of sorts, a hybridization of terrestrial ape bodies with highly intelligent aliens (the "gods" who came by "chariots" to the earth). Whether or not there is any truth whatsoever to the claims the book makes, the metaphor of "sons of Gods" (minds) mating with "daughters of men" (animal bodies) quite poetically describes our predicament, I feel. We are, by all accounts, an oddity of nature. Ours is an uncomfortable marriage of raw, animal senses and sensitivities, to abstract, intellectual sentience. For now, our minds have succeeded in constraining our bodies within an environment and lifestyle that no stretch of the imagination could argue they were evolved, over the course of millions of years, for. One can only hope that as the human mind continues to evolve it will work out a happier medium for the animal it lives its life contained within.


2010年3月13日土曜日

Regal Lady

Today I taught another "Old Masters" course in Tokyo. A small group, but a really dedicated bunch. One guy was an assistant to a top Japanese manga artist, so I was a little leery (feeling like I should just hand teaching duties over to him!) but all went well, and everyone was very satisfied with the progress they made. This is the one I did as the demonstration, after a painting by Velasquez. I'm quite pleased with it.

2010年2月13日土曜日

Dream Journal


A friend of mine has given me a wonderful project. She has been keeping a journal of her dreams for a number of years. She has really powerful, deep and meaningful dreams full of otherworldly imagery. She has brought me into her dream-life, as I am creating a series of watercolors based on the dreams. I've gotten permission to share them here on this blog, so I'll show two now and add more over time.

2010年2月5日金曜日

Sade and The Body


I am troubled by movies, such as "Saw" and "Hostel", that, to me, serve no purpose other than to depict the extremes of human pain and cruelty. I confess to having never watched a film from either of those series, nor have I watched a Hannibal Lector movie, or a Chucky, Freddy Krueger or Jason movie (which, I imagine, at this point seem almost quaint in their depictions of cruelty), so it is not only what is depicted on the screen, which I haven't even seen, that disturbs me. It is the very fact that such movies exist, and that they pull in audiences. To me, they are a depraved sub-genre of moviemaking that elevates torture to their prime, even sole, raison d'etre (indeed, they have been dubbed "torture porn" and "gorno" by critics), and that bothers me. Are people really entertained by all that blood and gore? And if that is not the right word, what IS the experience that they crave, as they settle their butts into aisle seats? As to the people who make such films, why on earth do they spend precious hours of their lives depicting demoralizing, black spectacles of the last things that any of us would wish to experience, or even wish upon our worst enemies? Oh, believe me, I know the answer to my question (they DO make money after all, and frankly, how hard can they be to make? We all know what we don't wish to experience; all one has to do is pick up a camera and film that!), but is even money worth the de-humanizing that I feel must go on in the process of creating such films?

I am not arguing against the presence of violence in films. Indeed, some of my personal favorites, such as "The Godfather" and "Goodfellas", contain numerous scenes that are not for the squeamish. If push came to shove, I could probably even be called upon to defend Wes Craven's notorious, ultra-violent 70's sleeper, "Last House on the Left" ( which took its plot from Bergman's "The Virgin Spring" and borrowed heavily from Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange"). One might well ask, what's the difference? Well, in the case of LHOTL, this was an amateurish film by a freshman director, depicting amateurish villains who epitomize the dumb, self absorbed, amoral, societal outcasts we can easily imagine committing the atrocious crimes we see onscreen (and read about in the papers). They are not the incarnations of sadism one finds in slick gorno movies, creatures right out of our nightmares who are intelligent and irredeemably evil, sparing no expense to devise the most ingenious and horrific methods by which to dispense with their victims, for no other purpose than the pleasure that they get from doing so. To arrive at an understanding of the villains of the gorno movies, to place them in any sort of context, we need to go back to a French nobleman from the Age of Enlightenment whose writing was so over the top that he provides the very name for the "ism" that is out and out cruelty toward another living being.

Sade's "libertines" (one should not refer to them as  "villains", when to him they were heroes) were precisely the kind of monsters we see in todays horror movies. Smarter and more powerful than their victims, they operated without restraint, and with no other purpose than to inflict pain. In Sade's stories, the only way to escape victimhood was to allow yourself to become corrupted by your torturers, to become just as merciless and sadistic as them. These were the only triumphs he would allow in his nightmarish fables, that some would "liberate" themselves from any moral or empathetic impulses, which he insisted came from society, the real "villain" he himself was at war with. One can read Sade's stories and accept them as he intended, as all-out assaults on society and civilization, on anything that limited individuals from behaving exactly as they themselves chose to. But that would naturally lead one to ask, if people could do anything they wanted to, why would they do that? Looking deeper, I believe that one can find a more pathological motivation, one which is readily on display in today's torture porn movies as well; a deep seated hatred of the human body.

Oh, Sade loathed bodies!  He wanted them sliced, diced, beaten, pulled apart, you name it. The one thing he didn't want was for them to keep their original, native form, to be allowed to go on about their ways in peace. To him, an intact body was a challenge, perhaps even an affront, to his aesthetic. He treated them with nothing but the utmost disdain. And yet, it is telling that for all the descriptions of cruelty he filled page after feverish page with, he was particularly vicious toward the parts of the body that give birth to and nurture other bodies. Although there is no question that his writings and ideas have spiced up the sex lives of numerous couples throughout the years (and hey, whatever gets you through the night...), in the work itself sex was anything but a life affirming, life celebrating activity. Genitalia, breasts, pregnant women, and fetuses are mercilessly tortured and destroyed by Sade's libertines. The family itself is attacked viciously. In his stories, fathers rape their daughters, and corrupted daughters do unspeakable things to their mothers. The very reality of biological life seems to infuriate him.

What's going on here? In the face of such depravity, one naturally searches for answers. Even if the knowledge goes nowhere toward ending man's inhumanity to man, we strive to somehow make sense of things so dark and twisted they seem to defy explanation, for the sake of our own sanity if nothing else. My belief is that we see in Sade's writing a psychological phenomenon that has its roots in the very nature of our sentience. It is the mind's hatred of the body, because it can suffer, and take the mind along with it as it does so. 

It is hard to imagine anything more painful than being eaten alive from the hind legs forward, and yet this is a fate that befalls thousands of our fellow creatures, in forests and savannas, every day. The vast majority of human beings will come to far more benign ends, but the important distinction is that we are well aware of what could happen us, if we are not careful, or just plain unlucky. The fact is that, unlike animals, we can think about things happening to us that are every bit as frightening and unwelcome as the things that are shown in the torture movies. It is with our minds that we think about them, but it is our bodies that we imagine experiencing the suffering. We are the only species that has a distinct separation, a schism even, between mind and body. We can actually live lives, of a kind, outside our bodies. No other creature can. We can daydream, create stories, make songs, paint pictures, have sexual fantasies, relive memories vividly, conceptualize, invent, etc. We can easily imagine a life involving no body at all! Indeed, we have created science fiction stories where our minds are placed inside computers, thereby living eternal, pain-free lives. People who are stricken with cancer or other long term, debilitating and painful illnesses frequently describe themselves as "prisoners" in their bodies. What I am positing is that there is an element of human consciousness that chronically feels this way. Sade was expressing this, first and foremost, I believe, though he himself was perhaps unaware of it and presumedly would have denied it. It is ironic that he, due to his atrocious behavior as well as his writing (which outraged the Emperor Napolean), spent much of his life as a prisoner, in jails and mental asylums, creating through his mind an outward experience of the very thoughts that drove his writing. 

The mind is frightened by the amount of pain, seemingly limitless, that the body it is merged with can experience. Although our central nervous system has evolved the sensation of pain to keep us from burning or bleeding or freezing to death, this impeccable biological system renders us horrendously vulnerable. So averse to its demise is our body that it keeps pain sensations active even as we lie helpless, and crushed, under the rubble of an earthquake, or trapped inside a burning room, on the off chance that we will somehow manage to get ourselves out of our predicament. Isn't it plausible that our minds, aware of the stubbornness of the body, and its survival-at-any-cost imperative, would develop resentment against it? Why can't we shut the pain mechanism down when we want to (apparently some yogis have developed this very ability, but it takes years of rigorous training)? When there is no hope of escape? Every king, dictator, Grand Inquisitor and mafioso throughout history has exploited this "flaw" in the body's design. In fact, it is impossible to imagine the worst forms of government even existing without it, as such regimes are propped up by the fear they induce in the common folk. All of that suffering, down through the ages; no wonder the mind is pissed!

And so, the mind acts this out, through the mediums that it has developed, the "art" that is Sade's writing and today's gorno movies. Each time the mind, represented by Sade's libertines or Hannibal Lector, or any of the demonic, merciless,ingenious psychopaths who fill our screens as well as our nightmares, gleefully tortures to death somebody else's body, it has its revenge, momentarily. That's the experience viewers are after, I feel. Though I am disturbed by such movies, and by the large following they have, I ultimately see them as merely symptomatic, and don't expect them to go away. They, or some similar manifestation, will be with us so long as we have the ability to contemplate, and fear, our fate.

2010年1月25日月曜日

Corporations Are People Too!


Artwork by me; poetry by AdLib

On a winter’s day in two thousand ten
A decision was made by five crazy men
Their words were all heard by the little boy, Trent
Who then asked his mother what all of this meant.

“Corporations are people? That seems very odd.
I haven’t met one in my class or schoolyard.”

“Do they have arms and legs? Do they like to kick balls?
Do they lick ice cream cones? Do they yell in the halls?”
His mother replied with a shake of her head,
“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

“Do they like to climb trees? Do they walk? Do they run?
Do they like to breathe air? Do they sing just for fun?”
His mother replied with a face that was red,
“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

“Do they vote in elections? Or drive a fast car?
Do they give birth to babies? Or wish on a star?”
His mother looked weary and ready for bed,
“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

“Do they live? Do they die? Or even have souls?
Do they pour lots of milk in their cereal bowls?”
His mother’s heart fell as if  weighted by lead,
“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

The little boy Trent had had quite enough,
He started to frown, he started to huff,
“What kind of people don’t breathe or have souls?
Don’t live and don’t die or have cereal bowls?”

“Those five men are dumber than all in my class,
My decision for them? They can all  kiss my ass!”


*****This article, with illustration, can also be viewed at Planet POV, a terrific progressive website which I am privileged to be a contributor to.

http://planetpov.com/2010/01/24/corporations-are-people-too-by-dr-suits/

2010年1月18日月曜日

The King Vs. The Curse



This year just may be the one when the most notorious "curse" in all of American professional sports is lifted. The city of Cleveland has experienced a drought unlike any other city hosting multiple professional sports teams. The last championship they can boast of was when the Cleveland Browns won the NFL title in 1964, before a little thing called the Super Bowl was invented! Before that, you have to go back to 1948, when the Indians won the World Series. Although not necessarily clear favorites for the title this year, the Lebron James-led Cleveland Cavaliers are, at the time of this writing, one of the best teams in the NBA. They were the first team to chalk up 25, and then 30 wins, and with the season now more than half over, there is little doubt that this team will go deep into the playoffs, if not all the way.


Without question, the biggest sport of all in Ohio is Ohio State University football. Though not a professional sport, it is most definitely an industry, and I'd be willing to bet there is at least one OSU alum on every single NFL team. The Buckeyes have won their share of national championships (as recently as 2002, in fact), and when that happens, Cleveland fans cheer as loudly as anyone in the state outside of Columbus, (where the stadium is located). Still, having a local champion to shine rays of light on the beleagured citizenry (the skies above Cleveland are generally unremittingly gray) is a matter of intense longing for Clevelanders, who have so often been denied. Cleveland has names for its heartbreaks, and the star villains of these episodes are some of the biggest names in pro sports. "The Catch", by Willie Mays (in the 1954 World Series), "The Drive" engineered by John Elway to win the 1987 AFC Championship game, and "The Shot" by Michael Jordan (a buzzer beater that ended the playoff run of the Cavs in 1989) are a few among many stories of unlikely episodes that dashed the championship hopes of Cleveland's pro teams. It's bad enough that the city has lost over half its population from its peak of nearly a million in 1950. Bad enough that it is referred to as "The  Mistake on the Lake" and has the Kent State Massacre and the burning of the Cuyahoga River to live down. Clevelanders can put up with that. There is pride in the city that, although it might seem unmerited to most Americans, is deeply felt by its residents. But, to go so long without a championship, to have come so close and fallen short so often, is a thorn in the city's side it would dearly love to extract.


Enter Lebron James. There are two things about him that mark him as a city saviour right out of central casting: he's great, and he's local. Born and raised in nearby Akron, for the last ten years, beginning with his stellar high school career, he has been an icon of Northern Ohio sports. By a happy set of circumstances that seem almost ordained, the formerly woeful Cavaliers were able to sign James right out of St. Vincent -St. Mary HS, and the man-boy even had the temerity to promise the city a championship when he signed. Even in a superb year for rookies (that included Carmelo Anthony, considered by some to be the greatest college baller of all time), Lebron stood out. He was the cream of his class in scoring, and, at the tender age of eighteen, put up all around offensive numbers that most seasoned veterans can only dream about. Rookie of the Year seemed deserved enough (though "Melo" Anthony's fans may argue), as this bright new addition to the Cavs helped the team's record improve from a dismal 17-65 the previous season in to a much better 35-47 in 2003/4.. Cleveland was ecstatic! If "The Chosen One" (he actually has this tattooed across his impossibly broad shoulders- all the better to hoist a city with?) continued to progress along the trajectory his career had charted thus far, could a championship be far behind?


And yet, and yet. The Lebron James Era is now seven years old, and the Cavs have yet to achieve that which Cleveland covets above all else, that elusive championship. No one can deny that with James leading them, the team has ascended to the highest echelon of the NBA, alongside the L.A. Lakers and the Boston Celtics. They overachieved their  way to a Finals match-up with the San Antonio Spurs three years ago, and were summarily swept off the court in four games. The current version is much improved over that team. Still, up to this point Lebron can't even add to his stellar resume a Finals victory, much less a championship.


But wait. It gets worse. For this is the year when Lebron's current contract runs out, and he can opt, if he decides that his chances of winning a championship (or multiple championships, which he needs to be considered among the all time greats) to take his superhuman ability elsewhere, leaving Cleveland without the championship he promised it, and scant prospects for one any time soon. So, Cavs owner Dan Ferry and his back office minions have done everything they could to create a Cavs team with a genuine chance of going all the way this year. How could King James walk away from the best team on the planet, after all? The biggest (and I do mean BIGGEST) change to the team is the addition of Shaquille O'Neal, who has been on four championship teams in his career, as many as anyone still on the court today. Shaq is a giant, a guaranteed Hall of Famer, and probably the strongest man to ever play professional basketball (he actually brought down the entire framework, down to the floor bolts, of a basket during a slam dunk once, and walked away after bringing the shot clock down on his back as a result). But the Shaq of 2009/2010 is clearly past his prime. His formidable presence is not what it once was, by a long shot. Had these two physical specimens, Shaq and Lebron, shared the floor when they were both in their prime, they would probably have been an unstoppable force such as the NBA has rarely seen. But Shaq is still a monster. Furthermore, recognizing his diminished powers, he has magnanimously stated that his goal is to win "a ring for the King (James)". He'd definitely  like one more of his own, too. Particularly since this is probably his last season, and that ring, were it to happen, would almost surely be plucked off the finger of Kobe Bryant of the Lakers, his former teammate who also has four championships to his credit, as a Cavs championship is likely to go through the Lakers (best team in the West) this season. Kobe still has some good years, perhaps many good years, in him. So Shaq would at least like to be the first among them to get a ring for each finger. Lebron wants to get his first, badly. And Cleveland? This City of Broken Dreams wants something of even greater value, the lifting of a curse, and, even if its for just one lousy year, something to brag about.


2010年1月12日火曜日

Why The Revolution Won't Be Televised





Keep you doped with religion, and sex and TV;

and you think you're so clever and classless and free;

but you're still f**king peasants, as far as I can see

- John Lennon, "Working Class Hero"



Who Wants to Be a Revolutionary? Oh, there's anger out there! America has got to be one of the most royally pissed off countries in the world. It doesn't matter if you're a leftie or a rightie, if you're an American, there is a good chance that something has got your blood boiling now. It might be stolen elections, Kenyan birth certificates, Katrina, terrorists, bank bailouts, wars for oil, telecom spying, CEO's salaries, religious fundamentalism, misleading food labeling, the slow death of the American automobile industry, the quicker demise of the American middle class or any sordid combination of the above. If you haven't thought at some point in the last ten years or so that things are seriously FUBAR, that the system doesn't work, and that it definitely doesn't have YOUR best interests in mind, then I wonder about you. Where have you been?


Yes, the mood is ugly. It's Tea Party ugly. It's Ron Paul angry. It's the stuff of which revolutions are made, the fire next time that burns like a thousand California wildfires that somebody, no doubt, blames Obama for (and somebody else probably blamed Bush for). Yes, there is revolution in the air!


Except, there isn't. The American people are NOT going to revolt, folks. The country isn't going to split apart either. The country probably isn't even going to sweep a true maverick like Paul into power anytime soon. Why? People are too comfortable! A second American Revolution is no more likely to occur than a rebellion of the brainwashed, mutated denizens of Huxley's "Brave New World", and for the same exact reason. The Powers that Be have got us, folks, right where they want us. Docile, overfed, overstimulated, undernourished and undereducated, and most of all, hyper-entertained. Which has led me to wonder, what WOULD need to happen for Americans to rise up like the Founding Fathers, taking to the streets with eyes blazing and teeth gnashing? Something the Powers that Be would never be so stupid as to do; take away our televisions!


You'd see a revolution then! Without Monday Night Football and American Idol and Jeopardy and Lost and Jay and The Simpsons, without Wii and PlayStation, without commercials telling us what to buy and what meds we need to be taking, people would flat out lose it! You want anger? You ain't seen nothing yet!


And see it you won't. Nobody is going to take anybody's television away. Television has done what no tyrant nor terrorist has ever come close to accomplishing. It has reduced a once proud and powerful nation to a land of dazed zombies, wearing a groove in the rug between the couch and the fridge while their warden, the glowing rectangular object in the Living Room, goads them to ask the question no revolutionary has ever asked; "What's on after this?"



2009年9月30日水曜日

Do Platypuses Dream of Eccentric Sheep?


Sleep; who needs it? And who doesn't? Isaac Asimov called it a waste of time, whereas John Lennon wrote one of his most mesmerizing songs in praise of it. My personal alliances are with Mr. Lennon, a warm bed to collapse into at night being one of life's little pleasures for me. On the other hand, some people I know sleep as little as they can get away with, either due to personal preference ( a la Mr. Asimov) or the demands of their jobs. Adult humans might spend anywhere from a third to a mere sixth of their lives in dreamland. But what about our fellow mammals? Who are the Asimovs of the animal world, and who are the (to me, far more sensible) Lennons?


Giraffes - These are critters after Mr. Asimov's own heart. Not only do they look like inhabitants of one of his more unusual worlds, they sleep less than the great man himself! In fact, they sleep less than anybody. They are the true Night Owls of the animal kingdom. They burn the midnight oil, are up with the roosters, catch the worm, etc. etc.; there's not a cliche about sleeplessness these guys don't have covered. For they get by on a mere ninety minutes of sleep per 24 hour period. And even that isn't all at once. Because these giant creatures are such an obvious target, they have to be on the lookout for predators almost continuously. So, the same evolutionary process that endowed them with those crane-like necks also rigged it so that their sleep needs are met by little naps of between five and twenty minutes or so. The next time you're on a safari, consider that the giraffe who's picture you snap might be the reincarnation of some workaholic ancestor of yours who thought that sleep was for wimps.


Elephants never forget, and they rarely sleep. What keeps the largest and strongest land animal on earth up at night, I can't imagine, but sleepless nights are the norm for pachyderms. Sleepless days, too. Rivaling the giraffe in terms of how little shuteye they require, our giant friends get by on around two or three hours of sleep per cycle. This is roughly the same amount as horses, who, like giraffes and elephants, sleep standing up. Rhinos get by on just a few hours too. They can nap standing up, but for their deep sleep periods they lie down.


How much sleep do our closest relatives (chimps, gorillas, orangutans) get a night, compared to our average of eight hours? Well, if you, like me, find sleep to be one of life's treats, then you may think you've ended up on the wrong branch of the Tree of Life. Our genetic cousins generally get between twelve and thirteen hours of quality time with the sandman. Which makes one wonder, if it's good enough for these guys, with whom we differ in less than ten percent of our DNA makeup, why isn't it good enough for us, and are we really the smartest apes?


Hippos are hard to pin down. These giant mammals spend most of their lives underwater, and yet they breathe through nostrils (they are in fact said to be the closest living land animals to whales, who have evolved an entirely different breathing apparatus). They have been observed napping on land, but as for their underwater lives, how do they sleep without drowning? First, they make themselves airtight; they fold their ears over on themselves and close up their nostrils before sinking into the water. Then, while asleep, their bodies rise several times throughout a sleep period for more air. But is it a sleepwalker's sleep, or is it more like getting up and going to the bathroom? If the former, then hippos seem to get about sixteen hours of sleep, far more than their fellow, earthbound, giants, the elephants.


Lions and Tigers and Bears - Oh, my! The living is easy at the top of the food chain! Anyone with a pet cat knows that their furry friends sleep like it's a lifelong calling, and it's no different for the big fellas. Lions average around fourteen to sixteen hours, with the lucky males sleeping up to twenty. Like all big cats, the females use tremendous amounts of energy when they are called upon for a hunt and kill. The male's job is to protect the pride, which means he has less to do on the average day. He sleeps all that time because he can, basically. Same for tigers, and big cats in general. As for bears, they seem to have it even easier; they get to "sleep" a whole season! Technically, bears don't really hibernate. Their metabolism doesn't change radically from normal waking hours in comparison to true hibernators like squirrels. Scientists call what bears do "winter lethargy", which means they basically just zone out during the cold months. Not a bad deal, right? When you're a bear, you don't even have to bother with Do Not Disturb signs.



The Platypus - Looking like it decided to go to a Halloween Party dressed as Darwin's Missing Link, the platypus has puzzled and perplexed people ever since it was discovered. It seems to be going out of its way to be an oddball in nearly every respect, and sleep is no different. For one thing, playpuses are said to be the only mammal that doesn't dream, at least not as indicated by the study of dreaming. They have the deep REM sleep associated with dreams (in fact, they rank first among mammals in this regard, up to eight hours, compared to two for the average human), but not the accompanying frontal lobe activity. On the other hand, not being platypuses themselves, can scientists really say for sure whether they can dream or not? Which raises the question: if they do dream, can they possibly dream of anything more unusual than - a platypus?


It seems almost unholy, or at least not wholly appropriate, to name the Sloth after one of The Seven Deadly Sins. Though long thought to be champion sleepers (up to eighteen hours a day) a recent study led by Dr. Neil Rattenborg reveals that these slow moving critters manage a mere ten, not that much more than a human. And this on a diet of leaves so poor in nutrition that they are forced to conduct their waking activities at an exceedingly slow pace. "Lazy", indeed! They are just coping with their environment. Perhaps the true sloths are the folks who live on a diet of chips and suds when much healthier alternatives are readily available, but that might be taking us into Gluttony territory.


We come now to the Sultans of Somnolence, the champion sleepers of the mammal kingdom. I am tempted to give the award, with no further research necessary, to my own pet ferret, Rosie. Rosie not only sleeps more than ninety percent of her life, she has developed sleep into an art form. She can sleep in any position, from pretzel like contortions that make it impossible to discern how the body parts connect, to stretched out like a bear rug. She can sleep just about anywhere, including my head (I have a picture of this if you want proof)! Furthermore, she seems to never tire of finding new places around the home to sleep, which means precautions must be taken before throwing anything away. In general, though, although ferrets certainly rank in the higher echelons of sleepdom (at sixteen to eighteen hours) they don't get the blue ribbon. That honor goes to the little brown bat. These little guys get plenty of, er, "beauty" sleep (of the "eye of the beholder" type, it seems), managing a mere two to three hours of wakefulness per cycle. They have company; koalas and armadillos are animals with low metabolisms that sleep about twenty hours out of twenty four.


So there you have it. On a mammalian scale, we humans and our roughly eight hours end up pretty much smack dab in the middle. We share the world with creatures who make do on far less, and others who couldn't imagine life without at least twice as much. So if you worry that you're sleeping your life away, remember the lions and bears, kings of their realms, mostly dozing. And if you're frazzled from too few hours in bed, remember the stately giraffe, ever alert, ever watchful, going through life with eyes wide open.







2009年9月20日日曜日

They Shoulda Been Contenders!




Live from The Chicago Municipal Opera House, bequeathed to the city by Charles Foster (Citizen) Kane, it's Oscar Night! Tonight is a special ceremony, wherein we honor the Best Pictures to NOT win Best Picture. At what other venue could we possibly hold this auspicious event? Citizen Kane is more than just a great film that got snubbed by the Academy. It is widely regarded as one of, if not THE, greatest motion pictures ever made. In fact, so laden with accolades is Orson Welles' groundbreaking triumph, it seems unnecessary to award it with  something as trivial as an Oscar at this point. Better perhaps to allow the film that bested it, How Green Was My Valley, that one link to immortality. Leaving "Kane" aside, let us now focus our attention on some of the other masterpieces of film that were robbed of their Art Deco paperweights. 

 

Goodfellas (1990); When The Departed won Best Picture in 2007 (it was released in 2006), most movie fans considered it to be little more than a face saving way to present a Lifetime Achievement Award to its director, Martin Scorsese. It may have been his goriest crime drama, but it was hardly his greatest picture. This is the man who gave us Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, after all. Both of those films merited an Oscar, but it is Goodfellas that must be looked upon as the master director's greatest epic. The best gangster movie ever made? With its release in 1990, it certainly muscled its way into that conversation alongside Oscar winners The Godfather Parts I and II. Goodfellas is a cinematic tour-de-force, dazzling us with one unforgettable scene, camera angle, and performance after another. Surely every movie fan has riffed on Tommy's  (played by Joe Pesci) "Funny How?" monologue at least once. So, what movie did the Academy decide to laud as the year's best in its place? Kevin Costner's Dances With Wolves. While not a bad movie, Costner's politically correct Western amply demonstrates that the freshman director knew less about making grandiose, sweeping epics than Scorsese had forgotten (which would be confirmed by later Costner "epics" The Postman and Waterworld). Early in Goodfellas, when the narrator, mobster Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), introduces us to his mentor Jimmy Conway (Robert Deniro), one of the first things he tells us is that "Jimmy loved to steal!" One cannot but wonder how Jimmy feels when the shoe is on the other foot, because he, along with his wiseguy cohorts, wuz robbed!

 

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968): Here we have a movie so unusual, so utterly unique, so creative, so visionary, so unlike any other movie ever made that it basically changed our perception of the medium. To be sure, there were "art films" before (and no doubt inspiring) 2001. But it was 2001 that first dazzled us with the technology of filmmaking, the "special effects" that opened up doors undreamed of to directors and studios. If Jaws (1975) was the movie that ushered in the era of the summer blockbuster, it was 2001 which revealed the potential of what such films could look like, and the impact that makes on an audience. You don't watch 2001, you experience it, which was exactly what director Stanley Kubrick was intending. Plot? Secondary. Performances? Who needs 'em? The best lines, every single one of them, went to the disembodied, hollow voice of a malfunctioning supercomputer. What supplanted all of that was a VISION; Kubrick was out to entertain our subconscious minds, not the part of us that decides to get up and buy some popcorn. So, what beat out this cinematic work of the finest art? Well, it wasn't even nominated (though Kubrick was nominated for, and lost, Best Director), so you could say that all the nominees did. The award went to Oliver!, but Funny Girl and The Lion in Winter were also picked as better films. HAL 9000 wasn't the only thing malfunctioning in movie-land that year, it seems.


May I have the envelope, please? We now come to my personal pick for Best Picture Not to Win Best Picture, Sunset Boulevard (1950): Director Billy Wilder was firing off on all cylinders with this masterpiece,  directed from the height of his powers. Combining black comedy and noir mystery with a subject  he knew all too well about (Hollywood, with its egos and fantasy worlds), this, among all his works, seems his most personal statement. Did Wilder see himself as the writer played by William Holden, losing his soul to the gaudy seductress Norma Desmond (played to perfection by Gloria Swanson) who represented, better than any other role in history, Tinseltown itself? When Norma haughtily proclaims, "I'm still big! It's the pictures that got smaller!", is it her ego Wilder is poking fun at, or his own? Perhaps he himself didn't know for sure, but with this claustrophobic, surreal tragi-comic nightmare, he gave Hollywood its most searing and unflinching look at itself. Nevertheless, it's hard to fault the Academy this time. "Sunset" was bested by another great movie, featuring another stellar performance by the female lead. All About Eve is perhaps Bette Davis' finest film (and performance), and unquestionably deserved its Oscar. The only problem is that Sunset Boulevard deserved it too, even more.


Clearly, the Academy has made some dumb, historically indefensible decisions. Worst Picture to Win Best Picture? Hard to be objective in such matters. Some people see art where others are left shaking their heads. Did Titanic deserve its Oscar? This movie, perhaps seen by more people in the world than any other motion picture ever made, certainly delivered the goods in terms of spectacle and scale. But with its two dimensional lovers, and one dimensional villain, it is doubtful that it will be talked about in years to come as a masterpiece. Preachy Crash is a movie whose Oscar provokes many a temper tantrum by serious movie lovers. But for me personally, the "honor" can only go to Chicago!, which won in 2003 (released in 2002). Chicago! is a soulless, unabashedly amoral piece of doo doo. In Roxie Hart (played with neither charm nor sex appeal by Renee Zellweger) Hollywood gave us perhaps its most annoying anti-heroine ever. Featuring unwatchable dance numbers (literally, because they are shot so dark or cut so rapidly), pathetic lyrics, lousy performances, and an utterly bleak and sneeringly cynical viewpoint, in its defense I can only say that  some of the costumes are nice. Kind of. But Best Picture? Fugeddaboudit!


Maybe Norma Desmond was right. The movies really did get smaller. Consider that in 1972, Cabaret, a movie musical far superior to Chicago! in every conceivable way, lost  Best Picture to an even greater film, The Godfather (consider also the competition between Sunset Boulevard and All About Eve). 2001 would never conceivably be released by a major studio in this day and age. Hollywood is in a pretty bleak state right now, content to crank out superhero movies one after the other, or gory splatter-fests, or Will Smith special effects extravaganzas - noisy movies lacking the intelligence or wit of the films mentioned above. Great movies are still being made, just not with the regularity with which they once were. They are like oases in the desert, rare respites, refreshing reminders of the possibilities of filmmaking for we, as Norma puts it, "wonderful people, out there in the dark....."

2009年9月14日月曜日

Live At Gamuso

Last Saturday I was up on stage at a great event held in Gamuso, a live house in Asagaya, western Tokyo. Asagaya is a fantastic neighborhood, an both an area and an era - the 60s! It's an artsy, bohemian area with a happening street life and lots of little places to hear music. I was there as part of an organization called JAMBO International's www.jambointernational.com biannual musical event. Normally, I sing my own songs, but last week I felt like singing older, well known songs. So I went for "Over the Rainbow", "Amazing Grace" and "Let It Be". The latter is what you see me up there singing, alongside Yuki Band. (Yuki is playing keyboard on the right). 

2009年9月6日日曜日

Animal Farm



Here is an image I did of George Orwell, author of the dystopian novels "1984" and "Animal Farm". I will probably have a color version and essay to post along with it soon.