I’m sitting here listening to Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 on my laptop and reveling in his absolute musical genius.
Suppose you were able to bring Mozart 200 years into the present. Never mind cars, airplanes, television, computers, telephones and the rest of the technological and social changes he’d encounter; how would you explain digital recording to him?
This was a little thought exercise I actually had about twenty years ago while driving across the Bay Bridge one night. I had my second-generation Sony Discman (how quaint it seems now) plugged into the car stereo and was blasting that same symphony as I headed across the bay to visit friends in Albany. Or maybe it was to cruise UC Berkeley. I don’t remember at this point. Both happened with pretty much the same regularity.
Anyhow, I wondered what Mozart would think if he were in the car with me; would he think recorded music was some form of witchcraft, or with enough explanation and possibly a trip to a recording studio, would he be able to comprehend and process the science behind it, or would he just go have a total breakdown?
This little fantasy serves to remind me just how far we’ve come in a mere 200 years and makes me wonder what life will be like in another two centuries (assuming we aren’t wiped out by an errant asteroid, blow ourselves up, or otherwise bring about our own destruction) since technological development is progressing at an ever-increasing pace. If any one of us were transported to the year 2212, would we be able to understand any of what we encountered?
I seriously doubt any of us would view technology of the 23rd century as witchcraft since we would come armed with more of a technological mindset than Mozart’s time would’ve provided him, but how would we react to AI (almost a given), routine commercial space flight and bases—if not cities—on the moon (again, a near certainty), not to mention the very real possibility of finally—if anyone else is really is out there—having made contact (if only by way of electronic signals) with alien civilizations?
Would it be more culture shock than our puny little 21st century minds could handle?
Soooooo apparently one Mr. George Tierney of Greenville South Carolina has a sad.
See, George Tierney of Greenville South Carolina decided to go on the Twitter machine and attack Sandra Fluke—calling her a cunt and telling her that she needs to shut her “dick sucker” in a series of tweats directed at Ms. Fluke.
Sandra immediately re-tweated, to her 36,000 followers, Mr. George Tierney of Greenville South Carolina’s tweat to her {apparently Mr. George Tierney of Greenville South Carolina was unaware that Twitter is not a private form of communication, but rather a public forum} and the brilliant TBogg picked up on the exchange yesterday, published it on his blog over at FDL and re-tweated it to his followers whereupon the haplessly dim, potty-mouthed misogynist named George Tierney of Greenville South Carolina soon found his name plastered all over Teh Google, at which point Internet hilarity ensued.
Down in the street they’re all singing and shouting
Staying alive though the city is dead
Hiding their shame behind hollow laughter
While you are crying alone on your bed
Pity, Cassandra that no one believed you
But then again you were lost from the start
Now we must suffer and sell our secrets
Bargain, playing smart, aching in our hearts
Sorry Cassandra I misunderstood
Now the last day is dawning
Some of us wanted but none of us would
Listen to words of warning
But on the darkest of nights
Nobody knew how to fight
And we were caught in our sleep
Sorry Cassandra I didn’t believe you really had the power
I only saw it as dreams you would weave
Until the final hour
So in the morning your ship will be sailing
Now that your father and sister are gone
There is no reason for you linger
You’re grieving deeply but still moving on
You know the future is casting a shadow
No one else sees it, but you know your fate
Packing your bags, being slow and thorough
Knowing though you’re late that ship is sure to wait
Sorry Cassandra I misunderstood
Now the last day is dawning
Some of us wanted but none of us would
Listen to words of warning
But on the darkest of nights
Nobody knew how to fight
And we were caught in out sleep
Sorry Cassandra I didn’t believe you really had the power
I only saw it as dreams you would weave
Until the final hour
I watched her ship leaving harbor at sunrise
Sails almost slack in the cool morning rain
She stood on deck, just a tiny figure
Rigid and restrained, blue eyes filled with pain
Sorry Cassandra I misunderstood
Now the last day is dawning
Some of us wanted but none of us would
Listen to words of warning
But on the darkest of nights
Nobody knew how to fight
And we were caught in out sleep
Sorry Cassandra I didn’t believe you really had the power
I only saw it as dreams you would weave
Until the final hour
(I’m sorry Cassandra)
SPOILER ALERT! I’m going to eviserate Battleship, so if you haven’t seen it—and still want to—best to skip this post until after you’ve thrown your money away.
Remember, you’ve been warned.
OMG, where do I begin? Probably by saying that when I first remember seeing a preview (minus the whole alien invasion thing) for this piece of drek a year ago, I rightfully thought, “Seriously? They’re making a movie from a fucking kid’s game?” and I should’ve heeded my first instinct and avoided it like the plague. But when subsequent trailers appeared that showed the whole end-of-the-world-invasion-from-space aspect I thought, “Okay, let’s give it the benefit of the doubt. It might be a fun little summer romp.”
Ben had no desire to see it (smart man), so I went on my own this morning. I almost walked out, not once, but three times—and that was just within the first thirty minutes! Loser brother of successful Navy man goes after hot blond chick in a bar—who just happens to be the Admiral’s daughter.
Of course.
Said loser brother ends up being forced to enlist in the Navy after he’s arrested for breaking into a convenience store because the blond chick that he’s trying to bed wants a chicken burrito. Then, after being in the service for some undetermined period of time, he’s on the verge of being thrown out after getting in a fight with some Japanese guy at a sporting event. (Sorry, I was only half paying attention by this point and got up and went out to get something to drink; I figured I could easily afford to miss five minutes of storyline and not miss anything.)
Before he can actually be discharged however, the aliens arrive and obliterate all the other ships—except the one he’s on—inside the Big Bubble of Protection® they throw up around their ships and the entire chain of Hawaiian islands.
Of course.
And it only gets worse from there.
It’s never actually explained why the aliens came here after receiving a signal we specifically beamed in their direction, but I suspect it’s because they just like to blow shit up, in the most 3D effecty way possible. They also apparently dislike freeways, helicopters, and battleships, but like ponies and chocolate ice cream.
Okay, I totally made that last part up.
But, like all aliens of the destroy humanity genre, they have one vital weakness.
Of course.
In this case, they have lizard eyes (of course they do) that don’t like sunlight. Okay, let me get this straight: they came from a planet in the so-called “Goldilocks” zone (explained at length at the beginning of the film) that would supposedly have the same conditions as found on earth—but the sunlight makes their eyes hurt.
Seriously.
I could go on and on, but let’s face it: I’ve already expended far more brainpower than was really warranted on this thing. And the worst part of it all (other than the prominent placement of Coke Zero in nearly every other scene)? It’s the fact that while the aliens’ attempt to use our technology to phone home after their device was destroyed upon arrival, the transmitters themselves weren’t actually destroyed until AFTER the signal had been sent, leaving the whole thing open for an equally odoriferous sequel.
Of course.
Short version of the two hours of my life I’ll never get back: Loser brother saves the world and gets the girl.
Redbox rental maybe if you’re really bored, but not even worth a $5 matinee…
The only picture you’ll ever see of me on the internet where I am not fully clothed.
Oh wait. There is one other probably still floating around out there that I posted to a BBS back in the early 90s. I’m wearing a leather vest and a cowboy hat.
And a smile.
And no, you can’t see it.
Those little blue shorts (that I cut the liner out of) got me into so much trouble at that pool. I remember one time rushing out of this guy’s apartment through the back door as his boyfriend was coming in the front. I was lucky he didn’t live on the second floor.
And how could I have possibly thought at the time that I was fat? I wish I was so fat now!
According to a documentary about the group, the sax player recounted them playing a club and being told that Clive Davis (Arista Records) was coming to see them and talk about a record deal. The moment Debora came out on stage, Clive and the rest of his group got up and left. The sax player said he’d never forget the look on Debora’s face. Clive and the others like him are the reason we now have an industry filled with “faces” who can’t actually sing.
Remember how Christopher Cross’s popularity plummeted once the public saw the face behind the music? Same thing…
As I lay awake this morning at 3:30 am—yes, again—I started wondering what causes two people, who have been friends for decades, to drift apart.
Tucson, January 1983: I had just arrived home on a Friday evening after stopping to pick up some groceries after work and, looking to the east, saw the most beautiful full moon I had ever seen rising over the Rincon Mountains. I had originally intended on staying in that night, but a little voice popped into my head that kept saying, “You really need to go out tonight.”
For once, I heeded that little voice (because it would not let up) and later that night, I met Lee and Floyd, two very different men who ended up entering my life and accompanying me on this strange journey far longer than I think any of us had ever anticipated.
I will save Floyd’s story for another time.
I had been introduced to Lee a few weeks before that night by a mutual friend, but we really didn’t click. (To be honest, I think I just blew him off; I was no doubt in hot pursuit of some piece of ass and didn’t want the distraction. I could be quite a prick back then.) Anyhow, I don’t remember what caused us to gravitate to each other that night, but we struck up a conversation. The one thing that still sticks with me is that one of the first things he said was, “I didn’t think you liked me.”
Ouch.
I apologized, and clarified that no, I didn’t dislike him at all. Our conversation sort of stumbled along after that until I happened to mention something about my first (life) teacher, and Lee’s interest immediately picked up. We soon discovered that we were both on a spiritual journey of exploration, and became so engrossed in our conversation that we ended up closing the bar. While there was no physical attraction, the next night we had dinner and ended up back at my place—where we continued the previous night’s conversation until nearly 4 am. And thus a friendship was born.
Lee and I, April 1983
Lee arrived at a time in my life when Dennis, my first partner, and I had been on an extended separation. After Dennis’s return to Tucson from Dallas in June of that year, I came to think of us as The Three Musketeers. When Dennis and I did finally split for good (remaining best friends until his death in 1991), and I got together with Bernie, my second partner, we became the Four Musketeers.
Lee was part of our grand migration to San Francisco.
Babe in the Woods, December 1985
While he remained several years, San Francisco never really agreed with Lee, and after nearly a year in Denver, I can now finally understand where he was coming from. Some places just don’t fit, and for Lee, San Francisco was one of those places. He returned to Tucson in the early 90s.
Ten years later, after I’d returned to Phoenix, Lee stood by me through my cancer treatments, driving up every week to provide welcome relaxation assistance by way of some Reiki sessions.
But then something happened. Late one night, after one of our final sessions, his car broke down in the dark between Phoenix and Tucson and he was stranded by the side of the road until a good samaritan happened by with a cell phone and was able to call for a tow.
I think this spooked him to the bone, because since that happened in late 2003, I was unable to get him to ever come north again.
Still, we would get together whenever I went south (which was happening pretty regularly for a while), and things were as good as ever between us.
I should note that Lee is not the big tech nerd that I am. He has a computer, and for a while we were emailing back and forth pretty regularly. But he started using it primarily for online gaming, and soon my emails were going unanswered. I asked him about this and he explained that there was now so much spam in his inbox that he didn’t even bother checking it any more.
Okay. A hundred different ways around that immediately sprang to mind, but from his tone I could tell any solution to this was going to be more trouble that it was worth to him.
Lee doesn’t have a FaceBook account. He doesn’t Tweet. Hell, as far as I know the man still doesn’t even have a cell phone.
The last time we spoke—about 18 months ago—everything was fine. All the old connections came flooding back and he wished Ben and I well on our upcoming adventure to Colorado. Since that time I’ve called and left messages on his answering machine, but they haven’t been returned. My last ditch effort at staying in touch has been snail mail. I’ve sent a couple letters since we’ve been in Denver, but still I’ve heard nothing back from him.
I know he’s still alive. Bernie certainly would’ve let me know if something had happened to our dear friend, so I’m at a loss.
I have no way of knowing if he ever reads my blog, but did I happen to post something that so annoyed him that he’s cut me off after all this time? Did my relatively newfound Atheism betray all the years of our spiritual questioning?
I just don’t know.
Maybe it’s just one of those questions in life that will never be answered.
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