Seven Things

1. The "turn your head" part of the legendary "turn your head and cough" is simply so that the patient doesn't cough into the doctor's face or hair.

2. I don't like "Imagine the Swan" or "Road Runner" by The Zombies.

3. Little Women, published in 1868, ends just before Meg gets married. The rest of what is usually considered "Little Women" is in fact its sequel, Good Wives, published in 1869. They're often—usually, even—published together, which is why people think of them as a single book. I had to write a paper on Little Women in college, and I got a D on it; the professor wrote, "Try reading the whole book next time." I pointed out, with supporting evidence, that he was thinking of the Little Women/Good Wives mashup, and I ended up with a B.

4. I do, however, like the following songs by The Zombies: "Walking in the Sun," "I Must Move," "She's Not There," "I Remember When I Loved Her," "Can't Nobody Love You," "Don't Go Away," and "Smokey Day." This list is not exhaustive.

5. Till is not short for until, so there's no need to write 'til.

6. I'm down to 42 Best Picture nominees left to watch: 5845 minutes, 97.5 hours, just over four days of Oscar's elite.

7. Other good songs, not by The Zombies, are "Girlfriend" by The Bathers, "Our Swords" by Band of Horses, and "Into My Arms" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. This list is by no means exhaustive.

First Prize!

I had a dream that the comic book documentary won First Prize at the Berlin Film Festival. Not the Golden Bear—First Prize. The prize was $50,000, presented as one of those huge checks they give lottery winners. In the dream, Carmine and Ilko, the guys who run the studio, were holding it up with huge grins on their faces as random celebrities congratulated them.

Somewhere, Jack Bauer Is Smiling

From the "compromise" between Bush and the wayward Republicans over torture, the Geneva Conventions, and the trials of the hostages at Guantanamo:

IN GENERAL. No person may invoke the Geneva Conventions or any protocols thereto in any habeas or civil action or proceeding to which the United States, or a current or former officer, employee, member of the Armed Forces, or other agent of the United States, is a party as a source of rights, in any court of the United States or its States or territories.

That's one way to take care of allegations of violations of the Geneva Conventions: make it illegal for the prisoners to make those allegations. And in case you were wondering who gets to decide what the Geneva Conventions really mean:

(3) INTERPRETATION BY THE PRESIDENT. (A) As provided by the Constitution and by this section, the President has the authority for the United States to interpret the meaning and application of the Geneva Conventions and to promulgate higher standards and administrative regulations for violations of treaty obligations which are not grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions.

The weird thing is that this is being spun in the news like Bush backed down, when in reality the compromise protects US personnel from being punished for violating this international agreement, and also officially strips the detainees' habeas corpus rights. Maybe the Democrats will filibuster it.

Nimby

Mayor Daley wants to put the Olympics in my backyard. All I can think about is trying to drive to work, and how people will definitely steal our parking spot, "resident parking only" sign be damned. Yeah, yeah. I know it's ten years away, and it probably won't happen anyway.

I do like this one: "Designed by renowned landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, Washington Park would further benefit from two Astroturf fields for hockey and football..." I wonder what Olmsted would say to that.

Thailand and Hyde Park

Today my favorite country to visit had its government overthrown by a military coup. This is the 18th coup Thailand has experienced since 1932, when it became a constitutional monarchy. The coup is reportedly "to resolve a nearly year-long political deadlock and stop 'rampant corruption.'" I know Thaksin, their now-ex-prime minister, is a corrupt bastard, but it seems like a military coup is a little extreme. Maybe if I had been paying closer attention to their political situation I'd understand better. But this statement, from a Reuters article, is sobering:

Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai (Thais Love Thais) party was expected to win a re-run tentatively scheduled for late November, increasing pressure on his opponents in the military and the old establishment to resort to removing him by force.

The military says they're protecting Thailand, but Thailand was prepared to re-elect their corrupt leader. They say they want to protect democracy, but pointing guns at your opponents isn't a very good way to achieve that.

And Closer to Home...

Without consulting community leaders, and with absolutely no sense of irony, the city of Chicago whitewashed several murals on the walls of the 47th Street viaduct. Here's some information on the murals and their destruction, from a letter written by one of the painters, and images of what the murals used to look like. The city has admitted that it was a mistake (but how can you accidentally paint that much?), and the murals will be repainted, so at least there's some good news.

OK Then

I learned how to make animated gifs today.

And another one:

New Year's Resolution Update

Instead of working (but I got a lot of work done today, honest), I thought I'd update my loyal readers on my elaborate New Year's Resolutions from January. Why now? Why not?

I want to go see more concerts.
Nope. So far, I've seen one (Guy Clark and Terry Allen at the Old Town School of Folk Music).

I want to volunteer at something.
Nope. The only thing that could possibly qualify is my work at the film studio, which I suppose is volunteer since I haven't been paid.

I want to see more obscure films next year.
Not really. I did well for a while: in the first two months, I saw a lot of foreign films. But since then, I've gone back to normal, which means pretty mainstream English-language stuff. I guess I've been renting more foreign films, but they've been mostly Asian and Italian horror films.

I want to take an acting class.
Nope. I looked some up, and even picked which one I'd take, but I haven't been able to afford it.

I want to make more friends, both in person and online, and see my existing ones more often.
Finally, success! I've become friends with some of the regulars from my theater, and my internet friend Nick has become my real-life friend Nick. There are some new friend prospects in my favorite art historian's department. Altogether, not a bad year for friends, except that one of my closest friends just moved away. The jerk.

I want to find a transcendent pizza experience in Chicago.
It depends. I haven't found any new pizza places, although MFAH has been telling me about one that's supposed to be great. However, I realized that a slice of pizza from Santullo's, big and thin (but not crackery), loaded with cheese and pepperoni and sliced tomatoes (my toppings of choice), is about as good as you can get.

I want to start learning a second language.
Define "start." I own two Spanish books, one of which is Spanish for Dummies and the other of which contains slang and curses. The fact that I haven't opened either of them doesn't mean I haven't taken baby steps. Right?

(Let's not talk about my specific movie-watching resolutions, of which I've seen only two, although I have five others on DVD.)

Top 40

For lack of a CD player in our car, or even a working tape player to commandeer for my iPod, I've been listening to a lot of radio this summer, including top 40 stations. As with most forms of music, most of it is pretty terrible, but there are always gems. Instead of doing actual work, I thought I'd provide some examples of those two categories. The worst is not from Shakira, whose chirpy goat-voice weirds me the hell out, or even Paris Hilton, whose loungy sub-Blondie attempt at ska, "Stars Are Blind," is sort of listenable if you pretend it's not Paris Hilton singing. No, it's from her fellow non-entity Brooke Hogan.

Dear paparazzi, please stop paying attention to the talentless children of the rich and famous. You're just giving them something to whine about when they decide that they want to be pop stars. Take Brooke Hogan, for example: she didn't exist to me until I heard her hit single, "About Us," on the radio. In it, she complains that "I'm just trying to live but you're all up in my grill / How's a girl to breathe with all the media staring down my mouth with a four inch lens / I just wanna hit the mall with some of my friends." This is a very bad song. Very, very bad, and mostly because Ms. Hogan is a terrible singer. She makes me long for the days when Britney Spears was still a pop star. Modern producers can make just about anyone sound like a decent singer, so the fact that Ms. Hogan still sounds so bad despite all the money in the world is a testament to her profound lack of talent. Her thin voice wavers as it strains to hit the high notes she's trying to force out of her underfed body, and then it breaks down, sounding sometimes like she has her nose plugged, and other times like she's got something chewy in her mouth. In an attempt to cover her deficiencies, the producer layers her vocals, often from dramatically different takes, which makes it sound like Ms. Hogan is not a person at all, but is in fact the latest in computer voice technology. Added to the sonic despair is a rapper named Paul Wall, who sounds somewhat ashamed to be participating as he encourages Ms. Hogan during the chorus.

On the brighter side of the dial is Christina Aguilera's "Ain't No Other Man," the lead single from her self-reinvention album Back to the Basics. It's very good. It's 1960s, pre-"Who's Zooming Who"-Aretha-Franklin-good. It's brassy and assured, layered with a sampled big band horn section, and it showcases Aguilera's marvelous voice and attitude. I might just make this the first pop album I've bought since I don't know when.

That is, if I don't give in to Justin Timberlake's Futuresex/Lovesounds, on the promise of the lead single, the Timbaland-produced "SexyBack." I find this song's dreamy androgyny captivating: the first time I heard it, I couldn't tell whether it was by a man or a woman, and the lyrics didn't help very much: "If that's your girl, baby watch your back / 'cause you're burning up for me and that's a fact." Who's burning up for whom? I don't think it matters. Anyway, Timberlake, in a song produced by Timbaland (and I used to think they were the same person—you can tell how little I listen to top 40) croons fuzzily about his willingness to be whipped as Timbaland encourages him to "get your sexy on." It's all packaged in a fuzzy, electronic drone that I think I could listen to on repeat. Of course, the thing about top 40 stations is that I've practically been listening to it on repeat, and I'm not sick of it yet. That's a good sign.