This version of “Jesus Loves Me” is from Margaret Wood, and turned up in the Rumors newsletter. It's for those oldies out there who think their time has come!
Jesus loves me, this I know,
Though my hair is white as snow.
Though my sight is growing dim,
Still He bids me trust in Him.
(CHORUS)
Yes, Jesus loves me (3X)
The Bible tells me so.
Though my steps are oh, so slow,
With my hand in His I'll go.
On through life, let come what may,
He'll be there to lead the way.
(CHORUS)
Though I am no longer young,
I have much which He's begun.
Let me serve Christ with a smile,
Let me go the extra mile.
(CHORUS)
When the nights are dark and long,
In my heart He puts a song.
Telling me in words so clear,
'Have no fear, for I am near.'
(CHORUS)
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
franchises
Ever been tempted to go for one of those retail franchises, where you buy into a company and set up your own version of it locally? KFC and McDonald's are of course, prime examples, but I was interested to see what else I could take up a franchise on if I were of a mind.
The Physicians' Weight Loss program, for starters, or Return a Pet. I could become a Cartridge Depot, or offer a Space Walk to kids on their birthdays and other fun times. How about setting up a Flip Flop Shop? Good grief. How many customers would I need to make money out of selling nothing but flip flops?
Sports Clips is a men's and boys' haircutting franchise, where the them is sports. Embroidme speaks for itself. Interestingly enough, that's the name of a shop here in town, which, as far as I'm aware, isn't a franchise.
What about Speaking Roses, where you print a message on the flower? Doesn't that rather defeat the purpose?
The list goes on and on (and probably on, if the truth be told). My suspicion is that the only person making real money out of all this is the one who came up with the idea in the first place. Having at least ten percent of your income going straight out the door to the franchise owner always seemed to me to be a bit of a non-starter. Okay, you get the 'name' and backing, and the 'look' of the franchise. But regrettably, you still have to do all the hard work.
The Physicians' Weight Loss program, for starters, or Return a Pet. I could become a Cartridge Depot, or offer a Space Walk to kids on their birthdays and other fun times. How about setting up a Flip Flop Shop? Good grief. How many customers would I need to make money out of selling nothing but flip flops?
Sports Clips is a men's and boys' haircutting franchise, where the them is sports. Embroidme speaks for itself. Interestingly enough, that's the name of a shop here in town, which, as far as I'm aware, isn't a franchise.
What about Speaking Roses, where you print a message on the flower? Doesn't that rather defeat the purpose?
The list goes on and on (and probably on, if the truth be told). My suspicion is that the only person making real money out of all this is the one who came up with the idea in the first place. Having at least ten percent of your income going straight out the door to the franchise owner always seemed to me to be a bit of a non-starter. Okay, you get the 'name' and backing, and the 'look' of the franchise. But regrettably, you still have to do all the hard work.
Open-air sheet music
Couldn't resist putting this photo on here, after my comments about sheet music in the last post.
It looks like something that's been photoshopped, but apparently it's for real. (It was taken by 'Tape') It's in Minneapolis, on the former Schmitt Music Building. Another Flickr.com photographer (I think they go under the pseudonym of O So Lazy Susan) has a heap of pictures of it from different angles. This photographer notes:
This musical mural is believed to be sheet music from a portion of Maurice Ravel's "Gaspard de la Nuit" in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota. I heard there was some major copyright issues once upon a time, but that is just a rumour. Schmitt Music used to be housed in the building. The music store is gone, but the mural remains.
I'm glad people are photographing this, because it's just the sort of thing some demolition person would come along and destroy in a matter of moments.
It looks like something that's been photoshopped, but apparently it's for real. (It was taken by 'Tape') It's in Minneapolis, on the former Schmitt Music Building. Another Flickr.com photographer (I think they go under the pseudonym of O So Lazy Susan) has a heap of pictures of it from different angles. This photographer notes:
This musical mural is believed to be sheet music from a portion of Maurice Ravel's "Gaspard de la Nuit" in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota. I heard there was some major copyright issues once upon a time, but that is just a rumour. Schmitt Music used to be housed in the building. The music store is gone, but the mural remains.
I'm glad people are photographing this, because it's just the sort of thing some demolition person would come along and destroy in a matter of moments.
With the new piano coming, there's a new piano stool coming as well. In fact, it's already here, as we picked it up when we paid for the piano today.
That meant clearing out the old piano stool of its accumulated stuff. I was going to say rubbish, but that would be unfair to a great deal of the stuff I sifted through this afternoon.
Stuff like: the judge's notes for two of my kids when they were doing singing competitions (and the little gold medal one of them received). Or the magazine containing one of my published articles - on men's liberation.
Or the pocket score of containing three of Mozart's string quartets. Or pages and pages of music, mostly photocopied. Yes, I'm sure that's illegal, but many of these songs are no longer in print, and how else is the pianist expected to play the accompaniments if he doesn't have a copy?
Or notes on when I was working as manager of the bookstore; these included goals, strengths, weaknesses, competition, progress and so on. All printed out on an old dot matrix printer.
Or various books for teaching children the piano. Some of these must go way back, as I haven't taught the piano since the seventies. And some clarinet music, and some brass band solo music, which somehow has wound up left in my care.
All I've done so far is sort it into rough groups (and tossed some, of course). The real sorting out will have to take place on a rainy day when I'm in the mood. Today's been one of the hottest days of the year....
Photo courtesy of 'Now I'm Always Smiling' on Flickr.com
The baby grand
I've now paid for Broadwood baby grand number 263124, (a five-footer) which, according to the numbering system, means it was made in 1960 sometime. It'll be delivered on Tuesday morning., and hopefully we won't have nearly as much trouble getting this fellow in the house as we had with the previous fellow.
We've shifted things around in our lounge, to accommodate the new inmate, but I doubt if we've struck the right arrangement yet. Still, as long as we get it in the room, we can work from there.
This 'new' piano is nearly 50 years old; the old one was closer to ninety.
It'll be interesting to see how it sounds in a different environment. The room it's been in is quite bright, acoustically (good for teaching music in), but our lounge is fairly quiet by comparison, having more soft furnishings and carpet. (Not that you'd have necessarily noticed when I was playing on the previous piano, which had plenty of life in its sound.)
Roll on Tuesday.
We've shifted things around in our lounge, to accommodate the new inmate, but I doubt if we've struck the right arrangement yet. Still, as long as we get it in the room, we can work from there.
This 'new' piano is nearly 50 years old; the old one was closer to ninety.
It'll be interesting to see how it sounds in a different environment. The room it's been in is quite bright, acoustically (good for teaching music in), but our lounge is fairly quiet by comparison, having more soft furnishings and carpet. (Not that you'd have necessarily noticed when I was playing on the previous piano, which had plenty of life in its sound.)
Roll on Tuesday.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Updating the HitTail Top Ten
18 more posts to go before I hit the big 1000. The aim, as I said in an earlier post, is to do this before the end of 2008. I guess I could write a lot of idiotic, meaningless posts - one-liner posts, even - but I'm going to play fair and aim to keep up the extraordinarily high quality of my posts. (Did I hear someone say, Phooey?)
Anyway, it's a while since I checked out HitTail. For various reasons it's gone on the backburner in the last month, along with a few other things. (Partly because I've been more busy musically than I have through most of the year, and partly because of the prostate stuff which I've discussed in several posts on Workreport.net.)
I thought I'd see if there's been any change in the top ten search items that pick up on my site. And nope! They're pretty much the same as they've been in a long while. Here they are again:
1. Athlete's hand - the all time favourite; currently running at over 152 searches, but if we count all the variations on the theme, there'll be far more than that.
2. Mike Crowl. Well, there's a turn up for the books.
3. James Berardinelli. This film critic has been amongst the top for some time. Don't ask me why: I don't talk about him that much.
4. Brent Stavig. Another top name on the list. Extraordinary.
5. The Great Divorce notes. I have never listed any notes about C S Lewis' The Great Divorce. It's only the combination of having mentioned the book and having 'notes' in the title of my blog that brings this one up so regularly. Other books get the same treatment, but obviously not as often.
6. Shrinking shirts. Another one of those items that got mentioned in a post once and have kept this blog in the public eye ever since.
7. Nintendo jewellery. I sometimes suspect that I'm the only blogger to have ever mentioned Nintendo jewellery. I still have no idea what it is.
8. Karl Maugham. Due to my inability to spell Mr Maughan's name correctly, anyone else who spells it incorrectly finds my site.
9. Athlete's fingers. One of the other variations on number one in the list.
10. Chrissy Popadics. I mentioned Chrissy once many moons again - maybe mentioned her again briefly in a later post, and ever since then she's turned up trumps. Wierd.
Comparing this list with the previous one I did in August, there's only one change: The Great Divorce Notes don't appear there. Instead, my name comes up twice, the second time as Michael Crowl. Scary.
Anyway, it's a while since I checked out HitTail. For various reasons it's gone on the backburner in the last month, along with a few other things. (Partly because I've been more busy musically than I have through most of the year, and partly because of the prostate stuff which I've discussed in several posts on Workreport.net.)
I thought I'd see if there's been any change in the top ten search items that pick up on my site. And nope! They're pretty much the same as they've been in a long while. Here they are again:
1. Athlete's hand - the all time favourite; currently running at over 152 searches, but if we count all the variations on the theme, there'll be far more than that.
2. Mike Crowl. Well, there's a turn up for the books.
3. James Berardinelli. This film critic has been amongst the top for some time. Don't ask me why: I don't talk about him that much.
4. Brent Stavig. Another top name on the list. Extraordinary.
5. The Great Divorce notes. I have never listed any notes about C S Lewis' The Great Divorce. It's only the combination of having mentioned the book and having 'notes' in the title of my blog that brings this one up so regularly. Other books get the same treatment, but obviously not as often.
6. Shrinking shirts. Another one of those items that got mentioned in a post once and have kept this blog in the public eye ever since.
7. Nintendo jewellery. I sometimes suspect that I'm the only blogger to have ever mentioned Nintendo jewellery. I still have no idea what it is.
8. Karl Maugham. Due to my inability to spell Mr Maughan's name correctly, anyone else who spells it incorrectly finds my site.
9. Athlete's fingers. One of the other variations on number one in the list.
10. Chrissy Popadics. I mentioned Chrissy once many moons again - maybe mentioned her again briefly in a later post, and ever since then she's turned up trumps. Wierd.
Comparing this list with the previous one I did in August, there's only one change: The Great Divorce Notes don't appear there. Instead, my name comes up twice, the second time as Michael Crowl. Scary.
Short Circuit 2
Finally turned up Short Circuit 2 on DVD, and surprisingly, it stands up better than the first in the series. Fisher Stevens gets to play the main role, which is a good thing, and with the support of Michael McKean (an actor who doesn't apparently age - he looks as young/old here as he does in those later mockumentaries he's well known for).
But the star of the show is still Johnny 5. Here he steals every scene he's in with ease, and gets away with incredible feats and stunts. So what, he's a star. Once again he's voiced by Tim Blaney, who seems to have spent most of his screen career being heard and not seen. Blaney has the character down pat, in every detail. Without this particular voice, there's no doubt Johnny would be an altogether different robot.
The plot is no big deal; the movie's about Johnny 5 rather than anything more complicated. And it's a lot of fun. Catching up with both Johnny and and Fisher Stevens's malapropisms again makes it well worth watching more than once.
But the star of the show is still Johnny 5. Here he steals every scene he's in with ease, and gets away with incredible feats and stunts. So what, he's a star. Once again he's voiced by Tim Blaney, who seems to have spent most of his screen career being heard and not seen. Blaney has the character down pat, in every detail. Without this particular voice, there's no doubt Johnny would be an altogether different robot.
The plot is no big deal; the movie's about Johnny 5 rather than anything more complicated. And it's a lot of fun. Catching up with both Johnny and and Fisher Stevens's malapropisms again makes it well worth watching more than once.
Heintzman piano
Today we say goodbye to my upright piano. It's served me well for probably twenty years - maybe longer.
When we tried to move it into the house, it proved to be too large to get round front porch, and finally the movers had to shift it over the little balcony at the front of the house and bring it in through the French windows. The French windows have been long gone, replaced by aluminium windows in what was a kind of sun verandah, now incorporated into the larger lounge. Which meant that this piano was never going to get out of the house again in one piece, because not only was it unmanoeverable through the main door of the house, it couldn't be pushed through the lounge door, which by dint of circumstances, is narrower than your average door.
So we've spent the afternoon breaking the piano down into its component parts, a task that's proved to be verging on the superhuman. This piano was never meant to fade away without a fight. It's solid through and through, and everything is screwed down as if to withstand a hurricane.
Regrettably, the musical side of the piano, as opposed to its chassis, hasn't withstood the test of time. It won't stay in tune any more, and even an overhaul a couple of years ago didn't do it much good.
So sadly, it's had to go.
My wife and I have spent the afternoon trying to get it down into a small enough state to actually move it out of the house. The piano has resisted mightily, but finally the deed is done, and parts of the piano are scattered around the place, some of the wood being stored in case it's useful, the copper strings being collected for recycling, and various other component parts thrown ignominously on the rubbish heap. As of now, my youngest son is sawing away at the back of the piano, which was seemingly made as solid as a house.
It was only when we opened it up that we found it was a Heintzman and Co product. Number 64835, which probably means it was made in the 1920s. It's Canadian by birth, and my understanding of its history is that it was once a player piano, which is why it was deeper from front to back than most uprights.
It has the Agraffe Bridge Patd March 10th, 1896 marking on the metalwork, and somebody has initialled a piece of the woodwork: AL. You'll be pleased to know, AL, that your piano has given me years of pleasure.
Heintzman and Co were highly respected Canadian piano makers for well over a hundred years. Helmut Kallmann and Patricia Wardrop have a very good article about the company on the Canadian Encyclopedia website.
The photo is of a Heinztman piano - not ours, however.
When we tried to move it into the house, it proved to be too large to get round front porch, and finally the movers had to shift it over the little balcony at the front of the house and bring it in through the French windows. The French windows have been long gone, replaced by aluminium windows in what was a kind of sun verandah, now incorporated into the larger lounge. Which meant that this piano was never going to get out of the house again in one piece, because not only was it unmanoeverable through the main door of the house, it couldn't be pushed through the lounge door, which by dint of circumstances, is narrower than your average door.
So we've spent the afternoon breaking the piano down into its component parts, a task that's proved to be verging on the superhuman. This piano was never meant to fade away without a fight. It's solid through and through, and everything is screwed down as if to withstand a hurricane.
Regrettably, the musical side of the piano, as opposed to its chassis, hasn't withstood the test of time. It won't stay in tune any more, and even an overhaul a couple of years ago didn't do it much good.
So sadly, it's had to go.
My wife and I have spent the afternoon trying to get it down into a small enough state to actually move it out of the house. The piano has resisted mightily, but finally the deed is done, and parts of the piano are scattered around the place, some of the wood being stored in case it's useful, the copper strings being collected for recycling, and various other component parts thrown ignominously on the rubbish heap. As of now, my youngest son is sawing away at the back of the piano, which was seemingly made as solid as a house.
It was only when we opened it up that we found it was a Heintzman and Co product. Number 64835, which probably means it was made in the 1920s. It's Canadian by birth, and my understanding of its history is that it was once a player piano, which is why it was deeper from front to back than most uprights.
It has the Agraffe Bridge Patd March 10th, 1896 marking on the metalwork, and somebody has initialled a piece of the woodwork: AL. You'll be pleased to know, AL, that your piano has given me years of pleasure.
Heintzman and Co were highly respected Canadian piano makers for well over a hundred years. Helmut Kallmann and Patricia Wardrop have a very good article about the company on the Canadian Encyclopedia website.
The photo is of a Heinztman piano - not ours, however.
Friday, December 26, 2008
World's Fastest Indian
Just watched this movie again - last saw it at the cinema when it was first released.
It disappoints. I can't say I enjoyed it much the first time round, but a second viewing only goes to prove that my first instincts were right. The thing is fairly lifeless: there's only one character in it and he's irritating; there's no action, no forward movement apart from the expected beating of the world record at the end - and we know how that's going to come out - and the American characters in the Bonneville sequence are nothing more than cyphers, feeding Anthony Hopkins a bunch of lines so he can explain for the dumbbells in the audience what's going on.
Everyone's too nice. Apart from a couple of slightly gruff coppers, and two officials who are turned from their anti-Burt Munro stance within a scene, everyone else seems to take Munro as he is and find him delightful.
Hopkins works hard to produce a credible Invercargill accent, he works hard to make Burt interesting, and to keep the thing moving, but he's fighting an uphill battle. The script is as dull as ditchwater, and the frequent repetition of lines because Munro is supposed to be slightly deaf doesn't work for the audience. You just wish they'd get on and say something interesting.
Munro must have been a true eccentric, a man driven by a certain passion. That's evident enough, and yet somehow we don't get enthused by his passion. And he's given some of the most trite dialogue yet to grace a movie, stuff that's intended to be philosophical but sounds more like the sort of thing the old neighbour over the road spouts year in and year out and which never enlightened you much in the first place.
It disappoints. I can't say I enjoyed it much the first time round, but a second viewing only goes to prove that my first instincts were right. The thing is fairly lifeless: there's only one character in it and he's irritating; there's no action, no forward movement apart from the expected beating of the world record at the end - and we know how that's going to come out - and the American characters in the Bonneville sequence are nothing more than cyphers, feeding Anthony Hopkins a bunch of lines so he can explain for the dumbbells in the audience what's going on.
Everyone's too nice. Apart from a couple of slightly gruff coppers, and two officials who are turned from their anti-Burt Munro stance within a scene, everyone else seems to take Munro as he is and find him delightful.
Hopkins works hard to produce a credible Invercargill accent, he works hard to make Burt interesting, and to keep the thing moving, but he's fighting an uphill battle. The script is as dull as ditchwater, and the frequent repetition of lines because Munro is supposed to be slightly deaf doesn't work for the audience. You just wish they'd get on and say something interesting.
Munro must have been a true eccentric, a man driven by a certain passion. That's evident enough, and yet somehow we don't get enthused by his passion. And he's given some of the most trite dialogue yet to grace a movie, stuff that's intended to be philosophical but sounds more like the sort of thing the old neighbour over the road spouts year in and year out and which never enlightened you much in the first place.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
New music
Christmas was a bit early round our house this year: because so many of our kids and their spouses and families are going to in-laws for Christmas Day, we had our family get-together tonight, with the present opening included.
One of my daughters had been selected to buy for me (we each only buy for one other person) and she gave me three of the Rattle company’s CDs, which had been on special for December. So now I have Michael Houstoun award-winning two CD album of NZ piano music, Inland; the John Psathas collection, View from Olympus (which also has Houstoun in it); and Pasthas’ Rhythm Spike, which features Dan Poynton, Houstoun again, the NZ String Quartet and Diedre Irons.
The only one of these I’ve heard before much is View from Olympus, which I’ve had out from the library more than once. I love the energy in it – Houstoun barely stops playing throughout, and at speed.
So lots of NZ music-listening over the next few days/weeks. And I got a free t-shirt to boot.
Michael Houstoun's sister used to come into my bookshop quite a bit at one time, which is why I'm always aware that his name is spelt rather oddly (!)
One of my daughters had been selected to buy for me (we each only buy for one other person) and she gave me three of the Rattle company’s CDs, which had been on special for December. So now I have Michael Houstoun award-winning two CD album of NZ piano music, Inland; the John Psathas collection, View from Olympus (which also has Houstoun in it); and Pasthas’ Rhythm Spike, which features Dan Poynton, Houstoun again, the NZ String Quartet and Diedre Irons.
The only one of these I’ve heard before much is View from Olympus, which I’ve had out from the library more than once. I love the energy in it – Houstoun barely stops playing throughout, and at speed.
So lots of NZ music-listening over the next few days/weeks. And I got a free t-shirt to boot.
Michael Houstoun's sister used to come into my bookshop quite a bit at one time, which is why I'm always aware that his name is spelt rather oddly (!)
Mike Gray
Michael Gray, whom I accompanied only three weekends ago, has won himself the New Zealand Opera Society 2009 opera grant. It's going to help fund a trip to the Cactus Language School in Bologna in June next year.
Mike's been a busy singing boy over the last few years, and as well in the last twelve months he was encouraged to switch from baritone to tenor (something another Dunedin singer, Simon O'Neill, did a few years back). He's moving up the scale, but of course it's a process, and he has a bit of a way to go to be entirely comfortable up there. He'll make it. He's a great musician, and performs well.
Mike's been a busy singing boy over the last few years, and as well in the last twelve months he was encouraged to switch from baritone to tenor (something another Dunedin singer, Simon O'Neill, did a few years back). He's moving up the scale, but of course it's a process, and he has a bit of a way to go to be entirely comfortable up there. He'll make it. He's a great musician, and performs well.
A new baby
For some time now my old piano has been running not at 100%. We spent quite a bit of money on it a couple of years ago to little avail. Even after the last tuning, a couple of notes almost immediately went back to their untuned sound, which means probably that more actual repair work is needed.So my wife and I have been considering getting a new piano for a while, and I went to a music shop recently to suss out the prices: uprights were coming in at a minimum of $12,000NZ, and were fairly unsubstantial creatures even at that. Plus they seem to place the keyboard too low these days. I have a friend who has a relatively new piano that gives me a back ache because I’m having to lean down towards it all the time.
One of the patients at the health centre where my wife works is a now retired piano tuner. He happened to mention that someone we knew was selling her baby grand – he’d been asked to price it for her, but isn’t really into pricing pianos. My wife expressed interest, and last night we went and visited the aforementioned baby.
A nice Broadwood, good and solid, a bit bright in the upper register (particularly one key – might have been the E two above middle C), and a little heavier in the action than my current piano. Of course, my current piano has been worked at until it plays without thinking (including the two or three dud sounding notes). The Broadwood would require me to work a little harder, but that’s no great problem. The bass has a nice clean sound to it, whereas my piano’s overtones seem to run into each other. And the soft pedal actually produces a softness.
I played through a couple of my recent compositions on it, since I knew well how they feel on the home piano. And then we asked the price. $6,500. Wow. A steal, even allowing for transporting it to my place.
So I will soon own a baby grand. It’s not the first grand to live at our house. Years ago, when we attended the AOG church, they let us look after their baby grand while a new church was being built. I think it was a bigger beast, as I recall it taking up quite a bit of room. (This baby has been on a bit of a diet pill regime by contrast!)
My current piano is a bit of a monster too, even though it’s an upright. It was formerly a player-piano, but before I got it, the player action was removed. Consequently, it stands solid on the ground.
Roll on Tuesday, when we welcome the new baby into the family.
The picture is of a Broadwood similar to the one I'm getting. The image is from a site called The Rooms Above
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The 'Yes' of Christmas
Interesting opinion piece in the Herald (and ODT) this morning from Colin James, entitled (in the ODT) Small Civilising Acts of Goodness.
Here's a quote:
Here's a quote:
The message of Christmas is often a "no", a Christianity of what must not be done, the wrongness of humanness. And there is much that is wrong.
The good news of Christmas is a "yes", a Christianity of what can humanly be done, the rightness of humanness. There is much that is right.
The wrong is so big that it questions the very notion of "civilisation".
Greens are mistaken to insist we must act now to save the planet. The planet will be here long after humans have run our ephemeral course. The right green message is to act to save humans from our uncivil instincts.
You can read the whole article on the NZ Herald online site.
Slowness of Discovery
It has taken me an entire year to realise that the 'lock' on the door to the disability toilet in our office doesn't lock anything. Turns out that the real lock is further down the door. What I thought was the lock has something to do with a pin pad outside the door, which is presumably there if somebody wanted to make it really difficult to get into the toilet. Not what a person with a disability needs.
I only discovered all this the other day when someone else tried to come into the toilet while I was there.
Seems I have a talent for slowness of discovery...
I only discovered all this the other day when someone else tried to come into the toilet while I was there.
Seems I have a talent for slowness of discovery...
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Patek Philippe - Who?
How is it I’ve lived for over sixty years and have never heard of a Patek Philippe watch?
The company has been in existence for nearly 170 years, and produced the first crown wound pocket watch in 1839. (Crown winding, I presume, is where you wind the watch with a little round knob, rather than the old way of winding it with a key.)
They made the first wrist watch in 1868, and the first wrist watch with a perpetual calendar in 1925.
Wouldn’t you think their name would be more well-known?
Maybe it is in Europe, but even given that, you’d think that the words Patek Philippe would have somehow trickled into my consciousness through some movie, or novel.
Apparently not.
The Patek Philippe company sounds similar to the Steinway company in their heyday. There’s an element of the handcraftness about their approach. According to some information about them, each single automatic movement manufactured by the company is put through approximately 600 hours of quality control. Assembled watches are severely tested for up to a month (severely, note!) and they’re also observed. Severely tested and observed – it’s a wonder the watches don’t have complexes!
The little beauty in the picture is Patek Philippe Annual calendar watch. It'll set you back a mere $42,000 or so. US dollars, of course!
Tarantella
Well, I won’t be getting to my target of a thousand posts by the end of the year at this rate! Due to the fun I’ve been having as an aftermath of my recent prostate biopsy, things like blogging have taken a bit of a back seat. Even though I’ve recovered from the infection I got after the biopsy, I’m still feeling as though I tire more easily than usual. Maybe just the underlying tension of the whole business, and what the next couple of months hold. Maybe just end of the year weariness. Maybe I’m sick of blogging! (That such things could be – or could even be suggested!)
Anyway, I’m pleased to report that today I finished yet another piano piece – that makes five for this year (along with all the other composing I’ve been doing). This one swung along without great effort on my part. I woke up one morning well over a month ago with a tune in my head, went and scribbled it down (all two bars of it) and then decided it wasn’t that exciting, and left it.
Over the last few days I’ve come back to it, and the two bars have expanded into seven pages of a Tarantella-type piece. It’s currently called A Cowboy Learns the Tarantella, because there’s a slow melody in the middle of it with a running bass that’s reminiscent of cowboy film music. But I don’t think I’ll stick to that title. Seems a bit twee, really.
The downside – if that’s what it is, really – is that once again I’ve written something that I’ll have to actually practice in order to play it properly. Can’t seem to write something straightforward enough to just play!
Apropos of nothing at all above, doesn’t the ‘fatburner’ called Anoretix seem rather inappropriately named? For me, it’s too close to the word ‘anorexic.’ Maybe this is intentional. Maybe it’s some marketing person not really thinking through the issues involved, as some marketing person didn’t think through the naming of Anusol.
Anyway, I’m pleased to report that today I finished yet another piano piece – that makes five for this year (along with all the other composing I’ve been doing). This one swung along without great effort on my part. I woke up one morning well over a month ago with a tune in my head, went and scribbled it down (all two bars of it) and then decided it wasn’t that exciting, and left it.
Over the last few days I’ve come back to it, and the two bars have expanded into seven pages of a Tarantella-type piece. It’s currently called A Cowboy Learns the Tarantella, because there’s a slow melody in the middle of it with a running bass that’s reminiscent of cowboy film music. But I don’t think I’ll stick to that title. Seems a bit twee, really.
The downside – if that’s what it is, really – is that once again I’ve written something that I’ll have to actually practice in order to play it properly. Can’t seem to write something straightforward enough to just play!
Apropos of nothing at all above, doesn’t the ‘fatburner’ called Anoretix seem rather inappropriately named? For me, it’s too close to the word ‘anorexic.’ Maybe this is intentional. Maybe it’s some marketing person not really thinking through the issues involved, as some marketing person didn’t think through the naming of Anusol.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Full on day
Can I reach 1000 posts on this blog before the end of the year? Sounds possible. Will they be worth reading? Time will tell.
At the moment I'm up to 970 posts on here, a figure that's taken me a few years to reach. I guess if I was blogging day and night (as I almost was at one point, when I was unemployed at the end of 2006) I might have long since passed the magic millennial number, but since I also have a life (of sorts) outside cyberspace, it's probably good that I haven't blogged constantly on here. Admittedly there are at least two other places where I blog regularly, and at least four (or is it five?) other blogs that I blog spasmodically on. Oh, dear. Maybe I don't have a life outside cyberspace. At least I'm not living in whatever that other world is that quite a few people inhabit: Second Life. I imagine that it could get pretty addictive in there, and could be dangerous to your sanity. Can't be far away now before someone makes a movie about it, I imagine.
Well, if this is the standard of the posts that will appear before the end of the year, maybe trying to achieve that particular goal isn't a good idea!
So, to speak about something a bit more interesting. Yesterday was hectic, even though it was a Sunday. In the morning we had a barbeque at church, which I partly helped at but didn't really do my usual full amount of input. Anyone who's read my Workreport.net of late will know that I had a prostate biopsy the Thursday before last, and while it went okay, there have been a few issues since, such as a urinary tract infection, which has left me not full of energy.
I've recovered from the infection, but still don't feel quite my usual self. So I opted out of the barbeque mostly. I had to accompany ten or so singers (twice each) in the afternoon at a singing teacher's concert (she's an old friend of mine) and so I needed to save some energy for that. And then in the evening my wife and I and some others were acting as the caterering staff for another one of the innumerable weddings we seem to be having at our church lately. I was so bushed after three hours of being at that, that I had to come home. My wife didn't arrive home another two....
Anyway, one nice thing at the concert: my dear friend the singing teacher gave a little speech at the end in which she proclaimed me a 'National Treasure' - wow. That she then amended this to a 'Local Treasure, at least' didn't faze me one bit. Any sort of treasure will do at the moment. I can always do with a bit of promotion, even if it's only on promotional items!
At the moment I'm up to 970 posts on here, a figure that's taken me a few years to reach. I guess if I was blogging day and night (as I almost was at one point, when I was unemployed at the end of 2006) I might have long since passed the magic millennial number, but since I also have a life (of sorts) outside cyberspace, it's probably good that I haven't blogged constantly on here. Admittedly there are at least two other places where I blog regularly, and at least four (or is it five?) other blogs that I blog spasmodically on. Oh, dear. Maybe I don't have a life outside cyberspace. At least I'm not living in whatever that other world is that quite a few people inhabit: Second Life. I imagine that it could get pretty addictive in there, and could be dangerous to your sanity. Can't be far away now before someone makes a movie about it, I imagine.
Well, if this is the standard of the posts that will appear before the end of the year, maybe trying to achieve that particular goal isn't a good idea!
So, to speak about something a bit more interesting. Yesterday was hectic, even though it was a Sunday. In the morning we had a barbeque at church, which I partly helped at but didn't really do my usual full amount of input. Anyone who's read my Workreport.net of late will know that I had a prostate biopsy the Thursday before last, and while it went okay, there have been a few issues since, such as a urinary tract infection, which has left me not full of energy.
I've recovered from the infection, but still don't feel quite my usual self. So I opted out of the barbeque mostly. I had to accompany ten or so singers (twice each) in the afternoon at a singing teacher's concert (she's an old friend of mine) and so I needed to save some energy for that. And then in the evening my wife and I and some others were acting as the caterering staff for another one of the innumerable weddings we seem to be having at our church lately. I was so bushed after three hours of being at that, that I had to come home. My wife didn't arrive home another two....
Anyway, one nice thing at the concert: my dear friend the singing teacher gave a little speech at the end in which she proclaimed me a 'National Treasure' - wow. That she then amended this to a 'Local Treasure, at least' didn't faze me one bit. Any sort of treasure will do at the moment. I can always do with a bit of promotion, even if it's only on promotional items!
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Late blooming and looking blooming good!
Jurgen Wolff alerted me to an interesting article in the New Yorker, by Malcolm Gladwell, (the author of The Tipping Point).
It's about late bloomers, people who have creative talent, but for various reasons such as lack of experience, lack of facility with the artistic material they use, lack of means or whatever, take a long time to flower. Cezanne is one example, but Gladwell focuses a lot more on, a writer who took more than a decade of full-time writing to really get off the ground. And even then it was only because he had a wife who gave him the opportunity to work at his craft while she brought home the bacon.
There are also some interesting stats the defy the idea that genius is also found in the young. Some people, like Picasso, just get up and go. Many famous authors, artists, creative people, took a lot longer to reveal the talent they had; they were people who had to kind of search for what they needed to say/paint/whatever. Young geniuses tend to just go for it, and the material opens up before them. Picasso and Mozart are prime examples.
All of this is interesting in the light of the post I wrote on Elliot Carter the other day: he's increasingly blooming, producing works in his 7th, 8th, 9th decades with a facility born of long hard work.
It's about late bloomers, people who have creative talent, but for various reasons such as lack of experience, lack of facility with the artistic material they use, lack of means or whatever, take a long time to flower. Cezanne is one example, but Gladwell focuses a lot more on, a writer who took more than a decade of full-time writing to really get off the ground. And even then it was only because he had a wife who gave him the opportunity to work at his craft while she brought home the bacon.
There are also some interesting stats the defy the idea that genius is also found in the young. Some people, like Picasso, just get up and go. Many famous authors, artists, creative people, took a lot longer to reveal the talent they had; they were people who had to kind of search for what they needed to say/paint/whatever. Young geniuses tend to just go for it, and the material opens up before them. Picasso and Mozart are prime examples.
All of this is interesting in the light of the post I wrote on Elliot Carter the other day: he's increasingly blooming, producing works in his 7th, 8th, 9th decades with a facility born of long hard work.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
One old, one relatively new
Watched The Music Man yesterday for the first time since it came out in the early sixties. I have an impression in my head that I didn’t much enjoy it at the time, but I was a teenager then, so that might explain it.
After nearly fifty years it stands up very well. It’s not the greatest story, but it has a very solid great character in Professor Harold Hill, and the songs he sings in particular are very well constructed. The film is fairly stagey – maybe not surprising since Morton DaCosta directed the original Broadway version as well – but this doesn’t actually detract from it. The thing needs room to breathe and between the wide wide screen and the spacious sets, there’s plenty of room. Even the library scene, which at first looks cramped, manages to have room enough for a nifty lot of dancing.
And the dancing is always given full visibility. None of your quick cutting stuff. Here you can see the dancers dancing. There are cuts, but they fit to the beat and the steps rather than cutting across them. And do they dance: even Robert Preston and Shirley Jones do some pretty quick capering in the Shipoopi, though neither of them were dancers – nor was Buddy Hackett, but he still gets a few nifty steps in. Apparently each dance sequence was given three weeks full rehearsal (the whole period of filming was nine months), and the quality of work shows.
Meredith Willson will probably be remembered for little besides this musical, which was certainly his masterpiece. But he wrote a bunch of other more serious works, including symphonies. His skill as a composer with more breadth than your average musical composer shows: he writes gentle love songs, but also the incredibly complex Hill set pieces (Trouble in River City, to name but one); there are barbershop quartets by the handful, and a bunch of zany things like the duet over a piano lesson, the gossip song, Pick a Little, Talk a Little (which goes at a rate of knots) and the opening number sung by the salesmen on the train that fits neatly to the rhythms of the steam engine.
I think what strikes you about the movie is the sheer energy of it all. Preston is supreme in this, but no one else falls flat. Even young Ron Howard is fully present.
The cast has two wonderful comics in it: Paul Ford and Hermione Gingold. Both use their lines with such elegance and force, and make such fun of the malapropisms and misunderstandings, that they almost carry the film away whenever they appear. Ford was the ill-benighted suitor Horace Vandergelder in The Matchmaker, from which Hello, Dolly was eventually formed. His role is similar here, but that’s probably because he makes it so much his own.
Sadly, the brilliant dancer, Timmy Everett, who was only 23 when he appeared in this movie, and who doesn’t seem to have danced in anything else, died only 16 years after the film was made.
I’ve now watched The Incredibles several times since it was shown on TV a couple of weeks ago, as my young grandson has taken a liking to it, and he lives here with us. I don’t remember enjoying it particularly at the movies either, which is very odd, as it’s well-constructed, has a superlative sense of humour, and is aimed at adults as much as kids. I know my brother-in-law went to sleep during it. But then he went to sleep during the third Bourne movie as well, something that must be quite an achievement.
The vocal casting is great: Holly Hunter adds a kind of oddball lisp to her lines; Craig T Nelson – one of those actors you recognise when you see him, but whose name you never seem to know – does a wonderful Mr Incredible (aided enormously by the visual character), and Brad Bird himself plays the wonderfully crazy designer, Edna ‘E’ Mode. Samuel L Jackson turns up skinny, which is rather fun, and the sultry-voiced Mirage is played by 44-year-old Elizabeth Peña, another actress whose name means nothing to me, but who’s always visible in something or other.
The visuals are great, from the design of the ‘sets’ to the look of the characters, including the many smaller parts. The policemen all have a slightly cross-eyed look, and the guards on the island (whose relatives are the clones in Star Wars) have cheesy good-looking but somewhat uninformed countenances. Some characters are extreme caricatures, particularly the nasty little boss, (played by Wallace Shawn and here even smaller than he usually is), and the permanently-boyish baddie, Buddy Pine, played by Jason Lee.
Great fun all round.
After nearly fifty years it stands up very well. It’s not the greatest story, but it has a very solid great character in Professor Harold Hill, and the songs he sings in particular are very well constructed. The film is fairly stagey – maybe not surprising since Morton DaCosta directed the original Broadway version as well – but this doesn’t actually detract from it. The thing needs room to breathe and between the wide wide screen and the spacious sets, there’s plenty of room. Even the library scene, which at first looks cramped, manages to have room enough for a nifty lot of dancing.
And the dancing is always given full visibility. None of your quick cutting stuff. Here you can see the dancers dancing. There are cuts, but they fit to the beat and the steps rather than cutting across them. And do they dance: even Robert Preston and Shirley Jones do some pretty quick capering in the Shipoopi, though neither of them were dancers – nor was Buddy Hackett, but he still gets a few nifty steps in. Apparently each dance sequence was given three weeks full rehearsal (the whole period of filming was nine months), and the quality of work shows.
Meredith Willson will probably be remembered for little besides this musical, which was certainly his masterpiece. But he wrote a bunch of other more serious works, including symphonies. His skill as a composer with more breadth than your average musical composer shows: he writes gentle love songs, but also the incredibly complex Hill set pieces (Trouble in River City, to name but one); there are barbershop quartets by the handful, and a bunch of zany things like the duet over a piano lesson, the gossip song, Pick a Little, Talk a Little (which goes at a rate of knots) and the opening number sung by the salesmen on the train that fits neatly to the rhythms of the steam engine.I think what strikes you about the movie is the sheer energy of it all. Preston is supreme in this, but no one else falls flat. Even young Ron Howard is fully present.
The cast has two wonderful comics in it: Paul Ford and Hermione Gingold. Both use their lines with such elegance and force, and make such fun of the malapropisms and misunderstandings, that they almost carry the film away whenever they appear. Ford was the ill-benighted suitor Horace Vandergelder in The Matchmaker, from which Hello, Dolly was eventually formed. His role is similar here, but that’s probably because he makes it so much his own.
Sadly, the brilliant dancer, Timmy Everett, who was only 23 when he appeared in this movie, and who doesn’t seem to have danced in anything else, died only 16 years after the film was made.
I’ve now watched The Incredibles several times since it was shown on TV a couple of weeks ago, as my young grandson has taken a liking to it, and he lives here with us. I don’t remember enjoying it particularly at the movies either, which is very odd, as it’s well-constructed, has a superlative sense of humour, and is aimed at adults as much as kids. I know my brother-in-law went to sleep during it. But then he went to sleep during the third Bourne movie as well, something that must be quite an achievement.
The vocal casting is great: Holly Hunter adds a kind of oddball lisp to her lines; Craig T Nelson – one of those actors you recognise when you see him, but whose name you never seem to know – does a wonderful Mr Incredible (aided enormously by the visual character), and Brad Bird himself plays the wonderfully crazy designer, Edna ‘E’ Mode. Samuel L Jackson turns up skinny, which is rather fun, and the sultry-voiced Mirage is played by 44-year-old Elizabeth Peña, another actress whose name means nothing to me, but who’s always visible in something or other.
The visuals are great, from the design of the ‘sets’ to the look of the characters, including the many smaller parts. The policemen all have a slightly cross-eyed look, and the guards on the island (whose relatives are the clones in Star Wars) have cheesy good-looking but somewhat uninformed countenances. Some characters are extreme caricatures, particularly the nasty little boss, (played by Wallace Shawn and here even smaller than he usually is), and the permanently-boyish baddie, Buddy Pine, played by Jason Lee.
Great fun all round.
Elliot Carter: still composing at 100
Don't that just inspire ya!While I write this, I'm listening to a Concert Programme interview on Eda Radich's midday programme, Upbeat, in which she's talking about Elliot Carter, who's still writing prolifically in his golden years. The NZ person who's being interviewed, James Gardner, is enthusiastic and knowledgeable about Carter and is the sort of person who inspires you to go out and start listening to Carter's music. Unfortunately it looks as though our local library doesn't have a single CD of Carter's music.
I must say that he's not a composer I've known anything about, even though he's touted as the USA's greatest composer. (John Adams, move over, apparently!) What Gardner is offering is an explanation of the way Carter has been working for the last sixty or so years: the way he allows for shifts in rhythmic structure, while still managing to combine various rhythms without making things sound as though they're falling apart, and the way in which Carter uses tonality in his own (unique) way by focusing on intervals rather than straight chords. It's something to know, but not necessarily so easy to hear, especially in the few brief excerpts we had played.
Footnote: Eva Radich interviews a great bunch of people on her programme (which I seldom hear when they're first broadcast these days because I don't get the chance to listen at work the way I used to) but sometimes she says the oddest things. Occasionally she seems almost to put her foot in it in her enthusiasm to get a comment in, and other times she comes up with a comment that's almost at odds with where the interview is going. She's always very knowledgeable and up with the play (after having been a producer of this programme for several years, she obviously now has someone equally efficient on the job) but just sometimes you think: Why on earth did you say that!
Friday, December 05, 2008
Call + Response
The following is from the website for the new documentary, Call + Response, a movie that deals with the fact that in the world there are now more slaves than ever, in spite of slavery being illegal in most countries.
There is a sea of change happening in human rights activism. The world’s issues cannot be solved alone by governments and non-profits, but require community-based participation. As a feature film, CALL+RESPONSE has the unique position of being not only a ground-breaking genre-bending film, but due to the fact that this project was funded completely through donations, it operates as a powerful movement with 100% of profits going to fund global field projects on the front lines of this issue.
CALL+RESPONSE is creating interactive field projects for each aspect of human slavery: sex slavery, labor slavery, child soldiers and child slavery. All profits from the use of the film, dvd, soundtrack, itunes downloads will be directed, by the viewers, to these projects with clear start and finish points (ie a landrover for a child soldier rehab camp, sewing machines for a after-care training facility). Our goal is to fund and celebrate completed projects together in community. We are closing the loop by allowing viewers to become participants in the solution.
I'll be writing more on this in later posts.
There is a sea of change happening in human rights activism. The world’s issues cannot be solved alone by governments and non-profits, but require community-based participation. As a feature film, CALL+RESPONSE has the unique position of being not only a ground-breaking genre-bending film, but due to the fact that this project was funded completely through donations, it operates as a powerful movement with 100% of profits going to fund global field projects on the front lines of this issue.
CALL+RESPONSE is creating interactive field projects for each aspect of human slavery: sex slavery, labor slavery, child soldiers and child slavery. All profits from the use of the film, dvd, soundtrack, itunes downloads will be directed, by the viewers, to these projects with clear start and finish points (ie a landrover for a child soldier rehab camp, sewing machines for a after-care training facility). Our goal is to fund and celebrate completed projects together in community. We are closing the loop by allowing viewers to become participants in the solution.
I'll be writing more on this in later posts.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Swamped by music
For most of the year I’ve hardly played at a concert or anything else musical. Now, suddenly at the end of the year, I’m loaded up to the gunnels. Last Sunday there was a charity concert to raise funds for a local rest home. It was combined with an end of the year performance by several of my old friend Arnold Bachop’s pupils. I didn’t play for any of the singers, but did manage to give a rather under-par performance of the four piano pieces I wrote this year.
Partly the problem was the piano: it’s an upright, set up high on four castors. In order for the pianist to reach the pedals, a small wooden block is set under them on which the pianist rests his or her feet. However, this block is not attached in any way to the floor, and has the tendency to slide gradually away from where it needs to be. Furthermore, the pianist’s bottom is perched on a smallish piano stool (small in terms of seating area proportionate to the pianist’s rear end) and this gives little leverage when you’re playing at either of the extremes of the keyboard. Which is what happens in my four piano pieces on more
than one occasion.
But even blaming the piano won’t compensate for the fact that I just botched up things that I shouldn’t have botched up, and wouldn’t normally have botched up. Just one of those days. You think: I’ve played in public for more than 55 years. I won’t get nervous. I got nervous.
However, there was an up side to all this: I passed over the eight Peter Olds songs to a potential performer of them, and she didn’t faint with horror or regard them with any obvious distaste. And I caught up with several of Arnold’s pupils whom I hadn’t seen in quite some time. (We went out for a meal together after the concert.)
Next weekend I have to play for Michael Gray at some afternoon thingee in Port Chalmers. Michael used to be in Opera Alive, when I first met him. He was pretty young then, certainly at the low end of the starting age limit. But he was always very confident and competent. A great asset to the group. He’s currently moving upwards from being a baritone to a tenor. Interesting, because he often used to sing the tenor parts in the Opera Alive shows – mainly because tenors were always in short supply.
And that same Sunday morning I’m playing carols at my boss’s church. And the following weekend, another singing teacher, an old friend of mine, is putting on her end-of-year concert. And I’m accompanying everybody – except her husband and myself, when we sing Brush up your Shakespeare.
That doesn’t sound like much to do, really, but there are rehearsals all over, and, it being the time of year it is, there are various end-of-the-year dinners amongst this lot (at least three of them) and the possibility of having to play for the St Francis Xavier school musical – at very short notice. It’s all a bit much.
On top of all this, I got asked to go and have a biopsy in relation to my prostate – tomorrow. Someone else had cancelled out. (I’m not surprised, if they were having one of these biopsies. The process don’t sound comfortable! I might need some baby bedding just in order to lie down...)
Photo courtesy of Pa1nt, flick.com
Partly the problem was the piano: it’s an upright, set up high on four castors. In order for the pianist to reach the pedals, a small wooden block is set under them on which the pianist rests his or her feet. However, this block is not attached in any way to the floor, and has the tendency to slide gradually away from where it needs to be. Furthermore, the pianist’s bottom is perched on a smallish piano stool (small in terms of seating area proportionate to the pianist’s rear end) and this gives little leverage when you’re playing at either of the extremes of the keyboard. Which is what happens in my four piano pieces on more
than one occasion. But even blaming the piano won’t compensate for the fact that I just botched up things that I shouldn’t have botched up, and wouldn’t normally have botched up. Just one of those days. You think: I’ve played in public for more than 55 years. I won’t get nervous. I got nervous.
However, there was an up side to all this: I passed over the eight Peter Olds songs to a potential performer of them, and she didn’t faint with horror or regard them with any obvious distaste. And I caught up with several of Arnold’s pupils whom I hadn’t seen in quite some time. (We went out for a meal together after the concert.)
Next weekend I have to play for Michael Gray at some afternoon thingee in Port Chalmers. Michael used to be in Opera Alive, when I first met him. He was pretty young then, certainly at the low end of the starting age limit. But he was always very confident and competent. A great asset to the group. He’s currently moving upwards from being a baritone to a tenor. Interesting, because he often used to sing the tenor parts in the Opera Alive shows – mainly because tenors were always in short supply.
And that same Sunday morning I’m playing carols at my boss’s church. And the following weekend, another singing teacher, an old friend of mine, is putting on her end-of-year concert. And I’m accompanying everybody – except her husband and myself, when we sing Brush up your Shakespeare.
That doesn’t sound like much to do, really, but there are rehearsals all over, and, it being the time of year it is, there are various end-of-the-year dinners amongst this lot (at least three of them) and the possibility of having to play for the St Francis Xavier school musical – at very short notice. It’s all a bit much.
On top of all this, I got asked to go and have a biopsy in relation to my prostate – tomorrow. Someone else had cancelled out. (I’m not surprised, if they were having one of these biopsies. The process don’t sound comfortable! I might need some baby bedding just in order to lie down...)
Photo courtesy of Pa1nt, flick.com
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Men and Women
Wonderful exploration of men's and women's brains by Mark Gungor, and an enthusiastic audience.
Reading the audience's faces is as much fun as watching Gungor. Some of them seem unwilling to let themselves go and laugh at what is plainly just fun, some of them are checking out their spouses to see whether they 'approve' and some are just having a ball.
Thanks to Blair for alerting me to this video.
Reading the audience's faces is as much fun as watching Gungor. Some of them seem unwilling to let themselves go and laugh at what is plainly just fun, some of them are checking out their spouses to see whether they 'approve' and some are just having a ball.
Thanks to Blair for alerting me to this video.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Secret Life of Bees
I read Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees last year while my wife and I were in England. I'd heard about it over the years, because Kidd's name was well known to me from when I managed a bookstore, but I'd never read it. (I'd enjoyed an earlier book, When the Heart Waits a lot, but found the following book, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter too feminist for my tastes at the time.)
Anyway, The Secret Life of Bees has hit the big screen now, and Dakota Fanning is the star. Fanning is one of those extraordinary child actors who seems to be able to take on any role and invest it with an intensity that's beyond the ordinary. She's been in movies (or TV) most of her life; in fact, they've been her life. How's she as down to earth as she seems is quite a miracle. She has the ability to be very ordinary, and yet continue to move us. She even managed to make the nasty movie, Hide and Seek, watchable.
I'm not sure that I'll go and see The Secret Life of Bees. Even though it wasn't one of my favourite books, it left memories behind that I don't particularly want overlaid by a movie version. This has happened a few times, with The Shipping News, The Horse Whisperer, and, worst of all, the TV version of Middlemarch, in which the main role was miscast - at least as far as my reading of the book was concerned. (The main role of the TV version of Bleak House was similarly miscast, but it's all a matter of perception - these actors weren't the way I'd imagined the characters, and they spoilt my imaginative version.)
Anyway, The Secret Life of Bees has hit the big screen now, and Dakota Fanning is the star. Fanning is one of those extraordinary child actors who seems to be able to take on any role and invest it with an intensity that's beyond the ordinary. She's been in movies (or TV) most of her life; in fact, they've been her life. How's she as down to earth as she seems is quite a miracle. She has the ability to be very ordinary, and yet continue to move us. She even managed to make the nasty movie, Hide and Seek, watchable.
I'm not sure that I'll go and see The Secret Life of Bees. Even though it wasn't one of my favourite books, it left memories behind that I don't particularly want overlaid by a movie version. This has happened a few times, with The Shipping News, The Horse Whisperer, and, worst of all, the TV version of Middlemarch, in which the main role was miscast - at least as far as my reading of the book was concerned. (The main role of the TV version of Bleak House was similarly miscast, but it's all a matter of perception - these actors weren't the way I'd imagined the characters, and they spoilt my imaginative version.)
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The people you meet at barbecues
I went to a barbecue the other night - men from our church were getting together for the last night of a series of evenings they'd had in which the Book of James was discussed. I haven't been to this group, as it happens, but I thought I'd put in an appearance for the last night, as I've had an interest in men's groups for many years - and in fact, was involved in two or three earlier versions of men's groups in our church back in the 90s and early noughties.
Someone remarked that I only appeared when there was food - I then remembered that I'd also been to the original breakfast meeting of this latest group. Hmm, that could be the case!
Anyway, I mostly knew all the guys there, and pricked my ears up at one point when I heard one of them say he has a blog. We then discussed what we both wrote about - quite different subject matter for the most part.
Anyway, let me recommend True Paradigm to you. It covers more than one field: I note on the page that's current there are posts on NZ Politics, Calvinist views of predestination, atheists, physics, and various other topics that require you to use your brain more than you'll need to on this site (!)
Someone remarked that I only appeared when there was food - I then remembered that I'd also been to the original breakfast meeting of this latest group. Hmm, that could be the case!
Anyway, I mostly knew all the guys there, and pricked my ears up at one point when I heard one of them say he has a blog. We then discussed what we both wrote about - quite different subject matter for the most part.
Anyway, let me recommend True Paradigm to you. It covers more than one field: I note on the page that's current there are posts on NZ Politics, Calvinist views of predestination, atheists, physics, and various other topics that require you to use your brain more than you'll need to on this site (!)
Kiss Me Kate
A friend and I are doing the song, Brush up your Shakespeare, from Kiss Me Kate, at a fun concert in December, and I thought I'd better check up on how it's performed in the movie, to get some ideas. I found a copy of the DVD and checked out the song. The two actors, Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore aren't your usual song and dance men, and it shows. Admittedly they're supposed to be slightly off-centre gangsters out to get the money back from an IOU, but a perusal of the entire movie shows that someone, whether it was the director or the actors, decided that their parts should be played in such a way that they both looked spaced out all the time. They're distinctly unfunny, which is surprising, because both of them were excellent actors. Here they just look embarrassed about the whole thing, particularly Whitmore.
I suspect the direction is at fault in a good deal of the movie. George Sidney directed dozens of film musicals, many of them successfully, but something's lacking in Kiss Me Kate. Maybe it's the source material (a stage show) that's been hacked around for the movie (checking out the layout of the original stage version this seems likely). Whatever it is, it only occasionally lights up. Ann Miller does a frenetic tap dance in the opening sequence, but has to do it in a room in an apartment where there's very little space. She winds up dancing on the furniture just to give herself some variety. Howard Keel and Kathryn Grayson sing their opening duet as a squabble rather than a love duet, while Cole Porter - played by Ron Randall - appears in this scene and then is never heard from again. Perhaps the problem was that the film was made in 3-D and opportunities to throw things at the camera were taken so often that other things suffer. Grayson sings all fourteen verses of I Hate Men (fourteen, or maybe twenty), and does the same thing with it each time - until she throws the metal tankard she's been thumping on the table at the camera. Wunderbar is performed in a cramped dressing room in a theatre that apparently has a stage the size of a stadium - sometimes. And people talking backstage all shout at the top of their voices, as though the audience couldn't possibly hear them.
The camera dolly has a distinct wobble on it, and there are several shots in which the camera moves are quite juddery.
Then there are the costumes for the 'play' they're doing. Someone decided that all the men should be dressed in clothes that reveal pretty much everything. Walter Plunkett, who was one of Hollywood's top designers, didn't usually make such a botch-up as this; was it all part of something not quite going right during production? Who knows.
So what did I like about the movie? The dancing is just superb. Miller's table-top tapping is top-notch, but the best dancing takes place in two major scenes, and both of them have Tommy 
Rall in them. In the first, he and Miller perform: Why Can't You Behave? Rall doesn't sing in this one, but he does some whiz-bang acrobatic dancing. (Miller isn't too bad, either!). In the second scene, just before the finale, Rall and Miller, Bob Fosse, Bobby Van, Carol Haney and Jeanne Coyne perform an extended piece to From This Moment On (sung in the stage show by totally different characters). Between the acrobatic dancing of the men, and wonderful energy of the women, this is a show-stopper and a half. Everything about this scene is right (except again for that blasted camera dolly) and it deserves to be in the top ten of Hollywood musical dance sequences.
Rall in them. In the first, he and Miller perform: Why Can't You Behave? Rall doesn't sing in this one, but he does some whiz-bang acrobatic dancing. (Miller isn't too bad, either!). In the second scene, just before the finale, Rall and Miller, Bob Fosse, Bobby Van, Carol Haney and Jeanne Coyne perform an extended piece to From This Moment On (sung in the stage show by totally different characters). Between the acrobatic dancing of the men, and wonderful energy of the women, this is a show-stopper and a half. Everything about this scene is right (except again for that blasted camera dolly) and it deserves to be in the top ten of Hollywood musical dance sequences. Kiss Me Kate isn't unenjoyable; just a bit flawed. The great advantage of the DVD version is that you can leave out the bits you don't like...
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Black Narcissus
61 years old.It ought to creak with age. Certainly David Farrar plays the bad boy Englishman with the typical stiffness of English male actors of the time, but that can't be held against him: it's the way the did things then, and he's almost the only actor in the movie to play in that cinema-theatrical way. Kathleen Byron as the mentally intense Sister Ruth has a few similar scenes, but they work because of who she is and because of the super-charged atmosphere. But the other nuns, and the rest of the characters, come across as up-to-date as most of those in movies these days. Deborah Kerr is superb, her face constantly showing depths behind the spoken words.
But the thing that continues to stand out is the cinemaphotography (Jack Cardiff) and art work, all of it done in England, most of it done in the studio. You know you're not up in the mountains as you watch it, but your eye struggles to tell you the truth of what you're seeing. Furthermore, shot after shot is a work of art, the colour wonderfully balanced, and contributing to the intensity of the drama. This film is a pleasure to watch quite apart from its story.
Made in 1947 in vibrant Technicolor, Black Narcissus is widely regarded as one of the most beautiful films ever made. The fact that all but a few scenes were shot on sets, with matte paintings used for the backdrops, makes it all the more remarkable.
Hot Fudge?
I've been away on a retreat for the most of this last week, so I've got a bit of catching up to do, not least from the notes I made (on paper) while I was away, but which I've managed to leave at work.
Saw a couple of movies while on Retreat. One was The Gospel, which I'd watched several months ago and enjoyed mostly for its music. The story and acting are a bit weak, but the music keeps the thing alive.
Also saw Hot Fuzz, which I'd heard about from my brother-in-law in England. He and his wife had walked out of it (!) I didn't walk out, but I must say that the last twenty minutes of so are just so frenetic that all the subtle humour that's gone before is outweighed by noise and chaos and a try-hard approach that doesn't quite work. Simon Pegg does a great job in the main role, and he's surrounded by a bunch of well-known British actors, several of whom come to very unpleasant ends. In fact, the black humour is too grisly for my taste. The scene where the reporter has a piece of the church tower fall on his head is sickening rather than funny in any way.
But I think the piece falls over by trying to make itself into some clever murder mystery, when it's really a spoof for the first hour or more. And it's not helped by schoolboy use of dirty words; these just take away from the real humour.
Saw a couple of movies while on Retreat. One was The Gospel, which I'd watched several months ago and enjoyed mostly for its music. The story and acting are a bit weak, but the music keeps the thing alive.
Also saw Hot Fuzz, which I'd heard about from my brother-in-law in England. He and his wife had walked out of it (!) I didn't walk out, but I must say that the last twenty minutes of so are just so frenetic that all the subtle humour that's gone before is outweighed by noise and chaos and a try-hard approach that doesn't quite work. Simon Pegg does a great job in the main role, and he's surrounded by a bunch of well-known British actors, several of whom come to very unpleasant ends. In fact, the black humour is too grisly for my taste. The scene where the reporter has a piece of the church tower fall on his head is sickening rather than funny in any way.
But I think the piece falls over by trying to make itself into some clever murder mystery, when it's really a spoof for the first hour or more. And it's not helped by schoolboy use of dirty words; these just take away from the real humour.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Oneillrentals
I mentioned the Go Dunedin website some time ago, in particular the way it always looks to me like God Dunedin.
While sitting behind a van today, waiting for the lights to change, I noticed that it was called O'Neill Rentals. Down the bottom of the back door was the website: oneillrentals.co.nz.
Because of the spelling of O'Neill, my eye read this as: one ill rentals. A fellow traveller in the car said: this rental has a leaky valve, this one has no exhaust pipe, and so on. I'm sure O'Neill Rentals are fine....don't be put off by my misreading of their website name in any way whatsoever!
While sitting behind a van today, waiting for the lights to change, I noticed that it was called O'Neill Rentals. Down the bottom of the back door was the website: oneillrentals.co.nz.
Because of the spelling of O'Neill, my eye read this as: one ill rentals. A fellow traveller in the car said: this rental has a leaky valve, this one has no exhaust pipe, and so on. I'm sure O'Neill Rentals are fine....don't be put off by my misreading of their website name in any way whatsoever!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The Bucket List
Watched The Bucket List tonight (the list you make before you kick the bucket, that is). Without Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman it would probably have been pretty low-key. There are some good lines, and the lines that aren’t so hot still get quality treatment because these two guys know how to put across anything and everything. And it's good to see Nicholson doing some dead-pan comedy again.
The story’s not exactly suspense-filled, but it’s enjoyable enough to watch. Two veteran actors of this calibre are always worth watching. They give life to anything.
Spoiler: It’s a bit odd that Morgan Freeman tells the story, since he dies before Nicholson, and yet tells us about the latter’s death. Writer’s license maybe, but not one that stands up to too much scrutiny.
The story’s not exactly suspense-filled, but it’s enjoyable enough to watch. Two veteran actors of this calibre are always worth watching. They give life to anything.
Spoiler: It’s a bit odd that Morgan Freeman tells the story, since he dies before Nicholson, and yet tells us about the latter’s death. Writer’s license maybe, but not one that stands up to too much scrutiny.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Postmodern means....?
At work I often read The Tall Skinny Kiwi blog, and recently he referred back to an older post from Dec 5th, 2003 (which is practically in the primeval times of blogging) in which he looked at the word/idea/concept of 'postmodernism' with The Princess Bride in mind.
It begins like this:
Postmodernism. I do not think it means what people think it means. This is the topic of Brian MacLaren's response to Charles Colson's latest attempt to dismiss the word "postmodern".
His response is gentle and polite. One might have expected more reaction. There could have been the swishing of swords or, at the very least, a strong cautionary warning like, “I would not say such things if I were you”. Or, even harsher, “You killed my favourite word. Prepare to dialogue.”
So much for 'Bright'
In the March 2008 Investigate magazine, Ian Wishart reviews a book called, The Irrational Atheist, by Vox Day, a Mensa member and columnist for WorldNetDaily (not a site I'm familiar with, and one that seems to have its fair share of ranters).
Anyway, Vox Day (a bloke, for those who didn't guess) has written a searing indictment of the New Atheists, particularly Dawkins, Hitchens and Sam Harris. Perhaps the most interesting comment quoted in the review is this:
There is even evidence to suggest that in some cases...atheism may be little more than a mental disorder taking the form of a literal autism. On one of the more popular atheist internet sites, the average self-reported result on an Asperger Quotient test was 27.9. The threshold for this syndrome, described as 'autistic psychopathy' by its discoverer, Dr Hans Asperger, is 32, whereas the average normal individual scores 16.5.
Wishart comments that: Sam Harris doesn't make it out of the book alive, Dawkins is touch and go and Hitchens is left reeling by the end.
And in case you think Wishart is a bit of a ranter himself (as he can be), check out the New Oxford Review on the book: ...columnist Vox Day uses logic and facts (not theology) to refute the "unholy trinity" of Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens.
and
Perhaps the most engaging chapters in this book are those about war. The high-church atheists assert that religion causes war, but Day proves otherwise. He shows that over the past 232 years, 671,070 American soldiers have died in 17 wars, of which only one-half of one percent can reasonably be attributed to religion. This amounts to the deaths of 14 soldiers per year. Turning next to the Encyclopedia of Wars compiled by C. Phillips and A. Axelrod, Day examines 1,763 wars fought from 2325 B.C. to modern times. Of these wars, only 123 can reasonably be attributed to religion -- 6.92 percent of those recorded. Since half of these religious wars were waged by Muslims, this means that, apart from Islam, the world's religions are responsible for only 3.35 percent of all wars. "The historical evidence is conclusive," Day concludes. "Religion is not a primary cause of war."
There's a good deal more, but it's better to read the lengthy review for yourself. It's by
Anne Barbeau Gardiner, Professor Emerita of English at John Jay College of the City University of New York.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Murder on a Midsummer Night
This book is a Phryne Fisher mystery, written by Kerry Greenwood
I began to read an earlier Phryne Fisher mystery a few years ago, but between dealing with the main character’s name and an atmosphere that reeked of the knowing the right thing to eat and the right thing to drink, I didn’t get very far.
However, Phryne Fisher is more charming than her name (though no easier to spell than Dalgliesh), her taste in everything that smacks of money is up with the best, and her creator has a nice line in wit and humour. This last undercuts the otherwise hothouse atmosphere of a world in which nearly everyone has plenty of money, and those that
don’t speak funny. So I gave her a second try.
In this, Fisher’s 17th outing, she solves two mysteries at once, one to do with a ‘lost’ child, and the other the murder of a young antique dealer. Neither mystery is quite up to the mark of an Agatha Christie, but the details are interesting enough, and the journey towards solving them has plenty of curiosities and side-turns along the way.
If you like mysteries that don’t tax the brain too much, this will do nicely.
I began to read an earlier Phryne Fisher mystery a few years ago, but between dealing with the main character’s name and an atmosphere that reeked of the knowing the right thing to eat and the right thing to drink, I didn’t get very far.
However, Phryne Fisher is more charming than her name (though no easier to spell than Dalgliesh), her taste in everything that smacks of money is up with the best, and her creator has a nice line in wit and humour. This last undercuts the otherwise hothouse atmosphere of a world in which nearly everyone has plenty of money, and those that
don’t speak funny. So I gave her a second try.In this, Fisher’s 17th outing, she solves two mysteries at once, one to do with a ‘lost’ child, and the other the murder of a young antique dealer. Neither mystery is quite up to the mark of an Agatha Christie, but the details are interesting enough, and the journey towards solving them has plenty of curiosities and side-turns along the way.
If you like mysteries that don’t tax the brain too much, this will do nicely.
The Private Patient
Just finished reading The Private Patient (an Adam Dalgliesh mystery) by P D James.
The pervading tone of this latest James’ mystery is Gloom. It’s a while since I read any of her other books (The Murder Room was the last, I think), but I can’t recall there being previously quite such a bleak atmosphere. It’s as if with her exalted age (going on 90) she feels that not only is everything going to the dogs (as one of her characters also feels) but that there isn’t much that’s good in the world. We’re constantly reminded, for instance, whilst in the beautiful Dorset countryside, that small animals are being killed by larger.
Dalgliesh(he of the easily misspelt name) eventually gets married in this one, but there’s little sense of joy about the approaching marriage. Or rather, though James tells us that he experiences joy, as a reader I didn’t feel he did.
And there’s virtually no humour to leaven the gloom; the characters almost all have a kind of dourness about them, or an ugliness. Even the attractive young man, Robin Boyton, is regarded by his friend, Rhoda Gradwyn, as typical of people on whom beauty is wasted, because, in her experience, such people are often mundane, ignorant or stupid. He isn’t, but James gives the impression that he might as well be.
For some reason, James gives us Gradwyn's 'exit signs' in the first paragraph - we know she's going to be the murder victim from the outset, which seems to undermine any suspense.
The plot is convoluted in a typical Jamesian way, almost to the extent that I gave up trying to figure out who did what (let alone whodunit). By the time I’d finished I was still rather puzzled about the murderer’s motives, and what half the other people had to do with it all.
James is a stylish writer, but few of the characters in this book seem to breathe real life. Two or three of those in minor roles briefly give things a lift, (particularly Mrs Skeffington) but the bulk of the main characters talk in such well-ordered language that you strain to think of any real person who’s quite so articulate. (The supposedly 'comic' character, Mogworthy - "Nobody can be called Mogworthy" complains Gradwyn - is as dull as ditchwater.)
Along with Dalgliesh and his bride, another couple gets married at the end. This couple ties the knot without having given the slightest hint throughout the rest of the book of being in the least bit interested in each other.
I know how they felt.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Second Hand Wedding
The movie we saw at home (see the previous post) was Second Hand Wedding, a NZ film with Geraldine Brophy in the lead. It stands or falls on her skills, basically, as she’s the focus of a good deal of it. And she does a great job. Her acting is full of subtlety and humour, and pathos in the scenes where she faces how her daughter truly sees her.
The story is simple. Brophy plays a woman (almost) obsessed with garage sales. But she’s crafty and clever and knows how to strike a bargain, as well as knowing what’s worth getting. Her house is chocker with acquired goods, and somehow she and her ever-patient and retired husband manage to live peacefully in the midst of it all. Her daughter gets engaged, but doesn’t want to tell her mother because she thinks the latter will take over the wedding and bring all her specifically-acquired bargains along with her. There are a couple of minor subplots, but the story sticks to a pretty straightforward telling of events, and does it well.
Ryan O’Kane (whose face is very familiar, but I can’t see why, since the only thing I might recognise him from is Out of the Blue, the film about the Aramoana mass murder) and Holly Shanahan make a pleasant young couple; Patrick Rose, who’s been in a host of NZ films and TV, plays the long-suffering husband, and there are various other familiar faces amongst the cast, including Ray Henwood.
The film is set in Wellington's Kapiti Coast apparently (I'd thought it was Auckland!) and nicely shot amongst the persimmon trees and the rata and all the other typical suburban foliage. Fun viewing.
You can watch a scene from the film on Flicks.co.nz
Young at Heart
Saw two movies in a row over the weekend, one in the theatre at the Rialto and one as a DVD at home. In fact, both of them were DVDs, as the smaller cinemas at the Rialto basically show their movies off DVDs onto a screen. Bit of a cheek really, charging you full price for that!
Anyway, that aside, the one we saw at the Rialto was Young at Heart. I’ve just been on the Net looking to see if I could find some background info about the choir that features in the movie, and there’s obviously quite a bit at the FoxSearchlight site – if I can dig my way through all the links. Might leave it till later since there are reviews and videos galore, with the choir hiving hither and yon, including, no doubt, going to places like Las Vegas (although I couldn’t see that when I searched).
The movie: it’s kind of a rough grainy doco, with a sometimes wavering camera (to make sure you know it’s being taken ‘live’ no doubt) but it would almost not matter what the director and cameraman did, these old folk take over the screen time after time. From the first full-in-your-face song to the poignancy of the last moments, when we learn that the same singer who opened the show has died since the making of the movie, this is a life-empowering, soul-engaging heck of a film. Not because it’s particularly well-made (though it probably hides its craft more
skilfully than we realise) but because the people in it are just so endearingly alive. Mostly in their eighties, and full of aches and pains and all sorts of chronic illnesses, they come utterly alive when they start performing for an audience. There’s no holding them back. And some are so keen they’ll get up off their sickbed, practically, in order to make it to the show.
Only a few of them can actually sing particularly well – but it isn’t the professionalism of the singing that’s of interest here. These people sing from the heart, and communicate life to their audiences. The sense of spirit within their singing is so strong that they reduce young men a quarter their age to tears in the concert they do in a prison. And wondrously, that scene avoids all the worst things non-Americans dislike about Americans; for once there’s no performing for the camera by the prisoners. They’re engrossed in the singing to the extent that what they’re thinking and feeling is written all over their faces. I found this to be one of the most moving parts of the film.
The two deaths in the film are wrenching as well; two wonderful characters just don’t manage to make the final concert, two guys as different as possible but both with an enormous strength and a willingness to put their lives on the line to try and get through their illnesses. It must have been tough on the Bob Cilman, the choir’s director over the 25 or so years he’s been running it, to see one after another of his people die on him, often in difficult circumstances. Hard-nosed as he sometimes seems when working with the choir, he’s a softie at heart, and must have had his heart broken a number of times.
But the sadness is alleviated time after time with the wonderful humour, the kind of humour only people who’ve been through eighty years of life and grief can summon up. In scene after scene one of the ‘cast’ will drop a complete non sequiter into the conversation, leaving us laughing, or offer a throwaway line that beats anything the average comedian can do.
I’d love to see it again, even knowing that some of the cast don’t make it. They affirm life to such a degree that they make you realise that while growing old might make you look like that least attractive creature on earth, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
Anyway, that aside, the one we saw at the Rialto was Young at Heart. I’ve just been on the Net looking to see if I could find some background info about the choir that features in the movie, and there’s obviously quite a bit at the FoxSearchlight site – if I can dig my way through all the links. Might leave it till later since there are reviews and videos galore, with the choir hiving hither and yon, including, no doubt, going to places like Las Vegas (although I couldn’t see that when I searched).
The movie: it’s kind of a rough grainy doco, with a sometimes wavering camera (to make sure you know it’s being taken ‘live’ no doubt) but it would almost not matter what the director and cameraman did, these old folk take over the screen time after time. From the first full-in-your-face song to the poignancy of the last moments, when we learn that the same singer who opened the show has died since the making of the movie, this is a life-empowering, soul-engaging heck of a film. Not because it’s particularly well-made (though it probably hides its craft more
skilfully than we realise) but because the people in it are just so endearingly alive. Mostly in their eighties, and full of aches and pains and all sorts of chronic illnesses, they come utterly alive when they start performing for an audience. There’s no holding them back. And some are so keen they’ll get up off their sickbed, practically, in order to make it to the show. Only a few of them can actually sing particularly well – but it isn’t the professionalism of the singing that’s of interest here. These people sing from the heart, and communicate life to their audiences. The sense of spirit within their singing is so strong that they reduce young men a quarter their age to tears in the concert they do in a prison. And wondrously, that scene avoids all the worst things non-Americans dislike about Americans; for once there’s no performing for the camera by the prisoners. They’re engrossed in the singing to the extent that what they’re thinking and feeling is written all over their faces. I found this to be one of the most moving parts of the film.
The two deaths in the film are wrenching as well; two wonderful characters just don’t manage to make the final concert, two guys as different as possible but both with an enormous strength and a willingness to put their lives on the line to try and get through their illnesses. It must have been tough on the Bob Cilman, the choir’s director over the 25 or so years he’s been running it, to see one after another of his people die on him, often in difficult circumstances. Hard-nosed as he sometimes seems when working with the choir, he’s a softie at heart, and must have had his heart broken a number of times.
But the sadness is alleviated time after time with the wonderful humour, the kind of humour only people who’ve been through eighty years of life and grief can summon up. In scene after scene one of the ‘cast’ will drop a complete non sequiter into the conversation, leaving us laughing, or offer a throwaway line that beats anything the average comedian can do.
I’d love to see it again, even knowing that some of the cast don’t make it. They affirm life to such a degree that they make you realise that while growing old might make you look like that least attractive creature on earth, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Diet pills
The only time I come across a crowd called ConsumerPriceWatch.net is in relation to diet pills. You’d think with a name like that they’d be more general in their interest – or perhaps would be giving more focus to the consumer than the diet pill. But their subtitle is Source of Unbiased Diet Pill Reviews for Consumers!
Notice the exclamation mark.
Currently you’ll find they’re ‘reviewing’ Relacore. Interestingly enough, they actually don’t give it a rave review. I don’t know whether there are other Relacore reviews on the Net – I haven’t looked because diet pills don’t greatly excite me as a subject – but I suspect, if there are, they’re a little more positive than this!
Actually, having said that, I thought I’d check a little further, and in doing so find another site with a very similar name to ConsumerPriceWatch.net: consumerdietreview.com. plainly reviewing diet pills is big business (though not necessarily for the makers of the pills in question).
The scariest thing is just how many weight loss pills there are out there. The first of these two sites lists dozens. And the scarier thing is that none of them really seem to work. At least not for long. As soon as people go back to normal eating, the pills might as well not have done anything.
In the end these things may have a use in bringing weight down far enough to get the person back on their feet in terms of exercise and healthier eating. It’s the discipline required to go beyond that that’s the measure.
One of the scariest things I’ve seen on TV recently – sorry to keep using the word ‘scary’ – was in yet another one of the endless round of obesity programmes we’re being inflicted with. A grandfather had his stomach stapled, after he and his family had spent years eating junk food. He was pretty much at death’s door, couldn’t get himself around, and was in a vile state.
The scary thing was that when he got home, his family – teenagers and older kids – were all still eating junk food, and one of the teenage mothers was giving her baby pure unadulterated junk food.
Notice the exclamation mark.
Currently you’ll find they’re ‘reviewing’ Relacore. Interestingly enough, they actually don’t give it a rave review. I don’t know whether there are other Relacore reviews on the Net – I haven’t looked because diet pills don’t greatly excite me as a subject – but I suspect, if there are, they’re a little more positive than this!
Actually, having said that, I thought I’d check a little further, and in doing so find another site with a very similar name to ConsumerPriceWatch.net: consumerdietreview.com. plainly reviewing diet pills is big business (though not necessarily for the makers of the pills in question).
The scariest thing is just how many weight loss pills there are out there. The first of these two sites lists dozens. And the scarier thing is that none of them really seem to work. At least not for long. As soon as people go back to normal eating, the pills might as well not have done anything.
In the end these things may have a use in bringing weight down far enough to get the person back on their feet in terms of exercise and healthier eating. It’s the discipline required to go beyond that that’s the measure.
One of the scariest things I’ve seen on TV recently – sorry to keep using the word ‘scary’ – was in yet another one of the endless round of obesity programmes we’re being inflicted with. A grandfather had his stomach stapled, after he and his family had spent years eating junk food. He was pretty much at death’s door, couldn’t get himself around, and was in a vile state.
The scary thing was that when he got home, his family – teenagers and older kids – were all still eating junk food, and one of the teenage mothers was giving her baby pure unadulterated junk food.
School of Rock
Caught up with The School of Rock on telly last night, and wished I'd recorded it. It turned out not to be in the least bit offensive, unless you regard rock 'n' roll as offensive in itself - as plainly some of the parents of children at this uptight school do. It's probably a fairly conventional story - oddball teacher (in this case he's not a teacher at all) takes hold of a straight-laced class and turns them into human beings - and it's been done umpteen times. The difference here is Jack Black, who's never been an actor I was much endeared to. In this movie, however, he's so alive and so hilarious with it, and such a screwball with a passion that you can't help but love him. (Both the character and Black's playing of him.) Black fills each scene with such manic energy that it's a wonder he doesn't explode. He's absolutely crazy, but manages a bit of responsibility when necessary. He's certainly more alive than his boring flatmate - and the boring flatmate's even more boring girlfriend who accuses everyone else around of manipulating when she's the one actually doing it.Joan Cusack is a classic match for Black's antic personality. She seems all together, but just every so often some weird look comes into her eyes, and you know there's another maniac just waiting to break out. She never quite gets the chance to do it, even though she's primed a little with some beer in one scene, and later on meets a rock bandsman with a brain as speedy as a snail's, and almost seems to be about to leap all over his superb body (which he invitingly keeps on touching!).
There isn't a member of the cast who puts a foot wrong: the kids are great, the parents have their own manic style (the moment when it's announced that their teacher is a fraud is wonderful, as they all melt into: there's an axe murderer teaching our children), and the various rock band players are as dopey as they come - but endearing.
Mike White wrote the script, and plays the slow-witted flat mate. Brilliantly.
I loved it.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Signature line...
A lot of people put interesting things in their signature at the bottom of emails. However, Family First, the New Zealand group that aims to focus on family issues, has one that takes the cake. (I've copied it with their permission.)
Any mistakes in this email can be put down to professional oversight, hormonal imbalances or the weather. Please overlook any errors, omissions or admissions. If you should not have received this email please return and don't read.
Unless the word absquatulation has been used in its correct context somewhere other than in this warning, it does not have any legal or grammatical use and may be ignored. No animals were harmed in the transmission of this email, although the poodle next door is living on borrowed time, let me tell you! Those of you with an overwhelming fear of the unknown will be gratified to learn that there is no hidden message revealed by reading this backwards, so just ignore that Alert Notice from Microsoft.
However, by pouring a complete circle of salt around yourself and your computer you can ensure that no harm befalls you and your pets. If you have received this email in error, please add some nutmeg and egg whites, whisk, and place in a warm oven for 40 minutes.Monday, November 03, 2008
Songs finished
Yesterday, amongst other things, I finished the set of eight songs to words by Peter Olds. I've been working on these since April, so it's good to have them done. I had a particular singer in mind when I wrote them, but I get the feeling she's not interested in doing them, as I've had no responses either to an email I sent a while back or to a note on Facebook. Might have to find someone else!
I've been writing music this year with the intention of doing another concert, as I've no doubt mentioned previously, and was pleasantly surprised to discover over the last couple of days that
I had several other songs that would be suitable. I'd written three children's songs back in 2000 that have never been performed, as far as I know, plus a song that did get one performance in 2006; another that was written at the same time, that didn't get any performance - at least I've never heard that it did, and two other songs to the same set of words. These were written for a couple who wanted to be able to sing a poem they enjoyed reciting to their toddler at that time. I wrote a slow version and a fast one. What's happened to them since, I don't know.
Anyway, with those six songs, the eight Peter Olds ones, the four piano pieces, another song called The Cockerel and the waltz I wrote for my wife, I've got a fair amount of material for a concert. Might need to have a few other things - perhaps an instrumental piece - to round the thing out and give a bit of variety. I have been writing instrumental music - suite for Brass Band, and a string quartet, and a suite for cor anglais and strings, but I can't see any of these getting performed in a rush. What I need is an impresario to look after my 'marketing'. It's something I'm not good at.
The fancy-looking cockerel was photographed by SteveB
I've been writing music this year with the intention of doing another concert, as I've no doubt mentioned previously, and was pleasantly surprised to discover over the last couple of days that
I had several other songs that would be suitable. I'd written three children's songs back in 2000 that have never been performed, as far as I know, plus a song that did get one performance in 2006; another that was written at the same time, that didn't get any performance - at least I've never heard that it did, and two other songs to the same set of words. These were written for a couple who wanted to be able to sing a poem they enjoyed reciting to their toddler at that time. I wrote a slow version and a fast one. What's happened to them since, I don't know.Anyway, with those six songs, the eight Peter Olds ones, the four piano pieces, another song called The Cockerel and the waltz I wrote for my wife, I've got a fair amount of material for a concert. Might need to have a few other things - perhaps an instrumental piece - to round the thing out and give a bit of variety. I have been writing instrumental music - suite for Brass Band, and a string quartet, and a suite for cor anglais and strings, but I can't see any of these getting performed in a rush. What I need is an impresario to look after my 'marketing'. It's something I'm not good at.
The fancy-looking cockerel was photographed by SteveB
Saturday, November 01, 2008
The Clearing
Just watched The Clearing, with Robert Redford, Helen Mirren and Willem Dafoe. Superb cast; not so superb a movie. It's a bit slow for its own good, and even though a lot of it is character-based, the writing isn't sharp enough to make the characters interesting. All three do excellent and subtle work with what they have, but it's not quite enough. Only Mirren makes the thing work; without her it would be altogether a dud. The lack of depth in the characters is most evident in the two adult children who appear: Alessandro Nivola and Melissa Sagemiller struggle to find anything to work with, and none of their scenes actually give them any reason to be in the movie at all.The time-shifting is clever, and works. The photography is excellent - even allowing us to see every chink and crevice in Redford's aging face. He was 68 when the movie came out, and he looks it. It's almost as if the moviemakers decided for once not to pretend that he was anything but the age he is, which makes it a bit odd that he's still going off to work each day. (For the record, Mirren was 59 at the time, and Dafoe, the baby, was only 49.)
In the end the thing is disappointing. You're hoping for some denouement. It never quite comes, and it's almost as if the movie hasn't made up its mind whether it's a clever psychological thriller or a love story. It seems to opt for the latter in the end, leaving the thriller out in the cold.
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