Closer......(????)

Like the butterfly I am primed to sprout gossamer wings or perhaps a faux gossamer, i don't care. Just some gainful employment please, something remotely redeeming. Well I got a call from a temp agency (I wonder if they're reading this...did I send the link?) My resume is'nt world toppling I know, but it is the hope of this blog to perhaps put forth the notion that I'm an interesting person to have around, someone to confide in perhaps, who confides in the e-public. It's all cathartic. Anyway, the woman inquired why I left the NY area which took me aback, not literally a bit. Alas, the lass was from LI hoiself it seems. Oy vot a small woild it izz.
Kudos to Carole (mom) and Owen (NB) BTW for the appropo "holiday card" with Rabbi and Slummin' Santa sayin' simply
OY! Keep those cards and letters comin' and keep reachin' for the stars. Kudos to Casey Kasem too. She just wasn't right for you. Follow your dreams, you can reach your goals, I'm living proof. Who said that? Ummm...Eric Cartman I believe. Cool.

Wonka was Wack, sorry Charlie!

My main beef right off the bat is this___________
___________________
You know what that is? That's dead space, dead frickin' air. Fill in the blank. You have producers who pay
the director to pay actors to ACT!
Now I am on this planet, always have lived in a major city, so I know what irony is. Irony is everywhere, as suburban attitudes affect the inner city mentality as well, we all have to live somewhere. Most suburbanites cannot picture living in town to the point that they think people that do are weird, how they could not picture having a 2 car garage, and 2.5 cars to fill it with. What am trying to establish is the analogy between weird and ironic.
But never mind the whys of why this film is bad. Lets get into the particulars, as yes you must compare it to the 1971 version. It's the same story, the same characters, some of the same dialogue. The overall feel of this film experience is flat and joyless with a hint of perverse smarm. How many times can you put up a lame piece of dialogue for the very talented and charismatic Johnny Depp to read and you get a Milk Dud back and more actors stare back in hipster amazement? These actors, their talent not withstanding do doubt auditioned hard and spent hours in the makeup chair, only to shine for a very brief moment when they get to express their characters'...motivation (?@)
But the focus is all on Depp and oh what a wonderfully lovable weird character he's supposed to be. Well, lovable only in Charlie's eyes. Tim Burton is a pretty weird looking guy himself, does he think it's funny when people stare at hi whenever he says something? What if an AD stared at him like a Klingon when asked to adjust a light or get him coffee? He's be fired! The only reasoning for this logic could be the typical projection that goes on between a director and his favorite actor, who represents an idealized version of the director himself. It worked for Orson Welles and...Orson Welles, it worked for Hitchcock and Cary Grant, though the dissimilarity is most apparent, it worked for David Cronenberg and every skinny white Canadian he's ever worked with. Maybe it's to poke fun at himself, for directors surely need that. To quote Francis Coppola "I think the film director is one of the last truly dictatorial positions in society today". And thus it's those guys who truly have tasted success that go on to make films that are truly out of touch with their audience. Maybe you just want to please the mall audiences that will chew and chuck their popcorn and mimic their annoying mirror images on screen ala Mike Teavee and Violet Beauregarde. But I am a film fan and intellectual who writes long rambling online reviews....someone kill me!......and I've seen the original and it's great and want this movie to be good, or at least worthwhile...watchable...anything....

What a waste of time and resources. for every second of irony-stupefecated silence gawking at WW is time that could have been spent exploring the individual characters. Not that I needed to see more about their lives, but they're on the tour, give em a shot to say something witty, something original for Chrissakes. The whole mumbling bit, repeated by Wonka to Teavee is just hostile. The makeup of Violet B. and her mom is is the only improvement from the original I think. Between her and Teavee you truly get an illustration of what the suburbs produce, hackers and fitness gurus, TV junkies and snipey Caucasians. Veruca Salt this time, is ultimately played with some subtlety, but I preferred the manic unrelenting sledgehammer that was the original girl. A rare role for the great James Fox (see Performance, peole!) goes largely wasted, as Mr. Salt, for all secondary roles are relegated to gawking and sighing in resignation. "Am I the only sane person here?" he thinks. Augustus Gloop is just a joyless,unfortunate and scary sight. You at least feel good for him in the end as he walks out saying he tastes good. At least he has some self-esteem.
The irony spreads, even to Charlie Bucket's family. Kudos to the set designers for making their abode incredibly crappy, that works. The relatives in bed are given some catch-phrases to work with, but they too are not immune to gawking with impunity as the candy-crazed drama plays out. Charlie's parents are the only ones who have an excuse not to overact, or what passes for emoting here. They simply work hard and are too tired for active parenting. BTW it's a surprise to see Helena Bonham Carter here, due to her propensity for breaking up her directors marriages including Burton and Lisa Marie.
Yo...how does that happen?
and Yo....where's Charlie's paper route?
And yo....who blew the budget so wide open they could only afford one Oompah Loompah and simply CG'd the rest. Again, another example of this version's lack of soul.

Now Johnny Depp. He's a fine actor, he's right for the part, but not everything he's capable of can turn around a bad script and a director in a slump. Oh why do directors give in to ironic staring and DADDY COMPLEXES! Every damn movie I see has the main charactor fighting through endless melancholy from a bad relationship with their father. Actually this one is well realized, the whole thing with Dad Denist Christopher Lee, always welcome, a Burton stalwart. But to have this infect Willy Wonka, in the current context of Michael Jackson-isms lingering too near the surface and too near the children, it's just too damn creepy to even go there.
All in all with the extra details chucked in, it's all tied together rather quickly at the end. You know the Bucket's integrity will never be questioned so you don't need the Fizzy Lifting Drink episode. So the weird Wonka and the bewildered Bucket are in business together. I give 'em 10 years before Charlie wises up, has Wonka committed to an asylum and sells his stock in the company to Mr. Salt. It's just business.

End of year musical assessment

GG says "Have a happy F*&^N New Year....and BITE IT!!"


Well I can't say it's been a big year gig-wise for me. So far in DC I have been to a Capitals hockey game, that sure beats the Knitting factory, I'd imagine.

Early this year I went to Galapagos for the 1st time and saw Sabir Mateen with William Parker's Little huey Orchestra.
I thought it all a bit fancy a play for them, but appropriate. Parker's arrangements "concertize" a blowing session, not unlike Europe's Globe Unity Orchestra in the 1970s.
Of course Sabir being in the band, gotta give him room to blow, and several other players took turns soloing over interesting flowing motions of sound.
Following this set, Sabir was enlisted (for paid rehearsals and performance) by some cats I don't wish to remember. Basic rock instrumentation, black sweaters and arrangements lifted from Black Sabbath riffs. Just the derivitave co-opting that makes a gig not worth playing if not for the money, then ask yourself, why i did that?
The last 2 gigs I played in NY were of a mixed original/cover band, Executioners of Excellence. We did 1 good show at Charleston and 1 bad show at Sidewalk, my fault on that one, the cold wreaked havoc on my Tele and my electronic tuner was useless. At least we pulled off 1983...A mermaid I should turn to be with my mandolin.
In DC I've played 1 open mike at Stacatto in Adams Morgan, which is like what Avenue A used to be, AM still is a hot nightspot strip of clubs, most of which I haven't been to. I waited through many groups to crank out my oldies on my classical guitar and I played too long, but sort of enjoyed playing but not the atmosphere.
This summer was more fun doing my Sunday jams in Dupont Circle with some Afro-Cuban percussionists. They let me play very freely on mandolin, flute and percussion. I contrubuted melody and energy and they worked on their chops. This I would not consider 'drum circle". The hippie kids mostly stayed on the other side of the park playing hacky-sack. One time, the guys were working on a complex rhythm when a hippy kid came over and asked to sit in. He meekly pounded a couple of taps and realized he was out of his element. I asked his friend with the guitar to sit in and he said "oh, I don't really play this"
So let's say I have a seasonal gig for now. Craigslist hasn't nested me any consistent play partners. I drove out to Potomac to check out a drummer into ECM stuff. The guy worshipped John Zorn and had all his latest CDs. The dude lived at home, family in the garment biz, rich kid with a whole big suburban house basement for his gear and projection TV. I played all the right noise, but something didn't click with the kid. Oh well.

I did discover Bit-Torrents actually work and have downloaded lots of music to fill up 30Gigs on my iPod, so almost all I can imagine have been on my playlist. Still, I listen to mostly old music but a few guys did break through to me this year.

Roky Erickson- Actually a live video compilation has turned me on quite a bit. His records are a bit under-produced, in my opinion. But most studio stuff kinda bores me. His 1984 performance in a rock amphitheater solo, and with Mike Alvarez on 2nd guitar are great illustrations of his dark, brilliant music.

Richard Thompson- Front Parlour Ballads is just the kind of music I want to perform right now. Just find 1 accompanying player and myself and rip on some subliminally poitical folk songs.

Paul Anka- Rock Swings- Very enjoyable album. The arrangements are pure finger-snappin' Vegas big band jazz. Eyes without a Face is a stand out. Everyone it seems is doing ironic versions of Black Hole Sun. His version is super-slow, I still like the Steve Lawrence/Edye Gorme version more.

Johnny Cash- Forget it! The movie was great, the book I;m reading has me hooked. American Recordings 3 and 4 just blow me away. I didn't know there were 4 of them. He just reinvents the great American Songbook with all the pain and sorrow you can put on tape. Rod Stewart can't come near this, though I haven't heard that album yet, can't say his songs of choice are challenging, typical romantic Rod. Save it for the ladies.

Miles Davis- Complete Jack Johnson Sessions- So much great stuff on here. Love it. More wah wah!

Cro-Mags, DRI (Dirty Rotten Imbeciles) I don't know how these records of my youth got lost. But now that they're in the digital domain they live again and sound fuckin excellent!

Bob Dylan- Uh oh, Scorsese done it. Got me hooked, help!

Elvis Presley- I have to take credit actually for bringing Elvis back into Julie's life. After an unhappy marriage presided over by an Elvis impersonator in Vegas, she hasn't been able to face Bubba with joy in her heart. But now all is well in Memphis.

Say goodbye to:

King Crimson
and Tom Waits

I don't know how, I just feel completely burned out on them. Respectfully, I need a break.

Good luck to:
Girl to Gorilla (formerly The Murkins, hopefully John and his Problems)

and stay tuned, if I ever get IT together, come up with some new songs and let sail with a
new glut of musical activity.

Happy Holidays, New Year, and Birthday, you know who you are!

Dum de dum dum dummm

First I must strongly advise no one to visit the following site:
http://www.cuteoverload.com/
as it might cause you severe loss of cognizant function and render you a drippy heap, leaving you less time and
less able to perform ordinary daily functions. I for one am able to handle it as well as I do most horror films as I have
supreme control over my senses, to rival even the mighty Colossus. It helps to be in this state of mind near the holidays,not having to deal with a whole lot of stress. My shopping has been leisurely, even my trip to the post office was relaxing. Standing in line for an hour, I listened to the famously sloppy 1986 bootleg of Venom at Hammersmith Odeon, makes Hellhammer sound like King Crimson!

Saw the Chronicles of Narnia the other day. Didn't find it at all ostentatios or give me nightmares or anything, not withstanding the far-fetched and fantastical flight flancy it posed. Ah to be young and cute again (see above) The child actors were appropriately cute and ready for war, resillient enough to repel the forces of evil led by the endlessly enigmatic Tilda Swinton. It seems her career is picking up as well, nearly the same character she played in Constantine. BTW if you can find my review in imdb of that film, tell me if I'm not making a good point. 1 out of 15 people so far have thought so. But about Swinton and cute people, I wonder if there was ever a child actor who was cute as hell and grew up to look so weird, in an interesting way, that he'she truly reinvented himself. I don't think it will work for future generations of actors or anyone who ever associated with Michael Jackson, as they are now ruined for life!!!~~~___

Saw the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol. Very good creepy London production.
The Xmas tree still looks nice, presents await, Mezzuzah on the wall, Menorah ready for action.

Rove roast undt Pickler Sandwich.

Rove and Picklers
Originally uploaded by Gary Miles.

We had to grab somebody of import while at the White House Xmas party. Scott McClellan was shy but engaging. So our AP pal Nedra and festive sista Anna (w/ antlers, right) grabbed Rove.The rest is h(er)story.

A very WHITE House Christmas

Alright, it's no big deal, we had diversity...W may be a lot of things, but "Do NOT call me a racist" That was a quote.
Seemed true, on this occasion, my second trip to the White House Xmas party, 1:29 the Bushes must endure like robotic twigs in the underbelly of their abode. Entertaining those he has frustrated and screwed for the past year. Anyway, me and Zhuliee arrive in a sideways freezing rain and enter, soggy-ankled. Meetings, observations, the usual...where's the bar, what's the damage?
Um, 2 bourbon-gingers, 2 spikey noggs, 2 sips of wine. The fare: not salty-enough lox, dry chicken mini-bobs, second-tier crabcakes, assortment of cheeses, cakes, truffs. The Marine corps band played well as always, very expertly, harp and flute downstairs as we lined up for Bush. More spooked was I than last year, my name and beard must have revealed my Jewishness, but I guess W figured I love Sharon, the Jewish John Wayne.
Other highlights will be on the flickrpage.

Other notes, today I bid farewell to The Silver Surfer, also known as Astro Van #2. This signifyeth my broke-ness, and my willingness to abandon paranoia, renounce hustling and entrepreneurism and to only apply for jobs which I am unqualified for, but attainable via my resurrected charm, hence the lack of stress of owning a car, more leg excercise.

Well...OK...let's be honest

It's getting cold out. Just took a brisk walk to the National Archives and back. The Constitution and Bill of Rights look rather faded and funky in that greenish light. If you've seen National Treasure ( I give it a 6.5) you'll know what I'm talking about.
The main focus of their exhibits is the look and nature of how this country was built, i.e. the workers. Oh thanks for reminding me. As toilsome and trudgesome as those old photos look, not a dishonest face in the bunch. Honest, backbreaking, ill-compensated, boil-busting work.

Oop, just got another email for work. Sounds terrific. Work at home, sit around and fill out applications, just like I've been doing already for months now, and get paid directly via Paypal. And all I gotta do is send Tanisha $36 to her Yahoo via paypal account. I wish I could see her face to see if it's honest.

2 days to go before I meet Bush again. Another 8 seconds of ignominity. The circumstances of who I am and what I'm doing there and the swirl around this guy....FBI are you watching? Tell me if you see an honest face. So what if I'm not qualified to lick a stamp for the government. I guess they stopped using glue, probably less addictive and toxic and spreads around filthy DNA causing hysterical pregnancies. By the way is this funny?

Anyway, I'm a party-harty guy, got to rock it once again. Got a nice girlfriend, a lovely tree and a penchant for composition, note the cute dog picture. A perfect metaphor for my existence.

Music NO!! Notes

Still trying to find my niche as ever down here. The other night I went to a monthly series over by GWU. (The Electric Possible) Same specs as my old beloved bunker, Sunday nights at 8, $5, 2 bands, all money goes to the musicians. Now I may seem old school, I want to be a computer geek but I tend to fetishize actual instruments you can hold in your hands, so I'd say that for a time I was into what you'd call FREE JAZZ. That was my main source of gigs from 1992-1999. Around '98 a series called +/- popped up at a place called Bar XVI. It was in the East Village, a hipper bar scene, more beautiful people, occasional strippers performing. I made a friend Fredie Mash aka Mike who had no hair on his body and an Iggy-Pop like penchant for energetic self-destruction. He played a variety of skronky electronics, as did most of the other performers at this series, although it did have it's share of free-jazzers. I could see the writing on the wall.
Within 1 minute of electro-noise exposure I knew i was in for a long evening. My actual lure for the night was a percussionist from NY to perform, but he had a bus accident in Jersey and decided from there to turn around. Uh, surprisingly it was a good crowd, but I had to abandon ship from this noise I declared "Music to go bald by".
So that was Sunday.
I resolve if I'm going to do music anytime soon, it will be of an acoustic variety, due factors, the rules of urban engagement, my favored rig, the headroom. Songs forthcoming!!!

Kudos to Richard Thompson. A friend who's taste I respect had suggested I check him out repeatedly. I go yeah, I know Fairport Convention, they're no King Crimson. But to be honest, I've burnt out on Crimson...and Tom Waits. I've been listening to his new album, Front Parlour Ballds for 2 days repeatedly. I knew he's a great great guitar player, but he puts my mind well in reach of what I want to accomplish as a s/s/g. And dig this, since I've resolved to reworking the news stories into song form, here's the test: Crystalize your story within the context of another and say something fucking profound. Thompson does this in Row, Boys, Row, saying everything that needs be said about the war in Iraq in the verbiage of a sailor's song. How about this chorus:

" Is it wise to be moaning when the captain comes?
Tip your hat and get grinning, though you're worn to the gums.
Is it wise to be needy in the home of the free
Is it wise to be bleeding in a shark filled sea?"

Friday Floaters

So what do you expect me to say, like I sharted? Shat though I am today was not so bad. After 2 days of EXPO-ing at the EXPO Center (Government Video & Technology) at least I made myself known. Within 3 days I feel I've run the gamut of job-hunting from my dream job to simple drudgery, but not necessarily applying for something I've done before. No supermarkets, no fast food joints, no department stores of which I've hated, made me sick, made my blood run cold. Even working phones would keep me occupied, keep my mind alive and not wander.
So I am rewarding myself with beer and wrestling and pulling out my guitar after 2 weeks of estrangement. Huzzah!