By Way of Introduction

I've always been told it's polite to introduce yourself when meeting for the first time, so a hearty welcome to anyone stopping by GEEK MONKEY for the first time.  My name is Chris, and for over three years I ran a blog called Whiskey for the Monkey.  It was a little nest tucked away in some far corner on the Web where I could write about whatever struck my fancy.  Great times were had, but my restless heart did wander, and a change of scene was in order.  So here I am.

But why?  A few months ago the always excellent House Next Door posted a link that led to this article, in which Girish Shambu ruminates over the events and reasons that led to his entry into the blogosphere. Reading it served as a reminder for me to take a step back and look at why I do this.

When I first started Whiskey for the Monkey I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. My exact words, from June 2005:

"Haven't come up with a purpose for this thing at all. It just seems like lately there's so much turbulence (eventually I'll get away from all these hokey literary devices) in my life I feel like there's no time for anything. Even when I take the time to do something to get my mind off of everything - read a book, watch a movie, engage in, well, activities with the missus - there's always something I feel I'm ignoring, something begging for release. So I figure I can use one of these things to blow off some steam, maybe find out what things I need to change to make life a little nicer."

So why do I blog? I suppose for two reasons that work together as polar opposites: to get closer to some things, and to distance myself from others. Blogging has allowed me to examine and solidify thoughts, beliefs, and issues that have nagged me to the point of frustration. It's allowed me to track some of the most difficult and rewarding moments in my life, and at the same time give me some distance from those things that were in danger of becoming too overwhelming. It's introduced me to a host of incredible writers who in many instances turned out to be incredible people and who, although I may never meet or even really know, affected me for the better and continue to inspire me to chase, rope, and wrangle the things I'm interested in writing about.

I think every once in a while we need to answer the question of why we do this: for me there's a definite danger of running on autopilot, and simply writing to put something down was never my goal in keeping a blog.

So there you go.  Once again welcome to GEEK MONKEY.  I hope you come back often, comment on the things that interest you, and don't take too much heed of the thousands of the different directions I'm liable to travel.  It'll be a fun time.

Phantasm (1979)

* This was actually written last October on another site but for some reason never appeared here.  So consider it "one from the vault."

He already had a couple of low-budget films under his belt, but Don Cascarelli's real splash came with his 1979 wacked-out trip of a horror film, PHANTASM.  Embracing the spirit of DIY ethics, Coscarelli wrote, directed, photographed, edited and co-produced the film, giving audiences not only a new icon of the genre in the wonderfully menacing Tall Man (played by Angus Scrimm), but also a film that is a flag-bearer for originality and creativity on a minuscule budget.

Most people who haven't seen the film (or its numerous sequels, all helmed by Coscarelli) are most likely familiar with its major instrument of carnage: a flying metallic sphere with wicked little blades that burrow into your brain and funnel out the blood at the mental command of the Tall Man.  But what is the film actually about?  Mike (the young one) and Jody (the older, cooler one) are brothers trying to cope with the death of their parents.  If it sounds like it's already treading into the confines of horror cliche, PHANTASM side-steps it by having the deaths already occur before the movie begins and using it instead to strengthen the sibling relationship between Mike and Jody, making it more genuine in the process.  Mike begin to notice that things aren't as normal as they appear at the local mortuary: for one thing, the manager of the place is able to carry an full casket by himself (in a nice homage to NOSFERATU) with ease.  Events go into Weird Overdrive when evil, hooded dwarfs show up and before you know it Mike, Jody, and their ice-cream truck driving friend Reggie are running for their lives as they become embroiled in a plan to extract the souls of the dead and ship them to an alien world as slavery.

Yes, you read that right.  This mutha goes into Outer Space.

PHANTASM does so many things right, it's hard to know where to begin.  In Jody and Mike we get protagonists we care about, and who from the outset appear to have fully functioning heads on their shoulders.  Jody doesn't immediately believe Mike's assertions about the Tall Man, but when it's time to believe Jody buys in fully, and when he springs into action it's not as a supporting member but as someone fully vested in their survival.

And in Angus Scrimm we have a Tall Man that is both horrible and mysterious.  We never really learn why he does what he does or even the extent of his considerable powers.  Much of the horror simply comes from his presence, whether it's picking up the aforementioned casket by himself:

 Or suddenly appearing behind Mike's bed in a nightmare:

It's this type of thing that makes PHANTASM so fun.  The images and ideas are waaay out there, but executed with enthusiasm and care.  The fact that it looks a little cheap add to the charm: what Coscarelli lacked in funds he makes up for in imagination and arresting visuals.  The set direction is inspired - the interior of the mortuary is a surreal nightmare, all marbled black and white to make the inevitable spilling of blood that much more vibrant.  The ending is somewhat twisty, but maybe because we're talking about a movie that's close to 30 years old it feels right considering what it is.

I've often criticized other movies for putting in incredible images that serve no purpose to the story.  In PHANTASM the images are of the same caliber, but they serve a story that's just as fantastic.  If you haven't seen it, you won't know what to expect going in and, in this day and age, that's a good thing.  It's a horror movie perfectly suited for the kid who's too young to get into a horror movie: young heroes, lots of blood, a sprinkling of T&A - pretty much everything you can ask for when you're a 13 year-old who loves staying up late reading Stephen King and watching Twilight Zone re-runs.  A perfect midnight movie to see with a bunchg of friends.

Flickr: A New National Anthem?

My first exposure to Jonathan Coulton came via the Revenge of the Book Eaters charity event (reviewed here), where he was the "strolling minstrel" for John Hodgman and Dave Eggars. Then it was the hilarious song "Still Alive" sung by the mad computer in the game Portal.

But the thing that pushed me over the edge of "like" into the glowing chocolate hippie dance of "love" is the genius that is the song and accompanying video "Flickr." I first heard the song on a Radio Free Burrito podcast dedicated to Coulton courtesy of Wil Wheaton. Yes it's a bit silly, but it's done with such obvious affection that I actually get a little choked up when I hear it. And when you think about it, it does manage to capture modern America in a good-natured, ribbing sort of way.

My nomination for our new national anthem is below. I also highly recommend checking out the Radio Free Burrito podcast - there are a couple more great Coulton songs, and some fun Wheaton commentary to boot.
 

Book #33: One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

The debut novel by Nobel Laureate Alexander Solzhenitsen, who passed away last week, is a masterful work for both its contents as well as the circumstances surrounding it. Published in 1962, when the truth of life in the Stalinist work camps was a secret both inside and out side the Soviet Union, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is exactly what its title implies: a typical day, no more and no less, for a prisoner interned in one of Stalin's "special camps" - those camps dedicated to enemies of the state.

 The wonder of the novel lies in a repeated thought throughout the day (and unfortunately I'm paraphrasing because I've poured through twice and can't find the original quote): "not even our minds are free." As we trace Denisovich's day getting up, cleaning the guardhouse, building a wall and coming back to the barracks in the evening, his thoughts are always in the moment, always trying to survive not the next day, but the next hour, the next minute. There's simply no time to do anything else and live when the temperatures drop below -17 degrees and taking a single step out of formation ("form fives" is a nasty refrain through the novel) means getting shot. Solzhenitsyn builds tension from small indiscretions - sewing a couple ounces of bread inside his mattress, hiding the one good trowel in a different spot every day to make his efforts a little easier, hiding a small hacksaw blade in a gloved mitten. Every time you think something bad is about to happen, it doesn't - Solzhenitsyn knows there's no need to ply on unnecessary melodrama when just the description of a "normal" day is enough.

 As great as One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is, its fame is helped in no small measure by what it accomplished in the world. Serving eight years in a camp very similar to what he describes in the book (for allegedly making derogatory remarks about Stalin), Solzhenitsyn not only opened a dark chapter of Soviet history to the public, but as a record of what it takes to survive under gargantuan oppression.

Book #32: When You Are Engulfed in Flames

It was about 120 pages into When You Are Engulfed in Flames, the sixth volume of autobiographical essays by David Sedaris that I came to a sad realization. This realization occurred without the use of narcotics or alcohol, and was not due to lack of sleep, stress, or anything that might warrant any type of re-evaluation.

Sadly, I'm just not all that into David Sedaris.

I don't mean as a person; although there are several instances in ...Engulfed in Flames where Sedaris is (admittedly to his a credit) a bit of a prick, overall he comes across as a pleasant enough fellow. His observations about the way we communicate, our commonalities and our differences, are all carefully observed, witty, and full of that quirk that's a staple of This American Life specifically and NPR in general, two things I enjoy very much.

But after 120 pages I felt like I got it. I understood where Sedaris was going, how it would end, and although each essay differed in content, it's all essentially the same. It's something I can read and say "okay, that was fine, what's next?" But after a while "next" turns out to be much of the same: interesting story seemingly unrelated to anything until a nugget of wisdom in the concluding paragraph ties it together and while there's nothing wrong with it per se, I was never left eager to jump into the next story. This is basically the same issue I had with Naked, the only other Sedaris book I've read.

Why is it sad? It's sad because my brain tells me I should like this type of thing. And maybe in a live environment this would go over a lot better - many of the pieces seem better suited to live readings, something I've heard Sedaris is excellent at. But alas, I have only the book and the heart and the mind do no always come together, and When You Are Engulfed in Flame left me not engulfed, merely singed.