Talking Animals

Where are we going? And what are we doing in this hand-basket?

This just in from the "This is what it must've been like to be around during the decline of the Roman Empire" Department...

In short :
A movie ad campaign has normally tolerant/1st Amendmenty artist-types up in arms. And by artists, I don't mean "I build bottlecap unicorns 'cuz they're purty" or "the hostile hues illustrate society's diaphanous cacophony..."

No, these are Hollywood types. You know what I'm talking about : soulless, godless, child-molesting, gay-recruiting, family-destroying, flag-burning, multi-hyphenated traitors-to-the-mareken-way.

You ask : what could have even these folks saying enough?

It's the campaign for the movie "Captivity", which features 4 shots, each "artfully" depicting the following :

One :
- Image : a crying woman with a gloved hand over her mouth
- Headline : CAPTURE (caps are theirs, by the way.)

Two :
- Image : same woman, now in a cage, a bloody hand reaching out from behind the bars
- Headline : CONFINEMENT

Three :
- Image : Now she is battered/bandaged and wearing some kind of mask (ala Saw) with blood-filled tubes coming out of her nose
- Headline : TORTURE

Four :
- Image : woman, now dead, lying on her back, with one of her breasts exposed.
- Headline : TERMINATION

This campaign was posted in NY & LA, on billboards, bus-stops and cabs. A grassroots movement has arisen, seeking to (select one)
a) arrest the film-makers!
b) burn all of the copies of the film!
c) outlaw the movie!

Nope, it's D, none of the above.

The grassrooters are just quietly asking for the MPAA to enforce their own rules - which the film-makers broke when they posted this campaign despite it having been rejected as inappropriate for general public viewing. This would result in the movie's rating being "withdrawn", thereby leaving the film without a rating (such as G, PG, etc.) An unrated film is a bit of a commercial pariah, unlikely to be carried by most commercial theatres or advertised in most media outlets. This would, theoretically, dramatically reduce the film's ability to make money, which would, theoretically, negatively impact the associated studio and production company, which would, theoretically, serve as a deterrent to others thinking about doing the same thing. Theoretically.

The film-maker's response :
1 : They apologized for an unspecified error in process that led to the campaign being put up.

Um, anyone who has ever EVER worked in advertising or marketing or corporate communications (I'm guilty on all three counts, your honor) knows : the idea of a major media campaign making it through the complex production process without receiving multiple explicit approvals is ludicrous.

2 : They swore to take the pieces down immediately.
As of yesterday (the story broke last week) they have not removed them all. (Not that it's an easy task - but people do jump when told to with sufficient vehemence.)

3 : They exploited the situation :
- They replaced the ads with a new one that featured a scrawled "Capitivity was here" and the site url
- On the site, they are using links to stories on the public outcry as their new marketing (which of course include explicit descriptions of the offending campaign.)

I find it all depressing and overwhelming : that the filmmakers would lie (and not well : venality deserves better representation); that they would exploit the situation to their own gain; and that we, as a society, would even be having this conversation.

It leaves me with the following :

Porn is fine.
Body hair, body excretions, girls on boys, boys on boys, girls on girls on boys on boys (where is Dr. Seuss when you need him?) - whatever floats your boat, tickles your pickle, etc. It is fine if you want to watch it, me and WGP™, after all, have our own favorite flavors. Someone will happily make a new sales bin for "splatter" and "torture." But don't make me have to watch your kink. Don't sh*t where I eat, please.

We are not fine. (And I know these two conflict.)
I was raised in a liberal bunker somewhere in the South and was steeped in the concepts of freedom of speech and pluralism (even the tricky stuff like matrix/matrices and focus/focii.) But for some reason this dustup ... (That's what it is : you know that this will blow over. You know that the MPAA will most likely not act. You know that people will go see it. You know the film will suck. You know that there will be a sequel. I do not kid myself about this.)

As I was saying, for some reason this has awoken in me a deep feeling that somehow, I should be doing, I don't know... something. (Surprisingly, I am finding it difficult to translate this feeling into any specific sort of action.) I have this feeling that we, as a people, (and I never ever use phrases like this, even in the privacy of my own home while watching reruns of The West Wing) have crossed a line somewhere and are headed for ... trouble.

I know that censorship is the slipperiest of slopes (well, next to having "just one more spoonful" of Ben & Jerry's Brownie Batter Ice Cream) and that "one man's tinder is another man's books", but damn.

I find it hard to believe that a country where we all immediately grok the terms tortureporn and splatterporn is "doing just fine, thank you." This same week found me reading the Entertainment Weekly story on the double-feature retro-exploitation flick Grindhouse (which I was planning on seeing.) It described how the MPAA had insisted they edit footage from one of the faux trailers due to its presentation of a "topless cheerleader being impaled on a knife while doing a split on a trampoline." Incredibly, the reporter went on to write "Believe it or not, it's even nastier than it sounds..." (And no, I'm not taking any bets as to just where that knife impales her. Or start the "why it was a her, not a him" conversation, valid as it may be.)

As previously confessed, I was a marketer, for all different kinds of organizations, big and small. The process for each basically worked the same : analyze your client's needs and objectives, analyze who their audiences are (demographically, behaviourally) and then create an approach that blends the needs of the advertiser with the needs of the audience in order to promote a desired effect/behaviour. This means, in essence, that you win your audience by giving them what they want. And that is the most disquieting thing : the ad agency didn't get it wrong.

Somewhere, somehow... this is what we want.

And I don't know what to do about that.

--------------

"Captivity" Ad Campaign 
Remove the Rating" Campaign
Official "Captivity" Site

The Call of C'Sulhu

Ring. Ring.
"Hello?"
"Beware the creeping, crawling chaos of Nylarthotep who comes from the deep and.."
"Dammit, Shatner! This isn't funny anymore."

Clowning Around

...and we're b-a-a-ck.

Port Townsend (known as PT to those of us who are kippin' it rill) was jaw-droppingly beautiful. It is nestled right by the sea .. or a lake .. or Loch Ness or something. (As you can tell, my having visited there in no way improved my knowledge of its geography. You know those movies where they kidnap someone and put a bag over their head and drive them around so as to confuse them? Kidnappers could put me in the front seat and give me turn-by-turn directions and I would still be unable to find my way back.) WGP™ and I stood by the water and smiled at each other : this was going to be a great "time away", a much-needed opportunity to relax, recharge and get back to nature.

Given that, I of course spent a large part of my vacation doing stupid things with my cellphone.

When it comes to technology, I'm an early adopter - which is why last year I joined the new millennium (had to wait for that pesky Y2K thing to shake itself out, you know) and got a cellphone with video capability. I splurged and picked out the model that is so-incredibly-slim-that-it-doesn't-fit-your-face which also featured exclusive so-small-you-can't-hold-onto-it technology. Given my tech background, I was easily able to master the ability to take too-dark pictures and motion-sickness-inducing video in no time. (Boy, maybe I should have entitled this entry using-lots-of-dashes. Or maybe that is my "Cowboys and Indians" name. One of the two.)

My bestest buddy also has a video-capable phone, which makes them the lucky recipient of my digital largesse. (Solly, Pete.) I don't waste my innate Spielbergian talents on just any subject of course, I restrict my oeuvre to cute animals, bad signs and, of course, clowns.

Pete hates clowns. (In fact, Pete will probably stop reading at this point.) I have known Pete for more than 10 years now . . . and due only to the fact that Pete has poor taste in friends, we are still bestest buds.

Now, Pete's fear of clowns is deep and real, so of course, I make fun of it. (Yes, in case you were wondering, the elders agree: "Uses-too-many-dashes" has been renamed "Sucks-as-a-friend" and expelled from the tribe.) Fear of clowns, by the way, is called "bozophobia" and it affects millions of americans (and the people who purport to be their friends) every year. Coulrophobia (in case you don't recognize that word, it means you didn't click on that last link and honestly, I don't know why I bother trying to edify you yahoos) can be triggered by any clown-related stimuli, so it isn't just a case of 'stay-away-from-the-circus' that we're talking about. Clowns are everywhere, as it turns out that Coulrophobics are vastly outnumbered by the Bozophilics. That is the only way I can explain why there are so many little clown statues clogging junk and antique stores. And why I am compelled to take pictures of them and send them to my friend Petes.

I saw this clown in a junk store in Washington state, near a diner that I swear sold both guns AND pancakes. (And hey, Mr. Liberal? You can have my breakfast when you pry it off my cold, dead, fork.)

I had never seen one like this. It took me back to my childhood, when the local circus would come to town and Gacy the Clown would come out and amuse the audience by traipsing up to the children and SCARING THE SH*T OUT OF THEM WITH HIS GIANT F**KING HAMMER.

Hey, I thought to myself. This must be how it feels everytime I kid Petes. Wow. Sucks-as-a-friend indeed. I know we laughed about it, but I'm stopping here and now. And if you're still reading this, I'm sorry for joking about something that frightens you, even a little bit. Now, of course, I have to come up with something else to clog your inbox with. How do you feel about ceramic unicorns?

Pi And Cake!

Did you celebrate this last Tuesday? I hope you did, because it was 3/14.

Get it?

Perhaps if I put it another way : it was 3.14.

Still not getting it? Then good! Obviously, we shared the same math classes and sat in the back of the room staring out the window or trying to draw the guys from KISS.

Well, fellow mathophobe, Tuesday was PI day. Nope, not that kind. The kind that celebrates the world's most famous "irrational number", which helps us ... um understand circles and ... um circumspection and ... um Cirque De Soleil. Or something.

It is a number that evidently goes on forever (which is certainly how math class felt.)

You can thank NPR for informing me of this (it's not like I have my iCal set to "inform me of math-related holidays" or something.) I was driving to pick up the World's Greatest Partner (tm)  from work on Tuesday, having my brain-drip set to NPR and I

<tangent>
Boy, was I have a day on Tuesday. I mean, a day.
Everything in my life had conspired to join in one big stepline and had, five-six-seven-eight, step-ball-changed on my last nerve. I was, in the parlance of WGP and I, wearing "crabbypants." Have you ever worn Crabby Pants? They pinch and smell like fish. On the other hand, they make this great clacking sound when you walk.
</tangent>

Where was I? Oh yes. Irrational numbers. I'm not sure what the big deal is about this, because as far as I am concerned, numbers started being irrational as soon as you started intermarrying them with letters under the guise of something called "Algebra." Aside from the 7th grade giggle benefit of hearing your old prune of a teacher (Hi, Mrs. Emerson!) repeatedly say something with the word "bra" in it, it became immediately clear that Algebra and I (and by extension, Mrs. E) would all benefit from an application of the "Don't ask (me questions about it so I) Don't Tell (you that I have no idea what you're talking about, despite having sat in your class for a year. Wanna see my drawings of Paul Stanley?)"

Anyway, there I was, mindlessly absorbing NPR (a liberal requirement) and they had some guy on who had the world record for memorizing the most decimal places of PI. 100,000! Can you believe that? I don't know 100,000 of anything (except maybe how to count there, but knowing me, I would end up getting distracted in the middle and have to start over : "75,998, 75,999, 76 --- say, do you think Mickey Mouse lords it over Donald that he has pants and Donald doesn't? Whoops. 1, 2, 3...") So they started to interview the world record holder and

<tangent>
I quizzed WGP on this, who joined me in the car right after the segment was over. (Aagh! Segment! A math term! It's everywhere!) 
ME : I just heard the guy who has memorized PI to the most decimal places.
WGP : Uh-huh.
ME : Guess what it sounded like.
WGP : (Patiently) What? Numbers, I imagine.
ME : No...what the guy sounded like.
WGP : Hmm. Let me think : what would a guy sound like who has memorized tens of thousands of numbers and then set out to prove they were better than anybody else at doing so... Um. Talks too loud. In something approaching a monotone. Poorly socialized. Irritable.
ME : Got it in one!

I do loves me my WGP...

</tangent>

and Noah Siegal was doing his level best of having some fun with this and Professor Doctor. My-Head-is-Full-of-Irrational-Numbers-and-It-Hurts was having not a jot of it. You could hear Noah's smooth tone shift from "here is a lighter note to leaven the incredibly f**king depressing news" to "woah. this guy is grumpy" (he could've been wearing crabby pants, they come in all sizes) to "let's just wrap this up and move onto something fun like people dying somewhere." (Presumably this was followed by a conversation with his producer, which was something along the lines of "This was the "light" segment? What, did no one actually talk with this guy?")

So, happy PI day.

Speaking of PI, World's Greatest Partner (tm) and I will soon be having CAKE!

Yes, CAKE!

Next week is WGP's birthday and we are going to beautiful downtown Port Townsend to celebrate. I think I'm excited...but I know nothing about Port Townsend except that :
1 : It is now, or used to be a port (or perhaps to the left of something nautical)
2 : It is in a town that has an end, or is the end of some other town or has, in and of itself, ended in some memorable way (which could explain why we were able to get a last-minute reservation)
3 : WGP wants to go.

As you can imagine, it is #3 that trumps the others.

After we get back, there will be a party probably and some cake. CAKE! Do you want to come over? We could all have CAKE!

Sorry - there is some innate and reflexive childish glee that compels me to always capitalize and exclaim the word CAKE! CAKE! CAKE!

Even if you don't come over, i hope you take a moment to have CAKE! or at least some Pi.

Delivering to the Rocks in Soledad Flats

Have you seen the newest offering from our friends at the SciFi channel?

("Friends", by the way is an affected literary device. If I actually knew anyone there, I'd shake them by their lapels and ask 'Why is your definition of SciFi "crappy horror movies starring C and D-list TV actors?' Have any of you actually ever read a science fiction book? Anyone? Anyone?")

They have redeemed themselves somewhat by the creation of Sci Fi Drive-In  ... a small repository of some great old schlocky science fiction movies and serials. (Somehow I find schlock easier to forgive in films of this era - rather than anything starring Amber Benson galumphing around a haunted cave in a cast.)

(No, silly. She was wearing the cast, not the cave. I swear, you are SO literal sometimes.)

First up : The Killers from Space, featuring a pre-Mission Impossible Peter Graves as an overly earnest "atomic scientist" (as opposed to one that runs on steam or electricity, I suppose) going up against some awesome aliens, all of whom look like Marty Feldman, circa Young Frankenstein.

It's free, it streams well (unlike our friends a....t.........y....o....u.........t....u....b....e) so enjoy, enjoy. Just don't be surprised to find yourself echoing this question, posted by somebody on the site's message boards : "Why don't they put this stuff on the air? At least it's sci-fi..."

_____________

What, my word's not enough for ya?

Okay then, try and resist this :

... and in the unlikely event that aliens who look like this are not enough (just click  already!) then let me up the ante even further : they wear mittens.

Yes, you heard me. They wear mittens. Special, space alien mittens.

Come on...like you didn't beg your mom for a pair when you were a kid...

 

Least needed web feature

Starbucks.com wins the prize today for their "find a store location" feature .

Shouldn't it just lead to a static page that says "Look left. Look right. If you don't see any nearby, it's probably because you're inside one."

Sophisticated Humor is the Best Humor

Q : What did Spock find in the officer's restroom?
A : The Captain's Log
---
Q : What did he find when he returned later that afternoon?
A : The Captain's Log, Supplemental.

Why Is TV Network Viewership on the Decline?

creative bankruptcy

Must. Read. Very. Important.

Q: What underwear brand do Zombies prefer?
A : "Ha-a-a-a-nes.... Ha-a-a-a-nes."

You may now return to your previously scheduled life, already in progress. And if you didn't get it...well...good for you. You were probably doing something really important for the planet, while the rest of us were watching zombie movies.

Thanks. Thanks alot. We were kind of chuckling at that joke, and now we're ashamed. I hope you're happy, high and mighty world-saver. In fact, if this is the way it's going to be in the "world" that you "save", then maybe we'd rather not be in it.

That's right. Maybe it's attitudes, just like yours, that make people want to be effin' zombies in the first place!

No. Forget it. I don't want your apology. Whatever. Like I even want to eat your brain now.

(Tirade finished, I lurch off across the mall, in search of books by my favorite author "Twa-a-a-a-ain.... Twa-a-a-a-in.")