Ruining Your Childhood

Inspector Gadget was a shitty movie. It made me angry. 

When Inspector Gadget 2 came out, I was confused.

Star Wars Episode 1 made me like the Star Wars Trilogy less than I used to. What was the world doing to itself? Was this an example of greed winning out over art?

When I heard an interview with George Lucas, he said something like, of course lots of fans of the originals didn't like the new Star Wars movies; they were too old to; they were outside of the target demographic. You know who the most popular character was? Jar Jar effing Binx. 

And here, an entire generation of movie-goers was like, "What did you do to my movies?" 

How funny. 

In a recent post on the Best Week Ever blog, I saw a post titled "Of course the Yogi Bear trailer looks stupid. You know what else was stupid? Yogi Bear."

And indeed, it probably was. How would I have enjoyed it as a 4 year old, if it had not been stupid on some level? The more I think about Yogi Bear, the more I wonder how it entertained me in the first place. 

I was all about Yogi Bear, Inspector Gadget, and Bugs Bunny. They were completely awesome to me. I think back on them like pinnacles of entertainment, like models of excellence. When my friends talk about the unsurpassed greatness of Care Bears, the Smurfs, or, essentially, any children's show that our parents didn't let us watch, I think, 'what an idiot. They have no idea what they're talking about'. I am, in my adulthood, still critical and judgmental of these obviously, to me, inferior shows. 

As adults, we all stand by these things which we grew up with, which instilled in us this insane sense of loyalty and attachment. I saw an episode of the Pink Panther cartoon the other day, something I used to completely love. As a child, I would hang in anticipation, nervous, clutching, clenching and fixated on what was happening. Now, snoozefest. It takes something else, something entirely else, to fire off these neurons now as an adult. Now what I tell people about is not how awesome a show The Pink Panther was, but rather how awesome it was to watch as a kid.

I must tell you, in was a long time since a movie or TV Show had breached this cold exterior and affected the emotional receptors in my brain when I watched Inception the other week and left feeling mostly just tired. My friend and I walked out of the theater afterwards- unimpressed, dissecting the film, walking with people who mostly seemed to love it. I watched the movie Kick Ass a few days later and loved it. The same way that I loved the movie  The One for an entire Summer, keeping it running on repeat for seriously an entire Summer. I know The One was one of the worst movies ever made. It was ridiculous and insane. It was hilarious, and stands out in my mind as a pinnacle of entertainment. I'm a little afraid to ever watch it again, because that might just ruin it.

Winter Hellscape

Went on a nice hike lately. Got some pretty pics. Cold as hell, but looked nice, and quiet... which is nice. Thus, nice hike. More pics at:  http://picasaweb.google.com/daniel.hulter/100106#

Slow, Futile Constructions

Due to the temperature outside, sometimes water will attempt great feats of collaboration, building upside down ladders to the ground, perhaps tired of merely throwing itself violently, hoping for an easier, softer and more pleasant route.
I sat and watched the icicles form for a little while. Beadlets of water, attempting to cling and freeze to the end would stretch, screaming, groping, then shuddering would fall, and break into little pieces of water on the concrete below. Then the next would try. Then the next, and on, bravely sacrificing themselves to build this city, or perhaps merely victims of a determined future who were hopeful that they would be one of the lucky ones, the ones who sit comfortably back, scaffolding and roadway for the great many who they watch plunge to their screaming, horrible deaths.

I must say, I am not entirely convinced that we are not all mere beads of water, running down the most logical path, success being merely a matter of luck and circumstance. I like to think that we are not, but I cannot say for sure.
I, for one, don't see anything wrong with this. Droplets of water forming into icicles is a perfectly beautiful thing.

Update

A few new items up including a song, slapped together, emotion barf called "Something"



Also some pictures. One of them is here. This picture was taken from my front steps. My neighborhood does not actually look this nice. When I was showing this to a friend, I explained to him that one thing I loved about photography is the hunt for something beautiful. One must frame what is already there in such a way that the image is not merely a reflection of the blurry mess we live in. Most often it is distinct, whether distinct in it's beauty or distinct in it's hideousness, or distinct in it's contrast of the two. When I was explaining this brand new philosophy to him, in the way that I explain things when I've just stumbled upon a new way of framing an idea only seconds ago, we were walking through a parking lot, and I said "Somewhere in this parking lot there is a beautiful photograph. I have only to crop out what is not in the photograph to find it." I  am reminded of Michaelangelo and his stone-work being only a removal of what is not the sculpture inside. To the right of this photograph is one of the most hideous houses I have ever been forced to look at. This picture is given the opportunity to say something, not drowned out by it's hideousness.

And this picture makes me happy. It is rain crawling down my car window after a day of class. The world and it's colors are being washed away, and I have a sense of closeness. It is a similar sensation to the rush of adrenaline I used to get when we would build a fort, dig a ditch and put plywood over the top, arrange pillows and blankets in the living room and make a maze, hack away blackberry bushes and create a series of tunnels inside that led to little rooms. This buzzing sensation, it comes back when it rains. It comes back when the clouds cover the sky low down, and it is just us in this tiny space. This is the type of space that things would always happen in, that secrets would be told in. What is it about this space, and why am I programmed to respond so childishly?

Auto Tune the News

New song posted

I find that when I present instrumental music, people are quite comfortable and pleasant about it. I line up all the notes correctly, and they say, "That's very nice."

But when I throw words on top, and screech them mercilessly into my computer, so it can then screech them, mercilessly, into somebody's head-holes, I am more likely to get a reaction that a 12 year old can expect to receive when they announce that they have gone to the potty, all by themselves.

*disconcerted brow furrow*

"That's very nice. Keep it up."

New song is on top, and I am aware that the long songs cut off before they are finished. That's why I don't listen to my music. Why should you even care? It's called Tell me How to Walk