Tattoos and piercings and holes, oh my!
I just found a quote online that sums up my thoughts on excessive piercing and/or tattooing. It's from The Thirty-Nine Steps, by John Buchan.
"A fool tries to look different: a clever man looks the same and is different."
People are free to wear what they want and adorn their bodies as they see fit. However, I can't help but feel that a lot of people use an intentionally altered appearance as an easy out--it "forces" society to look at them askew, which then facilitates the altered individual's sneering contempt for the mainstream (y'know, the sell-outs, suits, and squares). I'd rather my counterculture subversives look like Young Republicans, thank you very much. That way, they have to back up their worldview with something more substantial than leopard-print hair or a mug full of metal.
Posted by patrick at 03:49 PM | Comments (0)
Be it ever so humble...
Slaughter the fattened calf! The prodigal son, who limped back from Los Angeles with so piteous a gait, is gearing up for another stab at independence! About three weeks from now, I’ll be moving into my own apartment! Its roughly 850-square-foot bounty will be mine to do with as I see fit, and is more room that I’ve ever had at my sole disposal. Also, it’s near UCR, which means the drive to school might be shorter than the subsequent search for a parking space.
Not only is the complex’s location perfect, but my unit’s location within the complex is a thing of beauty. While I probably won’t be able to jump into the pool from my front door, I could probably toss a 16-pound bowling ball into the pool from there. Not that I’d have any reason to do that, mind you—I just want to give you an idea of how close I’ll be to the pool. The laundry room will also be conveniently close (within throwing range of an eight-pound ball, say).
I actually apartment-sat for a friend of mine who lives in this complex a few summers back. The month I spent in her place really sold me on the complex—and, specifically, on her unit. When I first started sniffing around for an apartment, I’d fantasize about the perfect scenario: that my friend would win a house and leave me her apartment.
Would you believe that my future apartment’s front door is all of 30 feet from hers?
The mechanics of the move will be a pain in the butt, as they always are to some degree or another, but I’m also looking forward to this process. After all, my last move was a retreat. It was the best idea, and my finances at the time made it necessary, but it still felt like a psychic demotion.
If my books could cheer, I’d have gone deaf the moment I got the good news about the apartment. Once I’m completely unpacked, it will be the first time in about three years that I’ll be able to look at all of my books at once. I have about eight boxes of books right now, the contents of which, quite frankly, I’ve forgotten. That’s not counting the various piles of books around my room or my shelves (some of which are filled two books deep). To my books, this is like Nelson Mandela finally getting sprung from his South African prison cell.
My getting this apartment—or any apartment in that complex—was no sure thing, not by a long shot. I spent a nervous week as the Powers That Be decided whether or not I was worthy (read: financially solvent) enough to live there.
Now I just have to figure out what to call my new apartment. Too bad Hef snagged "The Grotto"...
Posted by patrick at 12:41 AM | Comments (0)
July 30, 2003
Mrs. V.'s obituary and my criminal lack of taste in clothes...
Shirley Vanderlinde's obituary appeared in the Press-Enterprise today. I was planning on linking to the online listing, but I can't find it. Odd, too, since I was able to find other obituaries from today's paper but not Shirley's.
* * * * *
I've never been a poster boy for fashion, but there was a second today during which I thought my lack of fashion sense was going to get me kicked out of the local library. I was on the second floor of Riverside's Main Branch Library, looking at the DVD racks, when the security guard came up to me.
Security Guard: "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't wear those shorts in here."
Me: "Huh?"
Security Guard: "Yeah. One of your students told me to tell you that."
Me: "Whew!"
One of my seniors from last year works at the library, saw me before I saw her, and put the security guard up to it. As I told her once I found her, my attire could have been much worse--I often wore these shorts to RCC on show nights for "Wit" with black socks (my "German tourist" look, as the director called it).
Posted by patrick at 11:01 PM | Comments (3)
July 29, 2003
Sometimes, people actually get what they deserve...
I thought karma had no place in Hollywood, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear otherwise this afternoon. I got some very satisfying news from a friend of mine, who found the following in an article by Laura Weinert from last week's Backstage West about scams that the unscrupulous try to pull on actors looking for representation:
Scam companies can be charged with more crimes than just violating the talent agency act, and sentencing can go well beyond merely having to pay a few fines. In 2001 talent manager Christopher Valentino received a jail sentence after pleading no contest to one count of criminal conspiracy and two counts of grand theft for conspiring with photographer Svetlana Kraft of Beverly Hills' Lana Kraft Photography. They had been swindling clients by charging them for photographic sessions and promising them acting work that was never provided.
Valentino also told clients that he represented former Miss America Ali Landry, that he had appeared in numerous soap operas—including a 16-year stint on All My Children—and that he was represented by the William Morris Agency, according to investigators. Unfortunately none of this was true. Neither were his alleged promises to find these actors work.
What he did find them, however, were headshots from a "highly recommended" photographer, who, he said, was a "former European model" who had done a lot of work for Jennifer Aniston. But Aniston had never heard of Kraft, investigators determined.
I found this such a delicious revelation because I was one of those actors that Valentino tried to dupe. I even worked for Valentino for a short time, before I realized that his promised industry introductions were never going to take place. Just to put it all in context, this was a guy who looked at John Robert Powers and wished he'd thought of it first.
Shifty, lecherous and dishonest, Valentino embodied all that was bad about my Los Angeles experience. It does my heart good to know he got what he deserved--and that he's been unmasked in a publication that is read religiously by the very segment of the acting population he'd targeted.
Posted by patrick at 12:33 AM | Comments (7)
July 26, 2003
To identify or not to identify?
When I last checked up on the Kobe Bryant rape case, the accuser’s anonymity had all the structural integrity of an old sieve. The woman’s age, place of employment and hometown were all common facts. One website even lists what musicals she had been in during high school, and what characters she portrayed in said musicals.
I’m understandably curious—as are many people, naturally—about this unknown woman whose allegation, whether ultimately verified or ultimately disproved, has made many people reevaluate how they feel about Kobe Bryant. Do we have any right to know her name, or what she looks like?
Previously, I would have sided with those who favor the alleged victim’s privacy without a second’s hesitance. Having given it some thought in the face of such heavy media coverage, though, I have to question my former stance.
The idea of letting an alleged victim retain her anonymity is rooted in the desire to prevent the trauma or shame that might ensue were the greater community made privy to her victimization. However, it seems that victimization—the presence of a victim—is one of the main criteria by which something is deemed illegal in the first place, and isn’t anything to which rape victims can make exclusive claim. Nobody feels particularly good about being mugged, carjacked, domestically abused, or defrauded, yet no special privacy provisions are made for the victims of these crimes.
Why do we do this? Is it a tenacious shred of gallantry in our collective psyche? Or an overcompensation we’d rather not admit—closing (and locking) the barn door after the horse has been stolen? Are men ashamed not to shield a rape victim’s identity, feeling that it was a collective laxity on their part that led to their chattel being despoiled in the first place? At the very least, it’s a courtesy come under suspicion for its specificity.
The problem can be summed up in one deceptively simple word: alleged. From when a person first puts forth their uncontested recollection of an event, up until the moment at which it hardens (for better or for worse) into legal, jury-concluded fact, it is alleged. In granting privacy to the accuser and not to the accused, the media treats a rape allegation as if it were a fetus of sorts—something not yet proven, perhaps, but the validation of which is inevitable. That’s a huge concession we’re granting the alleged victim in a legal system that, if anything, was designed to protect the accused.
In every rape case, there is a wrongdoer and there is a victim. In granting the right of privacy to only one of the parties involved, a tacit judgment is being passed on the innocence of the accused. It assumes that the wrongdoer is always the man and the victim is always the woman—a misguided leap of faith that cannot coexist with the tenet of “innocent until proven guilty.”
Posted by patrick at 03:31 AM | Comments (0)
The Short, Roachy Life of Francis Macomber...
I killed a cockroach this evening. I sprayed it with a can of Raid in my right hand and swatted it with a broom clutched in my left, all the while yelling, "Die, you sick son of a bitch!"
I wish I were exaggerating about that "Die, you sick son of a bitch" part, but I'm not.
Anyhow, my melodramatic utterances aside, there's one less roach in the world tonight. If I were a member of some shamanic and/or tribal society, I'd probably now be bound to the dead roach in a way that transcends mere life and death. I'd have to make his chitinous little body into some sort of fetish or charm that would give me his ability to...um...scuttle more effectively in battle. He'd look down on me from his abode in Dreamtime and intercede on my family's behalf in times of great crisis.
This would be an excellent time to segue into my theory about how cuttlefish are mini-Cthulu, but my hypotheses don’t pack quite the same punch without the photos. I’ll have to get those aquarium trip pictures developed soon…
Posted by patrick at 01:01 AM | Comments (3)
July 24, 2003
My fact-checking standards, shot plainly to hell...
"Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven," or so Milton's Satan would have us believe. This infernal pragmatism makes me feel a little better about my recent Metallica gaffe, which caught the eye of the hoax's clever perpetrator, Erik Ashley of Unfaith (the band Metallica was alleged to have sued for trademark infringement). Mr. Ashley e-mailed me the following message:
"Each image is a link to a page that will tell you step-by-step how to play the illegal chords in the forbidden order."
Hilarious. The funniest take-off on the hoax ever (and I've seen 'em all). I keep forwarding people who talk to me about the prank to your site, it's just too funny.
Erik Ashley
Unfaith // www.unfaith.net
Montreal, Canada
Posted by patrick at 12:23 AM | Comments (23)
July 23, 2003
"Wit" and "Love, Sex & the IRS"
The Press-Enterprise review of "Wit" appeared in today's issue. You can read the review in its entirety here. I was described as having played my part "with disdain and arrogance, while shifting easily from over-confidence to youthful uncertainty, from cockiness to doubt." Hey, works for me!
In other news, it appears that there really is no rest for the wicked--based on what he saw me do in "Wit," Mark Everett had me read for the role of Floyd Spinner in his upcoming production of "Love, Sex & the IRS" at the Redlands Footlighters, which I was subsequently offered and accepted. It starts rehearsing right after "Wit" ends, and will keep me theatrically busy right up until grad school starts near the end of September. Seeing as how I didn't want to jump into a show too early in my grad school experience, the scheduling of "Love, Sex & the IRS" lets me sneak one more play onto my plate before I have to switch over to diligent student mode.
Posted by patrick at 01:31 PM | Comments (7)
July 17, 2003
Curses--foiled again!
It seems that the Metallica chord lawsuit brouhaha was just a clever internet hoax. Still, I think Jon Bastian said it best (and helped up both save face quite efficiently) when he said "the story seemed entirely plausible, which just demonstrates how badly Metallica has damanged their reputation with all their litigiousness in recent years. They're still a bunch of asshats."
Posted by patrick at 12:38 PM | Comments (2)
Free Mumia, and the E/F chord combo!
I think Metallica were a bunch of wankers for going after Napster, but they were legally in the right. For their next trick, though, they're deciding to just abandon all common sense and legal precedent.
Metallica has filed a trademark infringement suit against the Canadian band Unfaith, stating that the indie band's repeated use of the E and F chords in that order has led to "confusion, deception and mistake in the minds of the public."
It isn't that Metallica drummer/Napster-slayer Lars Ulrich doesn't want Unfaith to use said chords in said order--heavens, no! He just feels that Metallica should be credited for them whenever used and receive 50% of the profits generated by any song that uses them. It's sheer idiocy.
Here's the band's statement from the official Metallica website:
"We have elected to pursue legal action against Unfaith, a Canadian band using chords (E & F) traditionally associated with Metallica. We intend to agressively (sic) defend our rights in this matter to the fullest extent of the law. It's nothing personal against the band in question, as we intend to do the same to anyone else using the same chords in that order.
"We're not saying we own the E chord, or even the F - that would be ridiculous. We're just saying that together, people have grown to associate them with our music, and their continued use in the same song causes confusion, deception and mistake in the minds of the public.
"We are fighting this fight for our fans, who don't deserve to be subjected to this confusion... just as we appreciate their support through this."
Well, just so long as they're not saying they own the chords! I was afraid for a moment that the statement was going to include something asinine. Whew!
In case you're wondering, here are pictures of what the E and F chords look like. Each image is a link to a page that will tell you step-by-step how to play the illegal chords in the forbidden order. Please play them to your heart's content.
Here's my letter to Lars Ulrich, which I mailed to their management agency, and e-mailed to the webmaster of the official Metallica website and the president of the Metallica fan club:
Dear Mr. Ulrich,
I understand that Metallica has recently filed a trademark infringement suit against the Canadian band Unfaith, stemming from their unsanctioned and uncredited use of the E and F chords. I believe your band was asking that Metallica be credited for the chords whenever used and receive 50% of the profits from songs in which they're used.
While I hear that Metallica is receiving some negative press from those who say your trademark infringement case is utterly without merit, I can't tell you how delighted I am to hear you express your views and pursue your principals so fiercely. Based on these views of yours, I fully expect you to begin all future Metallica concerts by crediting the various indigenous cultures of the world for inventing and refining the drum as a musical instrument. Furthermore, I expect Metallica to donate 50% of their total revenue, past and present, to groups that most closely represent the interests and concerns of those indigenous people--namely, the Native American Rights Fund and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission.
To do anything less would lead your listeners to the false conclusion that you personally invented the instruments you play to such considerable aplomb, causing--as you so eloquently put it in your own suit--"confusion, deception and mistake in the minds of the public."
Sincerely,
Patrick Seitz
Posted by patrick at 12:22 AM | Comments (5)
July 16, 2003
Bible bears!
There's some weird stuff in the Bible. Here's 2 Kings 2:23-25, from a 1605 King James Bible leaf I'm purchasing...
"And he went up from thence unto Beth-el. And as he was going up the way, little children came out of the city, and mocked him, and fayd unto him, Come up, thou bald head, come up, thou bald head. And hee turned backe, and looked on them, and curfed them in the name of the Lord. And two beares came out of the forreft and tare in pieces two and fourtie children of them. So hee went from thence to mount Carmel, and from thence hee returned to Samaria."
That's right, folks--the prophet Elisha had God send bears out of the woods to maul the children who had made fun of his lack of hair. Many websites (such as this one) go to great lengths to justify Elisha's actions, but I haven't read a defense yet that doesn't smack of overkill.
Perhaps the 42 kids in question were suspected of harboring weapons of mass destruction...
Posted by patrick at 04:11 PM | Comments (1)
July 15, 2003
Shirley Vanderlinde
I received some sad news this afternoon. Shirley Vanderlinde, the woman who started and subsequently directed Notre Dame High School's musicals each year for almost three decades, and the woman with whom I took years of acting and singing lessons, died in her sleep last Friday at her son's house in Ohio. She'd been staying with him for some months, as her health had taken a turn for the worse. I don't know her exact age off the top of my head, but she was about 85 years old.
She'd been unwell, so her death isn't a total shock, but it still saddens me. She was very good to me, and a very influential force in my life. Without her direction and tutelage, there's little reason to think I'd have gotten as involved in theater as I ultimately have--if at all. More than that, she was something of an honorary grandmother to me
In my secret heart of hearts, I always hoped I'd hit it big with the acting early enough in my life that she'd be around to see it. That didn't happen, to be sure, but it feels right to be in the final stages of rehearsing a show when she passed away. In fact, depending on the specifics of the timing, I may have literally been at rehearsal when she died.
She was no pushover, but it was that quality in her that made the Notre Dame musicals such excellent experiences. She saw no reason why a bunch of high-schoolers--who may or may not have had any acting/singing/dancing experience--should be held to any lower an expectation than anybody else. She was a perfectionist, panning for gold in streams that didn't even think they had pyrite to offer. Ultimately, she'd find that gold nugget she'd always known was there. And she did know. The resulting show was always something in which the Notre Dame community could be very proud--to say nothing of the actors and techies. There's something awful--in the original sense of the word--of being 16-years-old and having a thousand people applaud you. That's a memory you never consign to the shadows.
I have Shirley Vanderlinde to thank for the best times of my high school career, and, in one way or another, for every entry on my acting resume. I want to dedicate my performance in "Wit" to her memory. That sounds like a terribly pretentious thing to say, as if my performance is going to be some precious, singular event worthy of dedicating to somebody's life. Still, it's something I feel compelled to do.
You've left the theater, Mrs. V., and we're still applauding.
Posted by patrick at 11:52 PM | Comments (2)
July 14, 2003
I love words!
I finally got around to reading the rest of They Have a Word for It (the book in which I discovered "wabi" way back when), and I'm happy to announce that there are plenty of intriguing words for the taking. Here are some of those that particularly caught my eye...
Carita pelosa, an Italian term for generosity with an ulterior motive that literally means "hairy generosity".
Majie, the Chinese act of cursing at the street instead of indulging in the much less polite alternative of telling off the person with whom you're actually angry.
Orenda, a Huron Indian word ("song," literally) meaning "the power of voiced, focused will--the opposite of kismet or fate." As the book relates, orenda is a word "that can mean hope, power, focused intention, and prayer to a higher power, without conveying either a sense of helpless passivity in the face of a coldly deterministic fate or the overweening pride the Greeks call hubris."
Bettschwere, the German term for the state of consciousness too ponderous for anything but sleep. Anybody who has ever stretched the act of waking up and getting out of bed into a multi-hour production on a pleasant summer morning is familiar with the concept of bettschwere, if not the actual word.
Maya, a Sanskrit word for the mistaken belief that a symbol is the same as the reality it represents.
Zanshin, a Japanese term for the state of mental relaxation in the face of danger. If you need an example of zanshin, just rent "Seven Samurai" and watch for the bad-ass, gun-stealing samurai. He's dripping with it.
Katzenjammer, a German word for a monumentally severe hangover. The word literally refers to the sound of fornicating cats--an unpleasant enough sound when sober, but one that would make you want to pull off your ears if you were subjected to it after a night of mythic drinking.
Adjal, an Indonesian term for the predestined hour of one's death.
Hari kujo, a term for any shrine in the Wakayama Province of Japan exclusively dedicated to housing broken sewing needles. The needles worked hard all their lives and they died "in the line of duty," as it is reasoned, so they're laid to rest on a soft bed of tofu.
Ohrwurm, a German term literally meaning "ear worm," used to describe any infectious tune or melody. It would seem that all radio stations owned by Clear Channel Communications are ordered to turn every new ditty that rolls down the chute into an ohrwurm, whether the listening public likes it or not.
Posted by patrick at 11:50 PM | Comments (2)
Camus, the existentialist whale...
I just finished up The Plague, by Albert Camus (al-BARE ca-MU, for all you non-Frenchies). I probably shouldn't own up to this, but I really didn't like it. Cottard, Rieux, Grand, Tarrou...I just didn't give a damn about any of them, and the death of Rieux's wife at the end of the book was no great shock. Who would have thought a book that started with legions of plague-infested rats wriggling their way through a bland coastal town would have been so ponderous to read. Suetonius's The Twelve Caesars was easier to read than this...
Posted by patrick at 12:33 AM | Comments (4)
July 11, 2003
My "Pirates of the Caribbean" review...
I was so pleased with “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl,” I seriously wanted to grab people waiting in line for the next screening as I left the theater with my girlfriend and just chortle at them gleefully for what they were about to experience. While I refrained from this random laying on of the hands, I am chortling now as I write this review.
It’s not often that I sign up to write a review for a great film, so you’ll have to bear with me. The bile with which I larded my reviews for “Dungeons & Dragons,” “Eight-Legged Freaks,” and “Highlander: Endgame” simply isn’t appropriate right now.
It was as if “Pirates of the Caribbean” was written, cast, and produced just to make me happy—something that Hollywood hasn’t done since “Topsy Turvy” came out a few years back. I feel guilty. They shouldn’t have gone to all trouble just on my account. Geoffrey Rush and undead pirates, both in the same flick? Can my third wish be for more wishes, or is that cheating?
This film has everything a moviegoer needs: adventure, swordplay, romance, humor, (undead) pirates, great CGI, eye-candy for both genders, and enough sly winks at the ride upon which its based for the purists and quick of wit to appreciate. I’m not going to burden myself with rehashing the plot for you. If you’ve seen the trailer, you’re ready. Hell, even if you haven’t seen it, just go to the movie unprepared and thank me later. Instead, I want to try and convey the pleasure—yarrr, rhymes with treasure—this movie gave me. Unless you’re Strom Thurmond, it’ll please you, too.
The acting was superb—and how could it not be? Consider the cast: Orlando Bloom as the quietly sincere hero; Jonathan Pryce as the humorously befuddled colonial governor; Keira Knightley as the governor’s winsome young daughter; Jack Hawthorne as the prim and proper career sailor/romantic rival; Geoffrey Rush as the menacing pirate captain. And Johnny Depp as the wise-cracking outcast? If loving this cast is wrong, I don’t want to be right…
Not only is “Pirates of the Caribbean” a wonderful movie in its own right, but it gives the live-action pirate movie genre some much-needed healing after “Cutthroat Island,” the 1995 debacle that earned director Renny Harlin and actress Geena Davis spots between Lucifer’s ever-gnashing teeth in the lowest level of Dante’s inferno. And for those of you who are sitting back, smug in the knowledge that Lucifer had three mouths in Dante’s inferno, just remember that Ms. Davis is a tall drink of water—a victim for whom mastication could easily require two mouths working in tandem. So there.
Okay, so the movie could have been a bit shorter. In a world where there are plenty of bad movie that never should have seen the light of day, I’m willing to let a gem shine on a little longer than is proper. Do people badmouth a brilliant chef who is a bit on the hefty side? No, they let it slide! Besides, it’s been 53 years since Disney gave us “Treasure Island,” the last top-drawer pirate movie. Don’t begrudge me 25 or 30 superfluous minutes of pirate action when I might not be alive for the next great buccaneer flick.
Posted by patrick at 01:50 AM | Comments (2)
July 07, 2003
The Ashton Kutcher Phenomenon...
I know, I know, I'm just being a crotchety old man again, but somebody needs to sit me down and explain the Ashton Kutcher Phenomenon to me. They'll need to leave themselves about an hour window, too, and they'll have better luck if they use small words and don't break eye contact with me while they do it.
Yeah, he's dating Demi Moore. Yeah, she's remarkably well-preserved for practically being old enough to be his mom. Beyond that, though, what's so newsworthy about the guy? Every time I turn around, it's Ashton this and Ashton that.
Do the titles "Just Married," "Texas Rangers," or "Dude, Where's My Car?" ring a bell with anybody? And now he's producing a remake of "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," in which I've heard he will also star. If there's any justice in the world, Sidney Poitier will track Kutcher down tout-suite and tear him asunder.
Besides, it freaks me out something fierce to think that Bruce Willis and Ashton Kutcher have...um...something in common, shall we say?
Anyhow, if anybody out that can satisfactorily demystify the Ashton Kutcher Phenomenon for me, I eagerly await enlightenment. While you're at it, feel free to explain to me why Drew Barrymore is on at least two magazine covers at any given time, regardless of how long it's been since her last film. Just wait and see; the "Charlie's Angels" furor will die down, and she'll stop doing covers with Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu, but she'll still be featured on covers with frightening consistency. If she were eldritch, gibbering, or squamous, I'd say H.P. Lovecraft had something to do with it. As things stand, though, I haven't a clue...
Posted by patrick at 03:09 PM | Comments (2)
July 02, 2003
Former students, paisley ties, and cheap chairs...
I ran into a former student this evening when I was down at RCC for my “Wit” rehearsal. She struggled in my class, but she put in the effort and walked away with a decent grade. To hear her tell it, community college isn’t lobbing anything her way that she can’t handle. Good for her, say I.
I had an experience this afternoon that hammered home the fact that I won’t be returning to Notre Dame in the fall—and in a way that perhaps nothing else could have. I was at a thrift store, checking out furniture prices, and I came across a delightfully hideous tie. It had a black background, upon which had been hurled bright paisley patters of all various sizes, with no deference paid to either fashion or propriety. It was, in a word, lovely. However, it was $4 (which is about $3.50 more than I like to pay for a tie, as those who know me can attest). Seeing as how I don’t have a pressing need for such a thing anymore, I really couldn’t justify the “expense”.
Speaking of expense, though, I managed to make off with four chairs for eight dollars. More on my second-hand shopping prowess later…
Posted by patrick at 02:38 AM | Comments (1)