What is this?  No, it isn’t just a silly picture, but a fancy new website!

I will no longer be posting to this myspace blog, so update your google readers, bookmark your browsers and tattoo it on your arms because from now on there is no myspace, only:

www.isleyunruh.com

Come on over and say hi in the comment section, everyone knows bloggers are sensitive souls whose confidence rests upon the amount of comments they receive!

What with the decision to cross over the storylines of Goth, Jock and Snob blogs, a simple thing as writing Goth Blog 3 has turned out to be more work than I planned on.  So, while I know I've been writing more about underground metal than most people want to hear about lately, here is a quick top ten post to make up for me not rappin' at you guys in a while!

Black Metal is a silly silly genre.  I mean, really, making fun of the posturing of the Black Metal community is like shooting fish in a barrel.  But the seriousness with which the "true" black metalers carry themselves really just makes creating lists like these too much fun.  So thanks to the wacky antics of those adorable nihilists I figured I'd see if I could pick out my top ten song titles that made me giggle the most (song titles work great for extreme metal since no one can understand what they are screaming and you have to fill in the blanks in your head as to what the song is about).  This turned out to be a lot tougher than I thought. 

I mean Black Metal song titles are by nature utterly ridiculous, so who's to say Darkthrone's "Flittermice as Satans Spies" or Emperor's "I am the Black Wizards" shouldn't be on the list (actually…those really both probably should be).  But the whole point of listening to Black Metal is to suspend your snickering just a little bit.  So sure, after I forgive the grammar, look up flittermice on google and realize they are probably "bats" which are kind of hardcore and that black wizards could be fairly evil I'll give the bands those song titles. 

But sometimes the song title just doesn't quite work the way the band wanted it to.  So this list is of my favorite black metal song misfires.  They all have to come from bands who were seriously trying to come up with an epic evil grim song title and missed the mark.  So stuff like Impaled Nazerene's "The Horny and the Horned" won't count here since they were (I'm assuming) trying to be funny.  I am also focusing on that "Second Wave" of "true" black metal from the nineties since they were the ones who made the whole "no we really do worship death!" thing so cute.  Therefore, modern "pop" black metal band song titles like Cradle of Filth's "Lord Abortion" won't count either since those bands don't "really" hate flowers and the sun and stuff.

But enough of my yappin!  Let's get on with the list!

Honorable Mention - A Dar(f) Dream

(Veles – Night on the Bare Mountain – 1995)

Now, this song is actually called "A Dark Dream" which is a suitably epic song title for a black metal band.  The problem is that the Olde English font that Poland's Veles used for this album makes all the "K"s look exactly like "F"s and ever since I got this album I can't help but giggle at the phrase "A Darf Dream".  I imagine the grim soul who wrote this song title (Blasphemous...though that may not be his Christian name) having some kind of hilarious "pronounce k's as f's" speech impediment that is the source of all his inner darfness.

10 – Black Metal War

(Graveland – Thousand Swords – 1995)

Ok, I am on the fence about this one.  I mean, a "Black Metal War" just sounds so awesome, and this song is really good (yes, I realize "really good" is a subjective term).  But then I start to think about it a little more.  That's Rob Darken, everyone's favorite Polish racist pictured above, and looking through my Graveland collection, it quickly becomes apparent that the dude owns a lot more than just that one set of armor.  Then I start thinking about what the rest of the Black Metal community looks like and I realize a real "Black Metal War" would probably go something like this:

9 – Unearthly Loose Palace

(Gehenna – First Spell – 1994)

I don't know if I'd really call this funny, but it makes the list since I have absolutely no idea what an "Unearthly Loose Palace" actually is.  Now, Gehenna is totally sweet (not many bands could take cheesy goth-rock, meld it with Unholy Black Metal ™ and make it work, but they do)(yes, you guessed it, this is subjective too...I'll quit linking to the songs) but every time I look at this song I have to stop and try to figure out what an "Unearthly Loose Palace" is for the umpteenth time.  Perhaps the foundations for the palace are unstable?  Is it a palace of loose alien women? (Which I must admit is fairly metal.)  I suppose I'll never know.  Also, deduct a point for using "Palace".  "Castle" is always more epic.

8 – Where Winters Forever Cry

(Summoning – Lugburz – 1995)

So Black Metal is all about sorrow.  And winter is a great all purpose subject for a Black Metal song title.  But sadly (in a grim way), when you make winter itself cry it just gives the literally hundreds of Grim Black Metal ™ fans out there decided less than grim (and actually rather confused) feelings.  Leave it to Summoning, the nerdiest Black Metal band ever (as far as I know they are the only band to write a song entirely in the "black speech" of the Orcs of Middle Earth) to decide to go ahead and make winter a pussy.

7 – Drink the Poetry of the Celtic Disciple

(Vlad Tepes – March to the Black Holocaust - 1995)

Want to guess what country the black metal band that went ahead and greenlit this title is from?  Yes, the French aren't doing themselves any favors in the rep department with the name of this song.  Which is odd since Vlad Tepes is about as grim, brutal and unholy as Black Metal gets, but even they have their thematic missteps I suppose.  I image the band, after a hard night of grave desecratin', coming back, changing into black turtle necks and heading out to the local Celtic bar to just drink up the poetry recitations during "Disciple Night".

6 – Unleashed Axe-Age

(Abigor – Nachthymnen (From the Twilight Kingdom) – 1995)

Long ago, at the tail end of the "Adze-Age", there was the brief lived "Axe-Age".  It was a time where the "Axe" was the fundamental component of all tools and weapons.  Wheeled carts were replaced by "Axe-barrows" and great advances where made in the construction of axe axes which were axes made entirely from other axes.  It was all quickly over when people realized that the "Axe" was not the best component for tool construction.

5 – Frostdemonstorm

(Immortal – Blizzard Beasts – 1997)

This album is pushing the limits of Raw Black Metal ™, but I'll go ahead and use this song as my Immortal entry for this list (though all their song titles are rather silly).  I can imagine the brainstorming session for this one:

Demonaz Doom Occulta – "Ok, let's think of fucking epic things for this song title…how about 'Frost'?"

Abbath Doom Occulta – "That's totally epic, so, check!"

Demonaz Doom Occulta – "Demons?"

Abbath Doom Occulta – "Check!"

Demonaz Doom Occulta – "Storms?"

Abbath Doom Occulta – "Eh, sure, check!"

Demonaz Doom Occulta – "Ooh, how about Frost Storms?"

Abbath Doom Occulta – "OMG, yes.  Check!"

Demonaz Doom Occulta – "Frost Demons?"

Abbath Doom Occulta – "Hmm…I don't know…sounds a little D&D-ish…"

Demonaz Doom Occulta – "Wait a minute…are you thinking what I'm thinking???"

Both together – "FROSTDEMONSTORM!!!!"

Surprisingly (and sadly) this turns out to be just a regular black metal song, and not "It's Raining Frost Demons" set to the tune of "It's Raining Men".

4 - My Soul, Blood, Will be Dripping

(Nergal – The Wizard of Nerath – 1995)

So yeah, Black Metal song titles that sound like newspaper headlines make me giggle about as much as making up things like "Axe-Ages" and "Frostdemonstorms".  I think the so/so Greek Black Metal band Nergal actually stole this title from an Onion Headline: "Area Man Reports Soul, Blood Dripping".  Also, dripping blood?  Brutal.  Dripping soul?  Ew.  …and wtf? 

3 – Possessed (by Satan)

(Gorgoroth – Antichrist – 1996)

How much do I love this song (title)!  I mean, there is a (giant) upside down cross on the front cover, but (in case you were unsure) this was no possession by the (holy) spirit.  I mean, who doesn't like a good parenthetical song title, they are (kind of) a rock institution from "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" on (and probably before).  Bottom line, this is the most adorable use of a punctuation mark (since that comma after "soul" in number 4) on this list.

2 – The Eggs of Melancholy

(Mütiilation – Black Millenium (Grimly Reborn) - 2001)

Ok, this is really close to number one on this list for all sorts of reasons.  I mean, to start this was the first full length album from Meyhna'ch, aka, The Dark Wizzard of Silence, aka The Melancholic Lord of Torments, aka William Roussel since he faked his own suicide.  And yes, that is him in the wheelchair in the main picture for this post, the supposed result of his suicide attempt.  The only reason it's at number two really is because this album kind of sucks (at least compared to the old Mütiilation stuff).  But let's cut to the chase here. 

The Eggs of Melancholy?  Srsly?  That's like calling a song "The Black Asparagus of Satan" or something.  I imagine all of William's hatred for the world stems from the time he got "sunny side up" confused with "over easy" at a restaurant.  Or maybe that is just the source of my own melancholy…perhaps this song speaks to me after all!

1 – The Crying Orc

(Burzum – Self Titled – 1992)

Oh Count Grishnakh, aka, Varg Vikernes, aka Kristian Vikernes, you are a far more adorable facist than those Polish guys.  Naming a song "The Crying Orc" has got to be the cutest title in Black Metal.  Oh wait, Black Metal isn't supposed to be cute?  Well too late Kristian, because you ended up being the inspiration for the poem I wrote for Goth Blog 2.  I can only assume that this was the scenario going through your head when you came up with that doozy of a song title:

THE CRYING ORC

Baseborn am I, servant of the dark,

To toil unceasing, in eternal thralldom.

Never to rest, before the red mark,

I trudge on through the night, my soul weary and numb.

My thoughts fall back, to a time long past,

When I walked with Glargha, upon Nurnen's dark shores.

Frenzied couplings, carnage unsurpassed,

What was and what could be, lost to the Dark Lord's wars.

Now as I march, chasing the battle scent,

I wish that Glargha too, had taken up her spears.

But twasn't to be, and so she was sent,

To fill the breeding pit, while I shed my black tears.

I've said before, I don't actually read as much fantasy as most people would think for someone whose favorite book is The Lord of the Rings.  Of course I'm open to the idea, it seems like a no-brainer for a person of my inclinations (read: "nerdy", "all gay for hobbits and shit"), it's just that I usually come away disappointed and I'd like to try to explain why this is.

The Lord of the Rings realy is unquestionably my favorite book ever, but the reasons for this are rather opaque.  It has its flaws (the characters might be rather one dimensional, the pacing not exactly what I'd call "zippy"…though I personally love reading about people walking through forests...really), but bottom line it just resonates with me on some kind of deep level.  It's like a fleshed out mythological fairy tale full of that unexplainable archetypical power.  The world is fully realized and full of familiar elements, yet the book seems to exist in a reality somehow separate from our own (and not because of hobbits and shit).  It's easy to poke fun at J. R. R. "look another fucking elf" Tolkien as a writer, but he did have a way with words, managing to bring his vision to life without coming off as ponderous or overly archaic (though both claims are subject to some debate I suppose). 

I think the key is that The Lord of the Rings is working on an archetypical level.  While someone like Sam Gamgee has his quirks and peculiarities, when it comes down to it he merely fills the role of the selfless faithful companion.  It is a character that is fairly one dimensional, and also, (I would guess), without an analogue to compare him to in most of our lives (except maybe for those with a manservant?)  I don't count this against the book however, because The Lord of the Rings does not use its characters like most modern stories.  Sam doesn't have to be as complex as Holden Caulfield because The Lord of the Rings is about timeless images of myth and legend.  To fill it with complex "all too human" characters would work at cross purposes to the ethereal fragility of such archtypical images and hamstring the whole purpose of the book.

So I think my problem with a lot of the other fantasy books I've read is that they are modern stories in a fantasy setting.  I read the first 8 books or so in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series and just started the "Song of Fire and Ice" series by George R. R. Martin after being urged to check it out by pretty much everyone (well, Brian and Nadine at least).  Yet while The Wheel of Time series was fine (since I read 8 volumes of it anyway…though I did finally grow tired of it), and the Song of Fire and Ice series looks to be pretty wildly entertaining (though I'm only 200 pages in and I'm not sure if all the pulpy DRAMA will grow tiresome eventually), I sure don't get a Tolkien vibe from them.

Of course, this isn't entirely fair as no one claims G. R. R. Martin's books are like The Lord of the Rings (despite the double "R" middle names), but the idea that "if you like Lord of the Rings, you'll love X book set in a fantasy setting" is bandied about far to often.  These books, and I'd guess, many like them, are all fine stories, but they have a very different tone no matter what they say (The Wheel of Time series is often touted as being Tolkienesque).

I think it is the focus on characters, specifically characters with a real human spectrum of complex motivations that actually pulls these books out of the fantasy realm and even makes me appreciate them a bit less.  This is odd, because interpersonal relationships are my favorite subject in the films I watch.  I think the problem is that when you port a modern story into a fantasy world you are usually going to bring it down a notch or two by putting it into a rather silly setting full of hobbits and shit.

Fantasy, at least in the grand archetypical way that I envision it, should go beyond the ambitions of the modern populist novel.  Fantasy should strike a chord deep within us, in that subconscious place of myth and wonder.  There is nothing wrong with telling a gripping story, in fact, a fantasy novel that doesn't has lost its way as well (which was a lot of my problem with The Book of the New Sun, its narrative wandered and was too allegorical...or more likely, I just didn't understand it).  Real fantasy should hide within the pages of a normal story the grandiose images from another time that never was, images of things that are beyond the realm of simple explanation and yet are integral parts of being human (and again, I'm not talking about simply hobbits and shit).

Of course, all stories have been told a thousand times before and the claim could be made that even a TV sitcom standard like "characters accidentally get handcuffed together" could resonate on a deeper level.  So I'm not saying that "two opposites accidentally get handcuffed together" is any less relevant than "unlikely hero is called to adventure by an aged helper and undergoes many trials before their quest is completed", I mean, hell, that handcuffs at the Raccoon convention was a great episode of The Honeymooners.  I think it is just that some things are a bit more epic than others, and only the most epic images will do for the fantasy stories I like.

This is, of course, all purely subjective, who's to say what stories are "epic" or not (and I'm sure the word could be rightly used to describe The Wheel of Time or Song of Fire and Ice series).  But for me, while I'll happily read the rest of The Song of Fire and Ice series, it isn't working for me as "fantasy" (and I don't care if dragons show up in later books as I assume they will).  Again, if you fill your books with too many "all too human" characters with "all too human" motivations and plot devices the framework starts to crumble for me.  Hell, the Lord of the Rings just had Boromir and even that was pushing it! 

This review is full of spoilers, so if you like classic westerns crossed with classic war films, Fort Apache is fine cinema and you should watch it first.  Check it out and then come back to check out this post if the ending outrages you!

Fort Apache is the first movie in John Ford's cavalry trilogy.  A strange mix or westerns and war films, the movies in the Cavalry trilogy are all fine films (though not as close to my heart as "pure" westerns) and Fort Apache may be my favorite.  Though having a rambling plot and a bit of the usual Fordian flaws (most notably the somewhat overdone comedic elements), it is still a strong and assured piece of film-making.  Along with The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, it is also John Ford's strongest statement of his "when the legend becomes fact, print the legend" philosophy.

In Fort Apache, pompous military big wig Henry Fonda's Colonel Thursday gets transferred to Fort Apache, a cavalry outpost on the edge of the frontier.  The cavalry is an integral part of the "old west".  The furthest cavalry outpost is a borderland between the lawless frontier and civilization "back east"; it is a place where the soldiers occupy a hazy territory between military drones and cowboys.  Colonel Thursday, still smarting from his perceived exile to such an inauspicious outpost, decides he is going to clean up Fort Apache and get some of the military recognition he feels he so rightfully deserves in the process.

Fonda plays Thursday well, he was quite good at portraying a man slightly ill at ease with his surroundings, and in Fort Apache it becomes an endearing attribute to a man who is otherwise an insufferable douche-bag.

Thursday carries himself with the air of someone who no longer imagines that he could make a poor decision.  He scolds the troops he commands for not strictly following military dress codes, thinks of the local Indians as dull witted savages and at all times looks for opportunities to further his own career.

Fort Apache actually takes a rather enlightened view of the Indians (the usual Western staple "bad guys").   Cochise, the leader of the Apaches is portrayed as an honorable man not cowing to the corrupt government policies towards his people.  When John Wayne's character is sent to Cochise to talk peace, the two treat each other as equals and Cochise agrees to bring his people back from Mexico to discuss a treaty with Thursday.  Yet when Thursday finally does meet with Cochise he reveals that it was all a ploy to get the Apache back on US soil and that he had no intentions of discussing things as equals.

The movie builds to this point where Thursday's final decision to charge the Apache defenses though outnumbered four to one leads to his entire brigade being annihilated.  John Wayne refuses and is sent away as a "coward" while the rest of the brigade are forced to "follow orders" that lead to their deaths.  It was a horrible decision made by a glory seeking commander who was entirely in the wrong. 

Yet a strange thing happens in the next scene.  John Wayne is back east and being questioned about what it was like being part of such a brave last stand.  And he is going along with it!  Thursday's suicidal fool's charge that senselessly destroyed an entire brigade is now being celebrated as a heroic battle against a heathen Apache horde.  As stated above, it is John Ford's favorite concept: when given the choice between legend and fact, "print the legend".

This is a lot harder to take when attached to an authority figure making poor decisions (check out the film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance to see the same concept applied to a sympathetic character), but Ford's philosophy doesn't change.  Our myths, our legends, our heroes are incredibly important to our culture.  Telling the true story of "Thursday's Charge" would do more harm than good to our nation's psyche.   The strength of our cultural identity depends on having a strong mythological foundation to root our national pride in.

Let's face it, right or wrong, the Indians were in trouble the minute Columbus landed in the "West Indies".  By the time the entity of America had come to be, there was no way they were going to keep their land.  Cochise in this film was in the right, or course he was; his people were being mistreated and denied their basic human rights by a larger and more powerful government.  But as is always the case, "might" (not "right") makes right. America was far stronger and was nothing was going to stop its steamroller of manifest destiny.

So John Wayne's character, a supposed friend of Cochise allowed the nation to think of Thursday as the hero, and even use his memory to inspire the cavalry to drive the last of the Indians off their land.  Perhaps he knew it was inevitable and realized the value of a nation moving ahead with a clear conscience rather than being fractured by guilt over actions that were inevitable.

This isn't a pretty picture here and leaves the viewer unsettled (my dad hates this movie).  But I can't help but be intrigued by the complex implications of the final scene.  The "chain of command", "follow orders at all cost" nature of the military is a bizarre construct that always unsettles me.  Surely in a system like that, accountability is going to be supremely important.  And what about learning from our mistakes?  Won't this just keep happening until someone is held accountable for their actions?  These are common thoughts when watching this movie, the viewer wants Thursday to be punished.  Instead he emerges a hero (though, importantly, not in the viewer's eyes).   

I think what Ford is probably trying to say is that Colonel Thursday fucked up.  But American's don't fuck up, and even if they do they don't wallow in guilt, they just try their best to live up to the heroes of their legends.  Thursday's fuck up was more valuable twisted into another legend to strengthen our cultural identity.  Was this the correct decision?  I don't think the answer is clear no matter how much the way this movie ends might unsettle us.

It's election season, and thus the usual broadside of intolerance against my refusal to vote has been directed my way.  Now I realize that my choice not to vote is a touchy subject, but I thought I'd outline my reasoning here just a bit since I don't think I don't know a lot of people who really understand (I'm just looking for understanding, not agreement) my position on voting. 

So while I don't expect anyone to follow my lead, or even agree with me, I do hope that maybe if I'm lucky I might get moved up to a few places above "puppy-stomper" on everyone's shit-lists.  If not, I suppose all this will blow over in a month or two…I managed to bounce back from being held personally responsible for Bush getting elected to a second term after all!

First of all, I recently had this freakonomics article pointed out to me that explains the foundations for my choice quite well:

Why Vote? 

I'll try not to repeat that post too much, but that's a good start and if you can read that article with an open mind, then you might give the rest of this post a shot too (while I do "affect a breezy manner" for much of this post, I mean no disrespect, it's just what bloggers do!)

I will be operating under the premise that one person's vote has no effect on the outcome of an election.  I'm not sure how anyone could be convinced that their vote would make any difference based simply on the numbers.  But, as the freakonomics post (I believe correctly) points out, most people know this and actually vote because that is what societal dogma tells them they should do.

Now I know that last sentence came off as patronizing, so I should add that this idea that voting is good for society is not necessarily a wrong way to think about things.  In order for a healthy society to function, its members should adhere to the prevailing social contract, and, as anyone who was a part of the great "but I called shotgun!" debacle of 2001 can attest to, when you brazenly decide to defy social contract, all Hell can often break loose. So if we really believe in the tenants of democracy, that our elected officials should be appointed by the people, then those "people" probably should vote.

But society will not break down when you refuse to vote, a fact evidenced by our still functioning society despite half the population deciding not to vote year after year.  If half our society decided to start killing people and taking their shit, we'd be back to a state of nature even quicker than someone who had decided to quit following the rules of "shotgun".  Yet when half our society decides to quit voting, the same person still gets elected, and that would be the person the masses want, not the individual.

Society is a macrocosm, a sum of its parts.  The shifting currents of popular opinion are affected by any number of things, the media, current leadership, and the chaotic whims of the age.  Even other individuals can have some effect to a very small degree but only if they are powerful enough.  I would be curious to know just how many people Puff Daddy got to vote with that "vote or die" stuff (Which, I'll admit, were that the choice, I'd probably pick vote.  Though, in a "vote or pie" situation I'd have to go with the pie).

The conventional thinking is that the vast majority of people who don't vote are young, poor or minorities, all groups that supposedly favor more liberal policies.  So much of the anger toward myself stems from the feeling that the reason the liberals lose is because "our people" didn't vote, something that I am a perfect scapegoat (or example if you will) of.  But, as is so easy to do with discussions of ideological issues, I am getting sidetracked in details irrelevant to my argument.

The main thing is that no matter who you are, your single vote will have no effect on the outcome of the election and thus is a waste of an hour of your life which leads to the "economists wouldn't be caught dead in such a pointless act since time is money" joke. 

Of course this prompts the old "what if everyone felt your way" argument that I've been hearing since elementary school (I always find it amusing that this argument would be used in the same breath as the "if everyone jumped off a bridge would you?" argument …pick one elementary school teachers!)  And really, come on…isn't that argument just made for elementary school kids?  Do people honestly think that our individual actions really have an affect on the actions of others?  

I think most people would say that yes, your actions do affect the actions of others in that you are setting a good example by voting.  But I prefer to live my own life based on the choices that I believe are right not on how I see others live their lives.  If someone can't think for them self and make their own decision as to whether to vote or not, I don't see why anyone would want them voting for any reason anyway.  I don't buy the "good example" argument (unless you are Puff Daddy of course) anyway since I see our society as macrocosm.  Half of our country does not vote, not because *I* don't vote, but because *half of our country* doesn't vote and that's the way it will be until popular perception shifts to change that. 

So let's not kid ourselves.  One vote has as much chance of affecting the outcome of this election as offering up a prayer to Azagthoth that the Ancient Ones return to consume the entire Republican Party ticket before the election is over.  And me voting or not voting will have no effect on whether any but the most sheep-like individuals will vote or not.

Bottom line, I prefer not to waste my time engaging in pointless acts of a purely symbolic nature.  Not that there is anything wrong with that of course!  In fact, a lot of my best friends are voters!  I'm not anti voter, but… (you get the idea)

So this is why I am always surprised when my friends say they are surprised to hear I don't vote.  I figure everyone already knows that I'm like those dudes in The Big Lebowski…I believe in nothing (and coincidentally enjoy eurotrash music) and I especially do not believe in carrying out purely symbolic actions.  I don't pour forties out for my dead homies, I don't say gesundheit when you sneeze and I don't vote. 

Finally, I should add that I'm actually a pretty big America fan.  The typical liberal attitude seems to be to scoff at overt acts of patriotism, but I think this country is pretty great.  America has a wonderful mythology for a country of its age (seems like a pretty good criteria for national pride) and for every negative American stereotype I can think of many more positive ones. 

But, I'm Isley, not an American.  Don't tell me what I have to have allegiance to just because I happened to have been born there.  And don't tell me I need to vote just because it is the thing to do despite having no real effect on anything.  I like living outside of society, and I was lucky to have been born in a country that lets me do that.  So long as I don't start killing people and taking their shit that is…but of course we have laws for that kind of thing…now if only they would pass a bill aimed at enforcing the rules of calling shotgun! 

Here is part two of my "why do I listen to the awful music I listen to" series.  Part ONE covered Death and Thrash Metal, this time I look at the final genre in my "big three" of extreme metal, and my personal favorite, Black Metal. 

This is by no means an extensive history and most of the specifics are left out for brevity.  But, quickly, because the opening sentence rankles me anyway, Bathory was the first Black Metal band years before the Norwegian scene and they were actually Swedish! (and, no, Venom and Mercyful Fate weren't Black Metal, they were Thrash despite what everyone says).  Metal nerd rant finished!  ;) 

Black Metal arose in Norway in the early 90's (during the twilight of the Thrash years and the heyday of Death Metal).  In many ways it was actually the least "metal" of the three genres with the emphasis entirely on the melody for most of the songs.  The melody was simple however, often only a couple of notes with the diminished fifth and minor third the most commonly used intervals (the main reason for its dark sound).  These simple melodies were usually speed picked and then buried in a wall of trebly noise so overwhelming that it would be difficult to hear even the drummer in most songs (no true black metal band will ever have any distinguishable bass parts).  Eschewing Death Metal's mimicry of The Cookie Monster for its guttural vocals, Black Metal instead picked Donald Duck as the inspiration for its high pitched screams.

Ostensibly created as a reaction to "trendy death metal", Black Metal was pretentiously touted as the most extreme music ever.  Yet were it not for the horrible production values and high pitched screams, it was often far more accessible than most "brutal Death Metal" bands of the time with its flowing streams of melody and even occasional synth use.  Yet without moving into the realm of noise metal, you couldn't really get any more extreme than many of the Death Metal bands of the time, so Black Metal's decision to seek extremity through minimal song structures and primitive production values joined with the most extreme presentation they could come up with might have been wise.

Black Metal did have its roots in metal so there were occasional "heavy" parts and you might even catch yourself wanting to bang your head every now and then (this of course varied from band to band).  Stylistically it actually had more in common with punk music with its purposely simple song structures and deliberately lo fi productions.  Though, thematically Black Metal could not have been more different from punk music (and even "regular" metal music to some degree).

Thrash and Death metal used Satanism and violence not just to shock, but to lyrically match the brutality of the music.  Black metal was not trying to make the listener "metal thrashing mad" so much as suck every last ounce of joy through the listener's rectum leaving a withered soulless husk in a black world devoid of happiness. 

Rare was the Black Metal album cover with even a hint of color in it as they were typically a blurry black and white photo of someone playing dress up in the woods at night.  The musicians wore "corpse paint", spikes and medieval clothing.  Unique among extreme metal bands, Black Metal musicians also appeared to try to actually live the ideology espoused by their lyrics.  So, by the end of the 90s almost every worthy black metal band were either dead (suicide (the link is gross) or murdered by fellow musicians), in jail (for the previous murders or as part of the wave of church burnings that swept Norway in their wake) or no longer making relevant music (the most common outcome, a direct result of the narrowness of the genre). 

This all would have seemed a lot scarier if they didn't look so fucking ridiculous!

This was the razor's edge that Black metal walked.  Their posturing was so extreme, their music and lyrics so over the top it was very hard to not burst into laughter at the sight of one of their albums.  In an effort to produce music of pure black sorrow and evil, they crossed into the realm of caricature. 

The listener is forced to "play along" if they truly want to enjoy the music.  The "eeevil" lyrics are really just Tolkien fueled nerd rantings with an occasional "hot Satan injection".  The corpsepaint and spiked leather that were supposed to make them look like demonic ghouls made the musicians instead look like the members of KISS forced to work the gate at Renfest.  And the production that was supposed to resemble ages of evil masking the beauty of a once majestic music really just sounded like some teenagers who didn't know how to work their four track.

So, that sounds pretty shitty right?  Even if it is understandable as to why someone would listen to Thrash and Death Metal, why would someone listen to a bunch of psychotic nerds (though to be fair, nerds have been in rock music since Led Zeppelin…from the darkest depths of Mordor indeed!) who couldn't even play their instruments and took themselves way too seriously?

Well, I can only speak for myself, but for starters, I really don't enjoy any music that is even remotely happy (not sure why sad music appeals to me so much, probably because I'm not a sad person in real life).  I'll actually skip any song in a major key when I listen to Baroque music and I listen to a lot of Baroque music.  I love Joy Division but don't care for New Order.  I love that girl from Dead Can Dance, but hate the dude...  Actually, you can just read all this on my myspace profile.  Bottom line, Black Metal is music that is meant to be the ultimate expression of sorrow, evil, despair, suffering and hatred; all things that for whatever reason are right down my alley musically.

So I take it with a grain of salt.  I do my best to overlook the ridiculousness of it all and accept it as music from an olden time of melancholic sorrow and evil (I mean evil here in a badass Sauron type way more than an unpleasant Hitler type way…it's confusing but nowhere near as confusing as my special definition of the phrase "fucking epic").  

And with the right mindset Black Metal really is just as dark, sorrowful and evil as it sets out to be.  It evokes images of cold dark forests creeping up the base of epic mountains, grim tyrants crushing all hope from their war swept domains, sorrow that comes with the loss of things past and bloodcurdling despair before pure black malevolent evil.  So yeah, for huge fantasy nerds like myself that just happen to love dark music…well I can't think of a more ideal form of music.  So I'm happy to meet them half way and not think too hard about how completely ridiculous (some of those are mildly NSFW…and I'll have to make my own list sometime too if I can ever get my cd collection to a scanner!) they all look!

That was a bit more background this time around, but I think I got it out of my system…no more metal lectures… At least for a little while! 

I'll leave you with the very first black metal song I ever heard. I was 16 years old and stumbled across a strange looking CD called Hordanes Land in the used record store.  I thought it might be some kind of metal and decided to listen to it on one of the store's headphone cd players.  This was what greeted my ears:

I wasn't sure what I'd just heard but I knew I liked it and bought it on the spot.  That Emperor/Enslaved Split CD is still one of my all time favorites with I am the Black Wizards being perhaps THE quintessential Black Metal song.  All together majestic, sorrowful, hateful, epic, spine-tinglingly evil, and...well, kind of silly! ...look no further if you want to get an idea just what Black Metal sounds like! 

As a brief interlude before the second part of my "why do I listen to the horrible sounding music that I listen to" post (and because the lyric I made up for the earlier post intrigued me…and mostly because I already had the above picture)  I thought I'd change a few minor words in one of my favorite Slayer songs to prove that it just wouldn't quite be the same without good ol Beel Z. Bub. 

Without further ado, I give you ALTAR OF SACRIFICE (Radio Edit)!

First, let's take a look at the original song (since you can never have too much Slayer):

And for reference, here are the original lyrics:

Slayer – Altar of Sacrifice

Waiting the hour destined to die
Here on the table of hell
A figure in white unknown by man
Approaching the altar of death

High priest awaiting dagger in hand
Spilling the pure virgin blood
Satans slaughter, ceremonial death
Answer his every command

Death will come easy just close your eyes -
Dream of the friends youll see
Heavenly failure losing again
Move on to a new form of life

Altar of sacrifice, curse of the damned
Confronting the evil you dread
Coalesce into one your shadow and soul
Soon you will meet the undead

(lead: hanneman)

[altar of sacrifice, curse of the damned
Confronting the evil you dread
Coalesce into one your shadow and soul
Soon you will meet the undead]

Enter to the realm of SATAN!

(lead: hanneman)

Blood turning black, the change has begun
Feeling the hatred of all damned in hell
Flesh starts to burn, twist and deform
Eyes dripping blood realization of death
Transforming of five toes to two
Learn the sacred words of praise, hail SATAN

(lead: hanneman)

A gift of powers disposed upon you
Use them when you feel the need
Master the forces and powers of Satan
Controlling the creatures instinct
Drawn to the castles that float in the sky
Learn to resist the temptation
Watching the angels sift through the heavens
Endlessly search[ing] for salvation

(lead: king)

And here, for the first time in print are the lyrics to Slayers unreleased orginal version, "Bedfull of Kittens"!  (I suggest following along while the above song plays!):

Slayer – Bedfull of Kittens (Based on a True Story)

Waiting the hour destined to nap
Here on the bedfull of pillows
Kittens in white, unknown by man
Approaching the soft downy bed

Napper awaiting teddy in hand
Spilling the saucer of milk
Blissful slumber, lollipop dreams
Answer his sleepytime thoughts

Nap will come easy just close your eyes -
Dream of the kittens you'll pet
Heavenly delights, returning again
Move on to a sweet happy life

Bedfull of kittens, bursting with cuteness
Frolicking with the yarn threads
Caress as one their whiskers and paws
Soon you will pet their soft heads

(lead: hanneman)

Bedfull of kittens, bursting with cuteness
Frolicking with the yarn threads
Caress as one their whiskers and paws
Soon you will pet their soft heads

Enter to the realm of KITTENS!

(lead: hanneman)

Kittens turning frisky, playtime has begun
Feeling their cute little noses
Heart starts to warm, as they twist and perfom
Sleepy eyes opening, realization of playtime
Kneading of five toes on you

Learn the sacred words of praise, hail KITTENS

(lead: hanneman)

A gift of adorableness disposed upon you
Pet them when you feel the need
Master the forces and powers of kittens
Cuteness is the creatures instinct

Drawn to the bed that you nap upon
Hard to resist the temptation
Watching the kittens jump on the covers
Endlessly jumping upon your Toooooeeeessss!

(lead: king)

Yeah, I might have a bit too much time on my hands…and probably take too many naps with kittens.

Underground metal is right up there with hardcore gangsta rap and the works of Montgomery Gentry in terms of cringe-worthy offensiveness.  Underground/exteme metal is a broad term, I'll specifically be looking at Thrash and Death Metal (Black Metal is a special case that will be dealt with in part two of this post), some of the more extreme forms of metal from the early 80's and 90s in this post.  Lyrically and aurally there are few uglier forms of conventional music so I thought I'd take a look at the question "why in the world would anyone listen to that stuff?"

As every heavy metal documentary ever will tell you, "it's all about the energy" and "it really helps to get your aggression out!"  Well, metalheads are an even more offensive lot than the music they listen to (trust me…I've been to their Mecca, Milwaukee Metal Fest…3 times) so in an effort to distance myself from "my people", I figured I'd see if I couldn't come up with something a bit different than the usual responses.

To be fair, it is very energetic aggressive music.  Thrash Metal took the blueprint laid out by the ancient ones (Black Sabbath) and played it at a blistering tempo with heavy use of speed picking and more aggressive vocals.  The effect was pretty much the musical equivalent of shaking the baby.  Death metal kept the speed picking but took out most of the melodic elements, added in even faster drumming and took The Cookie Monster as vocal inspiration.  It was kind of like a baby shaking porno with only the good parts.

Now, maybe I don't have a lot of natural aggression, but I am not sure if aggressive music really acts as an outlet for aggression.  I mean, it's tough to listen to Slayer's Angel of Death without feeling like kicking *someone's* ass.  I'd say Simon and Garfunkel's Feeling Groovy is probably a better bet if you are looking to calm down.  But the visceral, head banging, face smashing brutality that is the backbone of most extreme metal songs has an undeniable charm.  And also explains its appeal to young, disaffected males.  It appeals to everyone's inner caveman, to humanity's repressed violent urges, to the pure adrenalin thrill of rebelling against all societal behavior conventions with wild abandon.  So actually, there might be something to the "it really helps to get your aggression out!" argument after all.  If the urge to act upon your more primitive, animal instincts is there, then maybe extreme metal IS a good outlet if it gives you the feeling of acting upon those instincts rather than actually going out and putting fist to face.

So maybe I have more in common with your typical metal fan than I might like to admit.  I've cut my hair, hung up my leather jacket and put the spikes away, but even at 28, I found myself listening to Slayer's Live Undead straight through twice because damn if it wasn't like  a legal form of crystal meth.

All this so far has dealt with what extreme metal sounds like, but the lyrics and presentation of the albums/band members are parts of the package too.  Not every band uses exclusively offensive lyrics as every teenager who still thinks that Metallica writes some "real deep lyrics" on the nature of war in Disposable Heroes and that Megadeth's In my Darkest Hour's lyrics are a heartfelt meditation on breaking up will tell you (both good songs nonetheless…and I'm probably being too hard on the lyrics).  Still a large number of Thrash lyrics and almost all Death Metal lyrics are exclusively Satanic, gore obsessed hymns to destruction and violence.

Now, I've always felt that art should be viewed in a vacuum and it seems silly to let the ideological beliefs of the artist either add to or detract from my enjoyment of their work.  It's the old Wagner argument; the dude hated Jews, should an opera fan let that prevent them from enjoying some of the greatest operatic works ever written?  I'm not saying my way is right, every one should answer that question their own way, it's just the way I view these things.

Of course, the lyrics aren't meant to offend me, they are meant to offend "the man", "society", "the others".  Nothing says establishment more than organized religion, so when Profanatica screams "I vomit on god's child!" at the beginning of Weeping in Heaven or Beherit screams "Ave Satan, Ave Lucifer"  at the end of Gate of Nanna, they attempt to conjure up the most blindingly offensive images they can.  It's the juvenile kind of satisfaction that is derived from whipping the most uptight authority figure you can find into a blind rage with your words. 

Obviously none of the hundreds of extreme metal bands actually believe in an entity known as Satan, but he is the most convenient mascot a music such as theirs can adopt.  Deicide band members might have made a suicide pact while their lead singer burned an upside down cross into his forehead.  But yes, even they are just militant atheists (and, as it happens, all still alive well past 33 years old).

Satan isn't just a convenient object of rebellious attention though; Satan also symbolically stands for anger, hate, lust, excess and a Faustian will to power; all elements that fit the brutal nature of the music quite well.  The disgusting album covers, menacing posturing from the band members and either incredibly gory or over the top Satanic (or both) lyrics from the bands all contribute to the visceral brutality of the music.  

Basically the music is all around ugly (my first listen through of Morbid Angel's Altars of Madness sounded like white noise to my "unrefined" ears—I now realize it is one of the masterpieces of the genre of course!)  But there is a power, and at least in the early bands a real artistry and creative experimentation with a new art form.  The pounding energy of the music is actually matched quite well by the lyrical excess no matter how silly the lyrics really are (and trust me, I couldn't name a lot of wordsmiths among extreme metal lyric writers).  Not that anyone can really figure out what the hell those guys are screaming anyway (I suspect a lot of them don't even pronounce the lyrics they write…I'm looking at you Lord Worm).

So despite extreme metal being one of the musical styles with the least lyrical importance, pretty much every 15 year old headbanging his way through Slayer's Altar of Sacrifice has to admit "learn the sacred words of praise hail SATAN!" has a certain ring to it within the context of that song.  Surely even the most lyrically offendable person has to admit that "Enter to the realm of KITTENS!" would just kind of kill the whole song.

That finishes my blog post for "Why I listen to Thrash and Death metal despite everything about those styles of music sounding so awful and why my reasons for liking them are so much different than the disaffected male teens that make up the majority of the fanbase, but as it turns out my reasons are the same!"  Tune in tomorrow why I briefly discuss what makes Black Metal so special it deserves its own blog post in part TWO!  Until then…bust some Slayer out…you'll be glad you did:

Abolish the rules made of stone indeed!   ;)   …er wait!  …smilies are totally not metal… |m| (-_-) |m|

Once again, from the pages of Goth Blog comes the second part of everyone's favorite spinoff: SNOB Blog!  Has that wacky high school art teacher who just wants the finer things in life…and for people to know he wants the finer things in life finally found love?  Read on to find out!

Snob Blog 1 can be found HERE!

(Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction; any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental)

October 28^th, 2006

I'm sure that those readers who have found a kindred voice in this journal have assumed that my silence this past week has been due to my continued courtship of Iris after being invited to her movie night last time.  But alas, as is so often the curse with me, I am forced to assume that yet another girl (if I may playfully alter the words of the great Groucho Marx) found herself "unworthy of joining a "club" that had me as a member".

Yet, such is the lot of all who tread the path of good taste, and at this point in my life such setbacks barely faze me.  If Iris can not be troubled to respond to any of my dozen or so phone calls over the past week, than I shall turn my attentions upon more deserving parties.  Sadly, at the moment there is a distinct lack of deserving parties in my life. 

7:23 AM

October 31^st, 2006

In a course of events as unforeseen as a meaningful new album from Stockhausen, today's pep assembly actually managed to raise my spirits!Not through any design on the part of the pep assembly organizers of course,  but more because I was able to participate in a surprise performance art piece when I gathered with all the teachers for some trite recognition ceremony at the beginning of the assembly. 

I was in mid eye roll at the ridiculousness of the ceremony when some unidentified student dressed like one of the Residents in a pink eyeball costume showered the teachers in red dye (most likely as a representation of the red tide of socialism that can not be repressed by the current fascist leadership in this country…but I digress). 

Despite ruining my best Evan Parker hoodie, it was a thought provoking display and really reminded me of the good old days at Berkley (at least what I assume the good old days at Berkley were like).

As one final item of potential interest, the choir teacher Ms. Kockenlocker glanced appreciatively at my Evan Parker hoodie and said "nice sweatshirt; yippee ki yay mo fo!" as I was leaving the auditorium. 

I'm not up on the lingo the kids use these days as much as she is apparently and didn't understand the last part, but I suspect she assumed the words "Parker: Live Free or Die Hard" emblazoned across the front of my hoodie were referring to Charlie Parker (it is rare you find someone enlightened enough to even know of the existence of the free improvisation God Evan Parker!)  Still while I tend to eschew musical works with a rythem or melody even at his most pedestrian, Charlie Parker is quite good, and liking him puts her heads and tails above the rest to the plebes at this school.  I'm hip to Bird—if you are into pop music of course.

All in all a strange day to be sure!

5:37 PM

November 1^st, 2006

I woke this morning to find my house had been egged for the 10^th straight Halloween in a row last night.  I had hoped moving to a new city would help me slip under the radar of the local hooligans, but it seems my decision to serve homemade sugar free sticky rice balls with Durian filling was not to the taste of the trick or treaters last night.  I must remember that a child's palate in this taste-forsaken part of the country is no where near as refined as in other more enlightened parts of the country.

Yet my spirits were strangely bright today nonetheless.  I realized that I could not get Ms. Kockenlocker's appreciation for fine music out of my head.  I had not had a chance to interact with her in my few short months at this school,  and missed her again today, but I would have to find out more about her after her comment yesterday!  She was a not unattractive woman in certain angles, could she be the one to march at my side with the advance guard of humanity? 

No, this time I will play it safe.  No leaping before I look this time, it will take a great deal before I am tricked into thinking I have met my match again!

9:50 PM

November 2^nd, 2006

I believe she may be the one!  Why you ask?  Read on!

In a week that continues to be entirely full of surprises for me, Ms. Kockenlocker actually sought me out after school to, of all things, as for a ride back to town!  Her car's battery was dead and she had heard that I commuted from the city as well. 

Well I was happy to check out this potential diamond in the rough, and as we took our seats my first thought was obviously immediately "what cd should I play for the commute back that would suitably impress her?"  I wanted to go straight to the AMM of course, but figured I should run it by her in case her adventurous side went no further than Charlie Parker.

She said she actually liked a lot of AMM's stuff, though I didn't have the Slim Shady LP she asked for (though I did appreciate her preference for vinyl…trust me if there was a way to install a record player in my car I would have found it, but all past attempts turned out disastrously).  I figured we would jump in the deep end with AMM's foundational Crypt recordings.

To my horror my car's CD player would not work!  I felt like Ahab finally finding his white whale but having nary a harpoon in sight!  Grasping for some way to save the ride home I quickly came up with a backup plan. 

Assuming she was familiar with the work of John Cage, I suggested that we recreate his (in)famous 4:33 composition (though with the traffic the way it was it would have to be 20:33 or so).  She looked a bit hesitant, and instead boldly pulled out an ipod (to my horror!) from her purse!  Before I could even begin my normal diatribe about the vastly inferior sound quality of mp3 audio she had set one of her songs to play on my radio.

I was so stunned by the pop cacophony that it took a moment to register what had just happened to my virgin speakers.  Shouting over the obnoxious bassline Ms. Kockenlocker seemed to be trying to verify that I liked "old school".  I could merely smile and nod. 

But then a strange thing happened, I decided to give something I wasn't familiar with a chance.  After all, this was a woman who liked AMM and Charlie (or even Evan!) Parker, her taste in music couldn't be that bad. 

The more I listened to the high pitched vocals and strangely funky bass with tastefully used synths I had to admit that it was actually a pretty good song (for a pop song mind you!)  I asked her who it was, and wanted to know if the band was popular as competently written as their song was.

She just looked at me like those guys back in college did a few years ago when they found out I didn't know that "Tastes Like Teen Spirit" song.  She could only say "uh…Michael Jackson?  Smooth Criminal?  Are you seriously saying you don't know this song??" 

I laughingly played it off as a joke and resolved not to ask about any more songs.  I would hate to appear a further ignoramus to this strange woman with such eclectic musical tastes!  At least now I can say I've heard a Michael Jackson song…you wouldn't think the fella had it in him to look at him! 

Next on what she called her "jammin tunez mix" was another song that initially horrified me, but by the end of it I had to admit that I too felt like a "genie in a bottle" as the immensely talented singer referred to herself.  It was like a whole new world of music had suddenly opened before my eyes.  My heart was truly saying no, but my tapping fingers were most undoubtedly saying "this is actually kind of good!"

By the time we had reached her house in the city we were both singing along with the final song in a high falsetto: "WANTS TO BE A HUNTER…AGAIN!!"

She thanked me for the ride and asked if I wanted to start carpooling since we liked so much of the same music.  I said that would be great, and she told me she'd bring that AMM Slim Shady LP that I said I'd never heard for next time, and also that we should listen to a band called Britney.  I'm not sure who that is, but from the quality of the great underground pop she played for me tonight I'm sure it will be amazing!

4:33 PM

Previous tales from this goth blog and its spinoffs can be found here:

Goth Blog 1 - The Battle has Just Begun.
Goth Blog 2 - A Bittersweet Brew.
Jock Blog 1 - Boys Just Want to have Fun.

Jock Blog 2 – A Tale of Poo.
Snob Blog 1 - Best Laid Plans Undone.

That's it for now, but fear not, Snob Blog will return in SNOB Blog 3 – Oh the Humanity!

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One of my favorite books as a kid was Alvin's Secret Code, a short mystery story I found in my grandma's bookcase. The story was cool, but even better it had an awesome appendix full of different secret codes and stuff that proved invaluable for my childhood top secret Black Manta club.  But what red blooded adolescent male *doesn't* love secret codes?  Of course my fascination with secret codes didn't end with my innocence, I've always thought codes were pretty cool. 

So when I first read about how prime numbers can be used in cryptography a few years ago, I was really intrigued with exactly how it all worked beyond the general concept.  So recently I sat down with the internet and tried to work through it.  And now, thanks to Wikipedia, google, Mathematics: A New Golden Age (not a bad book), and Ian going over my conclusions I think I finally have a solid enough understanding of public key cryptography to write a blog post about it.  What is public key cryptography?  Read on! 

(I will be going over some of the background math in italics throughout this post.  The Italic sections are not necessary for understanding this post, just additional information for anyone who wants some more detailed examples of what exactly what is going on behind the scenes math-wise in some of these codes.  But really, feel free to skip the rest of the italicized sections if you aren't feeling it!)

(and yes, super special prize to the first person to figure out the secret code above!)

There are all kinds of secret codes out there.  Most Cryptography books will start with one of the most basic, the "Caesar Cipher".   So called because it was supposedly the code Caesar used to communicate with his troops, you simply take the letters of your message and shift them all down the alphabet a set number of places (in the Caesar's case, it was 3 places).  So, "hello" would become "khoor" and "zoo" would become "crr" using the Caeser Cipher with the number 3 (when you reach the end of the alphabet you start over back at "A" for purposes of this code).

This is actually modular arithmetic. This will be used later in this post when we discuss the method behind public key cryptography, but I'll go ahead and go over it now.  You can think of it as addition on a "clock".  Say you get to work at 9:00 and work for 8 hours.  Adding it up on a clock you know you will get off at 5:00.  What you are really doing is adding up all your numbers, but every time you get to 12 you technically start back over at 0. 

The above calculation is expressed as 9+8 (mod 12).  What is going on mathematically is you basically do your addition first, and then divide by whatever number is after the "mod".  The *remainder* after you divide is your actual answer.  So 9+8=17  17/12=1 5/12 so the remainder is 5, therefore the answer is 5.  And since we were dealing with time it would be 5:00. 

This makes it easy to solve more complex problems like "If it is 7:00 what time will it be in 368 hours?"  You would write this as: 7+368 (mod 12).  375/12=31 3/375 so our remainder and answer is 3, or 3 o'clock.

In the case of the Caesar Cipher, we are actually converting the alphabet to numbers 1-26 first, then taking whatever letter we choose (let's say Y for instance) and doing the following: Y = 25+3 (mod 26), so Y=2 or Y=B.

Now, there are two basic problems with the Caesar Cipher.  First, there are only 26 possible ways to shift your letters, so all a code breaker would have to do is try all 26 ways to shift the letters until they figured out the code.  Second, even without doing this, our language creates patterns, and it is fairly easy to analyze any message (the longer the better) and quickly sort out these patterns from the seemingly random letters if the code is a simple "letter substitution" code like the Caesar Cipher.

These two problems can be easily surmounted.  For the first issue, if there are only 26 possible ways to encode your message with the Caesar Cipher, it is simply a matter of making a more complex code.  There are all sorts of ways to encode a message, and as long as the mathematical processes you use to change your message into a code (the "encryption algorithm") are sophisticated enough the code will be basically unbreakable.  In our example above, instead of having "A" correspond to "D", have it correspond to some random number (chosen by the code maker).  Even this simple change makes the code wildly more difficult to solve than the Caesar Cipher.

Yet this new code is still susceptible to the second (and more serious) basic problem with the Caesar Cipher, that while the message looks random, it is still undermined by the basic structure of the English language and can be easily solved by even a simple computer program looking for repeated patterns.  Once we have decided upon a sufficiently sophisticated encryption algorithm, we need some way to obfuscate the structure of our coded message from would be code breakers.  There are many ways to do this, a simple one could be as follows:

First let's use the simple random number letter substitution code.  We could say H=165, E=837, L=3, O=92 then HELLO = 1658373392.  Again, if we leave a full coded message in this form it would be very easy to see the repeated patterns and realize that "837" comes up more than any other sequence of numbers and might be "E" (since it is the most common letter of the alphabet) and go from there.  On the other hand, we could apply some arbitrarily complex mathematical process to every "x" digits to produce a new long series of digits that would add a degree of randomness to your original coded message.  

This probably doesn't need an italicized section, but if you were to use this technique, here is how it would work:

Let's say we decide we will repeatedly square and then subtract one from every five digits of our message. 

First, we'll need the end result of doing this to every block to have the same number of digits and since a 5 digit number squared will yield a 9-10 digit number we'll add a zero to the beginning of any nine digit number we end up with so every 5 digit block will end up as a 10 digit block.

So first we break our original coding of HELLO = 1658373392 into two 5 digit numbers: 16583 and 73392.

Perform the following calculations:

16583² -1 and 73392² -1 to get 0274995888 and 5866385663 for our final encryption of HELLO = 027499588855866385663.

Now it is a simple matter for the recipient of the coded message to break 02749958885866385663 into the ten digit segments 0274995888 and 5866385663, add one to each and then take the square root to get the original two five digit segments 16583 and 73392 which we could combine to get 1658373392 and then apply our code key that tells what letter each grouping of numbers  represents to find our message "HELLO".

The simple techniques I have outlined above are by no means unbreakable, but there are codes that operate on similar principles and with more sophisticated math that are quite effective.

The big problem with codes like this is that the code sender and code receiver both need to have full knowledge of how the code works in order to send and receive the code.  In World War 2, any German wanting to use their "unbreakable" Enigma code would have to make sure each side of the coded message had the complex Enigma machine that performed the encryption algorithms.^1.  Still, while a code like this might be fine for WW2 commanders and members of the top secret Black Manta club, this simply won't work for many other applications.

Just one example of this would be the need for data security at a bank.  Banks need a way for people they have never met in person to send them encoded information that only the bank can decode. The main problem here is that if someone knows how to encode a message, they can just as easily decode the message too (just do the opposite operations…in the case of the Caesar code, if he added three to each letter to encode the message, simply subtract three from each letter of the coded message to decode the message).  We need a way to send someone an encoded message where knowing how to encode it is not enough to figure out to decode it.  This seemingly impossible dilemma can actually be solved with the power of prime numbers (three pages in and we are finally to the point of the post!)  

First a bit about prime numbers (i.e., those numbers that can only be divided by one and themselves).  Prime numbers are kind of like the atoms of math.  According to the "FUNdamental theorem of  arithmetic" (which, if the theorem is "fundamental", it must be important) every natural number greater than 1 can be represented as unique combination of prime numbers multiplied by each other.  210?  2*3*5*7.  32?  2*2*2*2*2.  No two numbers share the same "prime factorization", and each number only has one unique prime factorization (this is why 1 isn't a prime number).

First of all, as I stated, for the secret codes we have talked about so far, if you know how to encode it, you just do the reverse mathematical process to decode it.  Multiply by 3?  Divide by three to decode it, easy as that.  So what we need is something where the reverse operation is impossible to do without some additional information.  This is where the prime numbers come into play.  It is almost impossible to determine how to factor numbers when they get very large, but relatively easy to find very large prime numbers.

One interesting fact I found was that (for example) about one in every 460 200 digit numbers is a prime number.  There are also randomized methods that check for primality that will at least work most of the time, so it is not too hard to check a thousand or so two hundred digit numbers until you found two primes which you could then multiply together to get a 400 or so digit composite number that no one would be able to factor in our lifetime even using the fastest computer in the world.

Using these two bits of information, first I find two very large primes.  Then I multiply them together to get a new huge number.  Now I would find a way for people to encode messages to me by using this product of two very large primes (and only I would know what the two very large primes are).  To decode the message I would need to know the prime factors of the very large number that was used to encode the message (which luckily I do since those two huge primes were used to get the huge number that the message was encoded with in the first place).  This is not exactly how it works, but the concept is there.

Ok, so the way it actually works, as far as I can figure out is as follows.

First let's get some variables:

M = our message.

C = our encoded message.

p, q = two very large prime numbers chosen by the person who will be receiving the coded messages.

n = our large number that is a product of p and q.

e, d = two inverses mod (p-1)(q-1).  Basically, e and d are two numbers derived from p and q.  e will be publicly known (along with n), and d will be known only to the person who will be receiving the coded messages.

To encrypt a message, we will take M^e (mod n).

To decrypt a message, we will take C^d (mod n) (again, d will be secret, so only someone who knows d, which can only be found out if you know p and q, which if you pick a large enough n will be impossible to find out since n will be too large to factor).

Looking at the Encryption algorithm we can see that this code is basically modular exponentiation as opposed to the modular arithmetic of the Caesar Cipher.

So, let's see how this works:

As the person who wants to get the coded messages, I will choose my "very large" primes as 3 and 7 (this is my p and q)(of course I'm using very small primes so I can do the math fairly easily).  Therefore my n will be 21.

Now I need to find e and d which are inverses in modular relation to p and q.  Inverses  in modular arithmetic are any two numbers that when multiplied by each other leave a remainder of 1 (mod x).  In this case, e*d ≡ 1 (mod (p-1)(q-1)) or in this case,  e*d ≡ 1 (mod (3-1)(7-1)) so,  e*d ≡ 1 (mod 12).  5 and 17 will work here for e and d since 5*17 = 85 which is congruent to 1(mod 12).

So, I have p, q, n, e, d…now I am ready to set up my public key cryptography system.  I make publicly known n=21 and e=5 and my encryption algorithm is M^e (mod n).  Now say someone wants to send me the message "4" (again, keeping it simple so we can see how this works). 

They take 4⁵ (mod 21) which comes out to 16.  As the message recipient I get the coded message (C) as "16".  For me to decode the message, I take C^d (mod n), or in this case, 16¹⁷ (mod 21) which gives me the original message, 4! ^2.

Bottom line, to encrypt something with this system you use the product of two predetermined prime numbers.  But to decrypt it you need to factor the product you used to encrypt it (since you are doing the reverse operation) thus making decryption basically impossible if you don't have the prime factors already.  So anyone can encode the message using that very large product of two primes (which is publicly made available so people can encode messages to the recipient).  But only someone with the two primes that were used to get that product (the intended recipient) can decode the message. 

This type of public key cryptography (so called because the encoding key is publicly made available for anyone to send coded messages to its owner) is called RSA encryption and is a very elegant use of the properties of prime numbers and the great difficulty that exists in factoring very large numbers.

To show just how hard it is to factor a very large number (if we use 200 digit prime numbers, like most RSA encryption uses today, our product will be almost 400 digits long!) think of it this way: the number of primes less than x is approximately x/ln x.  That means that even for a 20 digit number there are a billion billion primes that could be possible factors…for a 400 digit number there simply isn't a computer program fast enough or a factorization algorithm sophisticated enough to factor it anywhere near our lifetime.

The final thing to remember about RSA and Public Key Cryptography is that its brilliance is not that it is the best code system out there.  There are other systems that might be just as secure and more efficient to use computing power wise (DES for example).  The real brilliance of RSA is the ability to have a public encryption key that anyone in the world can use to send secure messages to its owner.  Public Key Cryptography is the reason you can send your credit card number and personal information to www.realdoll.com in a code that only they can read.  Who says math can't be useful!

1.  The Enigma code was actually broken by allied mathematicians during WW2 eventually allowing real time interception of coded messages at the highest level.  A very cute Nazi story was how the Gestapo's Enigma transmissions were essentially unbreakable since they didn't make any mistakes in their encoding of the messages, and the "user error" of the encoding process from other groups was basically what led the allies to break the "supercode".  I'm guessing the Italians were to blame.

2.  This works (and this part is pushing the limits of my understanding thus it is down here in the footnotes) because we needed to find an e and d such that (M^e)^d ≡ M (mod n) (in other words, take our message to the e power and then to the d power and that should be congruent to the original message mod n).  The tricky part is how this works with p and q in the mix.  It depends on the Chinese Remainder Theorem and Fermat's Little Theorem neither of which I understand well enough to pretend I can get it right, so I'll leave it here for now…maybe I'll keep working on it another time!

I decided that after writing such a scathing indictment of the recent spate of parody movies out there…that I would follow it up with a blog post parodying some of my favorite movies!  Of course it is ok when I do it!  And now, without further ado, let's get on with the post…

The world film community was rocked this year when pieces of three alternate movie scripts for Bad Boys 2 surfaced.  It seems the producers, in an attempt to cash in on the "indie movie" craze, had sought out 3 of the most respected European art house directors to rewrite Michael Bay's original script.  Small sections of the finished screenplays have resurfaced now, years after the decision to just stick with the original script, and here, for the first time they are published on the internet! 

Each section here covers the "Marcus' Erection Problem" scene from the original movie, and it is amazing to see how each one of these auteurs has left their indelible stamp upon the scene while staying true to the original's brilliant juxtaposition of heartfelt character development with a mistaken meaning comedy of errors.

First, for reference, here is the scene as it ended up in the movie:

And now, here are the interpretations of this wonderful scene from Ingmar Bergman, Eric Rohmer and Werner Herzog!

"TROlÖSA POJKAR."
(THE FAITHLESS BOYS.)

By Ingmar Bergman

INT – CHURCH – MIDDLE AGES - DAY

Brothers Mikkel and Magnus have returned to the town of their childhood after long years away upon the news of their father's death.  Their youth gone, faces scarred, none recognize them. 

They stand in the center of the old wooden church whose foreboding image had rested heavy upon their thoughts long after they had left its cold stern benches in the past.

They speak in expressionless voices with Magnus facing the camera while Mikkel is in profile directly behind him.

MIKKEL

Father is gone and yet I feel the same emptiness inside.  Are not these beams still constructed of the same dead wood that held this roof up when he was alive?

MAGNUS

(staring at the cross)

I share your emptiness.  It has been so long since he has spoken to me.

As Magnus utters these words the young Parson, new to this village, and clinging to the fragile vestiges of his faith enters at the back of the chapel.  He hides behind the altar and whispers to himself:

PARSON

What is this?  Am I not the only one who must endure His silence?  Is He absent from this man's life too?

MIKKEL

Your words have truth Magnus.  Our father is dead.  What cruel trick is it that his silence is no less pronounced.

MAGNUS

Yet this silence is more profound it seems to me.  It is not merely the absence of his words, but now truly I can no longer feel his presence.

The parson clutches his breast, short of breath and pale.

PARSON

These strangers words tear into my soul.  I too know His silence only too well.  Could He simply not be there?  It is too much to bear!

MIKKEL

We killed him you know.

The parson stifles a shriek of horror.

MAGNUS

Yes, even the most base creature might wither into nothingness through lack of love.

MIKKEL

And yet how could we be expected to love such a thing?  Is it not too much to ask for love when those you ask it of are shown none of your own.

MAGNUS

Is it?  What of Abraham?  Did he feel God's love when he set to slaughter his own son?  Perhaps it is too much to ask that we experience love back from those we would give it to.

MIKKEL

Nay, a thousand times nay.  That is a twisted love that I will have none of.

MAGNUS

Perhaps you are right, but I don't wish to speak of it here any longer.  This place is a great weight upon my soul in his absence.

The two brothers leave, thoughts of their dead father and loveless childhood heavy upon their minds.  Creeping from behind the altar the parson emerges.  Hands shaking he reaches up and wrenches the cross from its mount and dashes it upon the ground.

PARSON

You two strangers need Jesus as much as I do.  But I will reach out to a God who covers his ears no longer.  I have seen the light, and it is infused with an ineffable darkness.  Would that I were able to continue on in ignorance instead of this agonizing emptiness that I now feel!

FADE OUT.

"LES VACANCES MAUVAISES DE MICHEL ET DE MARCEL."
(THE MISBEHAVED HOLIDAYS OF MIKE AND MARCUS.)

By Eric Rohmer

Michel and Marcel have met a pair of friends, Pauline and Maude, while on holiday in Southern France.  Initially Michel and Pauline had been seeing each other while Marcel and Maude had spent the most of their time together.  But Michel has begun to realize that he too likes Maude and is morally conflicted about attempting to make his move. 

Unbeknownst to him, Maude has a boyfriend back in Paris and is feeling conflicted herself about dating anyone.  Pauline on the other hand has found herself falling for Michel, which Michel has begun to suspect, thus complicating his situation further. 

Michel has just told Marcel of his feelings for Maude at the end of the previous night's party and Marcel stormed out.  Today they have met for lunch to discuss this for the first time.

SOUTHERN COAST OF FRANCE – OUTDOOR CAFE - DAY

A waiter sets a plate of cheese and fruit before the two friends.  Marcel still seems upset, but is containing his irritation.

MICHEL

I'm glad we are talking about this at least Marcel. 

MARCEL

It's just that I was so shocked when you said that you knew she was the girl for you last night.

Unbeknownst to the two friends, Michel's girl Pauline, who he has recently decided to abandon for Maude has entered the café and overheard Marcel's statement thinking it applied to her.

MICHEL

I knew it would be a shock to you.  I've never wanted to do something like this before.  But are you familiar with Pascal? 

MARCEL

Yes, of course, to some degree, I read a bit during my philosophy studies in school.

MICHEL

So you are familiar with his wager?

MARCEL

Yes, but how does it apply here?

Pauline continues to eavesdrop and think that Michel is talking about her and not Maude while Michel and Marcel have a conversation about Pascal (see attached 30 page script addendum) where Michel explains that when the rewards are so high, he would have been a fool not to take that chance.

MARCEL

That may be true, but I want her as well.  It seems that our rewards are at odds here.

Pauline's mistaken assumption that now Marcel likes her as well startles her.

MICHEL

Perhaps in such a case we should let the reward determine its own recipient my friend.

MARCEL

Very well, let us go ask her this right now!  I think you'll find you have wagered upon a weak hand in this case!

Turning to leave, they see Pauline sitting within earshot!  Marcel, thinking she has heard of Michel's disinterest in her flags a taxi to get to Maude's leaving Marcel to explain himself.  Marcel, thinking she has heard of his disinterest in her leaves the diner on foot, unable to deal with discussing the situation with her at that time.  Pauline, misinterpreting both men's reactions as embarrassment for declaring their feelings for her, rushes to call Maude and tell her the bad news.

"DIE SCHLECHTE MÄNNER DER DUNKELHEIT UND DER EINSAMKEIT."
(THE BAD MEN OF DARKNESS AND SOLITUDE.)

By Werner Herzog.

JUNGLE RIVER – GOLDEN HOUR

Micheal and Markus face each other from opposite banks of the jungle tributary, each clutching a squirming chicken in his hands.  The base, hostile screams of the forest are overpowered only by the roar of the all consuming rapids between the two men. 

The tattered seat of Markus' pants is covered with the dried blood of the previous days beak wounds.

They stare into each other's empty eyes, unable to speak in the face of the natural cacophony around them.  Is it hatred or love that roots these men to this spot?  The tribesmen that watch from behind stinging nettles and poisonous vines can not tell which.

Michael and Markus simultaneously throw their chickens into the center of the raging river

CUT TO:

RIVER RAPIDS - CLOSE UP

The water surges and foams, a great primeval force of chaos and darkness.  The screams of the drowning chickens fade as the camera lingers on the violence of the water (HOLD SHOT 10 MINUTES).

I'm really not too snobby about my humor (comparatively speaking).  Sure I think Woody Allen is great, but I love his earlier more broad comedies just as much as his later films full of razor sharp dialog.  Chaplin kicking someone in the ass in his early Keystone pictures is about as funny as his most clever gags from any of his films.  And anyone who has been privy (pun intended) to the delights of Jock Blog knows that I'm a bit of a fan of bathroom humor.

The point is, I try to keep an open mind with comedy, but every time I see something like the trailer that follows I wax apoplectic with a rage that has finally reached the point where it must be channeled into an internet rant.  If anything was going to get me posting in this blog again, this was sure to do the trick:

Let's look at the obvious quickly:

-          This is not even a movie that spoofs "disaster movies", it seems "Summer 2008 Movie" would have been a more apt title.

-          Allowing for even a very brief production phase, at the time this film was created it was almost entirely spoofing movies that weren't even out yet.

-          No matter how you look at it, these jokes aren't even funny!

But there is a deeper issue here, the fact that movies like this rely entirely on what my friend Chris has so aptly named "affirmational comedy".  This lowest of the low, laziest of the lazy types of humor is an offshoot of "observational comedy" (a term I don't think Chris coined).  

An observational comedian would say something like "have you ever noticed how movies where the whole premise is to repeat the jokes found in recently released movies are never nearly as good as the already sub par movies that they are "spoofing"?" (To which the audience would respond with "It's funny because it's true!!")

An affirmational comedian on the other hand is all about making the easiest possible "jokes" (or, in the case of most affirmational comedy, "comments" like: "You all like McDonalds?  Yeah?  Know what is a great deal?  They got that $1 Chicken Sandwich!  Wendy's charges like $4 for that shit!" …and yes, I'm looking at you Dane Cook) to the widest number of people.  It is designed to make the entire room say in unison "why yes, I do like McDonalds on occasion!  And, yes, in fact a $1 chicken sandwich from McDonald's IS a good deal!  I am not sure why I'm laughing, but everyone else is so this must be funny!"  And now, ever since Marlon Wayans said "I see dead people" in the trailer for Scary Movie 1, it seems like these affirmational comedy movies, or "spoof movies", have been cropping up more and more frequently.

I should stop to point out that "parody" is not in itself part of what I call (what Chris calls) "affirmational comedy".   There have been plenty of fine examples of parody in all artistic mediums, but somehow film has too often taken the easy route of letting parody slip into the realms of affirmational comedy.  Why make the effort to write actual intelligent commentary on the tenets of a genre while subverting them at the same time if you can just drop a cow on Iron Man, which, I guess, is funnier than dropping a cow on some random dude because Iron Man just had a big movie out this summer?

While the endless stream of Date Movie, Epic Movie, Scary Movie, etc makes it seem like this is a new thing, these types movies have always been around.  I was quite ashamed to witness the uproarious laughter at the Topeka Silent Film Fest a few years ago during the showing of the tediously unfunny Stan Laurel spoof film "Mud and Sand" (shown immediately after "Blood and Sand" a rather average yet popular Rudolph Valentino film).  From the moment Laurel was introduced as "Rhubarb Vaseline" (which, to be fair, Groucho Marx has often proven the hilarity of the word "Rhubarb" and I guess circumcised guys jerk off with Vaseline so it also has its moments, as words go), I have never heard an audience laugh so much or so loudly (not even during Chaplin's brilliant City Lights the night before).  Cries of "It's just like in Blood and Sand!" resounded through the theater while I self-righteously fumed in my seat.

I can only imagine it is some form of mob mentality that causes such an overwhelmingly positive response to such mediocre material and continues to keep getting these films made year after year.  I have no solution to this problem, hell; give the public what they want.  I can only take solace in the assumption that there are many more of these films from years past that have rightfully fallen into those forgotten halls were all bad films go that can not stand the test of time.  Hell, wasn't there a "Superhero Movie" or something similar even a year ago that is already forgotten? 

Though 80 years from now I bet my great grandchildren will be forced to sit and fume at the Topeka CGI Film Fest as the audience cracks up after the festival has dredged up a lost copy of Meet the Spartans for a double feature with 300.

Ok, that's it for now, just had to get that dander out of my system.  I'll try to leave the ranting to Ryan, he's better at it than I am.  Hopefully I'll be back soon with a new Snob Blog!

I should point out I haven't actually seen any of these movies I just trashed.  But hey, it's the internet, who says I have to back up my opinions...er...facts!

A lot of the clips in this post are the climactic scenes of great movies.  So, fyi, spoilers ahoy…go watch all these movies you haven't seen before you read this post!....

"1, the train fight in From Russia with Love, obviously:

This fight is pretty realistic as movie fights go, but it is stylized enough to add a bit of extra excitement.  The opponents are evenly matched with nice escalating back and forth action.  There is a great deal of desperation as they are both obviously fighting for their lives and it is well filmed.

2, the wrestling fight from Night and the City of course: 

This fight is perfectly set up in the movie and represents every plan the hero (the excited little guy) has made slowly crumbling before his eyes.  It is an old warrior against a young upstart, proving he still has it one last time. It is desperate and tense, each man knowing it has gone too far to back down. 
And finally, it is actually fairly realistic despite a few moves that don't work.

3, well...crap, I got nothin"


To my shock I realized that there really weren't that many fight scenes in movies that I found to be flawlessly executed.  So instead of an easy list of my favorite fight scenes, I figured I'd write a more text heavy examination of just what it is I look for in a fight scene.

First off, I'm talking about one on one stuff here.  I can think of some great battle scenes, or even bar fights etc, but the type of fight I'm thinking of for this post is a one on one hand to hand showdown.  I also am not really counting gunfights which are their own separate genre of "fight" (all buildup with a split second denouement).  Hand to hand weapons are ok I suppose, and that being the case I guess I'll have to add Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone's swordfight from The Adventures of Robin Hood to my list of great scenes above:

Errol doesn't seem to worry too much about dying here, but Guy of Gisborne's grim determination provides the needed danger.  One of the all time great fights in one of the all time great pieces of cinematic entertainment!

That said, let's examine some likely contenders for great fight scenes.

First off, let's look at Kung Fu films.  There are thousands of these films out there that are all about fights, so why won't I include any Kung Fu movie fight scenes as my favorite of all time?  Mostly because, to me, the best Kung Fu fights are closer to a Fred and Ginger dance scene than a true fist fight.  The choreography is amazing and the action is back and forth, but most of the great Kung Fu fight scenes simply lack realism.

Now I'm not just talking about unrealistic fight moves.  In these days where No Holds Barred and Mixed Martial Arts fighting have been surging in popularity, it's no secret that real fights don't look anything like what you see in a typical Bruce Lee movie.  Hell, even that fight in Night and the City isn't particularly realistic (though most of those wrestling moves are at least close). 

The problem is that most kung fu fights, in addition to having preposterous kicks and punches, also seem to lack that aura of desperation that marks any real fight.  You can tell that even someone as cool as Bond has realized that (to borrow from Bad Boys 2) "shit just got real" when he throws down with Robert Shaw.  Fights are about desperation, only one participant is walking away from it.  Also, to nitpick, it always bothers me that everyone in Kung Fu movies seems to "know some shit".

So, while something like this (from Drunken Master 2):

…is a masterpiece of choreography and quite entertaining to watch, it doesn't provide nearly the visceral thrill of watching the Bond fight or the Night and the City fight.

Readers of my blog will probably guess there is a bit of snobbery here too.  I'm picking fights from "quality cinema" and eschewing easy picks from lesser movies.  For instance, this fight from Kill Bill 2:

…is actually pretty much very well done.  But it is stuck in a cloyingly self aware film that is far too in awe of its own hip-ness.  I'm being only a bit unfair (film snobs lose their ability to admit any enjoyment from Tarantino after their first year of snobbery), but this fight, though mostly well done suffers from a lack of impact due to the movie it is in.

Not that a good movie will always make the fight scenes good.  Take this scene from The Quiet Man (which I suppose I'd go ahead and call a good movie):

…it's entertaining sure, but I wouldn't call it one of my favorite fight scenes.  Whoever loses that fight isn't even going to be hurting since it takes place in that magical film land where getting punched in the face apparently doesn't hurt.  There is no tension to be found here (which is obvious I suppose since the fight is played for laughs anyway).

It also seems that many "good action movies" will have less memorable fights simply because the whole movie is full of fight scenes.  This climactic fight from Die Hard:

…never seemed that memorable to me as far as "great fight scenes" go.  It is still a suspenseful part of the film, but not only is it one of many fights in that movie; it also suffers a bit from the "too many punches to the head, not enough damage done" pitfall.  Watch the From Russia with Love scene again and compare unblocked face punches between the two scenes.  More punches to the face does not make a better fight, it just makes your two fighters seem less human and thus the viewer is taken out of the fight a bit more.

Though just because the movie is full of fighting doesn't mean it can't have standout fights in it.  I think my problem with the Kill Bill 2 trailer fight is I just can't get over myself, and my problem with the Die Hard fight is that it is just yet another long punchfest, though competently incorporated into the film.  But I must admit that I'd probably put this fight from Aliens on my top five list (despite being in a film full of Alien fighting):

…the opponents actually seem evenly matched, there is a real sense of danger, there is a nice back and forth to it without overextending its welcome and there are real surprises beyond the "punch me for a while then I'll come back and punch you" formula.

Finally, TV shows have been really having some good fight scenes it seems.  In fact, this scene from season 3 of Deadwood is, no getting around it, one hell of a fight:

Two behemoths who have never lost in their life face off hand to hand in the middle of a street.  It's realistic, but in a good way.  The fatigue that sets in increases the tension and suspense all the way up to the finale.  Films are always better than TV, but here's one case of a TV show getting a fight right!

So, a fight can be many things, but the ones that impress me the most cinematically will have a real sense of danger, be at least somewhat realistic, and capture that indefinable quality of all real fights.  That quality being the fact that "shit just got real":

From the pages of Goth Blog here is the second installment of the spinoff that everyone has been clamoring for: JOCK Blog, number 2!  That's right, more wacky adventures from everyone's favorite jock older brother, Chet!  Will someone get sprayed in the face with shit again?  Read on dear reader and see!  But enough of my yappin, let's get on with the Jock Blog!

(Warning, this is not for the weak stomached.  I have culled knowledge gained from years of close contact with jocks in their natural habitat into what is actually a mostly hyperbole free post based on actual events.  So yeah, jocks are filthy filthy people.  You have been warned.)

October 30^th, 2006

So last week was pretty crazy, what with that crazy fucker Chris droping a deuce on a teachers face, and all.  I doubt this week will be up to that level of awesomeness, but on account of because Mrses. O'Hare says we got to, I'll be writing in this online dairy until the end of the semester.

So at lunch today Eddie, and Benny started into it again.  Eddie kept on talking about how Benny shouldn't have stayed runningback, and how he coulda had more yards, and all.  Well, Benny wasn't having that, and things started to get prety hot, and heavy. 

Thats when Dane said we was all too good freinds to fight about that, and that if they realy wanted to settle it for good they should see who can win some French contest called a "rowshambo' match.

Well, normaly on a scale of one to faggy I'd rate the French way up there with that gay dude that's gonna play the joker, but 'rowshambo" is apparently French for awesome cause it is basically a good old fashoined nut punching contest. 

Well none of us new who was supposed to go first cause Dane didn't remember the rules, but I guess Benny figured going first sounded like a good idea cause he hawled off and punched Eddie in the nuts while we was all standing around argruing.

Well Eddies eyes got all big, and then he just started woblying around, and then threw up the six cartons of milk he had just drank into the heater before he went home for the rest of the day. 

It was basicaly the best lunch ever.

6:45 PM

October 31^st, 2006

Today was a pep assembely day, which normally means all us guys that play sports get to go around all day kicking ass with our cocks out untill the whole school goes to the gymnasium at the end of the day to tell us how awesome we are.  We was all special excited, cause Dane said he knew for a FACT that Kara wasn't wearing no underwear after lunch, and she's a cheerleader.  Anyways, theres no way any of us is smelling that dirty fuckers fingers for proof again, so we figured we'd beleive him, and best case maybe see some bush during the cartwheels.

But then the worst thing in the world happened.  Somebody dressed up in some gay ass big pink dick costume poured a whole tub of jungle juice from the coaches box all over the teachers right in the middle of the pep assembely.  Everyone was running around, trying to find out who done it, but he got away somehow.  Dane said he saw Mr. Gleeson sucking up the jungle juice from the floor when no one was looking…, and I beleive it on account of because everyone knows how hard ol Gleeson hits the bottle.

Well, bottom line, we is all completely pissed that someone would pull something like that.  I mean, everyone knows school pep assembleys is off limits, and I can't beleive someone from our school would ruin our special day like that.  Those pep assembleys are like little Christmaseses for us sports players, and now I feel like the Grinch just showed up and butfucked me in the face.

If tonight wasn't Halloween I'd be even more pissed, but since it is I guess the day won't be a total waste.  There was an article about a 1000 pound state fair blue ribon prize winning pumpkin in the town paper today.  The guys and I figure that whoever grew something like that right before Halloween, pretty much brought it on themselfs.

3:45 PM

November 1^st, 2006

Well yesterday just seemed to get worse, and worse.  Turns out a 1000 pound pumpkin is a lot harder to smash than you might think.  Ethan thinks his toe might be broken, but I at least put some prety good dents in it with my elbow. 

Anyways, we all ended up heading back to Benny's house to get a sledgehammer, where we saw the most horrible thing that has ever happened in the world, ever.  Bennys sweet 1978 El Camino, that he was almost done fixing up had had purple, and yellow paint poured all over it everywhere.

Now, only one school uses those gay ass colors, and that school is the home of the Shadywood Trojans in the next town.  Well its no secret those fagtards hate us after beating them at regionals…but what do you expect if your team is named the Trojans (which means something about gay dudes buts).

We figured we couldn't fuck up there hole town, so decided to sleep on it til we found out which ones did it.

We told Eddie what had hapened this morning (he had stayed home sick on account of because he said his nuts still hurt last night, but we figure he was probably just fucking his Alf doll again—bet he wishes he never got drunk and told Chris that story!)  Anyway, Eddie seemed to be walking ok now, and he was totally pissed that someone had done that too. 

Then he remembered he had seen a barbed wire tattoo on the guy in the dong costume at the pep assembly.  Well, there is only 8 people on the Shadywood wrestleing team that has that tattoo, but Eddie also saw a cow skull tattoo on his other shoulder.  Well there are 5 people that have that tattoo on the team, but the only one with both, is Bomainus, their 185 pounder who beat Eddie at state last year, in the first round. 

Needeless to say, he is a dead man and we are going to spend the rest of the day figuring out how to fuck him in his dirty gaping Trojan.  If he wants to bring on the prison rules, he better be preppared to have it brung back twice as hard—prison style!

12:13 PM

November 2^nd, 2006  

Last night went about as well as a date with Maggie Grubenheimer (shes the president of our schools Youth Alive club, and while there is a lot of easy stink in that club despite what you might think, she is a walking talking case of blueballs waiting to happen, TRUST me).

Anyways, we decided we needed to fuck Bomainuses car up too if we was gonna be even, and luckily Eddie had some half full cans of purple and yellow paint we could pour on it to pay him back the same way he got us.  Then Chris sugested it was maybe time for a shitbox.

Well, I think he had us all at shit.  So we all lined up to shit in a cardboard box (which is the directions for making a shit box) while I ran inside and got some of my mom's wraping paper.  The best thing about a shitbox is you get someone to take a nicly wraped up box into their house thinking it is full of something awesome like a case of beer or Wresteling tickets, but when they open it it is in reality full of 6 different kinds of shit.  It's basically the most awesome thing in the world, and I'd kiss the chocolate starfish of the man who thought it up!

Well…normally it is awesome.  This time did not go so well.

All six of us cramed into my mom's car (which we "borowed" on account of because it can't be traced back to any of us and on account of because she never drives it anyway and won't notice it is missing), and I was keeping to the country roads on the way to Shadywood cause that way I can drive over the speedlimit without getting arrested.

Well apparently Chris was still taking the exlax to cut weight because Eddy, who had the box on his lap sudenly realized that the botom had pretty much disolved during the ride…I guess cardboard don't hold up to diarea.

Well, he all freaked out, and threw the shitsopping cardboard mess into the back seat, spraying Chrises shitruns all over everything, untill it hit Benny in the face.  Benny didn't like getting shitblasted out of nowhere and threw it back at Eddie but missed and hit Dane, who was sitting shotgun.  Cept Dane was laughing so hard Benny caught him with his mouth open, and, well from there on out it was pretty much a fronteer style shitfight while going 85 down a country road just like in the movies.  It would have been a lot more awesome if there wasn't so much shit flying everywhere.

By the time I had pulled over, and we'd gotten all the shitpieces that we could find out of the car none of us really figured we still had it in us to pull the job tonight (plus, without a shitbox, there didn't seem to be much of a point).

So needless to say, we havn't given up but we are taking a day off to figure out a new plan…we'll get him back tomorrow night or get covered in shit again trying.  I hope my mom dosn't notice the smell in the car.

6:37 PM

November 3^rd, 2006  

Some things in life are just not meant to be I guess.  My girlfreind Margo is always telling me that when I show her a new video I found online of stuff we can do to prove we love eachother equally, and are not afraid to use, her body, in new, and exciting ways.  Now I think I know what she means.  Tonight started so well too!

So first of all, Dane is like super ingenuous, and knows how to use computers, and everything, and he was telling us he read online how you can make a bomb out of dry ice, water, and a two leader bottle.  Well then he says, he says that Chrises runney shit gave him the idea for shit water.  Basically you just take shit, and then mix it with water, and this is the way you can make shit water.  Well if you put this so called shitwater into the two leader bottle with dry ice, when it blowed up you would get a spray of shitwater over everything.

I'm not saying I'm a homo, but Dane would be my first choice for a cellmate after hearing that plan.  At least at the time I thought so.

So thinking we had solved our cardboard problem we all got together again around 10:30.  This time we used Eddie's mom's car on account of because my mom's car smelled too bad.  We figured if a 2 leader made a good bomb, a 3 leader would make an even better bomb, so got a giant bottle of big k soda, and then found some dry ice too (we dared Eddie to swallow a piece but it just got stuck to his lip, and now he looks like he has been dating Benny's little sister again). 

Anyways, Dane mixed the shitwater in Eddie's kitchen, since that was the most sceintific place we could think of.  We also figured we should all contribute a little bit to it, though Chrises shit was already in shitwater form again as it turned out which Dane said proved the miracle of sceince.  After we had poured as much as we could into the 3 leader bottle, and put Eddie's mom's soup pot back in the cubboard we squeezed back in the car ready to go.

We was pulling out of the driveway is the last thing I remember, cause next thing I remember there was a sound like a hundred m80s, and then I couldn't see or hear anything except shit.  We managed to push the car back in the garage before anyone saw us.

Turns out Ethan's dumb ass thought we had to put the dry ice in the bottle right away and when he put the cap on that stupid fucker accidentally blew it off too soon (WHICH, by the way, from the talk I've heard, is a common problem with him, but that is aside from the issue). 

The real problem is that us, the car and everything is covered in a fine mist of shitwater right now and weve used up all of Eddies moms clean towels and most of what we could find in the laundry room.  I've got shit all the way up my nose…that stuff got all over so much I've probably even got shit in my ass!

So yeah 2 strikes, and we are out.  We decided that we was just jinxed, and that we'd have to wait and get Bomainus back another day.  I think we also all learned a very important lesson, and that lesson is that shit is a thing best left in its natural form, and that shitwater somehow will always manage to spray itself all over your face if you want it to or not (which is a problem Margo says I have).  All I knew was that I don't think I was going to want to have been sprayed in the face with shit many more times this week before I had have enough.  

11:55 PM





Previous tales from this goth blog and its spinoffs can be found here:

Goth Blog 1 - The Battle has Just Begun.
Goth Blog 2 - A Bittersweet Brew.
Jock Blog 1 - Boys Just Want to have Fun.
Snob Blog 1 - Best Laid Plans Undone.

That's it for now, but fear not, Jock Blog will return in JOCK Blog 3 - The Giving Tree!

Though I found out that the  average matinee in New York City is only marginally cheaper than Broadway tickets, I still managed to get a few movies watched during my 9 days in the city.  So here is a brief overview of what I saw while I work ..ing up my oft threatened "Jock Blog 2: A Tale of Poo".

Last Tango in Paris - Bernardo Bertolucci

I saw this film at The Film Forum in Manhattan.  The film forum is a cute theater, the screen was small but it had a lot of atmosphere and they seemed to play a very good selection of films (I was sad I was going to miss the Howard Hawks retrospective—because I really needed to pay $11 to see Red River for the 10^th time). 

Anyway, Last Tango is a movie I have seen a few times and I pretty much ended up with the same opinion of it this time.  This may be Brando's best performance in a career full of great performances.  While he can overpower the other actors around him, the "well fit" Maria Schneider turns in a great performance as well and remarkably holds her own.

It is a tough movie to watch, Brando's character has a lot to deal with and is not taking things very well.  I appreciate that there was no attempt to make him more (or less) sympathetic; the movie seems more honest for it.

My main problem with the film for me has always been the subplot involving Schneider's filmmaker boyfriend.  I've never liked Jean-Pierre Leaud that much, but mostly I just don't feel like the subplot belongs in the movie.  And Brando's scenes are so well done that anything else just feels like filler.  All and all, I'd call it another flawed masterpiece from director Bertolucci.

La Chinoise – Jean-Luc Godard

I returned to the film forum to see this Godard film that I had never seen and knew nothing about.  I've never been down with Godard much, I respect him as a filmmaker, but his movies are always too political and his style too "intellectual" for me to really identify with them.  Turns out La Chinoise was one of his most political (and stylistically daring) films.

That said, it wasn't so bad.  The plot follows a group of French students who form a Maoist cell over the summer.  The colors red and blue dominate every shot, and most of the movie consists of short scenes strung together.  What I liked about the film was how Godard did not seem to side with anyone in particular.  He obviously felt strongly that the current regime was flawed, but the students all come off as quite naïve themselves.

It is still not the kind of movie I would run out and buy, but I suppose I can handle a bit of politics when the filmmaker doesn't try to ram his side down your throat. 

Also, that Jean-Pierre Leaud was in this movie too.  He's very good, but that guy annoys me about as much as Fred MacMurray or Karl Malden.  It's not fair, but that's just the way it is.

Images of Asian Music and Two Rivers – Peter Hutton  

The Moma was having a Peter Hutton retrospective.  I'd never heard of him, and experimental films are not really my thing, but for some reason I still chose it over Henning Carlsen's (director of Hunger, a movie that impressed me) Dilemma.  I guess Dilemma sounded too political for me…no need to push my luck in the politics on film front.

The two films I saw totally blew me away.  I guess Peter Hutton has spent a lot of his life hitchhiking on cargo ships all around the world with camera in tow.  His films are soundless sequences of images captured during his voyage separated by short fades.

Images of Asian Music was the slightly less experimental film, a document of his life in Southeast Asia.  You see the day to day life on the ship and elsewhere in a 30 minute sequence of nicely chosen images.

Two Rivers was the one that really struck a chord with me.  The first half is a journey up the Hudson River, the second a journey up the Yangtze River in China.  In complete silence simple images drift by as Hutton's camera makes its way up the two very different and yet strikingly similar rivers.  Villages appear out of the mist on the steep banks of the Yangtze, seemingly in danger of sliding into the water.  Industry and nature are juxtaposed in the images of both rivers and yet not in the grating didactic way of yet another filmmaker making a commentary on industrialization.

My biggest regret of the trip (aside from missing the Metropolitan this time around) was not going back on Saturday to see more of Peter Hutton's films (not to take anything away from "Dumpling Blog".)  Like Werner Herzog, Hutton is a man who understands what it means to search for real "images" to contribute to the world.

How Much Wood Would a Woodchuck Chuck – Werner Herzog

Speaking of Herzog, the last film I saw was his early cattle auctioneering documentary.  It was part of an Ed Lachman (cinematographer) tribute at the Bam Rose Theater in Brooklyn.  It was a very nice theater actually though the films were played off of a DVD (which I don't really mind so much if they can't get the film).

How Much Wood Would a Woodchuck Chuck (opening 6 minutes found HERE) is basically 40 minutes of one person after another auctioning off cattle in an attempt to become world champion.  I think it is pretty adorable how much Herzog loves his world championships (and chickens), but there is actually some depth to this movie.  About halfway through you realize that you are getting a pretty good sense of who these people are through the way they auction off the cattle.  There is the very nervous kid just out of high school; the sole woman who has taken no shit her entire life, the let's cut to the chase good ol boy, etc.  Again, the bulk of the movie is simply a sample of each auctioneer's style, one after another.  It was a daring move for a film, but I feel like it really works here in a movie that I was happy to see again (It is in print as part of a nice DVD with two other quite good early Herzog documentaries.  I recommend it!)

HMWWaWC was part of a double feature with Ed Lachman's documentation of Lou Reed and John Cale's supposedly legendary performance of their Andy Warhol concept album Songs for Drella.  Going in I had thought… "Ok, Velvet Underground has a few of those cool sorrowful drone songs…maybe it will be sweet!"  I thought the music kind of sucked actually, and most of the theater ended up walking out.  Though maybe it was because they were all just there for the Herzog film, which if he's getting that popular I may need to find someone more obscure to like! ;)

All in all, for just showing up on a random week, it seemed like there were a lot of opportunities to see good cinema in New York!  (Though I was sad that it appeared that the place in the East Village with the movie sign that said "Rififi" wasn't technically a theater and at least wasn't actually playing Rififi.)