Brillen-Putztücher

My mp3s from/of Our Lady Peace are a bit f**ked up; I think “Automatic Flowers” is cut short, and “Clumsy” clearly comes from a skipping-CD. I’m not too fond of the music and can imagine myself deleting it to free hard drive space.

Last night after finishing season 3 of Battlestar Galactica (I still want to know *who* is the final cylon, #12, the 5th of The Five … Starbuck? Roslin?) I re-watched the first two episodes of the second season of Ghost in the Shell: Stand-Alone Complex — I watched all of season 1 in Berlin and then began season 2, but having not watched any of them for months and months I might have been slightly lost had I started with episode 3 (have I seen that one, too?); as it was, I remembered all the main points of the first two when I watched them, so in a sense I didn’t need to see them again … and the same was true of the Bleach episodes I watched after GitS. I know that when I actively stopped watching Bleach last year I was in the mid to late 50s, perhaps even at 60 or so. Ichigo had fought the necessary captains, freed Rukia, etc., and had even fought Aizen once or so, at which point Aizen reveals himself to be a traitor, etc., but I didn’t recall, last night, at what point I had cut things off, so I ended up rewatching a few episodes and mostly enjoying them.

The problem with Bleach is that it is intentionally slow and repetitive … perfect for serialization in a sense, though still a tad slow. Single moves in fight sequences can last seconds, emotional responses are giant pauses, and the same names are repeated in the same way so often that they are not events but mere semiotic parodies of themselves.

And yet I still watch. The first “season” (the first 13 or 26 episodes) was well-paced, with new developments all the time, but since then it turned into a matter of extending things as long as possible … fighting every possible character, recapping every event, etc. It’s Lost on crack with a dose of some hyperactivity drug and something for Tourette Syndrome … or rather, it lacks the drugs: it’s crack + AD(H)D + Tourettes …

This afternoon Nate called from the Seattle airport on his way to Germany; he called last night, too, and we chatted. Today it was because he had an hour or so to go and had just finished trying to get himself drunk at an airport bar so he could sleep on the flight. It was a great, entertaining conversation full of raucous bouts of laughter that much have terrified other passengers.

Dinner tonight, as last night, consists of brown rice (lightly fried at first, as in a pilaf), chicken, and steamed veggies along with plenty of spices. It’s hard to have too much red pepper, I say. Too much paprika. And so on. Last night I had some tasty and inexpensive Rex Goliath shizaz; tonight I just have water, which is probably better for me, especially since I do have to get up at a decent hour Wednesday morning.

After Our Lady Peace I’ll get some Ozzy and then Paris Combo, to which I do not think I’ve ever listened. I probably got it from Anne. And then Paul Anka, whose album “Rock Swings” is truly a great set of covers done as lounge/swing songs. “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” “Eye of the Tiger,” “Blackhole Sun” and more.

About Steve

47 and counting.
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