...And a happy new year to all of you goyim!

XXX

So, dinner was a success, everyone had a good time, atmosphere was nice, conversation flowed, everyone admired the food Adi and I cooked, and since an abnormal amount of food was left over, everyone also left with xiplock bags. I've officially turned into my mother.
Chaim and Jet didn't make it - their cat got fucked up and they had to put him to sleep that afternoon. They were very miserable, and Chaim is in actual mourning. I can't say I understand it, it's a cat, but I can certainly respect it. He really loved that little shit, much more than I knew infact.
Sunday I cleaned up a bit, and rested, and ate quite a bit (I hardly had anything to eat Saturday), and sometime late at night it hit me - my insides turned into liquid shit. It can sometime happen, and when it does it's over the morning after, so I wasn't very concerned; after all, it was late and I was tired, so any weakness and dizziness could be attached to that.
Until yesterday, when I woke up in a completely miserable state, and spent the day watching TV, passing out on the couch, sitting on the toilet and feeling, literally, like shit. I panicked at first, thinking it had to do with the food; but a couple of phonecalls later it turned out everyone else is OK, and so I have to conclude it's some virus (apparently there's something like this going around these days). So in the afternoon I gathered up enough strength to drag myself to the supermarket, and (with a fridge full of great food I can't touch) buy white bread for toast, philadelphia cheese for toast, bananas and digestive biscuits - and that + tea was food.
And today is just slightly better.

Shit.

Date:	2003-11-06 18:44
Subject:	Huh?
Security:	Public
Mood:	confused

33. I'm 33.

Date:	2003-10-29 18:41
Subject:	Reality (the value of grit)
Security:	Public
Mood:	amazed and satisfied

Let me start you off with a warning: I am the last person on Earth to take a Bowie recommendation from. I am what you'd probably call a Bowie fanboy; when I saw him live I hit an emotional meltdown as soon as he opened his mouth. Not that I think all Bowie material is on the same level of greatness, some of his work is, infact, pretty bad. But Tin Machine aside - well, let's just say I love the albums nobody seems to until 20 years after their release, when they suddenly realize that yes, once again, Dave was blissfully walking ahead, whistling his cleverly camouflaged trailblazer tunes to a world populated by deaf mutants.
Also, unlike way too many music connoisseurs and other wankers, I think that Bowie's output of the last 15 years has pretty much been the best in his career, a couple of pre - Let's Dance albums aside.
So I went and finally bought 'Reality'.
Let's put it this way: imagine the best DJ in the world playing 8 different records at once, divinely mixing them together into one album and then cutting it into tracks and remixing; and then Bowie supplies all the vocals. Ok? No? Ok.
Imagine visiting a parallel Earth, and opening the radio. You seem to sort of recognize all the songs you hear, but you also know full well that you've never heard them before; besides, the pitch mechanism back at the station seems to have somehow malfunctioned, as none of the songs follow a strictly 'correct' harmonic pattern, but they still all make perfect pop sense.
See, Bowie recognizes the value of grit and distortion, and here is what he does: he doesn't get influenced by musicians like the rest of us; being a true pop genius (and - unlike all those instrument-whacking zitfaced morons who make up 99 of any music scene in these sad times, a MUSICIAN) he understands what his favorite people do, and simply assimilates them. Resistance is futile, the Bowrg is here. THEN, you see, he processes them, and out the other end they come, fully Bowieized, to be incorporated into his own material and according to his sensibilities. He is the most convincing form of musical parasite that ever existed, a human sampler, a walking musical collage, and everyone from Your Favorite Crooner through Tricky & Co., Bird, Sting, the Beatles and Angelo Badalamenti to Sonic Youth, Bowie himself and Bowie-only-knows who else, is effortlessly featured in this album - reflected through his internal hall of mirrors.
That much being the first stage is obvious.
Then, I would imagine, he composes and arranges 20-30 straight pop tunes, cuts them up into pieces like he says he does his lyrics, throws everything into a cylinder-hat, turns it on a table and pastes them back together pretty much accidentally.
Having done the basic research, he cleans up the residue and visible seams, plays around with whatever it is he has there, and distorts some of the resulting harmonies so as to not be too confident with the end result. Now that the structure is clear, he'll insert the lyrics into his musical hybrids and bring it to his (phenomenal) band and producer to play with, and when everyone's had their fun and the song is recorded, he'll just create some more internal soundscapes, noise layers and time-machine substructures you can barely notice and plant them in there, carefully layered in order to disorient you just a bit without any real damage to your brain.

Yup.

So, this is Reality.

Seeya.

The last month or so, I've seen an abnormal amount of movies. Hey: when broke, this IS downtime.

- Mrs. Brown: Billy Connolli and Judy Dench, in a period drama about an energetic, rather paranoid Scotsman coming to help out Queen Victoria after her husband died, and turns into her best friend and confidant. The topic is timeless - friendship and impossible love. Great casting and performances, Connolli shines. 8

- The Waterboy: Not a big Sandler fan. I think this is his most agreeable (read: amusing) film I've seen. Dumb, predictable plot, Fonzie is amusing, Sandler is too, sorta, in his 'yuk yuk' fashion. 5+

- Benny & Joon: Has Johnny Depp ever been in a bad movie? This is a romantic comedy, for crying out loud, with a rather thin plot (but some good actors), and fuckin' Depp manages to turn it into a character study so beautifully delivered of a fringe weirdo, with so many beautiful little (and big) brushstrokes, you're sure you saw a masterpiece, a modern fairytale, and are left feeling warm and fuzzy-cotton-candy inside. I love Johnny Depp and want to be his brother. 9-

- The Man Who Knew Too Little: I like Bill Murray. His brand of dry, almost offhanded, condescending, cerebral humor goes so badly with how he looks, you would be left with irreconcilable differences were he not such a great performer. In this yarn he's a videostore clerk who gets tangled with an international spy game in London, thinking it's interactive theatre. Hilarity ensues, and his delivery of an amoebic, too-average to know any better klutz wannabe actor fulfilling his dreams while accidentally saving the world is spotless, and well supported by some very fine comedians (Richard Wilson!). The plot is forgettable, but murray makes it shine. 8-

- Enemy of the State: Gene Hackman , John Voight and Will Smith, a well-paced action flick with black-ops and secret service rogues, a classic 'man over his head' theme, big budget and decent plot, Gene Hackman, a bag of popcorn. 8

- Spy hard: Ahhh, Leslie Nielsen. A gag-a-minute spy spoof, riffing the Zucker-Zucker-Abrahams easier to imitate tricks, but without their genius and/or commitment. Still, amusing enough for a braindead evening. 5+

- The Couch Trip: Dan Ackroyd as the escaped wiseass genius faux-mental-patient turned faux-radio-paychiatrist, Charles Grodin as, essentially, a WB cartoon villain masqueraded as a psychiatrist having a nervous breakdown, and the indomitable Walter Mattheau as a riff on a 1000 parts he played. Pretty amusing, good comic cast, idiotic plot. 7-

- 6 days 7 nights: Indiana Jones VS. Ross Geller in a romantic comedy involving tropical islands, planes, stranded on a beautiful beach, 2-dimensional characters, pirates (pirates?), NY-magazine-woman turned robin (hey! her name IS Robin! Now howya like THAT!) Crusoe thing, true love, Harrison Ford's trademark cheeky yet charmingly smirking macho with a heart of gold-laminated-valentine-card performance, and a feeling of having eaten entirely too many crackerjacks and having found no prize. Blah. 4

- Loose Cannons: Hackman, Ackroyd and the formidable Dom-De-Louise in a spy/action comedy thing. De-Louise is his usual self, Hackman is the cool cop (and straight-guy), and Ackroyd... Ackroyd is the movie. He's an MPD cop who cracks under pressure and turns into a dazzling array of fictional characters from TV, movies and cartoons. There's a thin veil of legitimacy in his back-story and the whatever plot, but mainly it's Ackroyd letting loose in a magnificent, sit-back-and-enjoy way. his delivery of the Road Runner alone is worth the movie. 8

- A Line in the Sand: Here's an interesting one. An average joe gets unwillingly pulled into an international spygame thing, delivers information that results in the death of 24 Iranian scientists and gets put into witness-protection. Creates a new life, gets found out and everything is set for the final confrontation... And the strange part? this crap, overchewed plot makes for an excellent movie. Unlike Will Smith's "average joe", who ultimately revels in his newfound hero role, this really IS an average joe, who wants nothing to do with it and is reluctant all the way to the last. The movie is realistic and gray, there's no glamour involved, the cast is mostly unknown. This is a human spy story, and serves to PERFECTLY illustrate the difference between American and British cinema. Watch it; you won't regret it. 10

- Gosford Park: I tried, I really did. I like Altman and this (of course) has a great cast and all. But 30 minutes into the movie I got depressed and very, very, very verrrrrry bored and tossed the damn thing away. Dreary and slow.

- Human Nature: from the people who brought us 'Being John malkovitch', this is a dramatic comedy that vastly improves on second (and third) viewing. Patricia Arquette and Tim Robins are good, but Rhys Ifans is fucking BRILLIANT. This is one hard-biting, satirical kick in the balls to the civilized society we've all created, and is so underplayed you can hardly see how totally twisted and nasty it is unless you WANT to. 10

- Big Shot: Confessions of a Campus Bookie: College, something, something, yawn, numbers, mobzzzzzzzzzzzzz 4

- Duty Dating: Another 'true love' thing, this time with self improvement courses as the target. Pretty blah. 4

- We Were Soldiers: I like Mel Gibson, and you WOULD think that him reunited with the director of 'Braveheart' would result in something better than this. Thinly masqueraded as a 'war is horrible' Vietnam thing, this beautifully shot, brilliantly edited, very well acted piece of populistic crap glorifies it worse than "Top Gun". Despite some good, very gory bits, this is as bad as post-9/11 cinema is bound to get, and I truly hope everyone involved is at least a BIT ashamed of this criminal rubbish. 6

- Bad Girls: Cowgirl female-empowerment junk, yadda yadda yadda, fuck that intolerable, snooty bitch Andie MacDowell with a sand-crusted crowbar, why do they keep casting her for anything other than 'because I'm worth it' hairsperm commercials is beyond me, Drew Barrymore is to die for but can't save this rubbish, I stopped torturing myself 30 minutes in and it was 30 minutes too much.

- American Psycho 2: Wow! They finally managed to create something worse than American Psycho! A record: it took me 15 minutes to stop glaring at this shallow, banale, badly-acted and horribly written ripoff piece of trash.

- Captain Corelli's Mandolin: BIG Nicholas Cage fan, and when casted with Penelope Cruz, Christian Bale and John Hurt, the results can be nothing but satisfactory at the very least. Even though he's absolutely unconvincing as an Italian (which is very reminiscent of Eddie Izzard's "Ciaaaooo" routine), Cage manages to capture the human essence of his role and deliver it with enough zest to help you ignore his forced, Super-Mario accent... and Hurt is simply staggering as a Greek. A WW2 impossible-love story, this gently drives home the point that "We Were Soldiers" blatantly rapes. Beautifully shot, very charming. 8

- The Lord of the Rings I: We all know. 9

- Ali: Will Smith again, this time method-acting like a maniac. At times you really SEE Ali, and considering Smith's high profile and screen presence, this is a remarkable achievement. Otherwise, it suffers from the usual problems this sort of movie has. It glorifies rather than portray, conveniently airbrushing character flaws (although not neglecting to show them). All in all, an interesting watch, if for nothing but Smith's performance. 7

- The Shipping News: Judy Dench(again), Kevin Spacey, Julianne Moore, Kate Blanchett, Scott Glenn, and Rhys Ifans (again), directed by Lans Hallstrom. Although it's somewhat unstable, juggling unsuccessfully between metaphysics and realism, the end result is very satisfying indeed and you find yourself focusing on PEOPLE. Spacey's portrayal of a broken-down, emotionally drained man is beautiful and nuanced, and you really do root for him. Watch it. 9

- Dawg: Denis Leary, watered down to an uninteresting, unenergetic, bored riff on his trademark badass role, and the flat and always-overrated Elisabeth Hurley (Oh, what a perfect match she was for that overinflated, uninteresting, boring, stuttering, untalented, overrated, 2-dimensional flat assfaced fuck. Too bad he had to get caught getting his dick sucked in a car. I'd have loved to see their cardboard kids take over the world) in something or another about a womanizing asshole forced on a mission of repentance for his sins (and a million bucks). Unfunny, vulgar and shallow with a lame twist at the end. Useless and boring. 3

- Donnie Darko: Is it a horror movie? A highschool film? A sci-fi flick? Beats me. Unclear, over and underacted, unfocused and ultimately pointless, this leaves you with a baffled expression and a 'why did this get made?' thought bouncing around your emptied head. None of the actors seem to be clear on what their characters are and every bit of plot and subplot is left unresolved or crudely ignored. The single attempt at all-round resolution is criminally lame, and were it to appear in a comic book the publisher's offices would be burned to the ground. Complete and utter SHIT. 0

- To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar: Drag-queen comedies are dangerous!! Because they corrupt our sense of values? Heh. Because they lend themselves to be a vehicle for moronic, yuk-yuk humor. In the unlikely event of said drag-queens being Wesley Snipes, Patrick Swayze and John Leguizamo camping it up bigtime, stranded in smalltown USA while on a road-trip to LA... well, you are dangerously close to 'WHAT THE YUK?!?' territory. Surprisingly, this movie is well charming and entertaining, the performances are funny without being derogatory and the whole thing - suspension of disbelief generously applied - is time well spent. Robin Williams and Chris Penn add a good spice. 7+

- Final Fantasy: the Spirits Within: Oooohhh. Pretty, pretty pitchurrs. The animation is overwhelmingly beautiful and intricate, the plot is very good (taking into account some manga spiritualist lameness, albeit well-delivered) and engaging, the casting is tremendous (Donald Sutherland, James Woods, Steve Buscemi) and I honestly think this cartoon (cartoon?!? cartoon.) is a remarkable human achievement. They even developed a whole new technology for this film, like the Matrix. The DVD is LOADED with this sort of goodies. 10

- Cheech & Chong's Corsican Brothers: Silly, rude, vulgar and funny, although past C&C's prime. Classic, I guess. 7

- Killing Zoe: How and why Tarantino (executive producer) let his name be splattered all over this piece of unbelievably bad rubbish is beyond me. Maybe because he wanted to do a favour to the director, apparently his co-writer on Pulp-Fiction, maybe because he knew that without his name NOBODY would bother with this stupid, boring, redundant crap and he'd lose money. This movie is so one-dimensional, soulless, routine, useless, uncool, unentertaining and predictable I can honestly say that it's one of the worst flicks I've had the misfortune of suffering through. The absolutely best bits of it are nothing but shades of ghosts of carbon-copies of pale imitations of Tarantinoesque cinema, and Eric Stolz has all the attraction and screen-presence of a used sponge on a dank closet shelf. Horrible. 0


*WHEW*

Some things are going well.
Some things, not so much.

I'm on an extended 'vacation' from Issue's, for various reasons.
I'm hardly ever here to check up on my friends, which is regrettable but necessary.

Later.

LAYER ONE
-- Name: Guy Bahir
-- Birthdate: 06/11/70
-- Birthplace: Haifa, Israel
-- Current Location: Haarlem, Holland
-- Eye Color: Dark brown
-- Hair Color: Hair? What hair? Used to be black.
-- Height: around M 1.80
-- Righty or Lefty: Righty
-- Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

LAYER TWO
-- Your heritage: Russian,Polish/Aphgan
-- The shoes you wore today: So far, none. Later, Vans sneakers.
-- Your weakness: Too kind.
-- Your fears: Being buried alive.
-- Your perfect pizza: No such thing. It depends on the mood.
-- Goal you'd like to achieve: Self-sustained through something I love doing - either arts or writing or both.

LAYER THREE
-- Your most overused phrase on AIM: Hi
-- Your thoughts first waking up: Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
-- Your best physical feature: Eyes.
-- Your bedtime: Anywhere between 1 and 4 AM, normally.


LAYER FOUR
-- Pepsi or Coke: Coke.
-- McDonald's or Burger King: BK.
-- Single or group dates: I don't date.
-- Adidas or Nike: Nike.
-- Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: No difference.
-- Chocolate or Vanilla: Depends in what dish. As a standalone product, though - chocolate.
-- Cappuccino or coffee: Cappuccino

LAYER FIVE
-- Smoke: Very
-- Cuss: 3 times a sentence.
-- Sing: Sometimes.
-- Take a shower everyday: At least once
-- Have a crush(es): Yes, often.
-- Do you think you've been in love: I know I am.
-- Want to go to college: Done and done.
-- Want to get married: Ditto
-- Believe in yourself: Sometimes.
-- Get motion sickness: Get stillness sickness.
-- Think you're attractive: No
-- Think you're a health freak: HAhahahahaha
-- Get along with your parents: Yes
-- Like thunderstorms: As long as I'm inside
-- Play an instrument: I can twang the guitar a bit. No.

LAYER SIX: In the past month...
-- Drank alcohol: Yes
-- Smoked: Yes
-- Done a drug: affeine, Nicotine and Alcohol are drugs.
-- Had Sex: No
-- Made Out: No.
-- Gone on a date: No.
-- Gone to the mall?: Holland has no malls. Been shopping, though
-- Eaten an entire box of Oreo: Not Oreos.
-- Eaten sushi: No.
-- Been on stage: No.
-- Gone skating: No.
-- Made homemade cookies: Merringues.
-- Gone skinny dipping: No
-- Dyed your hair: Heh
-- Stolen anything: No.

LAYER SEVEN: Ever...
-- Played a game that required removal of clothing: Yes
-- If so, was it mixed company: Yes.
-- Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Yes.
-- Been caught "doing something": Been caught doing many things. Never indicted, though.
-- Been called a tease: Yes.
-- Gotten beaten up: Yes.
-- Shoplifted: Yes.
-- Changed who you were to fit in: No.

LAYER EIGHT
-- Age you hope to be married: Done and done.
-- Numbers and Names of Children: None and none.
-- Describe your dream wedding: I wake up?
-- How do you want to die: Rich and Famous
-- Where you want to go to college: Done and done
-- What do you want to be when you grow up: A kid.
-- What country would you most like to visit: Oooh... Right now? Spain.

LAYER NINE: In a guy/girl...
-- Best eye color? No matter
-- Best hair color? No matter
-- Short or long hair: No matter
-- Height: No matter
-- Best weight: No matter
-- Best first date location: Outside the house
-- Best first kiss location: On the lips

LAYER TEN
-- Number of drugs taken illegally: Who knows. Seriously.
-- Number of CDs that I own: Who knows. Seriously. I mean, it's in the seriously high hundreds anyway, and including Vynil and legally acquired MP3 albums? Well into the 1500s, I suppose.
-- Number of piercings: 3, all empty.
-- Number of tattoos: None
-- Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper: I don't remember. 5-6, probably, not including ads.
-- Number of scars on my body: Quite a few.
-- Number of things in my past that I regret: 1. I wish my parents had opted for an extra 2 years in Italy so I'd have a European passport.

Finished updating my portfolio (and site), finally. Cought up to 2 months ago (basically the Groningen exhibition), and that's all the printed documentation material I have. Next week I will edit the video material, which will bring me all the way up to date. Hopefully I can actually get it done in a week. If not, I'll take 2.
Friday and Sunday I'll be at the gallery, but Saturday I'll be in Den Haag; an information day for some art project in this doomed neighborhood. As I understand it, they will gather submissions and make a book out of them (with the selected participants receiving EU1000), and some of the pieces will be further selected to actually happen... which means that maybe, just maybe, I'll get to set up my listening posts, finally, after what, now? 2 years? 3?
And today... some shopping, comics, some relaxation, some fiddling around with the video camera.

Date:	2003-05-19 12:02
Subject:	The best one yet.
Security:	Public
Mood:	drained

Ah. So close now, I can smell them closing in. The bastards are at the (Col)gates, and their teeth are shiny white and dripping menthol extract. Armanis and Guccis direct from the drycleaning paintshop, sporting invisible baseball-bat-sized vibrators already laced with vaseline and sedative. It will be a point to be made, to not turn my back on anyone, unless their backs are turned to me and they are firmly pinned down to the floor, having been frisked by a specialized security-analyst.
The weather was a menstruating schizophrenic middle-aged science teacher... blasting disciplinary rants and smiling brightly, in rapid alternations. The gallerist was sweating tin-cans, his frantic, hysteric grin threatening to rip his face into two equal halves... Eyes wide open, fixed and blank, showing nothing but fear. Will they come? WILL?!? THEY?!? COME?!?!?!
It was a full-house, Amsterdam (and beyond)'s best and brightest of the nu' young artist scene. And they complimented him. repeatedly.
Who knew? When this started, I was excited to just have someone in Amsterdam interested enough to show my work. Now... I don't know, now. But something has changed. This is quite big, you see. The gallery is well-reputed and attended. The format for the evening was a new one. My presentation wasn't what drew them in, we know that much; but it sure attracted the bugs like a rotten carcass broiling on a garbage heap in the desert sun, once they were within the compound confines, and left them grinning and flailing their arms in a trying-to-take-the-lice-off up'n'down... Good. Fuck'm. Sex and light entertainment... Tap the cool factor... I can live with that.
A simple premise: combine enough powerful elements in one room... Arrange them in a ludicrous fashion... Inject a modicum of originality... Some panache... insinuate a 'funny'... Bingo. Just like politics. Am I ripe for the presidency yet? I KNOW I'm funnier than LBJ.
The piece was bombing the place with brass-band music, a correct mix of Sousa and IDF marches, just the perfect rhythm for the looped blowjob blazing at the top corner of the room, and it had to be silenced and locked when the video programme and performance was taking place, but still people broke into it, attracted by the promise of the ever-visible poor bitch endlessly going up and down in a circular motion, forever skewered on a human flagpole, and - once up by the door - the bizzarre, immobile object dominating the soldier-figurine scattered floor, waiting to be mobilized by their presence, promising amusing plastic carnage... And what are all these fucking neckties?!?
Invent your own narrative. You're sure to get it right, pardner - just what the poet intended. Indeed.
And now we wait for the repercussions. Wish me luck. the road ahead is frightful and twisted, and I shall need all my resolve or an unlimited amount of powerful narcotics, just to keep my head clear.
What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?

Date:	2003-04-05 13:29
Subject:	Opening last night, Jackie Chan VS. Conceptual art, Douglas Adams is my master
Security:	Public
Mood:	content

So last night was the opening of the new exhibition. Attendance was fair and a lot of friendly faces was there, and the exhibition itself is much better that I thought it'd be; I fucked up though.
I created this little hidden niche, you see, so that people would be able to detach and sit comfortably, and read the "book" I've been writing for the show. I counted on about 5/10 people finding the spot, but sadly only around 1/20 did, and sometimes they alerted other people to it. Those who did find it loved it, it seemed, and all felt a need to hunt me down so they could say so. But I need to find a subtle solution to alert more people to the niche.

When my landlords who lived above me left, the disconnected their cable TV service, except they didn't know they were also disconnecting mine. So for the last week-and-a-bit and until next tuesday I'm cable-less. So I rented movies:

- Showtime: DeNiro is, imo, a very under-rated comedian. Eddie Murphy is a comedic king with a bad taste in scripts. Put them together and you get exactly what you'd expect: a fun, amusing action movie. The part when Eddie meets the dog cracked me up, mostly because I imagined myself standing in the room.
Verdict: Nice. Check out.

Rush Hour II: This movie illustrates to perfection why jerry Lewis is a true comic genius. He had managed to develop and adapt his schtick so it still worked at the age of 60 as well as it did at the age 0f 16. This becomes obvious watching Chris Tucker, who is now no longer a brat kid, trying to pull his Rush Hour I schtick and failing miserably; he is (and looks) too old for it, but lacks the talent and perception needed to admit and adapt. Add to that the fact that Jackie Chan, despite being one of the coolest people in showbiz, is too old to pull his old tricks. As Jordan showed, the body can take only so much for so long. The problem with conceptual art is that often the concept is stronger than the piece, and the artist doesn't see when to let go of the concept in favour of the piece; Jackie needs to let go of the concept of doing ALL his stunts in favour of a better movie. nobody watches his flicks for the plot or amazing acting. I don't care if it's him or his best student climbing a wall upside-down using his tounge and left pinky... I just wanna see someone do that.
Verdict: eh minus. I wouldn't really bother.

Star Wars II: given the fact that some of my friends watched half of it in fast-forward, and I heard so many bad things about it on the board, I was truly surprised I liked it so much. True, the acting and dialogue were atrocious, but then they always are in SW; the plot, I think, was the best of all SW movies so far, interesting and exciting. The wars and fights looked marvellous, and I had a blast. Can't wait for #3
Verdict: great fun. Stop taking it so seriously and you'll enjoy it too.

From Hell: I haven't read the comic. I'm not an Alan moore fan. So obviously, I had no problems with whatever changes they made because I wasn't aware of them, and I doubt I'd have a problem if I was. Any movie with Johnny Depp is worth watching, and I enjoyed him and his accent, the detailed explanation of how to drink Absynthe, and Coltrane and Holm's performances. But mostly johnny Depp.
Verdict: Johnny Depp.

Ali G In Da House: Some scenes are funny, but the movie is an idiotic, festering heap of dung best left untouched. Have someone tape the funny stuff for you and you won't have to waste over 10 minutes on a couple of giggles.
Verdict: Some scenes are funny, but the movie is an idiotic, festering heap of dung best left untouched. Have someone tape the funny stuff for you and you won't have to waste over 10 minutes on a couple of giggles.

Training Day: The clerk at the video shop gave me this by mistake instead of Ali, so it was a bonus movie. And a good one. Denzel is at the top of his game these days, and he managed to pull off an extremely convincing character right up to the last, over the top scenes. Good story, Ethan Hawke is OK, and Snoop & Dre's cameos are cool (Snoop is the better actor of the 2, and it's always amazing to see how young dre actually is).
Verdict: cool movie, check it out.

I rented some more, but fuckit.

I'm reading Douglas Adams's "The Salmon of Doubt" these days. It's a collection of articles, essays, stray thoughts and such, plus his last, unfinished Dirk Gently novel. It's an entertaining, flowing piece of work (all compliments to the editor), that gives you an opportunity to see the man behind the books. I'm infinitely sad that I never got to be friends with him. His perspective on a couple of things, including his analysis of Bach, are put so clearly and are so enlightening, they made me look at my own again in one case and check out the Bach Brandenburg concerto #5 in another (Adams was right). Read it. You'll love it.

And now I have to go back to the exhibition, to which I'm already 2 hours late.

Thanks to new personnel.

Anyway, yesterday I made a double CD Peter Hammill comp for the gallery people in Groningen. Back when I was working there, it turned out they have no idea who he is. Seeing as they wer so great to me, and that it is my moral duty to educate the masses in matters considering musicians of this caliber, I took it upon myself to explain Hammil in the best way possible - letting him do it for himself. I've been listening to him for, what... 17 years now. It's been a while since I played him, though, and making this CD served to remind my just how great he is and why I love him so. Sure, he can be so pretentious sometimes that it's physically painful, but he's got all the quality needed to back those slipups up, and is definitely responsible for some of the most beautiful music and mercilessly insightful, emotional, tear-you-up, brutally honest lyrics in rock history. Nobody illustrates love, pain, anger and loneliness like Hammill.
2 strange things - I never noticed he spells his name with 2 L's; and I somehow never noticed the Dr. Strange reference in 'Time For A Change' ['(No More) The Sub-Mariner' is a bit hard to miss, even for me; and I'm still debating whether or not Mr. X is a comic reference. Next time I see ol' Pete I'll try to ask him about his comics reading habits)].
Someone told me not long ago that they respect Britney Spears because she lacks pretension (wrong, BTW)... so if the price of listening to Hammill's excellence is him being over-the-top every once in a while (usually in youth-infected over-preachyism, really (Handicap and Equality), or musical designs too great for him to adequately execute by himself (Flight)), it's a sacrifice well worth making.

Saw 'The Great Santini' with Robert Duvall last night. A great performance by a great actor, trapped in a lame, predictable movie. Still, worth checking out for the man who loves the smell of napalm in the morning.

I have been brutally kidnapped by the industrial design coordinator in the Sandberg to participate in a project revolving chocolate... more on that as it comes. Looks like I'm gonna learn me chocolate-making techniques!!!! YAYYY!!!!!!

Years behind the times as I am, I bought X Men: Mutnt Academy 2 yesterday. It's fun and all, but I had a REAL blast kicking everybody's ass as Spiderman : )

I watched Swordfish. I already saw it once, but it's better than I remembered.
Bought The Who: Live at Leeds, but didn't hear it yet. I'm looking forward to it. Last time I heard it I was probably around 15-16, and I had the vinyl, which the CD expands on considerably.

Been so long since I made an entry, and obviously so much has happened that I won't even bother. instead, I will tell you about yesterday, one of the funnest days in recent history. I love shopping when I'm broke.

Rafi and Barbara, my London relatives who Ronnie stayed with, were meeting some friends here over the weekend, so I went and met them for a couple of hourse before they went back. We said 10:00 AM, and since I couldn't fall asleep the night, I had only 2 hours of sleep before I had to get up. I met them and we walked around, chatted and had some breakfast. I love these people and it was cool as hell to see them.
After saying bye, i decided since I was in center Amsterdam I'd do some shopping, and went to a comics store around there where I bought a stack of 70's marvel stuff out of the quarter (well, 0.50) bins. Can't price nostalgia my ass.
From there I went to a white bookshop (a chain of stores that have new, but cheap books and are usually great for art albums and such, although they carry a lot of novels and some comics), where I found Jim Krueger's 'Foot Soldiers' TPBs 1+2. 1 cost 6.99, 2 had a 2.99 sticker on it which was obviously not originally there. I took them to the clerk, and asked if this is the real price. He figured it wasn't, but said if I give him a cigarette he'd sell it to me for 2 Euro. Good deal.
I figured I'd better buy stuff without pictures in it as long as I'm at it, and went to Weatherstones, the British book shop. This girl I met some time ago works there on Sundays, and said I could drop by anytime and she'd give me a discount or something. On the way I stopped at 'De Slegte' and Bought Michael Marshall Smith's 'One Of Us' in hardcover (Damn you, Ronnie! Damn you all to hell!!! He is so good. 'Only Forward', despite having no original idea I could see except a city run by cats, managed to expand and adapt on everything he used so brilliantly, and was written with such power and energy, with dialogue so perfect, that I became an instant fan and now have to read his entire catalogue which luckily consists of only 4 books at this stage. I'd hate to have to discover, say, Vonnegut right now) and The Amazing Adventures of Flash Gordon #2.
At Weatherstones the girl was true to her word, and after gawking at their incredible video/DVD collection (particularly at an Eddie Izzard complete 4-video set which comes in a metal suitcase) and sobbing, I bought:
Michael Marshall Smith - What You Make It (short stories, This should be good)
Douglas Adams - The Salmon of Doubt (the remains of the great man's drawers compiled)
Michael Moore - Stupid White Men (British Edition). Finally!!! I put this off for too long. I immediately started reading it and you should ALL buy it. ALL OF YOU.
Then i went to the Sandberg to see the current exhibition, Swedish artist. i know and like half of them and therefor enjoyed meeting them and seeing what they are up to. It was a good show.
Now. Normally, at this stage I'd get on the bus and go home. But the line I take doesn't work on Sundays, so I had to go back to the center to take a line that does. On the way, I walked past the Melkweg (famed Amsterdam club), and saw a bunch of tourbusses, suddenly remembering the Residents were performing tonight. Now, I knew that, obviously, and have decided to skip the show because I: a) thought 27 Euro was too much for a ticket since I b)saw them last year. So I sighed and walked on, and suddenly someone called my name (a rare occurance. Amsterdam is crowded and you hardly ever meet anyone you know). It was Sagie the guy i worked on Audiomotion with, and he was all excited about the show, and try to persuade me to come. I explained my reasoning, and was strong in my conviction to give the show a miss. He remembered 1989, when the Residents performed in Israel, and I told him the story about how I missed the show because I traded my (sold out) ticket for a piece of hash, and how much of an idiot I felt 5 minutes later... and 5 minutes after we said goodbye it suddenly hit me that I was about to do the same damn thing. I was going to the concert!!!
So I called Adi (good friend) and asked her if she wanted to come. She said she was going to see Bat-Sheva (sraeli dance group), so she couldn't. The Club wasn't opening until 19:30, and it was 18:00, so I went for a quick bite and met Adi for a cup of coffee. She got past the first selection stage in an art academy in London, and will be going there at the end of the month. If the tickets will be cheap enough and Rafibarbara are in town and won't mind me bringing a friend for a couple of days to stay over, maybe I'll join her. See the fucking Tate Modern finally.
She left, and it was almost 19:30 so I went to the Melkweg (for the first time in my life I was first in line for a club. it felt pathetic) and got the tickets. i had two hours to burn before the show, so i went to an irish place to have some pints and read my Michael Moore. But not before I bought a disposable camera... last time I saw the Residents I cursed myself for not bringing my camera along and was NOT going to make the same mistake. I've developped a great liking to disposable cameras lately. If the pictures are gonna be worth a damn, I'll ask Kodak for sponsorship and come up with a project involving the stuff. Other way round, actually.
3 pints later I was in the club, and the show was wonderful. Last time it was a retrospective (very special with the Residents. They don't DO retrospectives), to celebrate the release pf Icky Flicks, the DVD collection with all their video work since the early 70's.
This time, though, it was the real deal: Demon's Dance Alone, their latest release, a tragicomedy full of Residentsy goodness. i know the album, thanks to Emusic, but the show is much much much better. If anyone EVER has a chance to go see these people, do it with no second though. I kid you not.
The place was full of signs asking that no photos be taken and no recordings made, which hurt me physically. There was so much to take pictures of... but out of respect for the band, and understanding that this is (again) their opening show of a European tour (Residents love Holland. Holland loves them back), I took no pics. Until, that is, they had a small break and the singer sat down and told a little story about James Brown, and the dancing Demon was kneeling on the floor beside him cuddling a package which looked like a baby but turned, upon whipping out, to be the Cylinder wearing eye.... i couldn't resist it anymore. I whipped out my camera Peter Parker style, flung it high and TOOK THE FIRST PIC, which of course released a lot of pent up pic-taking sentiment all around. It was ok, though, as it was close to the end of the play and the band have both knocked it out of the park and were bringing it home. So nobody took pics when they had to concentrate, and they didn't seem to mind the pics that were taken when they were. Everybody happy.
I had another couple beers and made the last bus home. it drops me about a 10 minute walk away, and I took a route which I never take and found 10 Euro.

Upon spellchecking, I find that I've made entirely too many mistakes to bother correcting.

There’s this one white courthouse
At the door of which they all sit
Collapsed against a pillar
Right side of the entrance
On top of the stairs
At the bottom of which the media hollers and limos pull over
After all hell breaks loose
As it inevitably does
Always.

It’s never the same lawyers there
Or judges, or bailiffs
But I know the corridors so well
Gray and shadowed
And the heavy brown door to the courtroom
It flings wide open, both ways
The lighter brown door to the red velvet carpeted lift
Where people occasionally get murdered.

It’s a courthouse of miracles
The last piece of evidence
Always gets delivered
Through the flinging doors
At the very last moment
And all who should see the light immediately do.

What would the walls say
If they could speak?
What would the pillars whisper?
What would the gavel, the judge’s seat, the bible,
The witness’ stand
The oak and the stone
Pronounce?

“Let’s make magic, baby”.

You inspired me to try and translate songs... so I also chose Shlomo. Tell me what you think of this:

Most of times you’re my wife

And we spoke out the evening with words as sharpened as knives
Words wandering free, from your lips to mine
And at night I had dreamt, no I do not remember it whole
One to left one to right, two birds, separating in flight.
And I startled up nude, in the darkness, cracking inside,
Any reading of dreams is well over my might.
And so went on our lives, we both remained simple and same,
Both our legs do the walking, to wherever one aims.

Most of times you’re my wife, and when with child implanted,
We waited for nine, on the ninth you did give birth in sorrow.
Most of times you’re my wife, I’m besieged here within you
Most of times you’re with me, you’re my home, you’re my wife here, in essence.

And we worried the evening out, children were not home from school
Children don’t wander off, without worry at all
And at night I had dreamt of the first, of the one only day
And my mother, whom I, believed was the fairest of all.
And I startled up nude, in the darkness, cracking inside,
Any reading of dreams is well over my might.
And so went on our lives, we both remained simple and same,
Both our legs do the walking, to wherever one aims.

Most of times you’re my wife, and when with child implanted,
We waited for nine, on the ninth you did give birth in sorrow.
Most of times you’re my wife, I’m besieged here within you
Most of times you’re with me, you’re my home, you’re my wife here, in essence.

And we smoked out the evening, burning a plain cigarette,
The whole evening spent, here with you in this bed
And at night, just falling asleep, and you turned off the light.
Our hands in the darkness, yet once more exploring for love.

Most of times you’re my wife, and when with child implanted,
We waited for nine, on the ninth you did give birth in sorrow.
Most of times you’re my wife, I’m besieged here within you
Most of times you’re with me, you’re my home, you’re my wife here, in essence.

Date:	2002-05-25 16:14
Subject:	My first tape-recorder
Security:	Public
Mood:	amused

was a portable, mono Telefunken. I got it as a gift from my parents when I was about 8 or 9, I suppose (my sister got one too), and fell in love with it. I assume they bought it so I wouldn't drive them nuts with my music (I had two albums: Elvis' TV special, and Police: Ghosts in the machine), and wouldn't go deaf by listening to music with earphones all the time. Man, I loved and cherished that tape recorder.
I just bought 2 portables, that I'm gonna take apart and use in my work, abusing them until they die and then their dead carcasses will be tossed on the pile of other dead electronics in the room. Times change.
When I left the store, I was stricken by the memory of shushing my entire family in front of the TV, forbidding them to speak or even breathe loudly (my parents absolutely refused to leave the room altogether) as I recorded Diego Abantuono's hilarious performance on San-Remo '79. I didn't have cables back then, nor did I know they existed. I chuckled heartily. I guess the seeds were always there.

Got the letter from the Sandberg today. At least I have that. Spent all day in front of the video, recording my collage. Haven't seen a single GOOD movie. Saw a decent one - 'Murder In The First', with Christian Slater and (the surprisingly good) Kevin bacon.
Back to the video now.

Date:	2002-05-14 02:05
Subject:	Help me!!! Someone, please, help!!!
Security:	Public
Mood:	pissed off

My LJ switched to Hebrew! All the menus and stuff are in Hebrew and it's driving me insane!!!

It's like the entire contents of my body are one big bloody mess with no barriers between the internal organs. Bah. It's a unique sort of pain, kind of sharp/dull. Hard to explain.

The Rietveld keeps asking me to write stuf about my work. This is what I wrote for the yearbook, so that people can access my work better or something:




READ BACK OF PACKAGE

Imagine John Wayne as the leader of the free world. Oops. Think about this combination of words: ‘leader of free world’. Have a Mickey-D and some Coke. Have a BK and a Pepsi, if you’re feeling anti-mainstream. Choice is important.
Visualize a camp in ‘Apocalypse Now’ where all the inhabitants are off on their tea-break, a world where every Hollywood sighting is so celebrated in “real” life that ‘world leaders’ and citizens alike go out of their way to create situations where they can incorporate clichés in favor of ‘enhanced accessibility’.
Hear the divine deliver gospel off dummy-cards on the 9 o’clock news, condensing “reality” to a well-spun sound-byte and themselves to one-dimensional characters in a cliffhanger oriented comicbook war of good VS. evil, the parts changing hands faster than a joint at a 1969 hippy beach-party or a match in the
World-Wrestling-Federation.
Current events are of paramount importance, so trust your widescreen.
Enjoy a walk on the beach, wipe the tar off your ‘footwear’ and fantasize about a dolphin-free tuna sandwich with organic lettuce and truffle ketchup, don’t wonder why green organizations don’t use solar-powered boats, never ask who holds the keys to the asylum. It might be the one sweeping the floors, the
‘sanitarian specialist field operative in charge’.
And what then.
Please don’t come to me for depth and insight, delivered indecisively by a snuffling voice – I deal in clichés and banality, and am not that well-dressed.
If you need an astute and poignant critique of early 21st western society and life in it as contrasted with Platonic ideals and the inherent potential of human achievement as manifesting itself yes or no, read the glossy mag of your preference.

Enjoy the show and pay me a lot of money, please.
It’s in good cause.


Guy Bahir
Free-media Dept.
www.fotki.com/gvalley
gvalley@bigfoot.com

Date:	2002-05-06 01:24
Subject:	Movies and comics for this week
Security:	Public
Mood:	lazy

movies

First viewing:
-Unbreakable
-The Return Of The Ninja
-Titan A.E
-Smalltime Crooks
-Running Mates
-The Killing Zone
-Ready To Rumble

Repeat viewing:
-The Hunger
-Shadows and Fog
-Maximum Risk

Best first viewing: The Killing Zone. A whacked-out British film about an assasin that kinda looks a bit like David Byrne, his best friend that kinda looks like a young Ozzy Osbourne, and stuff that gets fucked up. Violent, loud, funny, a bit over-acted, but somehow it doesn't disturb. Nifty!

Best repeat viewing: Shadows and Fog, hands down. Woody Allen's Threepence Opera tribute, with a cast that most other directors would sell their soul to the devil twice for. As usual with Allen 9 times outta 10 - funny, a bit philosophic, Superbly shot and scripted.

Worst of the week: maximum Risk. A BLAH Van-Damme movie, where he's a French cop that needs to find out why his twin that he never knew existed was killed. Uninteresting, and the only reason I watched it was that I knew it would supply great soundbytes for my collage.

Biggest disappointment - The Hunger is a contestant, and had I not seen Smaltime Crooks it would have taken the title. But remember Woody Allen's 9 outta 10? well, this is the tenth. I expected more. He shouldn't try to be accessible, being Woody Allen is good enough. Sure, the movie has its moments, but it's one of his most banale. Don't go outta your way.

comics

Current:

- Alias 8-9
- Batman 601-602
- Gotham Knights 27
- Paradise X 1-2
- Deadpool 66
- Tangled Web 13
- Captain America IV 1

Back-issues:

- Sandman Mystery Theatre 21-22
- The Kingdom 1
- The Kingdom: Planet Krypton

Best current: Paradise X 1-2 (Kreuger/Braithwaite); By far the most accessable series of the X trilogy, this one is full of action and dialogue, and less of the restructuring of the entire MU (one of the only attempts at massive retcon that actually WORKED for Marvel, BTW). Great natural characterizations (Too many to mention. Just too many), plot, script, art - I'm enjoying the hell out of this series and it seems that Kreuger can pretty much write anyone in the MU after this is over - and they'd be dumb not to let him.

Best back-issue: Sandman Mystery Theatre 21 (Wagner-Seagle/Davis-Locke); This is the first time I read this series, and by no means the last. The story sucked me right in, and the characters are so crisp that you feel like you've known them forever after one panel. I didn't like the art that much, but it didn't matter as the story was so good. I'll be on the lookout for more of those, and would be happy with TPB recommendations.

Worst read: No, Not Zimmerman. The Kingdom - Planet Krypton (Waid/Kitson). A useless 'the hero inside all of us' thing that takes place in Booster Gold's theme restaurant. Not even a well written and drawn Batman appearance made this issue worthwhile, especially with its superimposed, cliche ending. Bleaach.

Best surprise: Deadpool 66 (Simone/Udon); DP has found its team at last. Simone is funny, wacky and full of action, and the art is just... cool. This is what you want from a Deadpool comic, and for the first time since too long, this is what you get. What happens to the Rhino - alone - is worth the price of admission. I hope Agent X will work out as well - I'd be apprehensive, but it's the same team so there's a chance.