I’ve pretty much gotten off the whole spam-as-accidental-art trip, partly because it got old, partly because spam doesn’t seem so cute these days. When I’m having a dull, dull day at the office, seeing new messages pop up in my inbox is a cause for great excitement. But when these messages turn out to be subject lined “Best pills for sex from Canada” or “Add up to 4 inches to y%ou$rs peni(s yv7bmy,” the happiness turns to disappointment and then to rage.
I also get a lot of junk comments on this blog. For some reason the entry titled “Bauhaus, Back from the Dead” seems to be a particular spam magnet. Today it drew the following comment which, although rather prosaic, struck me somehow. It seems like a commentary on modern economic realities, with a surreal, sinister twist at the end. (Note: Line breaks are mine.)
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So, yes, here we are. The first day of spring, finally, no thanks to the goddamn groundhog. Also Purim and the first day of March Madness. I am reminded of the old rhyme:
The spring has sprung The grass has riz I wonder where The flowers is?
Although, actually, I know exactly where the flowers is: all over the back yard, thanks to the diligent Leila, who has also somehow found the time to take up blogging. Want to read some amusing anecdotes about Dear Abby, road signs, anxiety, and cheese? Then click here.
It is with no small amount of anticipation that I have awaited the release of Go Away White, the first Bauhaus album to come out since I started listening to them circa 1985, two years after they broke up. This is my first ever chance, then, to hear newly released material by one of my favorite bands. The CD arrived from Amazon yesterday and is sitting now on my desk, shrinkwrapped. I am a little scared of it. My expectations are sky-high; nothing less than a transcendent experience will do, and that’s just setting yourself up for disappointment, isn’t it?
It sure looks good. In contrast to the old Bauhaus albums, all of which were predominantly black, it is almost entirely white. The cover image is some kind of angel (or devil) (something with wings, anyway) with its back turned. All the text is in white as well—the embossed title on the front is easy to read, the song titles on the back much less so. But with some squinting I can make them out: The first song is called “Too Much 21st Century,” the last song “Zikir.” Further study reveals that in the songwriting credits David J. is using his last name, Haskins, for the first time.
I find this change in art direction interesting given that the last song on the last original Bauhaus album, “Hope,” was uncharacteristically uplifting for a band whose modus operandi was to live on the dark side. Will this album pick up from there and be all inspirational-like? The song titles “Black Stone Heart” and “Endless Summer of the Damned” indicate otherwise.
Alright, time to stop pussyfooting around. It’s 10:22 and the shrinkwrap is coming off. (more…)
I am still recovering from last night’s season finale of “Project Runway.” (There was a time when that last sentence would have embarrassed me, but I have evolved past feeling any shame over being addicted to a reality show about fashion designers.) The result, if you ask me, was a travesty. The annoying Christian — an arrogant little guttersnipe who can’t stop saying the word “fierce” — triumphed over the humble and talented Rami, and I just don’t think it’s right.
I don’t consider myself much of a judge of fashion, but I thought Christian’s stuff was weak. It was somehow both over the top and monotonous, not to mention profoundly unsexy, looking more like battle armor than clothing. Rami’s work was subtle, sleek, and classy, and on the whole he just deserved it more. But why should I care so much? I need to take a deep breath and get on with my day.
You can’t turn over a rock anywhere in cyberspace without finding a whole universe underneath. In an idle moment today I happened to think of a Japanese TV show from when I was very young about giant humanoid robots who could also turn into rocketships. About all I could remember was that there was a character called “Goldar” and that he was the patriarch of a family of these creatures that I probably cannot legally refer to as “transformers.”
Three minutes later I was in possession of the following facts:
• Goldar’s wife was named “Silvar” and his son was named “Gam.”
• The show was called “Space Giants” in the U.S., but in Japan both it and the Goldar character were named “Ambassador Magma” (for fun, say that aloud to yourself in your best Dr. Evil voice).
• “Ambassador Magma, despite his robot-like appearance, is not a robot, but actually, a living giant forged from gold.” (says Wikipedia)
• Far from being forgotten, as I would have thought, “Space Giants” is currently at the center of a trademark dispute between Powerslam Productions and one Bernard Schulman. Powerslam gives their side of the story at some length here. For some legal reason they are no longer selling the (11-volume!) DVD set but “giving it away” when you buy an autographed “Space Giants” comic book. Even so the price is more than my idle curiosity tinged with nostalgia warrants spending, and anyway I don’t need 11 more DVDs cluttering up my living room. But I’m glad to know it’s out there.