Looking back in...
Now Playing: Silence..
Topic: Rambling Rumminations

As I write this, 2006 has begun, at least across the waters in Australia. Sidney - as always - was the first to ring in the new year with a massive display of fireworks and an equally massive show of police force; just in case the boys decided on another "little" race riot.

Everywhere else folks and media are still busy looking back on the abysmal reign of 2005. That at least seems to be the consensus: from cartoons to commentators, everyone appears to be down on the year that was. Hurricanes, Tsunamis, bombings, and the usual slew of celebrity deaths; taken together they do little to inspire anything positive. My own take of course differs slightly: 2005 was no worse than any year before. As far as nature is concerned we are just at the beginning of the kind of fireworks this planet has in store for us. Global warming is here to stay and its very direct results are on the increase. There will be more, stronger hurricanes battering the southern US; there will be bigger and more deadly earthquakes devastating the Pacific Rim countries and central Asia. And there is little the human race can do about it - nature is about to correct the biggest evolutionary error of its existence: mankind. We've messed up good these past hundred years and now we are seeing the bill for the devastation we created.

As for man's own efforts in self-destruction, Iraq and Israel and Palestine are merely the tip of the current iceberg. Given the amazing stupidity and longevity of the governments involved in these man-made disasters, things can only get worse. Which, of course, is also true for the unrest in France, the bombings in London, and whatever new targets these little minds will conjure up next.

Some ten years from now we might even look back at 2005 as one of the last "good" years.

I believe it's called "blackmail"..
Now Playing: Guitar Solo of a Chopin Prelude
Topic: New York, New York

"'T was the nights before Christmas and not train that stirred.." - or so the poem goes, at least in New York City, four days before the biggest shopping season of the year comes to an end. Local 100 of the Transportation Worker's Union closed the gates of the countries busiest subway and bus network on Tuesday morning, following the breakdown of talks with the system's governing body. The primary demand, wanting to share in that body's surplus, apparently wasn't met. Roger Touissant, this years big fat scrooge, wants his "colleagues" to get a 24% raise over three years plus full benefites for everyone but the rail rats, among other things. Typical New York style greed: as wage demands go, this one's way, way, over the top by anyone's standards. Methinks he acquired his flair for half-baked ideas from being a trustee on the board of the NYC Employment Retirement System.

Odd that, this sudden talk of surplus. As far as I can recall the last two fare hikes - in as many years - were brought to us on the basis that the MTA (Mass Transit Authority) had massive shortfalls. Suddenly, though, there is a surplus. Creative accounting? I think not. Rather my conclusions would involve creative perspectives depending, as always, on who is looking at the accounts.

But the funny business does not stop there. The TWU very much likes to perpetuate the myth that its members serve and maintain the world's greatest transportation system. This claim is of course nonsense, simply another costly romantic notion natives of New York like to perpetuate. Sure, compared to Los Angeles or any other metropolitan hub within the USA, the New York subway and bus network could be seen not only as massive but even the best. Unfortunately that is a ridiculous standard which ignores the needs of the locales concerned.

As far as sheer size is concerned, both Paris and London are bigger. When it comes to the number of trains available to the commuting masses, Parisians, Londoners, and the folks in Tokyo and Berlin certainly are better of. And nobody beats the Japanese for quality of service or modernization. New York really only "shines" when it comes to grime, dirt, disrepair, and service disruptions. And, of course, the possibly laziest workforce world-wide. Which just went on strike because it could. And because now is the most disruptive time of the year to do it.

As strange as it is for me to route for the city's billionaire majordomo, I really do hope Master Bloomberg succeeds in breaking up the unions.

It never ceases to amaze..
Now Playing: Philadelphia street noises, 11 floors below..
Topic: Rambling Rumminations

This here blog does not have a whole lot of visitors. It is, no doubt, among the millions of "also ran" efforts. Nonetheless, it does get read, often by accident. There are even a few regulars, though I cannot really say who they are. On the other hand, thanks to the folks at StatCounter, I do know where they are. Those two in Australia, for example (although I can make an educated, albeit hopeful guess about one of them!). Or the reader in New Hampshire, and another in Virginia. At first I thought them to be bots - the automated spiders of search engines and the likes. Until I made the effort of tracking IP addresses - always a telltale sign.

Not to worry, I still don't know any identities, and frankly, I am just thankful that they do read and do occasionally return.

Far more mind-boggling, though, are the searches in which this blog surfaces. A single word, buried deep in something I wrote ages ago, will turn up in an arcane search metaphor in Hungary or Hong Kong; the fact that I once used the term "teenager" brings some of the more salacious web hunters to my virtual desk. And while the majority of visitors does come from the US of A via one portal or the other, I suddenly find unearned popularity in the Czech Republic or Greece.

Maybe I should write more? what do you think?

Where Art Thou, Harry?
Now Playing: Elgar: The Spirit of England
Topic: Grunts, rants, and others

Sequels, in the desperate world of Hollywood, are always problematic. No matter how good the continued story, or how excellent the actors, the director, or even the finances: in comparison flaws will most likely outweigh the positive. The few times where the new movie is a truly inevitable consequence of its predecessors, the harsh light of the critics will shine so much brighter. Among the recent attempts the most noted failure was The Matrix. Expectations ran high after the initial success; too high for even the most dedicated efforts. Matrix Reloaded thus was a mere shadow of the original, and what was supposed to be the ultimate climax, Matrix Revolutions, offered little more than an exaggerated rehash of the first installment. George Lucas' Star Wars Prequels fared little better - despite (or perhaps even because of) the availability of masterful special effects the execution fell flat; bad acting of the central protagonist only exaggerated this.

In the most noted, and perhaps thus far only successful trilogy, The Lord of The Rings, Peter Jackson avoided the natural pitfalls by almost enslaving his crew for the three years it took to film all of the three movies. He thus achieved a level of consistency and continuation unheard of before. Without wanting to diminish his achievement, it has to be said that he had one advantage few had before him: the basis of the trilogy, J. R. R. Tolkien's books, were not only available, but so detailed one might almost imagine the author had written them with Mr. Jackson in mind.

The thus far four different directors taking potshots at Harry Potter have not been so lucky. Although Ms. Rowlands, the author of the immensely popular books, cannot be faulted on continuity, only one of the four efforts can thus far claim critical success: the third installment, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, directed by Alfonso Cuaron. By the time the extremely talented Mexican director arrived, three other directors had already fiddled with the material (Chris Columbus, Robert Legato, and David Richard Ellis worked on the first Potter film, Chris Columbus alone directed the second).

The latest installment, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, manages to stay true to the 700+ page book, but that is about all that can be said about it. Although two hours and thirty minutes in duration, the direction and editing are reminiscent of a made-for-TV movie on Channel Four. Perhaps Warner Bros. initial idea to serve the book up as two movies, a la Kill Bill I and II, might have been a better approach. What I fail to understand is why Mr. Cuaron was not asked back (he is in the running for the fifth installment, The Order of the Phoenix), especially in light of the universal acclaim his version of Harry received. Mike Newell may be well suited for Four Weddings And A Funeral and similar romantic fare, but when it comes to directing Harry and his magical peers and superiors, he fails utterly. Nor did he help matters by bringing Mick Audsley in as the editor, whose last success was Terry Gilliam's Twelve Monkeys.

Of course, the true fans won't mind a bit. Those dedicated to the subject matter, Harry (and to no small amount Daniel Radcliffe) are lining up everywhere, to the tune of over a $ 100 million during the initial weekend release. Only goes to show you: once you get the title right some sequels will succeed, no matter what.

Surprise, Surprise!
Now Playing: Sibelius' Finladia - what else?
Topic: Politics, as usual..

There's a relatively small country in the north of Europe that most Americans would be hard pressed to locate on the map. Even though quite a few folks in the US are using its perhaps best-known export everyday. It 's where Nokia phones come from (and Linux, for the more geeky among us): Finland. And if you were to measure its urban areas only it becomes even smaller: most of its land mass is covered either with dense forests or multitudes of lakes. With only 5.3 million inhabitants its population density is less than even Nevada or Arizona. Yet for four years running the annual Economic World Conference, held in Davos, Switzerland, has ranked it as not only the most competitive country in the world, but as one whose citizens are the best looked after in the industrialized world. More astounding is the fact that it achieved all that in less than fifty years - going from Europe's least livable country to the very top of the world.

According to a recent article in the Christian Science Monitor, however, "Finland is an exceptional case Europe". At least so cautions Riisto Erasaari, a professor of social policy at Helsinki University. "We are a small homogenous country," he continues, "heavily state-based, and our social model as a whole is so typically Finnish that it won't travel. But parts of it," - such as the government-funded focus on innovation and education, "are exportable." Actually, there the good professor errs on the side of Finnish modesty. A small figure quoted later in the same article gives us a clue: someone in his exalt position would be subject to a seemingly hefty 45% in taxation. Sounds a like lot, doesn't it? What about if he where to work, say at Stamford University? He would still pay an unsociable 30-35% to the IRS, but the ten to fifteen percent difference would mean he would lose the kingdom!

His family (or he himself) would have to pay for his seven years of study; the US government - locally and federally - would laugh him out of the room were he to ask that his life's partner (mind you: not wife!) should receive sixty percent of her last salary - from said government - during here eighteen months of maternity leave. Find a local, quarto-lingual daycare center for his child - and only pay for one-fifth of the placement cost at such a miraculous Kindergarden? Local authorities would probably classify him as a communist just for asking and try to resurrect Mr. McCarthy to haunt him.

Imagine for a moment: you'd be paying 10% (seriously: ten percent!) more in income tax in order not to have to worry about medical bills, because there won't be any short of vanity surgery. Nor would you have to start scrounging the day your kid is born because you dream of getting him or her through college - you've already paid for that. Moreover, if you were Finnish, you could also rest assured that at least 3.5% of the government's income goes into research and development. That's right: R&D - and we are not talking about dumb smart bombs either.

There is, of course, a downside to all this: speeding tickets are apparently priced according to your personal wealth: a heir to a sausage empire (think of Johnny Dean) was once fined $ 217.000 for going twice the local speed limit in a residential zone. Can you image the money the LAPD could collect in Beverly Hills alone? You could finance a decent size police force with those fines.

Sounds like a paradise, if you ask me. No wonder Santa Claus has his residence there (true enough: its up on the arctic circle in a town with an unpronounceable name)!

A New Knight Errant..
Now Playing: Marche Funebre
Topic: Politics, as usual..

January is of late, at least for me, not necessarily a welcome month. For the very vain reason of my birthday falling right into the first week. Recently though I thought I had reason to rejoice and look forward to the bristling first month of 2006: Alan Greenspan is going to retire! Until I remembered that the task of appointing his successor falls to the sitting president, i.e., George Bush. The tall Texan with an unappetizing streak of selecting unqualified members of his inner cadre to such jobs.

True to form, the little man selected Ben Shalom Bernanke for the job. A former professor for economics (and I know all about these, having been one), chairman of the White House economic advisors, and - as the future finance king of the world - a man who solidly lives in the past. We are talking Glasnost past here, when inflation was the all-consuming concern of monetary policy world-wide. Unfortunately for the markets, such a return to the good old bad old days spells even further curbs on what these past three years have been trends so flat they might be called Dutch. Under Greenspan's murderous reign the three major American stock-markets fluctuated about as much as Stanley Kubrik's 2001 monolith. Meanwhile a growing number of home owners and first time buyers find themselves saddled with mortgages inflated for no other reason than Master Alan's senile zeal to fight a dragon that long ago ceased to attack the castle.

The freshly crowned prince art the Fed looks set to charge the same gate, succinctly ignoring the real threat at the back door, where the crude oil comes in. Of course, you cannot quite blame the man for not looking over his shoulder; after all, that would be cutting into the boss' cadre's profits. So what if the combination of fake job statistics and crude oil prices are more dangerous to the world's stock markets than inflation ever was? Ours is a robust, two tier economy where those in the know (and on the right side of the gated community fence) do indeed know how to profit from the concerted action once known as NYSE and/or NASDAQ. And the rest of the world can go to hell, we'll soon see to that.

Thought I'd never say that..
Now Playing: Theme Music from Le Grand Bleu..
Topic: Rambling Rumminations
..but thank the (cinematographic) gods that the summer is over! While I dread the idea of waking up to the misery that is called winter in along the north-eastern shore of the US of A, in terms of movie going the end of the summer is a blessing.

Maybe we can attribute the dearth of decent home-grown films to a general overheating of Hollywood brains (or is that an oximoron?). At any rate we suddenly find an albeit small barrage of good movies hitting the screens: Capote, with a spectacular performance by Philip Seymor Hoffman; Good Night, And Good Luck, finally making an actor out of George Clooney; Broken Flowers, with minimalist Bill Murray at is most minimalisitc; and yes, even the timely return of Wallace and Gromit in the The Return of the Wererabbit. Then there was the ever cantankerous Shirley McClaine in In Her Shoes (which unfortunately has us endure tha dittzy Diaz thingy). Even Tim Burton's two recent outpourings (The Corpse Bride, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory) were timely distractions from the morass the other media tend to serve us.

Is there thus hope for Hollywood? I doubt it. Except for the claymation heroes (and they are British), only Tim Burton could claim box office success. Even the usually successful animation genre begins to pale - or why else would someone try to make a good daily comic - Over The Edge - into what promises to be a second-rate feature film?

While the Indies are still far from main street, Hollywood needs to rethink its strident opposition to good movie making, as practiced in Europe and elsewhere in the world. Otherwise the box office receipts could twindle into the red in a matter of a few bad years such as 2005 has been.

Joie de vivre..?
Now Playing: Moustaki - La Meteque
Topic: Rambling Rumminations

The difference between an American romantic comedy and a French film of the same genre is twofold: the US version will nearly always have the same plot centered on two protagonists overcoming obstacles largely of their own making. More importantly, the movie will be filled with people trying their best to act.

A French comedy rarely focuses on just two people; there will be the not so innocent bystanders, at times in form of relatives and/or friends. There will be total strangers whose accidental appearance might change the course of the plot; the course of history. The biggest difference, however, will always be the cast of participants who appear to live the script rather than stoop down to mere acting. Even in eventually silly farces such as "Cote d'Azur" which appeared this weekend in select "art-house" cinemas.

The story of a Parisian family on summer vacation at the famed beaches of the title, it is for the most part a modernized comedy of errors such as Moli?re might have written. I say for the most part because the director chose to invalidate his original concept by a downright stupid song-and-dance number performed by all the actors at during the final scene - just in case the audience did not get the repeated hints at the old wives' tale that seafood, in particular crustaceans, are in fact powerful aphrodisiacs.

The story is simple enough: a middle-aged couple with a teenage daughter and a preteen son are coming to terms with what they perceive to be their kids awakening sexuality. The appearance of the son's best friend convinces them that junior is gay. Meanwhile mom's city lover follows her to the country, intent to force a decision in his favor, one she hates to make because it would take away the element of clandestine she really loves. To make matters a bit more interesting, dad's former love of his life turns up as well, and it is the local plumber, equally out force the issue. Turns out that dad, initially guilty of homophobia, at least where his son is concerned, is actually the gayest fiddle in town. While junior is not, not even a bit. And the best part (of the movie, at least) is that it all sorts itself out, without director resorting to improbable artifice or stupid stereotypes. In the end everyone gets not only what they deserve but also what they truly wanted in the first place. Except for the audience which, alas, gets stunned by the truly abhorrent singing and dancing.

Just another update..
Now Playing: Missa Solemnis in C minor

Some might call it an infantile dream, one I should long be too old for. No doubt, all manners of folly have gone into it over the decades. Resulting only in less than middling success. I am, of course, talking about my efforts as a writer of fiction. Lately the pen, for want of a better word, has been dormant. A few feeble attempts, but mostly rehashes of past exercises. In lieu of new writings I did the next best thing: I updated the related websites. Thus, HandsOn Productions, the gateway to five of my sites, has been simplified with a single Flash page. Similarly, The Storyteller's Logbook, where most of the short story fiction is available, has had a complete makeover. Again: need for simplicity served as the primary motif. Next in line are streetwalker, the poetry site, and ny-ny gallery, which really does need a more relevant exhibit.

As always, my life right now is in a flux; I am in the middle of a semi-serious countdown towards a departure from New York - but I have been doing that since the day I arrived. The question: Where am I going with this?, has yet to be solved. Any ideas? Anyone?

A moment deluxe..
Now Playing: Prokoviev: Pierre et le Loupe
Topic: Rambling Rumminations

You might be forgiven if you were to think that lately all I ever write about is movies. Of course, that is utter rubbish. Films are just a means to an end. At times they fill gaps, when I cannot think what else to write, when write I must. Other times they fill another gapping hole: that of time, a tradition a century old and honored by many.

Now and then, however, they are a momentary inspiration. When they instill, for whatever minute a moment, that we could actually be better then we are, if only we had a half-decent director and maybe a not too morose screenplay writer. Such cinematographic efforts do not need to themselves uplifting in spirit; in fact they could be about something quite brutal, or totally silly and foppish. Some emblematic fantasy about worlds that do not exist, or futures that we can never meet; some distinctive tale about a man going to see another man about a horse might do it as well.

In the end is but us, and how we see the efforts by those untold hordes necessary to create even the most simplistic of celluloid efforts. And they all seem to have in common the very basic ability to tell a story well; in that such greats are quite bookish. It is one such tale that brought about this entry in the diary: Finding Neverland, the story about the writer who manage to tame Peter Pan into the covers of a good book. It is not that it is inspirational in the usual sense of the world, nor that every actor and actress seem to have slipped into their characters so effortlessly. Rather it seems to me the synergy of the story itself, the people in it - both real and imagined, and of us the, the viewers, that allows this tale to tug at strings we usually hide so well.

Or may it is just me; after all, my name is Peter, and as many will attest quite readily, I've always had difficulty growing up. Even now. As you will see if you just read these words again..