Innocent Bystander

My confession...

I never saw Borat.

You'd have to pay me a lot of money to see Bruno.

Bad week to be a celebrity...

They say these things happen in threes, but with the death of TV pitchman Billy Mays today, it's been a really bad week to be a celebrity.

First, Ed McMahon died. My one solitary Ed McMahon memory revolves around finding out that he was a Boardwalk salesman of knives and various and sundry items. I found this out at a very early age, and each year when we went to Atlantic City for our summer vacation, I was mesmerized by the pitchmen hawking Ginzu knives, etc., etc., ad infinitum, in storefronts on the Boardwalk. "Is that Ed McMahon?" I'd ask my mom, and when they told me no, it wasn't Ed McMahon, I'd ask if they thought he worked there. I soon figured out that that was previous job Ed had, not something he moonlighted in during the summers. I think his Tonight Show gig, even in the 60s, paid better than selling knives on the Atlantic City Boardwalk.

Farrah Fawcett wasn't exactly a poster girl to me. Although I admired the hair, the teeth, and a couple of other prominently-featured body parts on that iconic poster, I always thought Farrah was a bit dumb for leaving Charlie's Angels after only one season, kind of like McLean Stevenson. As an actress, she had really nice hair, even though she proved herself later on. But then there were those times she was such a trainwreck on talk shows, like Letterman. Her death is sad (all these are), but not unexpected. If you read the tabloids or watch the TV entertainment "news" shows, she's been dying since 2006.

But of course, Farrah's death on Thursday was overshadowed by the passing of the King of Pop, Michael Jackson. I am of course tempted to invoke the old show biz joke: "good career move," but even I can't deny how incredibly talented Jackson was. But when you sit and watch the metamorphosis of strangeness his life became, seeing how his appearance changed so drastically over the years--and couple that with the child molestation allegations--it's hard to like the guy. Still I find myself humming Jackson songs all weekend long, probably because they're in the air (somebody in a car keeps driving around the Gaslamp playing "Billie Jean"). And some of them that pop into my head, well...I'm surprised I even know them. They are, at the very least, catchy tunes. The Jackson circus is far from over, though. There's people crawling out of the woodwork to get a piece of all this media attention (the family friend who histrionically went on and on on the CBS Evening News about Jackson's drug usage and how he warned the family that this was going to happen springs immediately to mind; the Rev. Al Sharpton is a close second). The Michael Jackson saga is far from over.

And then finally today there's the death of Billy Mays, a man who I owe my thanks for my entire exercise regimen. That regimen consists entirely of me lunging for the remote every time Billy starts to shout on a commercial, and let's face it, that's what Billy did. HE SHOUTED! ALL THE TIME! I can only imagine the strife and turmoil at TV stations and cable networks all over the country today as people scrambled to remove his commercials from rotation. They say Billy might have died from the rough landing of a US Airways jet last night, when a tire blew out upon touch-down, and something hit him on the head. He was only 50. Somehow I think his tombstone will be embellished in very large letters with exclamation points. And isn't that how it should be?

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn

Gillian Flynn writes dirty books, dark, mysterious tales that talk about things we know happen but only whisper about, or keep deep within ourselves. To admit they exist would be to admit the world is a crazy place, and could go spinning out of control at any moment.

I loved Flynn's Sharp Objects, a creepy, witty page-turner of a mystery that featured a decidedly-different protagonist in reporter Camille Preaker (read my original review here). Now Flynn--a former TV reviewer for Entertainment Weekly, who hopefully has quit her day job--is back (sadly minus Camille) with a new book, Dark Places, and it's almost just as fascinating as her first novel.

That "almost" lies in the lead character, sad little Libby Day, the surviving sister of the legendary Day Family massacre back in 1985 in Kansas. Libby's brother Ben is doing hard time for the murders of her mom, Patty, and her sisters Michelle and Debby, and Libby herself helped put him in prison. Now, 24 years later, Libby--having run out of the money she "earned" from telling her story of the murders and the kindness of sympathetic strangers who wanted to help the then 7-year-old girl--comes face to face with the "Kill Club," a strange underground group of people who believe Ben is innocent and that Libby should recant the testimony that put him behind bars. Libby goes along for the ride to get money from the obsessed people who think her brother should be freed, but slowly she becomes detective and unravels the truth about the case.

So the "almost" part? Well, unfortunately, Flynn has created an almost unlikable character in Libby Day, who starts off the novel with a great line: "I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ." That's a memorable start to ANY book, but Libby--with her klepto ways and her total lack of people skills--is a hard heroine to root for. Flynn's Preaker--with her tortured family life and her own nasty habit of cutting herself in times of stress--had some redeeming values that made you want her to succeed. Libby...not so much. But Flynn has once again crafted an absolutely fascinating story, in a dual-chapter format that goes from Libby's reality now to the Day household on that fateful day in early January 1985, chapter after chapter, back and forth, like some kind of demented seesaw. In the end, Libby does redeem herself somewhat, softens up into a slightly more likable character. And her ride to redemption--however slight it may be--is a great one.

My other problem with the book is the ending nobody will see coming, normally a good thing in any book. Here it's so far out of left field it's jarring and disconcerting. But that doesn't stop me from recommending this book. I gave out Sharp Objects to friends a few years back; I don't know that I'd do the same with Dark Places, but it's still a great book, and I can't wait another 2 years or so to see what Flynn does next.

Friday Foto #84...

Mooch, the office cat. To see more of my photos, Friday or otherwise, click here!

Gary's exciting new iPhone aps!

I'm working on three exciting new iPhone applications! They all work on the same principle, to varying degrees. That principle is heat generated by the new iPhone 3G S's amazing battery.

The first one is: HANDWARMER. Turn up the heat on those cold hands with this iPhone app that uses the battery to generate gentle heat.

The second one dials it up a notch: HOTPLATE. Cook any small package of frozen microwaveable food on your iPhone screen. (Note: Battery drains quickly on this application. Do not overcook or undercook food.)

And finally, there's the ultimate iPhone app: DEATHRAY. A sudden blinding burst of light generated from your iPhone obliterates anyone in front of you. (Note: This application can only be used ONCE. Make sure the iPhone is pointed away from you.)

Okay, that last one has a few bugs, but I'm working on it.

On Comics: T-Minus, the Race to the Moon and The Art of Harvey Kurtzman, the MAD Genius of Comics...

It's a testament to the rich body of comics-related product coming out right now that these two latest reads of mine end up in the same post. One's a great graphic novel, telling an amazing true-to-life history story, the other a beautiful art book celebrating the art and genius of one of comics' most wonderful cartoonists.

T-Minus: The Race to the Moon, written by Jim Ottaviani and drawn by Zander Cannon and Kevin Cannon is the story of the space race that dominated headlines from the late 1950s until America landed the first men on the moon in 1969. It's ostensibly a kids' graphic novel, but there's nothing wrong with that especially with the mature, sophisticated storytelling present here. The Cannons (no relation, by the way) smooth, graphic cartooning propels the story forward, and Ottaviani's script never talks down to his intended audience, offering a fascinating look at an amazing time in history. Truth be told, the Russians kicked our butts in the beginning, and while some of it seems quaint these days (the Russians room full of "computers" is, in reality, a bunch of smart people at desks making computations), it's a story full of built-in suspense, something Ottaviani capitalizes on. While we all know how it ends, it's still a great read. I love stuff like this, and Ottaviani regularly goes to the history mine and digs out these great nuggets, not unlike Rick Geary (who's next book in his "Treasury of XX Century Murder," Famous Players, is due out today in comic shops from NBM).

There are only a few names in comic books who deserve the extra-special gift word of "genius" next to their name. I'd limit that to Jack Kirby, Will Eisner, Carl Barks, perhaps Wally Wood, and definitely Harvey Kurtzman. The man who created MAD never really rivaled that great creation after he walked away from it with anything else he did for the rest of his life. But those 25 or so issues, coupled with his remarkable work on EC's war titles, Frontline Combat and Two-Fisted Tales, are enough for anyone's career. The new book, The Art of Harvey Kurtzman, the MAD Genius of Comics, written by Denis Kitchen and Paul Buhle, and edited by our buddy Charlie Kochman for his imprint at Abrams, Abrams ComicArts, is a beautiful 240-page tome, featuring a wealth of art, many of it unpublished. It follows Kurtzman from his formative years through his early cartooning days with "Hey, Look!" at Timely/Marvel through his salad days at EC and beyond--through Trump, Humbug, Help, and the latter part of his career. Kurtzman had an incredible influence on pop culture, as the book testifies. Everything and everyone from Gloria Steinem to Terry Gilliam, from R. Crumb to the rest of the underground comix people, were touched by Kurtzman and MAD. His own loose-limbed, vibrant, expressive cartooning style is still a constant revelation to me. This book celebrates all that in one of the most handsome packages I've seen in a long time.

This week on The Learning Channel TLC: Jon and Kate teach their children how to manipulate the media...

I have never watched Jon and Kate + 8 on The Learning Channel, better known as TLC. I have no plans to EVER watch Jon and Kate + 8 at any point in time. But the relentless barrage of media coverage for these two over the past month has put them squarely on my old, broken-down, pre-WWII era radar. And lord, I hate what they're doing.

Hey...let's get divorced! But wait...let's leak it to the press that everyone should watch our show on Monday night for a BIG ANNOUNCEMENT! And then we'll reveal our divorce to the WHOLE WIDE WORLD. ON THE TEE-VEE! Because nothing--absolutely NOTHING--is private anymore. Not even good old-fashioned divorce. Would that the Catholics had a powerful enough lobby to ban not only the two of them from church, but from television forever.

I don't know why this bugs me so much, other than it's the constant white noise of reality TV. Is Adam Lambert gay? Is Cloris Leachman too old and crotchety to be a dancer? Which minor league Baldwin brother left NBC's ridiculous celebrity survivor show and who really gives a rat's ass? Even if you care not one iota about any of this utter crap, you're struck with it every day, every time you log in, every time you turn on the news. One family with 8 kids at a time is news. That family going through a divorce, no matter how public, and no matter how evily manipulative, is not news. It's sad, but it's certainly not news.

So, TLC, why don't you do this: Follow the + 8 kids through life, Truman Show-like. Watch them grow. Forget about their self-centered, self-absorbed parents. Let's just look in on just the kids. That way we at home can play along and watch as they grow up in this toxic environment, one filled with cameras and technicians and sound trucks and wires. Because these kids will not know how to live their lives WITHOUT cameras, we can all lay bets on which of them gets busted for drugs first, which one for shoplifting, which one for grand theft auto. We can follow them through juvie prison, drug rehab, halfway houses. Because with a life like this, played out on TV all the time, these kids will never grow up normal. Especially when their parents feel a divorce is something best held for the TV camera.

The Finder by Colin Harrison

The Finder was a total impulse buy on my part. Picking up the book in the mystery section at a local bookstore, I was immediately smitten with the cover, a fragmented view of the New York City skyline, centered on the Empire State Building. The cover suckered me in, and the plot--about one man's chase against the clock to find his ex-girlfriend--kept me there.

But there are problems with Colin Harrison's novel. It tries to be too much, tries to tell too many stories. I felt a bit cheated at the end, with the enigmatic and damaged Ray Grant--the titular "Finder"--given a tad too little "screen" time. And while a number of reviewers compare Harrison's novel with Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities, in that it presents a cross-section of the Manhattan populace, from hedge fund players to illegal alien day-workers, I think that's where the book stumbles a bit, by trying to cover too large a territory.

The plot is fascinating. Jin Li runs an office cleaning service, the kind that cleans the large corporations of Manhattan each and every night. On the side, she steals secrets from said corporations, moving deftly in and out of the offices as just another member of the cleaning crew assigned to the building. She funnels those secrets to her brother Chen who uses the information to play the stock market on an international level. And then one day she gets caught, and her sideline causes the death of two of her fellow workers, just for being in the right place at the right time with the wrong person--Jin.

Jin goes undercover to escape her pursuers, who want to teach her a lesson. And into that ambles Ray Grant, Jin's former boyfriend, who is "hired" to find her by the very men who want to kill her. The rest of the novel is that story, with all the different tributaries that snake off from it. It's a fascinating read, and as Grant's own tale unfolds, you learn more and more about him...but still it didn't seem like quite enough.

There's Grant's retired police detective father, both a pawn and a player in the unfolding mystery, in his final cancer-ridden days. There's Jin's evil brother. There's an assortment of big business stock market players, including an evil old man who may also be dying of cancer, plus the head of marketing for a pharmaceutical company central to the story. There's the Mafia-related "honeywagon" company owner, who empties out porta-potties.

And from there, there's the author's borderline obsession with...well, shit. Excrement, to be polite. In just about the most shocking first chapter "scene-setter" I've ever read, there's a ton of it, literally. Ray Grant takes a swim in it, a little later in the book. The evil stock market guy has a prostate exam at a party, and yells at the doctor performing it while her rubber-glove fingers are covered in it. Perhaps it's a metaphor for NYC...there's a lot of shit going on there, to be sure, but it gets old--and disgusting--fast.

Harrison is a good writer, and there's lots of fascinating bits here, but I want to see more of Ray Grant, one of the most interesting heroes to come along in a long time. The cover that caught my eye sums up this book perfectly: a beautiful, picture-perfect skyline, fragmented and interrupted by life in the big city, even moreso in the post 9-11 era. Ray Grant's a part of that new era, damaged by it, and living his life beyond it.

The Taking of Pelham 123 (2009)

I was prepared to hate the new version of The Taking of Pelham 123. The original is one of my favorite films of the 1970s, one that has a sly little trick ending, and a director and/or writer with the sense of fading to black at the perfect moment. But that film is an exact reproduction of an era, a time when New York City was full of crime, when taking the subway was a risky move, especially late at night. It was the era of America's giant F-You to New York when it ran out of money. New York was Gotham City, full of crazies, liberals, and an island many people wished would just float away.

Cut to 2009 and Tony Scott has remade the thriller, based on a novel by John Godey, with a script by Brian Helgeland, who co-wrote one of my all-time favorite movies, L.A. Confidential. The basic story remains the same: a small group of criminals take over a subway train on a typically busy New York day,and hold the passengers for ransom. In the 70s, the plot revolved around "how are they gonna do it"--how do you escape from a subway train underground with the then princely ransom of one million dollars? But in the new millennium, the story has a lot more layers. A flawed hero (Denzel Washington), who is under investigation at the MTA for taking a bribe. A crazy-like-a-fox mastermind (John Travolta), who's bluster is part prison-made, part something else entirely. The cat-and-mouse game is amplified, the trick ending is gone, but--I'm very happy to say--this new version is its own animal, something engrossing and very, very satisfying.

Washington and Travolta are both great, as is James Gandolfini as a mayor more tuned into his constituency than the previous version's clown. The ante is upped to a cool 10 million this time, and a lot of the set pieces are there: the snipers in the tunnel, the mad chase with the money to make the deadline. Travolta's criminal is the polar opposite of Robert Shaw's quiet, cool boss. But I have to stop comparing this film to the other one...because--I almost hate to say it--it's a better movie.

Tony Scott's direction almost turned me off from the opening credits, all jangly and quick-cutted. But Scott wisely saves all that frenetic motion for the on-the-street scenes, with the action in the tunnels controlled and almost claustophobic. There's some new twists, too: the emergence of a new kind of New York villain in who Travolta REALLY is; the acknowledgment of the Internet as a major player in everything we do these days (witness Iran; the revolution will not be televised, it'll be streamed live). Helgeland's script brings Washington's character of Garber more into the action and ends with a bang.

This is too cool and smart an action movie for the summer months, when everything is X-Men and giant robots and twenty-somethings posing as teens in mythical fantasy schools. Pelham 123 is a great movie, one of the best I've seen in a long time...I just wish everyone else would go see it, too.

In which the blogger admits an unhealthy love for the new iPhone 3G S...

I tell my friends that I'm categorically NOT a "gadget guy," but I do admit to being an Apple snob. I've owned Apple/Macintosh products since their very first computer back in 1984 or so, the one that looked like a petite microwave oven and had about as much memory. That was an amazing breakthrough in personal computers, one that was easy to operate and learn, unlike its PC competitors of the same era which practically dictated you had some kind of advanced degree in computer programming.

I feel the same way over the new iPhone, my first new phone in the cellular industry's pre-determined lifespan of two years. I was one of the goofballs who paid $599 for the first iPhone on that day back in June of 2007...stood in line only to find out my local AT&T store was sold out. I sweated through the days waiting for it to arrive in the mail, especially after I noticed the AT&T dolt of a clerk put my address down as "880" instead of "808." But all was forgiven when it arrived, a sleek, friendly, sophisticated piece of equipment. I likened it then to a computer in my pocket. The new 3G S is a super-computer in my pocket, and yes...I am happy to see you.

Since I was used to the pokey old Edge times on my old iPhone when it came to Internet surfing, the new version is a revelation in speed. While the basic design is the same, I love that's a little slimmer and lighter than my first one. The compass is a cool addition, although I'm directionally-challenged on the best of days, so I doubt I'll be using it much (unless I find myself searching for the proverbial bear shitting in the wood, or listening to that tree fall that no one hears), but the GPS function for things like Yelp, UrbanSpoon, and Flickster is wonderful. The battery life seems markedly improved. The speed at which the few games I own (Scrabble and a pinball one) operate is amazing. And I love the voice control feature, even if it does have a hard time figuring out who I want to call.

And the fact that it's $400 less than the first one I bought two years ago is really amazing. It shows that the world has finally embraced  something like Apple, a company who has deserved to be embraced all this time. (To be fair, the world embraced the iPod first). Less an evil empire than Microsoft (which is like comparing Switzerland to Germany, oh, about 60 years ago, in my humble opinion), America either loves or absolutely despises Apple. I will always love the company, if only chaste and from afar, but never so much as when my iPhone is in my pocket, turned on and warm against my thigh.

Hey...I told you it was unhealthy.