BYOB Archive for March, 2009

BYOB – Dallas

38 Comments »

BYOB – Thursday The 26th

44 Comments »

BYOB – Humpday

67 Comments »

BYOB For A New Week

61 Comments »

BYOB Weekend

52 Comments »

BYOBermuda

45 Comments »

BYOB – Almost Wednesday In The City

The city never sleeps… but I must…

61 Comments »

BYOB – Travel Tuesday

At the start of a long journey (26 days), I want to make sure the doors are locked, the electronics are off, that I have all the toys I need for the trip… and that things in here stay civil. It is on long trips like this when suddenly, one day, a bunch of e-mails start coming in, begging me to wrangle this commenter or that one.
Please… no drunk commenting… no boners… no bold and capped abuse.
I will not be truly unavailable for a few days… but I am hoping that all of you will set the tone the you would like to see as the tone for all, not to turn this blog space into your own personal soapbox.
Thanks… back in a few hours…

75 Comments »

BYOB – Monday

Civility.

175 Comments »

BYOB Sunday

27 Comments »

BYOB Weekend

78 Comments »

BYOB Thursday 3-12=-09

sunshinecleaning.jpg
Sunshine Cleaning cleans up… my house.

32 Comments »

BYOB – Humpday 31109

52 Comments »

BYOB – A New Week

Hopefully, some of the louder people – well, one – will be calmer this week.
Not a whole lot going on these days… maybe y’all have something great to chat about…

127 Comments »

BYOB 368

I’ve been learning/wwrestling with new technology in the form of AVCHD… looks great… but all kinds of new formatting issues. Once I figure them out, I think it will be a love affair. Until then, frustrating as hell. But we have some great stuff from Bill Mechanic, Mary Stewart Masterson/Kristin Stewart/Aaron Stanford, and Mark Duplass coming your way with more after that as I head into my annual March/April travel frenzy.
Meanwhile, I leave you some more space to talk amongst yourselves… thanks for being civil…

34 Comments »

Quote Unquotesee all »

“I was 15 when I first watched Sally Hardesty escape into the back of a pickup truck, covered in blood and cackling like a goddamn witch. All of her friends were dead. She had been kidnapped, tortured and even forced to feed her own blood to her cannibalistic captors’ impossibly shriveled patriarch. Being new to the horror genre, I was sure she was going to die. It had been a few months since I survived a violent sexual assault, where I subsequently ran from my assailant, tripped, fell and fought like hell. I crawled home with bloody knees, makeup-stained cheeks and a new void in both my mind and heart. My sense of safety, my ability to trust others, my willingness to form new relationships and my love of spending time with people I cared about were all taken from me. It wasn’t until I found the original The Texas Chain Saw Massacre that something clicked. It was Sally’s strength, and her resilience. It was watching her survive blows to the head from a hammer. It was watching her break free from her bonds and burst through a glass window. It was watching her get back up after she’d been stabbed. It was watching her crawl into the back of a truck, laughing as it drove away from Leatherface. She was the last one to confront the killer, and live. I remember sitting in front of the TV and thinking, There I am. That’s me.”
~ Lauren Milici On “The Final Girl”

“‘Thriller’ enforced its own reality principle; it was there, part of the every commute, a serenade to every errand, a referent to every purchase, a fact of every life. You didn’t have to like it, you only had to acknowledge it. By July 6, 1984, when the Jacksons played the first show of their ‘Victory’ tour, in Kansas City, Missouri, Jacksonism had produced a system of commodification so complete that whatever and whoever was admitted to it instantly became a new commodity. People were no longer comsuming commodities as such things are conventionally understood (records, videos, posters, books, magazines, key rings, earrings necklaces pins buttons wigs voice-altering devices Pepsis t-shirts underwear hats scarves gloves jackets – and why were there no jeans called Bille Jeans?); they were consuming their own gestures of consumption. That is, they were consuming not a Tayloristic Michael Jackson, or any licensed facsimile, but themselves. Riding a Mobius strip of pure capitalism, that was the transubstantiation.”
~ Greil Marcus On Michael Jackson