I like a fresh bowl. Remnants upset me.

I forgot all about my aquarium pics!



So the seals are just outside the entrance and it's easy to sit there for quite some time. However, the penguin feedings were just beginning, so we finally went inside.





In the center of the aquarium is a giant circular ocean tank with a spiraling walkway to the top.



There seemed to be about 3-4 of these guys, but they hid when the divers started feeding time! Shy!



The people in the background are a little dark, but it gives you an idea of how large the tank is.



The jellies are a special exhibit. Also, very hard to snap pics.



Splat.







It's a little tricky to see here, but there are two guys. I think they normally blend in a little better than they're doing here.





That's a brown bottle he's sucking on.



While walking up to Haymarket to return to Little Italy, we stumbled upon the Holocaust exhibit. I'd seen it before in 1998 when I went with Veloute and Annie. It's still impressive; prisoners' numbers are etched on the glass, very small, since there are so many.





And we passed this twice during our trip, it was just weird.



I'm sure there IS a playground somewhere, it just looked misplaced. Even better was what seemed to be a drug transaction going on.



I'm sure it wasn't...*cough*

The McLuhan Memorial Lecture, 2009

Two thoughtful analyses of modern media, culled from yesterday’s Guardian. First, Ben Goldacre knows who to blame for the pervasive crapness in modern journalism:

Through our purchasing behaviour, we have communicated to newspapers that we want them to be large and cheap more than we want them to be adequately researched.

And Charlie Brooker uncovers the uncomfortable truth about BBC World’s news channel:

It’s a channel whose viewer demographic consists exclusively of men sitting on the edge of a hotel bed impatiently waiting for their girlfriend to finish in the shower so they can go and have a shit.

You want to bankrupt somebody? Cost him everything he's worked for? Make his wife leave him, even make his kids cry? Yeah, we can do that.

I admit it. I love drunk men.

So I went to see a local DFW band tonight here in Austin. Know what I LOVE LOVE LOVE about Austin? NO ONE BOTHERS YOU. And don't misunderstand, I really do applaud any man who has the balls to address a totally strange female in the hopes of...well, whatever it is he's after. But that happens frequently in DFW, whereas in Austin, it rarely seems to happen. So I am far more ready to hit the town a lobo solo here in Austin than I am back home.

And all was good. Til it got close to 2am.

First of all, I absolutely had the rapt entertainment of the bouncers and staff at this particular bar. One came up to me at the end and said, "That was a first." I guess not too many single, sober people show up to enjoy a show and read in-between.

(For the record, a couple people did come up to me and ask how I was able to read amidst all the din. "Drugs," I said. I was a total WIN all night.)

I had had two screwdrivers and closing was a half-hour away, though my waitress had completely disappeared. So I pulled a Renee Raddick and motioned with my finger to this douche who had been chatting me up the latter part of the night, to come here.

He trotted over, pulling cash out of his wallet for his friend nearby, as if he'd had a bet with someone as to whether or not I'd cave. Who knows. All I know is this motherfucker was WASTED and the friend tossed me the $20. I had originally said, "If you buy me a screwdriver, I'll answer three questions for you." (I didn't want to lose my seat, but I wanted one last drink.) There was a lot of bumbling between the two of them (and drunkenness), and they soon went away, apparently unable to comprehend what I'd said. I was thrilled.

Now, I was raised properly. To the point where I should have tracked that poor idiot down and given him his bill back. However. I pocketed Mr. Andrew Jackson, sauntered up to the bar and got my own darn screwdriver (without losing my seat). That, my friends, is called ASSHOLE TAX.

Bygones.

First of all, I'm in Austin! WHEE! So the condo I'm staying in is AWESOME. I actually DO know the area a tad--it's off 2222, which is the GORGEOUS highway you take to get to Mount Bonnell and County Line (the former is more essential, the latter for beer'n'bbq on the lake--om nom nom!)

But it's aaaaaaaaaall the way in the back of the complex and then in the back of its building, so the back balcony has a great view of swaying trees/bamboo. Sold! And the entry way is strewn with potted plants--they even line the staircase to the upstairs residence. There is even a mouthy white cat. And no, mom, I did not pet him. (*cough*...*averts eyes*)

Anyhoo, I was at least mildly responsible in completing my financial aid entrance counseling while still on my first beer. They had little questions you had to answer like a quiz, geez...

Completely unrelated, my dad sent me this link about the 2009 Cannes screenings--brief and interesting reviews, all contained in one page. Win. I do want to see Up! as soon as possible! I'm sure that will beat Drag Me to Hell at the box since they both open this weekend (are you kidding?), but I am still happily impressed with the latter.

Within those reviews, I was intrigued by the Inglorious Basterds review, though not surprised. I am looking forward to it, yet I fully expect to be disappointed for some reason. I love Tarantino, but he does often let me down. And I still haven't seen the original, argh! Wait...ok, there. Moved it towards the top of the queue. (Not the VERY top, since Weeds season 4 comes out this week. Priorities, dude.) I have a feeling the original is SLIGHTLY different, call me crazy.

Also, I would high-five this writer based strictly on his review of Lars Von Trier's Antichrist. I adore the sentiment of loathing it but being delighted at having been there to see it. He's just...one of those filmmakers...I have a hard time knowing just what I think of the man. I think he may be a TOTAL ASSHOLE...yet I'm drawn to his films. (And I didn't even know about The Boss Of It All, added to queue and bumped near top.)

I was also a little sad to read the new Almodóvar film Broken Embraces seems to be a bit of a loss, but to be fair, I really did not enjoy (contrary to popular opinion??) Volver. Penélope Cruz did a very nice job, but it was nowhere near enough to make the film worth it. For me, old Almodóvar is where it's at.

Ok, time to order my Mangia pizza!

Here, kitty, kitty.

Last night we saw the new Sam Raimi, Drag Me to Hell.



It was SO. MUCH. FUN.

I absolutely have to recommend seeing it in a theatre, preferably one with KICK-ASS sound. I always advocate kick-ass sound, but here it has the added benefit of drowning out the type of crowd that will be watching it with you.

I am for and against the crowd in this film. Right off, I knew I had to talk myself out of expecting a respectful audience. To be fair, it's an incredibly over-the-top gory suspense fest, so it's not like one needs to concentrate or discern intricate plot details. However, I just like to enjoy the movie, kwim?

This crowd was one-third teenagers, one-third people my age and one-third a bunch of white-trash ghetto morons who talk at the whole film (though not too much to need killing). And also, this is where the great sound is essential. I honestly barely heard them. And despite a constant hum of mutterings and titterings from the crowd, well, after Christine came home from getting her fortune told and she's alone in the house? Yeah, that theater? You could hear a mouse fart.

I thought it was a testimonial to great editing.

Also, seeing it in the theater really sucks you into both the tension and the story, plus it is fun with the weekend crowd. I went in not knowing a single damn thing other than it was penned (along with his brother Ivan) and directed by Raimi, and it was a really pleasant surprise. It was goofy gore in true Raimi style, with great laughs and amazing suspense. (And Alison Lohman is pretty perfect, too, she gets it just right.)

And apparently, since Bruce Campbell's schedule was tied up with Burn Notice, he does not appear at all in the film. I admit I wondered where he was, even though I don't really care about the Raimi Details in his films (kinda hard not to spot the car, though...)

In any case, it was damn fun and I recommend it--that is, if it even sounds like your cup of tea to begin with. If not, well, 90 minutes might feel kinda long...

Ok, now it's off to Austin by myself for the weekend! Mostly, I'm going to work on my articles and hopefully finally get around to my financial aid entrance counseling (gee, don't know why I've been putting that off). I've got the keys to my realtor's condo (aka, the Very Awesome Sam) in way North Austin (new territory for me). Just want to get on the road before the sun gets lethal...

In search of a bottom end

I changed my Facebook profile picture a few days ago, and had a number of complimentary comments, presumably from people who haven’t noticed that the picture isn’t actually of me.

It is, in fact, Andy Partridge, singer and guitarist of Swindon’s bestest art-punk-pastoral-psych-popsters XTC. But Partridge is not the only happening beat musician to whom I bear a resemblance.

Some have suggested that I look a bit like synth-twiddling 80s nerd heartthrob Thomas Dolby.

Others reckon that I could double for Ash drummer Rick McMurray.

While in the olden days, I was told with tedious regularity that I played saxophone for Fair Isle janglers Haircut 100 (a role actually performed by one Phil Smith, the chap at the bottom on the right).

So I’ve pretty much got a band of Tim lookylikeys there - with one crucial lacuna. There’s no bass player. I know some trendy young hipsters today (your White Stripes, them Yes Yes Yeses) manage without a bassist, but I don’t hold with such false economies. So, over to you. Your task for the weekend is to find a four-stringer with a better than passing resemblance to your humble author.

I might even use him as my Facebook pic.

Stuff on the interwebs

Anyone so utterly 2008 as to still be on Facebook is strongly urged to join the It's About Time Marguerite Patten got a Damehood group. If you do, she might make you some nice biscuits. With dried egg. And liver and things. Maybe.

Oh yeah, and LC died. Metaphorically, obviously.