A Work in Progress

New city + new job = a lot less time for blogging. I hope my three regular readers haven't missed me too much.

In between trying to adjust to a new system at work, balance a variety of new responsibilities, redesign a magazine, find my way around a new city, find a permanent place to live, and stay in touch with everyone back east, I have managed to read a few soccer articles. It's interesting that the tone of the American sports media has changed appreciably since the end of the World Cup. I think the TV numbers really woke some people in the industry up to the fact that there is a huge untapped market of viewers and readers out there, and that's been reflected in a very welcome and sometimes startling respect being given to all aspects of the game—international, European, and even MLS. A perfect example? SI.com discusses the announcers for the 2010 World Cup... nearly 4 years in advance! If that's not a sign of soccer's increased media footprint, I don't know what is.

SOUNDS
The Avalanche: Outtakes and Extras from the Illinois Album, Sufjan Stevens
Powder Burns, The Twilight Singers
In Dreams, Roy Orbison

WORDS
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Mark Twain
Bangkok Tattoo, John Burdett

Little Shots of Happiness

Every once in a while, a series of commercials comes along that I get inordinately attached to. I get a stupid little rush of excitement every time I see one, and no matter how many times I see them, they never fail to make me laugh. Right now, it's Apple that's responsible for my 30-second fixes. I don't whether it's because I'm a life-long Mac user (our first family computer was an Apple IIc that my Dad bought in the late 70's), or just because I find these ads to be unfairly clever at the expense of some computer-geek stereotypes, but I can't get enough of them. I can't escape them either. Thanks to the juggernaut that is Apple's marketing department, whether I'm watching TV or on the internet, there's the Mac and the PC. Also, I love that the guy who plays the Mac is the same kid who got nailed with a wrench by Patches O'Houlihan.

Other things making me happy these days?

Pearl Jam, "Wishlist". After digging out my CDs during the move, I'm having a bit of PJ renaissance these days, and their greatest hits discs have been in heavy rotation as I drive around Denver. "Wishlist" is a track I had almost entirely forgotten, but now I can't get enough of. "I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good / I wish I was the full moon shining off a Camaro's hood." Cheesy goodness.

Neil Finn and Friends, 7 Worlds Collide: Live at the St. James. Another gem I dug out. The former Crowded House frontman gathered a bunch of guest stars (including members of Radiohead, the Smiths, and Pearl Jam) for a series of concerts in New Zealand. I don't even know that many of the songs, but this disc makes me wish I had been at the show. And really, what more can you ask for from a live album?

Anything by Mark Twain. I've been there before. When I was young, I had an illustrated version of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and when we read the grown-up version in high school, it was one of the only books I've been forced to read in my life that I truly enjoyed. I've read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and I own a collection of Twain's best quotes. But the mark of a great writer is, no matter many times you read their stuff, you always come back for more. Thanks to a few visits to the nearby Tattered Cover bookstore, I've stocked up and plunged deeper into Samuel Clemens' oeuvre. I just finished re-reading Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, and am now about to start A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. On deck: Life on the Mississippi and Innocents Abroad. If nothing else, Twain's words are helping pass the time in my crap-ass sublet.

Things not making me happy?

My crap-ass sublet. The sooner I find a permanent place to live, the better.

The logo for World Cup 2010 in South Africa. Ew. It's the biggest sporting event in the world. You'd think maybe they could spring for a graphic designer with a few years of training.

French Fried

Sacre Bleu, Zizzou! What could you possibly have been thinking? You're in overtime of the World Cup Final, your team is dominating, so what do you do? Lay a vicious headbutt on Marco Materazzi and get red-carded, taking away any momentum from your team and forcing them to spend the remainder of overtime defending, sending the final to penalty kicks where they lose because you, their best penalty-taker, are no longer on the field. I don't care what the guy said to you, you're a world-class athlete in the final (and arguably biggest) game of your career. What the hell? And even if the referee was looking the other way, with that many cameras in the stadium, you're never going to get away with such an obvious, violent foul. It's really a shame to see you go out this way. After a mesmerizing run through the knockout rounds where you rediscovered your magic touch on the ball, you should have been hoisting the trophy. But c'est la vie, no? Life is not a Hollywood movie.

Credit should go to the Italians for holding out to reach penalty kicks despite being obviously dog-tired for much of the second half, but you have to think Zidane getting sent off was a huge boost to their flagging spirits, especially after he had nearly won the game a few minutes earlier with a masterful header. Maybe if he had stuck to heading the ball rather than an opposing player, this final would have had a different plotline. But Zidane's antics aside, I have to say that I hate the idea of deciding the world championship on something as arbitrary as penalty kicks. I think PKs are perfectly legitimate to decide matches during the knockout phases, because you need to keep the length of the games fairly even to keep it fair. But for the final match of an event that only happens once every four years? Suck it up and keep playing until somebody wins. Plenty of time to rest when it's over.

WORDS
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain

SOUNDS
Under the Iron Sea, Keane

Life is Nothing Without Music

I miss my guitars. :(

And for you complainers out there (*cough*Jenny*cough*), I've provided a link to the IMDB page for the movie title I used as the title of my post. So there.

WORDS
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain

It's a Bird, It's a Plane...

...it's a rare summer blockbuster, one that that uses its special effects to support the story, rather than the other way around. I knew going in that this had to be an effects-heavy movie: after all, it's about an invincible superhero who flies and shoots heat rays out of his eyes. But the thing is, I finally believed it. No more thinking about the wires yanking the actor out of frame as he flies away or how badly the post-production people merged his image onto the background he's supposedly flying past. This is the movie where it finally looks like Superman can fly. And stop bullets. With his eyeball. Ew.

But more importantly, there's a story here. Unlike X3 (which disappointed me because it relied on effects in lieu of a story), Superman Returns has a plot. While the story may not have gone quite as deep into the characters' heads as I might have liked, I understood what the motivation was for everything that happened... and it wasn't just as an excuse to set up the next action sequence. Bryan Singer, as has been much-covered already, is a devoted fan of the first two Christopher Reeve-era films, and to anyone even passingly familiar with those movies, that's very obvious in Superman Returns. The action picks up 5 years after Superman II ended, and aside from reusing footage of Marlon Brando as Jor-El, there are plenty of visual nods to both movies, as well as a tinge of Gene Hackman in Kevin Spacey's Lex Luthor and Brandon Routh's performance eerily echoing Reeve at some moments. But this is very much its own movie. Spacey is a much more menacing Lex than Hackman ever was, and Routh is more centered and focused than Reeve, playing Clark as more of an insecure geek than a clownish oaf, and Superman as a hero confident in his powers (and suitably helpless when they're taken away).

Despite all the hype and endless promotional tie-ins, this movie's something special. Towards the end, there's a moment where Superman temporarily loses his powers and falls to Earth from the edge of space. Since it had already been established earlier in the film that the sun's rays can heal him, a little kid sitting a few rows behind me started half-whispering, "Come on, sun, save him. Come on, sun, save him!" And as I listened to that kid, I realized I had forgotten to breathe because I was busy thinking the exact same thing. Not many movies can do that to me anymore, so it's a pretty gratifying experience when one still can.

IMAGES
Superman Returns

WORDS
The Pirate Coast, Richard Zacks

I Choose France

Because everyone wrote them off before the tournament even started because they were "too old". Because no one gave them half a chance against mighty Brazil. Because today, the French showed the Brazilians what Joga Bonito is really all about (and somewhere, Eric Cantona is drinking himself into a happy stupor). Because Zinedine Zidane is looking to take one more medal with him into retirement, and he's playing like he's 24, not 34. Because in my opinion, Thierry Henry happens to be the best player in the world. Because out of all the times they've played together, Zidane and Henry never combined for a goal until today, and I want to see that happen again. Because of all the remaining teams, France is the only team with blacks and whites and Christians and Muslims all working together towards one common purpose. Because the other choices are Germany (the hosts... yawn), Portugal (pathetic bunch of divers), and Italy (cheating match-fixers who I hate simply for advancing out of the US's group when the US didn't). Because a France jersey is hanging in my closet in Indy, and I'd be glad to wear it again. Allez les Bleus!

Seduced by Argentina

Sadly, the most exciting team in the World Cup is going home, as Germany defeated Argentina today (1-1, then 4-2 in the penalty kick round). After watching their 6-1 dismantling of Serbia & Montenegro, I had pegged the Argentines as the team to win it all. They had a free-flowing attack and a stalwart defense, and scored a raft of terrific goals throughout their matches, including the unquestioned strike of the tournament, an insane chest-and-volley by Maxi Rodriquez against Mexico in the second round. It's a thing of beauty no matter how you slice it, but best appreciated if you hear the call from an Argentine announcer. Throughout the first and second rounds, Argentina played beautiful futból with a smile, something normally associated with the South American team known for its samba, not its tango.

Unfortunately, as I was at work (and without a TV in my apartment anyway), I missed being able to watch the game. But as most recaps have explained (such as this one from SI's Grant Wahl), the Argentine approach to today's match was cynical and far-removed from how they played to get to this point. Ahead by one goal and forced to make two subs due to injuries midway through the second half, they went into a protective shell. And if this World Cup has proven anything consistently, it's that if you modify your play to protect a one-goal lead, you're pretty much guaranteed to lose that lead. And true to form, the Germans equalized through tournament-leading scorer Miroslav Klose in the 80th minute. Having used all their substitutions (inexplicably leaving wünderkind striker Leo Messi on the bench), Argentina could not muster the offense to win the game in extra-time, and Germany's keeper Jens Lehmann made two stops in penalty kicks to send the hosts through to the semifinals, while the South Americans were left to head home and mourn their missed chances. At least their coach had the good sense to quit immediately, rather than allow the Argentine media and public to rake him over the coals while baying for his blood.

So one of the semifinals is set, with Italy (dominant winners over Ukraine in today's other match) set to face the hosts. Tomorrow will determine the other semifinal matchup, as England meet Portugal and then Brazil and France hook up for a rematch of the 1998 final. At this point, I'm no longer sure who to cheer for, but based on the success of the teams I've been pulling for so far, it may be the kiss of death for me to choose a new favorite. Maybe I'll just enjoy watching the rest of the games and leave it at that.

On the other hand, not having a TV this week has given me a chance to do quite a bit of reading. And thanks to discovering the Tattered Cover just a few blocks from my new place, I now have plenty of books to keep me occupied. Summer, a pool, and a stack of new books? Ahh, life is good.

WORDS
The Twelfth Card, Jeffery Deaver
Kung Fu High School, Ryan Gattis