Clock of the Heavens

Around midnight last night I was informed of an astronomical conjunction, that of Jupiter and the Moon. To my surprise, with a decent set of binoculars, I was able to make out fur of Saturn’s moons.

Properly motivated, I spent a chunk of today finding and fetching an honest-to-goodness telescope, though not a proper reflector. Finding it frustrating to set up and control this afternoon, I have been awaiting the coming of darkness impatiently, apparently in the belief that things aggravating to perform in the light of day while sober will become easy and fun while lightly liquored in the dark. I mean, why not? So much else in life hews closely to this rule, why not astronomy?

Aggravatingly, clouds have been piling in as the dark comes upon us. There may yet be clear sky to the Moon’s direction, south and eastish.

I found it interesting to identify Mars without question as the dusk deepened, two hours up the sky from where it had been at midnight last night. Prompting the title of this entry, it struck me that the distance in the sky between Mars’ position at this moment – 10pm – and that when I saw it last night at midnight is exactly equivalent to the proportional distance of two hours on a clock face the size of the universe with my observing eye at the center. The magic – well, not magic – of base twelve.

All along the Watchmentower

I’ve been amusedly following the reviews for Zak Snyder’s “Watchmen.” The news, it seems, is not so good. Most of the negative reviews have been by relatively thoughtless reviewers, a few have been reviews that contained worthwhile critiques, and a vanishingly small number have been by folks who understand the brilliance of the original comic and have consequently approached the film with a strong sense of trepidation.

Only The New York Times‘ A. O. Scott, however, included this sentence:

Indeed, the ideal viewer — or reviewer, as the case may be — of the “Watchmen” movie would probably be a mid-’80s college sophomore with a smattering of Nietzsche, an extensive record collection and a comic-book nerd for a roommate.



As it happens, in 1986 and 1987, when the original series was coming out and i was hungrily devouring it (and The Dark Knight Returns and the first run of Love and Rockets, among others) I was:

  • a college sophomore

I had

  • an extensive record collection
  • a smattering of Nietzche
  • a comic-book nerd for a roomate

For the record, I preferred and continue to prefer Debord, thank you very much. Also it should be well-noted that I actually roomed with several comic-book nerds, including yours truly, and perhaps ‘nerd’ fails to capture the social and sexual dynamism of that household.

City and the Night

Watched “Night and the City” (Widmark, Tierney, more) on Friday, giggling. Widmark is a semi-sympathetic American hustler in ’40s London, the the film is largely shot on location. Widmark’s films around this time are usually eye-popping, and this was no exception. I think the last time I saw it was about a decade ago, circumstances long forgot. This vieweing, however, was oddly affected by an unwaaranted notion of geographic familiarity with riverbank London, which features prominently in the film.

I was mildly puzzled by this, having only passed through London once over a few days as a teenager, until I realized it was due to a video game I am playing on and off which features a grossly-accurate 3-D model of London during the Blitz, over which I, as a videogame player, fly over and over and over, with particular attention to an extended run along the Thames ending at the Tower of London, just beyond the Tower Bridge, which is the featured setting for the film’s conclusion.

It was one of those odd virtual familiarity experiences which were once confined to dreams, remembered dreams, and the deja vu experience. It still feels peculiar, despite the quotidian explication to hand.

Enchirito!

Years ago, Viv and I saw, once only, a bizarre ad for Taco Bell’s ‘enchirito,’ featuring the word sung by four guys singing in a circular group as the camera panned around their faces.

We both stopped what we were doing or talking about and yelled ‘what was that?“ but the hilarious strangeness of the ad was never to reappear. Struck by a thought – that YouTube is the Facebook of obscure ad clips – I took a look.

I give you: The Enchirito Boys. Note that they are, in fact, named in the context of the ad. Maybe they went on to become Comcast housemates or something.

UPDATE: MT squashed the hell out of the embed, so I just linked.

Zarek Hatch

Richard Hatch on his just concluded time as Tom Zarek on BSG.

Awesome, so great to see one of the BSG folks using the internet to think out loud about what they have been doing.

I can’t wait until we hear from the others, too. It’s seemed clear to me for some time that Hatch was playing his character against the script, that as written Zarek is a cynical manipulator of discontent, but that Hatch chose to see the role as a committed revolutionary representing what he saw as the inevitable will of the people. By playing it that way, he improved the series against consistently weak writing around labor issues in particular and around weaker political writing in general.

Doing so permitted him, and the series, the luxury to elevate itself to levels of drama generally reserved for the Greeks and Shakespeare. Mr. Moore owes Richard Hatch his most sincere thanks, more more than he knows.

So, Mr. Hatch, I thank you. You transcended yourself and your character’s written role, and in so doing deepened the art of your co-workers. Thanks again for taking the time to write about it afterwards.

Jesse wept.

On this moving night, one which challenges my deep-seated cynicism and negativity, the psychological moment of the evening that most engages me is encapsulated in the tears of Jesse Jackson in Grant Park. I wanted nothing more than to grasp him and hold him in sympathy, in recognition of the transparency and complexity of his emotion.