GAK was all over Moby before Play hit it big in 2000 (about a full year after its release). I wasn’t really sure about him, but through his penetration and endless exposure in the mainstream Play became played and eventually played out. It seemed there wasn’t a single track that hadn’t been licensed for a commercial, a film, or a tv soundtrack. Moby was inescapable, and for a period I was okay with that. Then begat the cult of Moby, the loyal hangers-on who decided he was the second coming of John Lennon or something and they hung off his every word and made him a mouthpiece for, well, whatever he wanted to mouth off about, things he rarely broached in his music because his music was generally filled with lyrics sampled and looped. Unlike most electronic music producers and DJs, Moby accepted the limelight and he became tremendously overexposed (a conflict with Eminem drawing eyes), and his music became a trend rather than something that was uniquely his own. While still achieving success (his track “Extreme Ways” used in the Bourne Films has become his most successful tune) he’s way off the radar compared to where he was, and many fans who were quite supportive of him early in his career dismiss him now for his Play transgressions.
But hot damn if Play still doesn’t have some resonance (or perhaps resonates again after some distance is put between us and it as we broach its tenth anniversary). It’s remains an eclectic mix of instrumentation, electronics and samples whose influence is noticeable in the imitators and successors of mainstream and the underground in the years since.
I can’t even recall the last time I listened to it (or any Moby for that matter), and while some tracks familiar and welcome, while others feel dated. “Honey” and “Run On”, primarily, retains their bounce while “Bodyrock” is still filled with energy. But the more sweeping electronic compositions like Porcelain, Rushing, and Everloving feel tinny, hollow and old, and the overtly techno Machete is a key sign of the 90’s. It seems for each track I do still like, there are two that make me recoil, and even the tracks I do like I know I won’t revisit very often. So it’s time for Play and I to part ways.
Aden has had, for many years (since before I met her), a “replica” sword of Excalibur tucked away in plastic, styrofoam and a box. I’ve been meaning to get a mount for it so that she could display it but a) I’ve never quite been sure where I can find a sword mount display and b) I’m lazy. The new house has some various bits of wood and Ikea furniture remnants around so using some screw hooks, hanging wire and a little ingenuity, I made one. Oh, it’s far from perfect but it gets the so-called Arthur-king’s sword up on a wall instead of in a box in the basement (where there’s already too many things in boxes).
you know those frozen discs that are 2/3 breadcrumbs with some white chicken meat hammered fingernail-thin stuffed in between? Yeah, I had one of those, on a bun, with shredded lettuce and mayo. I know it wasn’t the best thing for me but sod it, I can eat trash once in a while.
I don’t think Kobra has ever properly found himself/themselves in the super-villain limelight, despite having a (short-lived) series in the 1970’s. Since then, the guy and the organization has been relegated to third-tier status, yet another cult amongst Brother Blood, HIVE and others in the DCU, acting as foil to whomever requires one at the moment. As an international terror organization, much like its G.I. Joe counterparts, Kobra has been kind of a joke, and its leader the Aquaman of bad guys. But with one quick issue in DC’s ill-conceived “Faces of Evil” month, from a writer few have ever heard of in the comics scene, Kobra has just poised itself as a very convincing threat to even the mightiest of superheroes. Writer Ivan Brandon has, in 22 pages, manufactured the cult of Kali-Yuga into a damn scary terrorist organization, bent on little more than religious zealotry and anarchy, with perhaps global domination in mind. With an unassuming, even dismissible arrival on the stands, this is a phenomenal book and, of the meager few I’ve read, the first truly suitable book for the “Faces of Evil” tag. By the end of it’s brief story, with some chilling visuals from Julian Lopez, I felt remorse that there was no longer a Checkmate book in place for this creative team to explore what Brandon introduced (a logical successor for Greg Rucka were there one), but at the same time, I’m curious to see where he winds up at DC and if he gets to continue this story.
I don’t like answering the phone, I don’t like talking on the phone, and my pulse rate increases every time I hear a phone ring. This is what we call a Pavlovian Response, a behavior of anxiety and avoidance learned through repetition. This psychological experiment occurred during my first after-school job as a flyer inserter at the local newspaper (wherein we would unpack bundles of advert fliers and proceed to insert them into the fold of the paper … a logical title, really). The people that worked in the environment were primarily teenaged guys and old Italian women, and everyone was fairly nice, but the menial grunt work of the position, with sometimes upwards of ten fliers to insert into tens of thousands of papers was tedious, strangely fatiguing, and sometimes infuriating.
Regular shift work was on Saturdays with random days throughout the remainder of the week. Most often they wouldn’t schedule days in advance but rather they’d call you in, and lo, though I dreaded Saturdays at least I could anticipate them, but the call-in, that was like torture. Every time the phone would ring I feared it was a call-in, and for the two (?) years I did that job that feeling never escaped me and it’s not really gone away.