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"'After more than six decades, the Academy is returning to some of its earlier roots, when a wider field competed for the top award of the year,' said academy President Sid Ganis. 'The final outcome, of course, will be the same - one Best Picture winner - but the race to the finish line will feature 10, not just five, great movies from 2009.'" Most likely realizing that a nod for The Dark Knight last year would've doubled their television ratings, the Academy Awards pads out to ten Best Picture nominees.

Ten, really? I know I pick 20 movies for my review round-up every year, but still: most years it's hard to come up with five or six worthy nominees, much less ten. It'd be better if they went to a system where "up to" ten movies were chosen, but not necessarily that many if the pickings were slim that year. In any case, maybe Hollywood needed an "Oscar Stimulus Package," but given that it's still the same people voting for the winners, I tend to think the Academy will probably continue to get it wrong most years regardless. Just looking at the past decade:

1999: American Beauty wins. Not a particularly poor choice by Academy standards, I guess, but the other nominees include a sop to the box office (The Sixth Sense) and by-the-numbers drek like The Cider House Rules and The Green Mile. (Only other worthy nominee: The Insider.) Meanwhile, many of the best and most groundbreaking films of the year -- Three Kings, Being John Malkovich, Fight Club, The Matrix -- are all overlooked.

2000: Gladiator. Terrible choice. The worthy nominees are Traffic, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and *possibly* Erin Brockovich. Chocolat makes the cut thanks to the Miramax machine. Left unnominated: Requiem for a Dream, Wonder Boys, O Brother Where Art Thou, and High Fidelity.

2001: A Beautiful Mind. A stunningly bad choice, and easily the worst of the five films nominated. The Oscar should probably have gone to In the Bedroom or Fellowship of the Ring, although Gosford Park and (tho' I didn't like it much) Moulin Rouge! are respectable picks. Left off the wheel: Mulholland Drive, Memento, The Royal Tenenbaums, Ghost World, Amelie, and Sexy Beast.

2002: Chicago -- I never saw it, but not a particularly good year for film anyway. Gangs of New York, The Two Towers, and The Pianist all make sense as contenders. The Hours (another Miramax film)...not so much. Possible adds: The 25th Hour, Y Tu Mama Tambien, Far from Heaven, About a Boy.

2003: Return of the King runs away with everything, which is deserving but also feels somewhat dutiful after the previous two years. (FotR is easily the best film of the three, imho.) Most of the other nominees are well-chosen -- Lost in Translation,
Master and Commander, Mystic River -- with the possible exception of Seabiscuit. Other possibles include The Quiet American, Finding Nemo, Dirty Pretty Things, House of Sand and Fog, Monster, City of God, and L'Auberge Espagnole...but it's probably more likely that extra nods would've gone to the heaps of middling Oscar bait that year, like Cold Mountain, The Last Samurai, or 21 Grams.

2004: Million Dollar Baby. A certifiable stinker, and arguably Clint Eastwood's least-deserving movie of the decade. (Mystic River or Letters from Iwo Jima are closer to caliber.) It beats out The Aviator and Sideways, as well as Finding Neverland (Miramax) and Ray (never saw it). Off the board: Hotel Rwanda, Before Sunset, Garden State, Kinsey, The Assassination of Richard Nixon, Spiderman 2, In Good Company, The Incredibles, and -- most egregiously -- Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. If I had to guess, Closer and Kill Bill Vol. 2 (Miramax) might've snagged undeserving nods in a field of ten.

2005: Crash. Another woeful pick, it won over a respectable field of contenders (Brokeback Mountain, Capote, Good Night, and Good Luck, Munich.) That being said, Syriana and the best film of 2005, The New World, weren't even nominated. Neither were Layer Cake, Ballets Russes, A History of Violence, The Squid and the Whale, Cache, Match Point, The Constant Gardener, Grizzly Man, Batman Begins, or The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. All these -- and many others -- were better than Crash.

2006: Scorsese wins a charity Oscar with The Departed, beating out worthwhiles Letters from Iwo Jima (the best choice of the 5) and The Queen, as well as more dubious picks Little Miss Sunshine and Babel. The best film of the year, United 93, isn't nominated. Nor is Children of Men, The Lives of Others, The Prestige, The Fountain, Pan's Labyrinth, or Inside Man. It's reasonable to suspect that additional Oscar nods might've gone to the likes of The Last King of Scotland, Little Children, Notes from a Scandal, and The Pursuit of Happyness.

2007: No Country for Old Men -- A fine choice. I'd say this year Oscar almost got it right...but the other nominees are still somewhat suspect. Michael Clayton, ok, There Will Be Blood, sure. But Atonement and Juno? I'd rather have seen The Diving Bell & the Butterfly, Zodiac, The Savages, Charlie Wilson's War, In the Valley of Elah, The Assassination of Jesse James, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, & 2 Days, or my favorite film of the year, I'm Not There, get their due.

2008: Slumdog Millionaire (ugh) beats out Milk, Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon and The Reader. Of those, Milk and F/N are solid, and ideally would've been paired with The Dark Knight, The Wrestler, Let the Right One In, and/or WALL-E. Other possibles include Man on Wire, Snow Angels, Waltz with Bashir, Vicky Christina Barcelona, Iron Man, and The Visitor...although it seems more likely Oscar would've gone with Gran Torino, A Christmas Tale, Doubt, Revolutionary Road, or Valkyrie.

So, to review, in only one of the past ten years (2003) did Oscar pick the movie i'd argue was actually the best that year, although even that one feels a bit de rigueur. (Admittedly, they came close in 2007 as well.) In six of those ten years (1999, 2004-2008), my best film of the year wasn't even nominated. In four of those ten years ('01, '04, '05, '08), a -- to my mind, of course -- certifiably lousy film won Best Picture. And in three other years -- '99, '00, and '06 -- an at best middling movie won the top prize. Not exactly what you'd call a record of distinction.

"The games are fluid. There's a good energy on the court. People talk on defense. When Salazar finally gets in, it's obvious he is actually pretty athletic, and he has a lot of hustle. He's not easy to cover. Someone yells, 'Who's got Secretary?'" By way of a college friend, ESPN looks at Pres. Obama's "Power Game," and the ensuing newfound popularity of hoops in DC. (Apparently, in the Big Game, they don't call fouls, but rather chalk them up as "enhanced defensive techniques necessary to Keep Our Lane Safe." [Rimshot] Thanks, I'll be here all week, be sure to tip your waiters.)

Anyway, the last time I lived in DC it was generally pretty easy to find a court on a weekend -- We usually set up shop on either end of Adams-Morgan (or later, after I moved to VA, right down by the King Street metro), and the other folks playing/waiting to play were locals of some variety, not just aspiring politicos. I did occasionally play in one "power game" of sorts back then, which involved a number of folks from a liberal-minded journal of some repute. It was probably the most Type-A athletic endeavor I've ever been involved in, and that's coming from a guy who played high school sports in the South and spent four years among Ivy League rowers. With all due respect, I prefer the random pick-up games, I think.

A belated happy birthday to my sister Tessa, who turned 22 a few days ago, and who will be graduating from Dartmouth in a few short weeks. Hope it went splendiferously, and here's to having a grand ole time before the Real World comes a-callin'. (Also, sorry but, per the link above, Big Bro calls dibs on the first J-O-B to come down the pike.)

Let's disconnect these cables, overturn these tables, this place don't make sense to me no more... As you can see [or maybe you can't -- the "embed code" option doesn't seem to work, so I switched it out with a jpg], I've been having a little fun with this pretty spiffy Star Trek advertising toy, which is definitely worth playing around with for a few minutes. I've seen a lot of upload-your-pic widgets in the past, but I'm pretty amazed at how fast and how well this maps a pic onto a 3-D avatar. Could this Dylan-spouting Vulcan be the future of MMORPG gaming?

A very happy birthday to my sister Gill, who turned 30 over the weekend (and who recently garnered some raves in London during ABT's European swing.) While I won't be there to enjoy it this year, ABT's spring season at the Met is right around the corner.

"Fulltime faculty jobs have not been easy to come by in recent decades, but this year the new crop of Ph.D. candidates is finding the prospects worse than ever. Public universities are bracing for severe cuts as state legislatures grapple with yawning deficits. At the same time, even the wealthiest private colleges have seen their endowments sink and donations slacken since the financial crisis." Following in the footsteps of the Chronicle of Higher Education and various academic blogs, the NYT delves into the horrible job prospects for newly-minted humanities PhDs these days. "'This is a year of no jobs,' said Catherine Stimpson, the dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at New York University. Ph.D.s are stacked up, she said, 'like planes hovering over La Guardia.'"

Even before the downturn, it was clear to me and my cohort that, even coming out of a prestigious Ivy, our prospects for a remunerative and rewarding academic job in the Age of Adjuncts was rather slim. The historical analogy I liked to use then to describe our situation: It's 1840 and, after years of apprenticeship, we can all make really nice, quality, hand-crafted shoes. But, you know what? They've got factories that make those now, for much, much cheaper.

And now, in this economy? Heh. The TLDR version for all of these links, courtesy of Marge Simpson: "Bart, don't make fun of grad students. They just made a terrible life choice."

A happy belated birthday to GitM's venerable ombudsdog, Berkeley, who turned nine last week. [3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.] Still crazy after all these years.

Happy belated valentine's day, all. I know this is a few days late now, but just to keep the streak going ('05, '06, '07, '08), here's the usual yearly song-blog entry. And with that, the obligatory V-day, behind-the-curtain status-update: Well, as per the norm, I'm as single as a one-dollar-bill. (The last time I had an actual, honest-to-goodness valentine on this day, l'il Berk notwithstanding, was in 2004. Before that, 2000.) At any rate, it's now been years since the last gal, figuring she could do better, left with a shrug and disappeared forever...just like the one before and the one before that. And, since then and right up to now, there's been no one in sight.

This obviously can get to be a little depressing, and, now that I've reached my mid-thirties by myself, I sometimes struggle with bitterness over it. Didn't virtually every movie, tv show, song, and book I've ever consumed consistently promise I'd have someone in my corner? It's not like I've been a bad guy. (Then again, all the evidence tends to suggest that that might well have been part of the problem. Like the old Stephen Wright joke, women have often told me I'm "wonderful" ...usually right as they kick my sorry ass to the curb.)

But, oh well. I've got my health, my faculties, and a First World quality-of-life, so I'm already way ahead in the game compared to a lot of folks out there. And to be honest, I've got enough problems on my plate right now without getting pulverized yet again by someone else's caprice anyway. Besides, given my current steady-jobless, apartment-less, penniless, PhD-less existence, which, frankly, seems less and less "transitional" as the months go by, I probably wouldn't date me either. (As a colleague noted, nostalgically studying the depression era is turning out to be quite a bit more preferable than actually living it.)

So, no worries. Some politically-minded freelance writing gigs should get me through the next couple of months even if no steady employ is forthcoming, and one day soon, I'm sure, I'll rise like a phoenix from the ashes of my current lowly existence. And, lo, it'll be a New Day...just like on The Wire. At any rate, to the music:

As with ABBA last year and Kraftwerk in '06, I like to kick this post off with a happy, guilty pleasure. This year, it's Rihanna's "Umbrella". Yes, it got played into the ground during its single run, even getting its own Clinton v. Obama version on Mad TV last year. But, just as with Titanic, sometimes things are popular for a reason. With its Jay-Z opening, infectious hook, not-very-oblique double entendre, and inescapable chorus, "Umbrella" is pure, unadulterated pop, and a perfect lyrical counterpart to another quality hip-hop ballad, Method Man's "All I Need". ("Even when the skies were gray, you'd rub me on my back and say 'baby, it'll be ok.' Now that's real to a brotha like me baby...") And now, with a lot of things "comin' down with the Dow Jones" in this current economy, "Umbrella" is starting to sound more and more like one of the quintessential 21st-century Depression-era ballads, the kind you might find on "Sister, Can You Spare a Dime?"-type mixes fifty years hence.

[Note: I thought about writing up "Umbrella" this year before the unfortunate Chris Brown situation last week, which can't help but inflect the song negatively. At first, I figured it might be in poor taste now and that I should choose some other pop song. But, in the end, I just decided to go with it anyway -- hopefully, the song stands on its own, and will continue to long after recent events have receded.]

On the other side of the emotional spectrum from "Umbrella", Ben Harper's "Another Lonely Day" is an acoustic, bone-dry lament to the most recent smash-up. ("Yesterday seems like a life ago, 'cause the one I love today, I hardly know.") To be honest, there are elements of this otherwise-beautiful break-up song that rankle. Unlike, say, Chris Isaak (listen to anything on Forever Blue) or Tom Waits (last year's "Make it Rain" for example), this reads like an I-got-dumped song by a guy who's never, ever been dumped. ("I'd rather walk alone than chase you around." Oh, it's your call, then? How nice that you have the hand. "Further along, we just may?" Again, not up to you, pal.) If, as the song says, this final kiss-off is of Harper's doing, I wish it'd had more of the conflicted brio of U2's "So Cruel" or most any of Dylan's impressive stable of "It's been real, it's been fun, hasn't been real fun" farewells. But, not to lose the forest for the trees, "Another Lonely Day" is still close to perfect in its simple, painful delicacy, and it definitely well captures that grim "Solitary Man" sensation of "Ugh. Here we are again."

Ever looked at the words of a song you thought you knew decently well and discovered that it's not at all about what you thought it was? (I would guess a lot of Republicans had this experience when discovering that "Born in the USA" wasn't even close to a pro-Reagan anthem of the heartland.) This happened to me just this past week when I decided to write up Goldfrapp's A&E. Given the upbeat tempo, the video, and the snippets of lyrics I knew, I always thought this song was about someone slowly emerging out of the clouds of a bad break-up and enjoying a day outdoors. ("It's a blue, bright blue Saturday, and the pain's starting to slip away.") But, I was wrong. Reading more closely, it seems the "backless dress" is a hospital gown, A&E is the British term for the ER, and Alison Goldfrapp is basically waking up druggy after a botched "Then he'll be sorry!" suicide attempt. ("I think I want you still, but it may be pills at work.") Uh, oops.

Ok, so this is less like Bjork's All is Full of Love" and more like The Sundays' "Here's where the Story Ends" than I originally thought. Still, it's a great song, and not half as depressing as it reads on the page. Goldfrapp more often go for cinematic Portishead-like atmosphere (Felt Mountain) or sultry, come-hither dance numbers ("Ooh, La La," "Strict Machine"), and I'm a big fan of both settings. Still, the organic, pastoral feel of Seventh Tree is a grower, as is "A&E."

After getting "A&E" wrong, I'm not even going to try to make heads or tails of the lyrics to Hot Chip's obscenely catchy "Crap Kraft Dinner", a current staple of my driving time. At first it just seems to be about a happy, drunken party buzz (i.e. the exact opposite of "This Place is a Prison," by The Postal Service.) But, eventually amid the haze, there's clearly somebody missing, and/or sort of break-up happening. ("All you can hear is my refusal, 'cause i haven't got the time for a jerk-off loser.") Regardless, both strands intertwine, then fade into that sweet, melancholic outro. Like Brian Eno's "By this River," this isn't really a love song per se, but one I find strangely soothing.

Speaking of obscenely catchy , Felix the Housecat's "Madame Hollywood" isn't a love song either. And, granted, almost every cut featuring Ms. Kittin has almost exactly the same "ritzy, raunchy, and bored" monologue somewhere therein. (Cases in point: "Frank Sinatra," "1982," "Nurse.") So I don't have much to say about this one, except that I could listen to the crisp, old-school-Modish backbeat that drives this track for just about forever.

"And have you ever wanted something so badly that it possessed your body and your soul, through the night and through the day, until you finally get it...and then you realize that it wasn't what you wanted after all? And then those selfsame, sickly little thoughts now go and attach themselves to something -- or somebody -- new! And the whole goddamn thing starts all over again..."

Well, I've been crushing the symptoms, but I can't locate the cause. Unfortunately, The The's "True Happiness This Way Lies", the stand-up-routine opening track to Dusk, one of my desert-island discs, doesn't appear to yet be on the Youtubes. (That is, aside from one well-intentioned misfire of a cover.) But in it is distilled much of what makes Matt Johnson's better albums (Dusk, Soul Mining) so powerful -- the relentless self-questioning ("Slow Emotion Replay"), the soaked-through melancholy ("This is the Day"), the dismal sensation of being endlessly driven astray by one's passions ("The Dogs of Lust.") So, for the next day or two, and as per the old-school method around here, you can grab this track here. And remember: The only true freedom is freedom from the heart's desire...and the only true happiness this way lies.

Happy (belated) Valentine's, y'all.

Is this a dagger which I see before me? No, actually that's a dagger rogue. A christmas present from my brother and sister-in-law which arrived just the other day, this stealthy fellow in the glass case -- a lvl 80 undead rogue, for the non-WoW inclined -- is a 3-D sculpture (or "rapid prototype," to be more exact) of my (main) World of Warcraft alter-ego, courtesy of the folks at FigurePrints. (I chose the name JackLowry from here (Jack) and here (Lowry) -- everyone on-server usually assumes it's a Bad Boys reference. Fine by me.)

Apparently, obtaining a FigurePrint is rather difficult at the moment -- due to high demand, you have to win a lottery for the privilege of buying one. I can see why. It's a pretty cool and detailed little sculpture, and it's just the perfect size to make for some tastefully nerdy desk flair in your home or office (and/or to use as a dogwhistle to smoke out your WoW-playing colleagues and co-workers.)

You can get a sense of the size of the statue from the Jack-and-Coke pic below, and, as you can see, he's already playing nice with President Obama (whom, unlike Jack here, I'll liberate from the packaging someday.)

Apologies if you've had any trouble coming by the site over the past few days. Apparently, the server was being upgraded, which caused several slowdowns and loading errors of late. And I also upgraded to the latest version of MT, which has brought on its own set of minor glitches. At any rate, I think we should be good to go now.

Well, now that we're in the second month of 2009, and since I'm *mostly* caught up on last year's prestige crop, it seems arguably the last, best time to write up the belated Best of 2008 Movie list. (I did see one more indy film of 2008 Sunday morning, but as it was after my arbitrarily-chosen 1/31 cutoff, it'll go in next year's list.) Compiling the reviews this year, it seems my October hunch was correct: For a combination of reasons, I went to the movies a lot less than usual in 2008. (The review count usually clocks in around 45. Last year, I only saw 30 films on the big screen.) And, looking over the release schedule, I see lots of movies I had every intention of viewing -- Appaloosa, Be Kind, Rewind, Blindness, Choke, Leatherheads -- and never got around to.

At any rate, given what I did see, here're the best of 'em. And here's hoping the 2009 list will be more comprehensive. As always, all of the reviews can be found here. (And if a movie title doesn't link to a full review, it means I caught it on DVD.)

1. The Dark Knight: Yes, it's the obvious fanboy pick. And, admittedly, TDK had pacing problems -- it was herky-jerky at times and the third act felt rushed. Still, in a not-particularly-good year for cinema, Christopher Nolan's operatic reimagining of the Caped Crusader and his arch-nemesis was far and away the most enjoyable experience i had at the movies in 2008. And if Candidate Obama was America's own white knight (metaphorically speaking) this past year, Heath Ledger's Joker was its mischievous, amoral, and misanthropic id. If and when the economic wheels continue to come off in 2009, will stoic selflessness or gleeful anarchy be the order of the day? The battle for Gotham continues, and everybody's nervously eyeing those detonators. Let's hope the clown doesn't get the last laugh.

2. Milk: What with a former community organizer turned "hopemonger" being elected president -- while evangelicals, conservatives and sundry Mormons inflicted Proposition 8 on the people of California -- Gus Van Sant's vibrant recounting of the tragedy of Harvey Milk was obviously the timeliest political movie of 2008. But, in a year that saw entirely too much inert Oscar-bait on-screen in its final months, Milk -- romantic, passionate, and full of conviction -- was also one of the most alive. While it extends some measure of compassion even to its erstwhile villain (Josh Brolin), Milk is a civil-rights saga that harbors no illusions about the forces of intolerance still amongst us, and how far we all still have to go.

3. The Wrestler: Have you ever seen a one-trick pony in the fields so happy and free? Me neither, to be honest, but Aronofsky's naturalistic slice-of-life about the twilight days of Randy "the Ram" Ramzinski was likely the next best thing. I don't know if Mickey Rourke will experience a career resurrection after this performance or not. But he won this match fair and square, and nobody can take it from him.

4. Let the Right One In: As if living in public housing in the dead of a Swedish winter wasn't depressing enough, now there's a nosferatu to contend with... My Bodyguard by way of Ingmar Bergman and Stephen King, this creepy and unsettling tale of a very unsparkly pre-teen vampyrer will leave bitemarks long after you step out into the light.

5. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, & 2 Days: A 2007 release that made it stateside in 2008, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, & 2 Days is a movie that I probably wouldn't ever want to watch again. Still, this grim, unrelenting journey through the seedy hotels and sordid back-alleys of Ceaucescu's Romania is another hard one to shake off. And, tho' I caught it early on, it remained one of the very best films of the year.

6. WALL-E: If you saw one movie last year about a boy(bot) from the slums meeting -- and then improbably wooing -- the girl(bot) of his dreams, I really hope it was WALL-E. Hearkening back to quality seventies sci-fi like Silent Running, Andrew Stanton's robot love story and timely eco-parable is a definite winner, and certainly another jewel in the gem-studded Pixar crown. I just wish it'd stayed in the melancholy, bittersweet key of its first hour, rather than venturing off to the hijinx-filled, interstellar fat farm. Ah well, bring on Up.

7. Iron Man: Much better than I ever anticipated, Jon Favreau's (and Robert Downey Jr.'s) Iron Man kicked a summer of superheroes off in grand fashion. In the end, I preferred the gloomy stylings of Gotham in 2008, but there's definitely something to be said for this rousing, upbeat entrant in the comic movie canon. It delivered on its own terms, and it was a much better tech-fetishizing, boys-and-their-toys type-film than, say, 2007's Transformers or (I suspect) 2009's GI Joe. Bonus points for the Dude going all Big Jeff Lebowski on us here...now quit being cheap about the sequel.

8. Man on Wire: 4:40pm: Two foreign nationals and their American abettors successfully navigate past the guard checkpoint of the World Trade Center's South Tower. Their fanatical mission: To use the WTC as a symbol to transform the world...through an act of illegal, death-defying performance art. Although it never explicitly mentions 9/11 (of course, it doesn't need to -- the towers themselves do most of the work, and reconstructing its story as a heist does the rest), the stirring documentary Man on Wire, about Phillipe Petit's 1974 tightrope-walk between the towers, gains most of its resonance from the events of that dark day in 2001.

After seventy minutes or so, just as it seems this unspoken analogy is starting to wear thin, Petit finally steps out onto that ridiculous wire, and Man on Wire takes your breath away. Nothing is permanent, the movie suggests. Not youth, not life, not love, not even those majestic, formidable towers. But some moments -- yes, the beautiful ones too -- can never be forgotten. (Note: Man on Wire is currently available as a direct download on Netflix.)

9. U2 3D: One of two 2008 films (along with #16) which seemed to suggest the future of the movie-going experience, U2 3D was both a decently rousing concert performance by Dublin's fab four, and -- more importantly -- an experimental film which played with an entirely new cinema syntax. Just as students look back on D.W. Griffith films of a century ago as the beginnings of 2D-movie expression, so too might future generations look at this lowly U2 concert and see, in its layering of unrelated images onto one field of vision, when the language of 3D really began to take off. At which point someone might also say, "Man, I wish they'd played 'So Cruel' instead of some of these tired old dogs."

10. The Visitor: I wrote about Tom McCarthy's The Visitor (which I saw on DVD) some in my Gran Torino review, and my criticism there stands: As with Torino, the central thrust of this story is too Bagger Vance-ish by half. Still, it's fun to see a likable character actor like Richard Jenkins get his due in a starring role, and he's really great here. And, if the "magical immigrant" portions of this tale defy reality to some extent, McCarthy and Jenkins' vision of a life desiccated by years of wallowing in academic purgatory -- the humdrum lectures, the recycled syllabi, the mind-numbingly banal conferences, all divorced from any real-world interaction with the issues at hand -- is frighteningly plausible.

11. Synecdoche, New York: Long on ambition and short on narrative coherence, Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut is the There Will Be Blood of last year's crop, in that it's a film that I think will inspire a phalanx of ardent defenders among movie buffs, who will argue its virtues passionately against all comers. For my own part, I admired this often-bewildering movie more than I actually enjoyed it, and ultimately found it much less engaging than Kaufman's real magnum opus, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Still, I'm glad I made the attempt, and it's definitely worth seeing.

12. Frost/Nixon: Two man enter, one man leave! More a sports movie than a political one, Ron Howard and Peter Morgan's Frost/Nixon is a decently entertaining depiction of two hungry down-and-outers locked in the debater's version of mortal kombat. That being said, I kinda wish the stakes had seemed higher, or that the substance of the issues at hand -- Vietnam, Cambodia, Watergate -- had been as foregrounded as the mano-a-mano mechanics of the interview. Plus, that scene where Tricky Dick sweeps the leg? That's not kosher.

13. Snow Angels: David Gordon Green's quiet, novelistic Snow Angels is an early-2008 film I caught on DVD only a few weeks ago, and it's been slowly sneaking up the list ever since. Based on a 1994 book by Stewart O'Nan, the movie depicts the intertwined lives of a small New England community, and recounts the tragic circumstances that lead to two gunshots being fired therein one winter afternoon. (If it sounds like Atom Egoyan's The Sweet Hereafter, it's very close in form, content, and melancholy impact.)

In a movie brimming over with quality performances -- including (an ever-so-slightly-implausible) Kate Beckinsale, Nicky Katt, Amy Sedaris, and the long-forgotten Griffin Dunne -- three actors stand out: Michael Angarano and Olivia Thirlby fall into one of the most honest, believable, and affectation-free high school romances I've seen in a movie in ages. And the always-watchable Sam Rockwell sneaks up on you as a perennial loser who tries to be a good guy and just keeps failing at life despite himself. At first not much more than an amiable buffoon as per his usual m.o., Rockwell's gradual surrender to his demons -- note his scenes with his daughter, or in the truck with his dog, or at the bar -- gives Snow Angels a haunting resonance that sticks with you.

14. Burn After Reading: As I said in the original review, it's not one of the all-time Coen classics or anything. But even medium-grade Coen tends to offer more delights than most films do in a given year, and the same holds true of their espionage-and-paranoia farce Burn After Reading in 2008. From John Malkovich's foul-mouthed, (barely-)functioning alcoholic to George Clooney as a (thoroughly goofy) lactose-intolerant bondage enthusiast to, of course, Brad Pitt's poor, dim-witted Chet, Burn introduced plenty of ridiculous new characters to the brothers' already-stacked rogues' gallery. This is one (unlike The Ladykillers) that I'm looking forward to seeing again.

15. Vicky Cristina Barcelona: Another catch-up DVD rental, this was Woody Allen's good movie last year (as opposed to the woeful Cassandra's Dream), and a smarter-than-average relationship film (as one might expect from the man behind Husbands and Wives and Annie Hall.) There're some definitive Allen tics here that take some getting used to in the new environment of Barcelona -- a very Woody-ish omniscient voiceover, some Allenesque quips emanating from Scarlett Johannson and the striking Rebecca Hall (late of Frost/Nixon and The Prestige), and, as per Match Point and Scoop, some rather outdated depictions of the class system. (Hall's fiance, played by Chris Messina of Six Feet Under, is basically a caricature of the boring, born-entitled Ivy League grad, circa 1965.)

Still, if you can get past all that, Vicky Cristina is quite worthwhile. (And, as far as the Oscar buzz goes, I'd say Javier Bardem makes more of an impression here than does Penelope Cruz.) Whether you're as old as Woody or as young as Vicky and Cristina, the story remains the same: love is a weird, untameable thing, and the heart wants what it wants.

16. Speed Racer: Easily the most unfairly maligned movie of 2008 (and I'm not a Wachowski apologist -- I thought Matrix: Revolutions was atrocious), Speed Racer is an amped-up, hypercolorful extravaganza of the senses, and, this side of the original Matrix, one of the more interesting attempts I've seen at bringing anime to life. Critics derided it pretty much across the board as loud, gaudy nonsense, but, then as now, I'm not sure what they went in expecting from the film adaptation of a lousy sixties cartoon involving race cars and silly monkeys. This is where some readers might ask: "Um, are you really saying Speed Racer is a better movie than Revolutionary Road?" And I'm saying, yes, it's much more successful at what it aimed to accomplish, and probably more entertaining to boot. Sure, Racer is a kid's movie, but so was WALL-E. And, given most of the drek put before the youths today, it's a darned innovative one. Plus, I've seen a lot of filmed laments about quiet-desperation-in-the-suburbs in my day, but for better or worse, in my 34 years of existence, I had never seen anything quite like this.

17. Gran Torino: Alas, Speed Racer, it seems, grew old, got ornery, and began fetishizing his car in the garage instead. Good thing there're some kindly Hmong next door to pry open that rusty heart with a crowbar! Like The Visitor, Torino suffers from an excess of sentiment when it comes to its depiction of 21st-century immigrants and their salutary impact on old white folks. But, as a cautionary coda to a lifelong career glorifying vigilantism, Eastwood's Gran Torino has that rusty heart in the right place, at least. And while Eastwood's Walt Kowalski may be a mean old cuss, Eastwood's performance here suggests that the old man's got some tricks in him yet.

18. A Christmas Tale: I wrote about this movie very recently, so my thoughts on it haven't changed all that much. A bit pretentious at times, Arnaud Desplechin's anti-sentimental holiday film has its virtues, most notably Chiara Mastroianni eerily (and probably inadvertently) channeling her father and the elfin Mathieu Almaric wreaking havoc on his long-suffering family whenever possible. It's a Not-So-Wonderful Life, I guess, but -- however aggravating your relatives 'round christmastime -- it's still probably better than the alternative.

19. Tropic Thunder: Its pleasures were fleeting -- I can't remember very many funny lines at this point -- and even somewhat scattershot. (Tom Cruise as Harvey Weinstein by way of a gigantic member was funny for the first ten minutes. Less so after half an hour.) Still, give Tropic Thunder credit. Unlike all too many comedies in recent years, it didn't try to make us better people -- it just went for the laugh, and power to it. And when the most controversial aspect of your movie turns out not to be the white guy in blackface (or, as we all euphemistically tend to put it now, "the dude disguised as another dude"), but the obvious Forrest Gump/Rain Man spoof, I guess you've done something right.

20. W: Nowhere near as potent as Stone's early political forays, JFK and Nixon, W still came close to accomplishing the impossible in 2008: making the out-going president seem a sympathetic figure. I suppose several other films could've sat with distinction in this 20-spot -- In Bruges or Benjamin Button, perhaps -- but none of them would've afforded me the opportunity to write these lovely words once more: So long, Dubya.

Honorable Mention: It wasn't a movie, of course. But 2008 was also the year we bid farewell to The Wire. Be sure to raise a glass, or tip a 40, in respect. (And let's pray that -- this year, despite all that's come before -- a "New Day" really is dawning.)

Most Disappointing: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Worth a Rental: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, In Bruges, Revolutionary Road, Valkyrie

Don't Bother: Cassandra's Dream, Cloverfield, The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, Doubt, Hellboy II: The Golden Age, The Incredible Hulk, Quantum of Solace, Slumdog Millionaire, Wanted

Best Actor: Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler, Sean Penn, Milk, Richard Jenkins, The Visitor
Best Actress: Anamaria Marinca, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days, Lina Leandersson, Let the Right One In, Rebecca Hall, Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Best Supporting Actor: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight, Josh Brolin, Milk, Jeff Bridges, Iron Man, Sam Rockwell, Snow Angels
Best Supporting Actress: Marisa Tomei, The Wrestler, Tilda Swinton, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Unseen: Appaloosa, Australia, The Bank Job, Be Kind, Rewind, Blindness, Body of Lies, Cadillac Records, Changeling, Choke, The Class, Defiance, Eagle Eye, The Fall, Funny Games, Hancock, Happy Go Lucky, Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo, Leatherheads, I Loved You So Long, The Lucky Ones, Miracle at St. Anna, Pineapple Express, Rambo, The Reader, Redbelt, RockNRolla, The Spirit, Traitor, Waltz with Bashir

A Good Year For:
• Billionaire Do-Gooders (The Dark Knight, Iron Man)
  
• Lonely Old White Guys (Gran Torino, The Visitor, The Wrestler)
  
• Magical Immigrants (Gran Torino, The Visitor)
  
• Rebecca Hall (Vicky Christina Barcelona, Frost/Nixon)
  
• Richard Jenkins (The Visitor, Burn after Reading)
  
• Robert Downey, Jr. (Iron Man, Tropic Thunder)
  
• Romance at the Junkyard (WALL-E, Slumdog Millionaire)
  
• Sam Rockwell (Choke, Frost/Nixon, Snow Angels)
  
• Teenage Vampirism (Let the Right One In, Twilight)
  
• Tosca (Quantum of Solace, Milk)
  

A Bad Year For:
• GOP Ex-Presidents (Frost/Nixon, W)
  
• Political Do-Gooders (The Dark Knight, Milk)
  
• Pulp Heroes (The Spirit)
  
• Vigilantism without Remorse (Gran Torino, The Dark Knight)
  
• Would-Be Assassins (Valkyrie, Wanted)
  

2009: Avatar, The Box, Bruno, Coraline, Duplicity, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, Knowing, The Lovely Bones, New York, I Love You, Observe and Report, Push, Sherlock Holmes, The Soloist, State of Play, Star Trek, The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3, Terminator: Salvation, Up, Where the Wild Things Are, The Wolfman, Wolverine and, of course,

Hrm.

Get yer agitprop on: By way of DCoE (and with a tip of the hat to Shepherd Fairey), Paste Magazine gives you the chance to make your own "Obamacon" posters. I could waste a lot of time with this.

A very happy birthday to my older brother Thad, who turns 40 today. (He's the one on the left.)

As of today, I'm all of thirty-four. Hmm, that's not really sounding very "early-thirties" anymore, is it?

At any rate, I hope to spend the day catching a movie or two, as per the norm. Which reminds me: Given that some of the better-reviewed awards films -- Frost/Nixon, The Wrestler, Revolutionary Road -- don't open around here until early-to-mid January, I'm giving myself a few weeks extension on the Best of 2008 list (as per 2006.) But I have seen several flicks over the past few days, and expect to have those reviews up in relatively short order. Until then, I hope everyone's having a safe and happy holidays in their respective corners of the world, and more to come soon.

How to Solve a Rubik's Cube. This is the best of the learning sites I could find while trying to pick up this skill set over the past few days. (I've fiddled with 'em a few times over the years, and seeing one in Let the Right One In recently re-piqued my interest.) Apparently, there are faster ways to go about it, and one can also speed up "solving the cross" with a good deal of practice, but I really just wanted to learn how to finish one of the durned things.

I have to admit, tho', it would be kinda cool to become as dexterous as Will Smith in the art of cubism.

"We very much appreciate the time and effort you put into this process, and we were impressed by many of the writing samples and tests that we reviewed. Unfortunately, we have a small number of slots to fill, and we will not be able to offer you a position in the White House speechwriting office at this time." Sigh, well, there goes that dream. (One reason it was relatively quiet here in recent weeks is because I was working on this particular job app, which ultimately involved a time-intensive speed-writing test. Obviously, as I just heard a few moments ago, it didn't end up panning out.)

Oh well, it was a real longshot anyway. And, it's good news for GitM, I guess...the political coverage can now continue here without impediment. (A lot of things would undoubtedly have had to change around here had I actually landed the gig.) So, ob-la-di, ob-la-da, I suppose.

So, can you guess who TIME's Person of the Year for 2008 turned out to be?

Not a huge surprise of course. Regardless, in honor of the occasion, and since now seems as good a time as any to fire up the 2008-in-retrospect train, below are some of the longer GitM essays on President-elect Obama over the past year and change. (And if you're really a glutton for punishment, and want to relive all the debate coverage or somesuch, there's always the election 2008 archives.)

I'm not normally one for blog memes here, but this movie quote game via Divine Comedy of Errors looked like particularly good fun. The rules, as direct from DCoE: "1. Pick 15 of your favorite movies. (Ok, I picked 20.) 2. Find a quote from each movie. 3. Post them here for everyone to guess. 4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie. 5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDb search or other search functions." Gotta stress that last one, y'all. That's not cricket.

1. "The rest of the country looks upon New York like we're left-wing Communist, Jewish, homosexual pornographers. I think of us that way, sometimes, and I live here." [SB got it. This is Annie Hall (not Manhattan.) Hard to pick one quote from this great, great film.]

2. "Are we like couples you see in restaurants? Are we the dining dead?" [Tessa pegged it: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, from the Chinese dinner scene where Joel and Clementine wallow in quiet desperation. Sunshine, by the way, often gets particularly quality remix treatment on Youtube.]

3. "Sister, when I've raised hell you'll know it." [sb got this one too: Miller's Crossing, concluding one of the classic Tom-Verna dust-ups.]

4. "Defeat! Shameful, ignominious! Defeat that set back for twenty years the cause of reform in the U.S." [An old wooden sled to sb, who correctly identified this as Citizen Kane. The line is from the News on the March newsreel opening the film, when Charles Foster Kane loses the governor's race, on account of what we would now indelicately call a "bimbo eruption."]

5. "Three: If asked if you care about the world's problems, look deep into the eyes of he who asks, he will not ask you again." [Props to Rob Newland (nee Aaron Jacob Edelstein.) This is one of the "Seven Simple Rules for a Life in Hiding" from I'm Not There, my favorite film of last year (and, still, I think, one of the more underappreciated.)]

6. "Nothing is f**ked? The goddamn plane has crashed into the mountain!" [Mark it eight: CJS correctly conjured up The Big Lebowski, still a treasure trove of hilarity for these dark times.]

7. "I got the *right* man. The wrong one was delivered to me as the right man, I accepted him on good faith as the right man. Was I wrong?" [A bit of a stickler for paperwork, J. Dunn got this one. It's GitM's namesake: Brazil. The line is Jack Lint (Michael Palin) rationalizing his murderous interrogation of Tuttle, 'er, Buttle.]

8. "That Casey. He might have been a preacher but he seen things clear. He was like a lantern. He helped me to see things clear." [10 points for Gryffindor and Kris. This is Tom talking about the Rev. Casey in The Grapes of Wrath. (Of course, if you've never read the book or seen the John Ford film, the Boss can summarize it for ya in 4:24.)]

9. "So I graduate, I call him up long distance, I say 'Dad, now what?' He says, 'Get a job.' Now I'm 25, make my yearly call again. I say Dad, 'Now what?' He says, 'I don't know, get married.'" [Kudos to Eric Sipple, despite his breaking the first two rules of Fight Club.]

10. "As Bertrand Russell once said, 'The only thing that will redeem mankind is cooperation.' I think we can all appreciate the relevance of that now." "Was that on a beer mat?" "Yeah, it was Guinness Extra Cold."" [MattS correctly called it for Shaun of the Dead. Good on ya, mate.]

11. "We were frightened of being left alone for the rest of our lives. Only people of a certain disposition are frightened of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26, and we were of that disposition." [Also got by MattS, this is High Fidelity, another very quotable movie. Rob (John Cusack) is talking about his dalliance with Lili Taylor's Sarah.]

12. "Everybody liked me. I liked myself." [SB knocks it down with Amadeus. Salieri is referring to the good ole days before God's Instrument arrived in Vienna.]

13. "Let's get down to brass tacks. How much for the ape?" [Recognizing the hand of the Good Doctor, CJS got it: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. (And it seems the line actually made it into the trailer as well.)]

14. "Daddy what's gradual school?" "Oh Gradual school is where you go to school and you gradually find out you don't want to go to school anymore." [Not even an Ellen Jamesian, mikefromeseattle made the call: The World According to Garp.]

15. "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further." [Kris beat several others to the punch here: The Empire Strikes Back. This deal is getting worse all the time...]

16. "Have you never heard of situationism, or postmodernism? Do you know nothing about the free play of signs and signifiers?" [Trust an academic and music lover, Ted, to get this one. It's 24 Hour Party People, as Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan) is explaining to a reporter why "Joy Division" aren't in fact a bunch of Nazis.]

17. "You're born, you take s**t. You get out in the world, you take more s**t. You climb a little higher, you take less s**t. Till one day you're up in the rarefied atmosphere and you've forgotten what s**t even looks like." [Welcome to the Layer Cake, claxton6. (This is Michael Gambon explaining the title.) By the way, I just learned very recently that chameleon Ben Whishaw played Sidney in this flick. Must've been focused on something else...]

18. "I was told to tell you that you're a fascist pig." [Points for Eric & Wendy: This is from Children of Men, when Clive Owen is making contact with Michael Caine's police "friend." (My favorite line from the movie would've been a dead giveaway: "Well that was even worse, everybody crying. I mean...Baby Diego ? Come on, the guy was a wanker!")]

19. "You broke into my house, stole my property, murdered my servants and my pets, and THAT is what grieves me the most!" [Stephen recognized this as Thulsa Doom in Conan the Barbarian. But does he know the riddle of steel, and what is best in life? One hopes, or Crom will cast him out of Valhalla!]

20. "You're going to make yourself a new home out there. You're a New Yorker, that won't ever change. You got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west but you're still a New Yorker. You'll miss your friends, you'll miss your dog, but you're strong." [Ted also caught this one. It's from the final Brian Cox monologue of The 25th Hour, still arguably the best movie yet made about the impact of 9/11 on NYC.]

As of this weekend, Ghost in the Machine is now nine years old. [0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.] With an incoming Obama administration, an expanded Democratic Congress, and, perhaps most startling, the Knickerbockers actually two games over 500, it's looking harder than usual to find things to complain about around here. Even amid the twilight realm of the ABD, that faint orange glow in the distance is looking less like troubling fires ahead and more and more like an approaching dawn. Nevertheless, whatever the future holds, GitM (hopefully) rolls on. As always, whether you're a longtime reader or just a lost/adventurous Googler, thanks for stopping by.

"'I was born in 1941, the year they bombed Pearl Harbor. I've been living in darkness ever since,' Dylan said to introduce the song, or as a goodbye, or, as he hadn't spoken before, as a hello. 'But it looks like things are going to change now.' At the end of the stage he stepped out from behind his electric organ and did a jig."

Thus was the freewheelin' Bob Dylan's happy reaction to Obama's election Tuesday night. (As you may remember, he publicly backed the senator in June.) For many others, including yours truly, the feeling of the evening might best be summed up by one of Dylan's esteemed contemporaries, Leonard Cohen: "Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Halleloooooojah!"

For the first time since 1994, we have a Democratic president and a safely Democratic Congress. For the first time since 1964, we have a Democratic president entering office with a commanding mandate from the people. For the first time since...well, ever, we've reaffirmed our founding principles by choosing an African-American to lead us into the future.

I don't want to overplay the "first black president" thing, because that's not at all why we chose Sen. Obama. Still it must be said: With this election, we have shown the world -- and ourselves -- anew that the American ideal isn't just a convenient myth, but a vision of the good that many of us still aspire to create every day. In the words of Cornel West, "To understand your country, you must love it. To love it, you must, in a sense, accept it. To accept it as how it is, however is to betray it. To accept your country without betraying it, you must love it for that in it which shows what it might become. America - this monument to the genius of ordinary men and women, this place where hope becomes capacity, this long, halting turn of the no into the yes, needs citizens who love it enough to reimagine and remake it." And so we have, in a way the founders of our American experiment 221 years ago could barely have imagined.

Meanwhile, even with crooks like Ted Stevens and Norm Coleman still floating for the moment, our old friends the Republicans are now not only in full rout, but appear to be set to tear each other's throats out in assigning blame for their repudiation at the polls. (Expect several further symposia of conservative hand-wringing, and a lot more intraparty shivving, along the lines of "Palin thinks Africa is a country," in the weeks to come.) This gang will regroup -- they always do -- but for now the GOP has enough problems of their own to keep them busy. And, whatever ever they manage to accomplish as the loyal(?) opposition, it seems a safe bet that the Conservative Era that began with the defeat of Barry Goldwater in 1964 has now officially coughed up its last in 2008, with the defeat of fellow Arizonan John McCain.

By the way, also joining the Republicans on the road to oblivion Tuesday night, alas, was my old laptop, a victim of post-return celebratory spillage. (Jamesons: Good for Jimmy McNulty and jubliant Dems, Bad for computer hardware in and around the television area.) Normally, inadvertently frying my growing-ancient-but-generally-reliable PC would've completely ruined my day. As it was, I took the news about like Baxter eating the whole wheel of cheese: "How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing." (And, fortunately, the hard drive, and the dissertoral files therein, were salvageable regardless.)

One much more depressing skeleton at the feast Tuesday night, about which Ted at Gideonse Bible, Chris at DYFL, and others have written eloquently: the passage of the idiotic Proposition 8 in California, which seemingly won with quite a bit of help from first-time Obama voters. It's irredeemably sad not only that a day that saw so much progress was marred by Prop 8 and its like around the country, but that so many of the voters who helped strike a fatal blow against enduring racial prejudice at the national level seemingly had no qualms about encoding anti-gay bigotry into the California constitution.

Perhaps I'm dense, but I fail to understand how the institution of marriage could somehow be threatened by the state recognizing the unions of same-sex couples, particularly in a day and age when so many straight folk (myself included) have already had marriages that failed. (As my old boss used to say of the thrice-married Bob Barr back when he supported the Defense of Marriage Act: "Which marriage is he defending?") By the way, particularly galling on the Prop 8 front, I think, is the strong imposition of the Mormon church into the battle on the side of the anti-gay zealots. One would think, of all people, the Mormons might have some sense of the damage that can be wrought by the state involving itself in stringent definitions of marriage. But, no, apparently what was good for two ganders in the eyes of the Mormons isn't good for the goose. For shame.

Still, the Prop 8 debacle notwithstanding (I have every faith that within a decade, that law will seem as knee-jerk, narrow-minded, and embarrassing as it in fact is), Tuesday was otherwise a great night for America. What it now befalls us to remember is that, while we should savor them while we can, the path of progress before us will likely offer few such moments of jubilation in the months and years ahead. When it comes to change, it really is "uphill all the way."

Given the economic and diplomatic travails already before President-elect Obama, he'll have his work cut out for him from jump street. And those out there old enough to remember President Clinton's first days in office, and how quickly things seemed to go south then (the sanity-restoring '93 budget bill notwithstanding) will know that a Dem president and Dem Congress is no guarantee of progressive legislation in the offing. We won't see the change we want -- and voted for -- without maintaining steady and unyielding pressure on all the machinery of government in the months and years to come. Now is not the time to sit back and let our new president try to do all the heavy lifting, but to stay involved as citizens and keep the progressive ball moving forward. (And, hey, keeping one's head in the game may help to mitigate those postpartum existential crises The Onion warned us about.)

In an election held eighty years ago (i.e. in the living memory of one Ann Nixon Cooper), Herbert Hoover, the longstanding Secretary of Commerce widely revered as "the Great Engineer" and "the Great Humanitarian," decisively defeated Al Smith, the Catholic Governor of New York. "Given a chance to go forward with the policies of the last eight years," Hoover had promised in his nomination speech, "we shall soon with the help of God be in sight of the day when poverty will be banished from this nation." And, while he obviously had his detractors, many across the country viewed Hoover as a miracle-worker who could singlehandedly steer the country to these new great heights. "We were in a mood for magic," journalist Anne O’Hare McCormick wrote of the Hoover inauguration. "We summoned a great engineer to solve our problems for us; now we sat back comfortably and confidently to watch the problems being solved."

For his part, Hoover was less sanguine about his prospects. "They have a conviction that I am some sort of superman, he fretted. "If some unprecedented calamity should come upon the nation...I would be sacrificed to the unreasoning disappointment of a people who expected too much."

Who among us think Hoover a superman now? History doesn't stop with a war or an election or the collapse of a governing ideology, be it Communism or Conservatism. It grinds inexorably on, always uncertain, always equal parts danger and opportunity, and all too often deeply laced with irony -- Time and time again in our American story, nothing succeeds like abject failure, and nothing fails like a great success. So let's not rest on our laurels by any means: The election of 2008 was a campaign hard-fought and hard-won, but the battle continues, and in many ways the real work before us is only now just beginning.

Let us look to navigate the turbulent waters ahead with a deep and abiding faith in our new captain, but also with our own eyes to the sea.

(Presidents pic via Hal at Blivet and Patrick at Supercres.)

"'I first pursued "Forever War" 25 years ago, and the book has only grown more timely and relevant since,' Scott told the trade. 'It's a science-fiction epic, a bit of 'The Odyssey' by way of 'Blade Runner,' built upon a brilliant, disorienting premise.'" Joe Haldeman's science fiction classic The Forever War, the tale of a military grunt who -- thanks to the vagaries of relativity -- keeps returning to the homefront decades-to-centuries after he left for his last cosmic tour-of-duty, finds an established genre film director in Ridley Scott, who will presumably take it up after Nottingham, his Robin Hood re-think with Russell Crowe.

Which reminds me: Scott and Crowe's recent Body of Lies is one of the many movies out of late -- along with Choke, Miracle at St. Anna, Blindness, Eagle Eye, Appaloosa, Flash of Genius, and Traitor -- that I'd normally go see and review...if any of 'em could actually manage to break a lowly 65 on Metacritic. As it is, I've been dissuaded thus far this fall by the bad word-of-mouth attending all of these films, coupled with the psychic distance of actually having to drive to get to the nearest multiplex these days. (Besides Roti Rolls, the easy-access movie culture is arguably what I miss most about NYC.) At any rate, right now it's looking like the 2008 end-of-year movie list might well be a short one.

Hey y'all. Sorry about the lack of updates this past week. Along with the MySql database acting more squirrelly (MySqlly?) than usual around here, I just recently returned from a weekend down in my old home state of South Carolina, where I and several other alumni of various ages were helping to mark the 20th anniversary of my (charter residential) high school, the South Carolina Governor's School of Science and Math.

While still located in the tiny and remote hamlet of Hartsville -- a friendly place, but the very definition of a one-horse town -- SCGSSM seems to have done quite well for itself over the fifteen years since my class graduated, back when it was still a relatively unknown quantity in the state. Namely, the school has procured an impressive and gimongous new facility just off the Coker College campus where we once kicked around. (I'd begrudge the younger classes their state-of-the-art complex more, if I weren't slightly relieved that the Class of '93 never had to deal with all the security cameras now on premises -- it'd have really cut down on all the shenanigans.) And GSSM -- which is soon to expand from 150 to 300 students -- has managed to retain many of the great PhDs on faculty there, including most of my favorite teachers back in the day. (It was particularly great to see Dr. Hendrick, the history professor who played no small part in encouraging me down my current path, science and math be damned, and who remains a beacon of progressivism in the otherwise right-leaning Pee Dee environs.)

At any rate, if I have any quibble with the direction SCGSSM has taken since my own time in "the Fishbowl," it's probably the goofy school marketing slogan they've chosen for themselves of late, which apparently now festoons billboards all over the Palmetto State: "Where Smart is Fun." To my mind, not only does this sound needlessly defensive, like GSSM is some sort of "Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Mutants"-type asylum, designed to protect Carolina's meek and brainy from the reactionary hordes that despise them, but -- at least in my own humble experience -- Smart is Fun pretty much everywhere...or, at least, it's more fun than the alternative.

"For eighteen long months, you have stood up, one by one, and said enough to the politics of the past. You understand that in this election, the greatest risk we can take is to try the same old politics with the same old players and expect a different result. You have shown what history teaches us -- that at defining moments like this one, the change we need doesn’t come from Washington. Change comes to Washington. Change happens because the American people demand it -- because they rise up and insist on new ideas and new leadership, a new politics for a new time. America, this is one of those moments."

The end of the evening, of course, featured Senator Obama's historic nomination speech and, as you all already know, he absolutely knocked it out of the park. [Transcript.] As I said in my first post, I thought it "powerful in its can-do faith in America and devastatingly effective in its evisceration of the GOP," and I'll stand by that. In fact, in a week of excellent speeches, I thought our nominee's address was the one that came out on top.

Sen. Obama's speech succeeded on several different levels at once: It worked as a lofty restatement of central American principles and a concise explanation of what differentiates Democrats from Republicans. It provided hard policy details for those ambivalent about the word "change," and it threw red meat to the faithful -- and food for thought to the undecideds -- by going after John McCain on issues across the board. Speaking of which, Obama's tone toward McCain was note-perfect: Polite enough to the man, Obama was utterly dismissive of his lousy ideas and his endless shilling for Dubya, and he fired a warning shot across his bow about any further attempt to wallow in the usual Republican "patriot games." In fact, Obama's speech preemptively made much of the GOP's usual grab-bag of insinuation and slander, sure to be in full evidence next week in Minnesota, look patently ridiculous. When McCain announced his veep pick yesterday -- more on that textbook case of bad judgment in short order -- I noticed the podium read "Country First." After Obama's speech last night, that old dog's looking a little lame.

Coming into Thursday night, I thought the best line uttered, in terms of the history books, had come from President Clinton's Wednesday speech: "People the world over have always been more impressed by the power of our example than by the example of our power." (The Ann Richards memorial runners-up: Bob Casey's maverick-sidekick skewering of John McCain on Tuesday, and Al Gore's recycling bit) But Obama's speech was filled with great quotables. For example:

"And it is that promise that forty five years ago today, brought Americans from every corner of this land to stand together on a Mall in Washington, before Lincoln’s Memorial, and hear a young preacher from Georgia speak of his dream. The men and women who gathered there could’ve heard many things. They could’ve heard words of anger and discord. They could’ve been told to succumb to the fear and frustration of so many dreams deferred. But what the people heard instead -- people of every creed and color, from every walk of life -- is that in America, our destiny is inextricably linked. That together, our dreams can be one. 'We cannot walk alone,' the preacher cried. 'And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back.' America, we cannot turn back."

And so on. What's more, Obama's speech wasn't only a address for progressives, but a progressive address. It didn't just offer up a litany of policies and goodies aimed at buying off consumer-voters (tax cuts and free prescription drugs for all!), but called Americans to rally to their individual and collective responsibilities as citizens of the republic. It didn't talk much of rights and choices, as contemporary liberalism so often does, but emphasized "the American promise" as a shared ideal that binds us all together. He didn't get bogged down in the soul-deadening, technocratic rhetoric of policy proposals, but used American history and "the American spirit" as the unifying narrative and common tapestry of our entire national community. When it came to our most divisive and contentious issues -- abortion, gay marriage, immigration -- Obama's speech didn't just pick a side and lob grenades at the cultural opposition, but tried to engage and draw out principled conservatives onto neutral ground, without compromising on the positions themselves.

I've made the case several times here that, for whatever reason (in part, I think, his background in community organizing -- Jane Addams came to similar conclusions in her own time on the streets of Chicago; for another, I think the progressive ideals of the Social Gospel have survived better in the African-American church than they have in our secular democratic politics), Sen. Obama seems to understand and call back to real progressivism like no other presidential nominee we've had since RFK. This, thankfully, hasn't been lost in the move toward the general election.

So, in other words, I loved the speech. And, as I said the other day, actually being at Invesco Field for its delivery was an experience I'll never forget. I know some people may just find this naive, but after listening to Obama on Thursday night, and after living through all the corruption and incompetence of the last eight years, I refuse to imagine an America that would in good conscience pick John McCain and everything he represents over Barack Obama in two months. That is not my country -- We are better than that, and we cannot and will not turn back.

"America needs a president who will put Barney Smith ahead of Smith Barney." Before Obama came out -- again, not sure if these were shown anywhere besides C-SPAN -- we heard remarks from Susan Eisenhower (Ike's granddaughter), witnessed a parade of Obama-supporting generals, and in a series of surprisingly good performances, listened as a handful of "regular Americans" like you and me explained why they'll be voting Obama this November. Now, this latter set of speeches in particular could've screamed painful stunt. (I for one often get mightily annoyed by the practice, started by Reagan and honed by Clinton, of bringing in a grabbag of "Ordinary Americans" each year as props for the State of the Union -- I think it's lazy, opportunistic, and definitely serves to diminish the quality of contemporary speeches, making them less about universal ideas and resonant imagery and more about particular grievances and local color.)

All that being said, every one of these "ordinary" speakers performed exceptionally well, particularly given a crowd of 80,000 here and millions around the world, and they really helped to bring a human face to the catastrophe that has been Dubyanomics. Probably performing best, in my humble opinion, were Pam Cash-Roper of NC and Janet Lynn Monaco of FL, both of whom found themselves on the wrong end of our health care "system." But each and every speaker did a great job, and former Republican Barney Smith got in the best line (above.)

Speaking of lines, If the speaker's dais was noon on a clock, I was seated relatively low to the ground at around 1:30 pm. So, while my view of the speakers themselves was obstructed (I usually watched the big Jumbotron), I had a direct line of view to the large teleprompter across from the stage. So, more often than not -- and, particularly during this section of the evening -- I found myself reading along rather than watching the speakers, which definitely makes for a different experience. (It was also interesting to see what ensued when a given orator -- the head general in his closing, for example -- went off the reservation and tried to ad-lib...bad things, usually.)

I'm not sure if it made it to the networks, but Rep. John Lewis' introduction to the MLK tribute was easily the most spine-tingling and moving moment of the day outside of Obama's nomination speech. When Lewis spoke, it was still a bright, sunny afternoon in Denver, and it was easy to imagine -- and even almost feel the tangible presence of -- that August day in Washington forty-five years ago.

I'm fully aware that this is just an illusion, that the two events were quite different in feel and tone, and that the former will always remain unknowable to me, outside of book-learning. But, as Lewis spoke with such emotion and conviction Thursday afternoon, it was a very powerful feeling, as if the space-time of American history was folding around us to fashion bookends, forty-five years apart. I felt extraordinarily lucky to be there to witness and experience it. "'We’ve had disappointments since then, but if someone told me I would be here' Mr. Lewis said, shaking [his] head. 'When people say nothing has changed, I feel like saying, "Come walk in my shoes."'"

Hey y'all. After a crack-of-the-morning flight out of Denver (which included a spry Mickey Dolenz and a tired-looking Hayden Panettiere), I'm back in VA now, have rested up, and have put up the rest of my Invesco pics over at Flickr. In case anyone's interested, here are a few more thoughts about the milieu surrounding Thursday event:

Imagine the DC Nationals playing Game 7 of the World Series at home, and you may get somewhere close to the strangeness that was the stadium environment at Invesco Field. It was definitely a NFL or NBA stadium atmosphere, with all the usual concessions open. But, amid the pretzel vendors, lines for hot dogs, and Obama t-shirt stands, the place was also obviously teeming with DC-types -- pols, journalists, celebrities, and of course their many, many handlers. So, if you walked around the concourse a few times (as I did during the Sheryl Crow set, for example), you were bound to see tons of notable people waiting anxiously in the condiment queue, and/or one of the gaggle of C-level talking heads "trying not to be seen," hoping to be seen. It was all quite bizarre.

In lieu of a list of all the random people I saw wandering around, I'll just give a few general impressions:

The good news: An old college/DC friend of mine, currently busy on the other end of the 16th St. strip, has hooked me up with a pair of swanky passes to tonight's speech at Invesco Field. So, assuming the crowds aren't a total nightmare, I'll be able to take in my second Obama speech of the fortnight this evening.

The bad news: While traversing the 16th St. drag to pick up said tickets, my bag opened up of its own accord, and I seem to have lost my laptop cords...meaning I'm now blogging on borrowed (battery) time, and it'll be next to impossible to update around here once the juice runs out. (There is an Office Depot a few blocks away, where I'll try to score an emergency replacement.) Update: Belay all that: Apparently, I'd just left my cord here -- I found it under the table. (Must be living right today.)

While I'm getting all the "look at me -- I'm embedded!" links out of the way, here's a Conde Nast Portfolio report on the Big Tent, filmed Monday, that features me briefly. Judging from the questions I keep getting asked, numerous mainstream media groups seem to be doing variations on this same sorta puff-piece story ("Who are these crazy "bloggers," and (gasp) will they take over everything?), although -- at least so far -- I've spent most of my own interview-time talking to foreign press.

Also, whatever Drudge is currently saying about "Google massaging journalists," they're in fact massaging bloggers. Yes, there's still a difference (and, no, I still haven't partaken -- big line.)

Alright, put yourself in my shoes: You're in Denver, occasionally surrounded by various poobahs of the political and DC-journalism worlds, and you already got as close to the candidate as you're gonna get. Would you rush up to Mark Shields of The Capital Gang or National Journal's Ron Brownstein and beg for a pic? Would you brave the throngs of fellow blog-types and get all up in Joe Trippi's grill? Or would you sidle over to the free-drinks area at an opportune time and snap this?

Sigh...yes, I am weak. At any rate, eat your heart out, Mike Gravel.

For those looking for movie news amid the politics: While enjoying an outdoor microbrew last evening, I happened to notice Jeffrey Wright walking down the street, and -- while political pundit types like Ron Brownstein were getting swamped by onlookers -- it seemed exactly nobody else noticed him. (I would've snapped a pic, but the camera was out of juice.) I mean, c'mon people, that's Colin Powell! Journalists and pols come and go, but I still get excited whenever I happen to see an honest-to-goodness movie star.

Good morning all -- I'm back in the Big Tent right now (fortunately, bloggers tend to be late risers, I guess, as electricity is easier to come by right now), sifting through some of the latest swag (breath mints advertising "clean" coal power, chocolate smoothies via HuffPo, C-Span coffee mugs, etc.) and generallly figuring out where to flit around today. There's a lot going on upstairs, and they treat us very well in here, but, even despite all the free caffeine, etc., it feels a bit like being a caged exotic bird in this tent. Every so often politicos or celebrity journalists swing through, pat us on the head, and say "oooh, the bloggers!", then disappear to wherever the real action is. In a way, we're all just embedded in here, bought off by swag bags, free massages (I have yet to partake), and Chipotle burritos. But, hey, I like Chipotle.

In any case, it's good to refortify in here before venturing forth for another day of the "DC RoE." For, however hospitable Denver has been thus far (and so far LoDo seems like a great place -- I wasn't expecting such a walking-friendly downtown), it's clear the most aggravating tendencies of District life have thoroughly infected this entire municipal area for the week. Like I said yesterday, having spent the past several years ensconced in academia (which has its own occasionally exasperating mores to navigate), I'd forgotten how fundamentally irritating the DC ratrace can be. Consider this full-immersion therapy.

Rule #1 of the DC life: Access -- and thus the appearance, if not the fact, of exclusivity -- is everything. For example: Yesterday evening, a friend of mine from CQ and I looked to catch a drink somewhere nearby. We eventually found one, thank goodness, but not before having to negotiate with doormen, list-bearing aides, and sundry other "boundary mavens" in front of many, many bars, restaurants, and hotel lobbies. Everything was cordoned off, invites and VIPS only, unworthies please move along. Now, I understand the lobbyists gotta do their thing -- If only this sort of thing was restricted to private parties. Alas, DC life, I have since been reminded, is basically one big rope-line. Every doorway involves a plethora of multi-colored passes, even those that lead nowhere particularly important. Every event here, even ungodly boring ones they can barely fill, have byzantine rules for crossing the threshold, and strange, unspoken hierarchies which determine who gets in and in what order. Get three people together in the District and one of 'em will start working on setting up the cordon. Frankly, it all gets a bit exhausting. (I'd like to say the special dKos couch I was joking about yesterday is a parody of this impulse, but it's really just another sad manifestation of it.)

Which brings me to Rule #2 of Washington: You're only as interesting as your status in The Hive. The District being a company town, the main thrust of virtually every social encounter in DC is "Hi-Hello-Who-do-you-work-for?" (I've heard LA operates much the same way, which makes sense, given that politics is basically showbiz for short and/or ugly people.) I can't tell you the number of times during my Washington days when people I'd recently met would "switch on" once they ascertained I had a moderately important-sounding job. (It wasn't really, of course, but Carville occupied his own unique tangent in Clinton-era Washington, so the rabid political climbers always assumed I had more pull than I ever in fact did.)

As such, people tend to accord you respect only in direct relation to your perceived clout, and if you don't have any, you're just not worth talking to. In DC, the most remorseless practitioners of the political arts -- and thus often the most successful -- will be endlessly scanning the room around you during your conversation, looking to see if there's someone more important they should be talking to at that moment. It's a peculiarly virulent form of douchebaggery that you really can't escape if you venture into the politics business, and it, sad to say, has been very much in evidence here in Denver.

Like I said, I found this endless reducing of people to their places of employ tremendously irritating even when I occupied a relatively privileged position in "The Game." Now that I've been out of the scene for awhile -- having cashed in my chits, so to speak, to pursue the PhD during the Dubya years -- and my hive status is lower than even drone, it's that much worse. Now, here in the blogger tent, everyone -- give or take a few e-celebrities, of course -- seems very friendly, down-to-earth folk, and journalists, I've found, rarely traffick as baldly in this sort of behavior as the politicos (which is a lot of the reason I tended to hang with reporters and non-profit types while in DC.) But, get around the actual honest-to-goodness political people, who are obviously everywhere right now, and hoo boy. After an hour or two of being constantly Sized Up and Found Wanting by weaselly-looking guys in suits, it's enough to send you screaming into the streets.

Ok, had to get that off my chest. I am having a great time here, honest! Still, it was a bit of a shock on my first day to be resubmerged so quickly and so thoroughly into the DC-politico culture. Oh yeah, it's like that.

Hey all...back at my friend's place now, where the sweet, sweet electrical power flows freely. As some may have already noticed, I managed to get some pics for the day up here. Enjoy...I'll have more to say in the next day or two, once I can gather my thoughts about events thus far. It's been a lot to take in, and, frankly, I've been out of the DC environment for awhile. (Denver or no, DC rules of engagement are clearly the order of the day here...I'd sorta forgotten how this game is played.)

Hey y'all -- So, as of late last night, I've arrived in Denver to partake of the DNC milieu as best I can. At the moment, I'm reporting in from the Big Tent, a few blocks over from the Pepsi Center, where they're housing and attempting to satiate the new media types. (In fact, I may currently be sitting dangerously close to the fluffy couches reserved for dKos.) All in all, it seems like a pretty nice set-up, with a large amount of workspace here on the first floor, a stage up above for various scheduled talks and events over the next few days (some sort of rainbow choir was performing when I got here), and goodly amounts of free stuff already being handed out (including a swag bag of eco-friendly mugs, Skype headsets, progressive-minded books, etc. etc.)

On the down side, while we seem to be in the midst of the action media-wise, and democratic happenings seem to have taken over all of the nearby environs (Lower Downtown, or "LoDo") -- I stumbled into 2 or 3 just checking out the nearest bookstore and looking for a croissant -- these Big Tent passes don't appear to be transferable to the actual convention floor. (I may look for alternate methods of getting down there, if I manage to run into any of my old DC friends, acquaintances, and/or employers.) Also, I left my camera wire back at my Denver base (a high school friend's home in Wash Park), so any pictures will have to wait. Finally, PC battery time is at a premium, so --even with my extra laptop batteries on hand -- updates around here look to be relatively scarce during the day. Still, it looks like it's shaping up to be an interesting week.

(That's Obama, our next president, in the spotlight.) So, as a convenient appetizer to next's week convention in Denver, Sen. Barack Obama swung by nearby Oscar Smith High School -- my little sister's alma mater, not five minutes away from my current roost here in Chesapeake -- for a town hall meeting last night. And, not only did I manage to procure a ticket, but my mom and I, for whatever reason, had the requisite "look" to get gold-banded into the premium section, right behind the Senator. (For the full ninety minutes of us nodding along and clapping, the video of the event is here and below.)

As far as Sen. Obama's talk went, it was about what you'd expect, if you've been keeping up with the election so far. It focused heavily on the economy and bread-and-butter issues such as health insurance and education, gave the GOP a lot of guff for their usual idiocies and fear-mongering antics, and was also considerably more earthy and populist than much of his primary rhetoric. (But that's the general for you, and particularly when you're facing a candidate amazingly unable to count up his number of McMansions.) In any case, at the end of the proceedings, I was close enough to shake the Senator's hand on the rope line, and got to tell him "I'm looking forward to January." And, hey, aren't we all?

So, however my flitting around the convention hall turns out next week, I'm happy to say I got in a choice Obama sighting before even getting on the plane to Denver. (And now I feel much less bad about missing out on tix for the nomination speech next Thursday.)

As eagle-eyed sidebar readers and social networking friends may have already noticed, I've gone ahead and thrown up a few pictures of Berk and I enjoying the summer nearby. The sheltie in question was never a frisbee dog back in the city, but, y'know, I think he's starting to get the hang of it.

FYI: As you may or may not have noticed, the list of categories to the right has been growing considerably over the past few days. This is because, [a] to take advantage of the usual summer lull, [b] in true bored historian form, I'm indulging my penchant for archiving, [c] since 90-95% of GitM's hits are Google searches anyway, and [d] since I didn't really think through how long it was going to take when I started, I've decided to go back through the archives and tag up the old posts with more detailed categories.

After several hours of work, I'm only to December 2007, so this should take a few weeks to complete, on and off. (And the Geocities era (1999-2002) will remain untouched for now.) But, hopefully, the backlog of posts will be more useful in the future.

"The Old Dominion is now the New Dominion, particularly in the suburban and exurban counties north of the Rappahannock River. Barack Obama could not have carried Virginia as it once was. But he is running even with John McCain in a paradoxical state that was home to the Confederacy's capital but also gave the nation its first elected African American governor, Doug Wilder, in 1989." E.J. Dionne takes a look at Obama's prospects in Virginia. I must say, assuming I'm still here and/or around DC by November, it'll be nice to vote in an honest-to-goodness swing state for once in my life.

Also, a programming note: I managed to secure a "new media" press pass for the DNC's "Big Tent" in Denver. (Whether it was due to GitM's longevity, some Dem name-dropping by yours truly, or they just let everyone who signed up through the gates, I know not.) In any case, I bought a (pricey) flight yesterday and will be on the ground and reporting in from the Mile High City during the Democratic National Convention next month. Should be grand. (And if you'll be there too, drop me a line.)

Hello all. After a long week of moving, cleaning, filling up a nearby storage unit, and unpacking the mobile dissertation office, Berk and I are back on the grid: He's acclimatizing (again) to my parents' house, and I'm acclimatizing (again) to the strange and seemingly unsustainable environment that is late-stage car culture. In order to procure a bag of dog food, we drove along the highway for two exits, pulled into one of an endless sea of strip-malls with parking lots the size of Morningside Park, and entered a super-air-conditioned palace, brimming over with a cornucopia of All Things Pet-Related. Now, I understand this is highly normal, but it seemed really bizarre at the time. Hey, it's been awhile.

At any rate, the move out of New York is complete. And, notwithstanding a few more occasional moments of in-transition disorientation, I expect my southern roots will soon reassert themselves (particularly after several more visits to Chick-Fil-A, Cracker Barrel, and the like.)

New York, New York, the center of the world, the city that never sleeps. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. And if you can't...well, then, I guess you pack up a U-Haul and move on down the road. (Or is it "Then we take Berlin"?) At any rate, after a seven-year stint here in the Harlem-Morningside environs, Berk and I are leaving Manhattan on Wednesday for (hopefully) greener pastures. My next real destination is still undetermined, pending the vagaries of the job search, but for now I'll be returning to the nest to continue writing the dissertation and otherwise scrounge for remunerative employ. We'll see how it goes from there.

As for NYC, on one hand, I'm really going to miss this town. The sheer energy of Gotham always puts a spring in my step, and I really enjoy that distinct New York sensation of living in the center of the hive, ever-so-slightly in the future. On the other hand, I'd be lying if I didn't concede that this city tends to aggravate my natural Irish melancholy, particularly once you factor in the usual grad school isolation, the happenstance that many of my better friends left some time ago, and the sad fact that, romantically speaking, I got crushed here...twice. But, no hard feelings, New York. Sure, there are lingering ghosts in this city, and if I never live as alone again as I have the past two years, it'll be soon enough. But, I still love Manhattan, and I always will, and I would definitely look forward to doing another stint here at some point, if it turns out to be in the cards.

In any case, the future -- however hazy at the moment -- beckons. So, I'd expect it to be quiet here over the next few days as my brother and I lug my accumulated belongings down the Eastern Seaboard. Until then, hope everyone had a relaxing and appropriately reflective Memorial Day, and I'll be in touch on the other end. And, if you're an NYC reader and I didn't see ya before I left, I expect I'll be back for visits, more often than not. (I mean, this is New York.) Until then, be safe, y'all.

"If your catch needs work, both Ms. Guerette and Mr. Butt suggested practicing putting your blades in and out of the water while sitting in the catch position at full compression (legs bent, chest nearly touching thighs, arms extended). Ms. Guerette recommended doing this drill in shallow water, since there’s a chance you could fall into the drink." By way of several ex-rower friends: In the NYT, Charley Butt (my former HVL coach) and one of his current proteges, Olympian Michelle Guerette, offer pointers on how to improve your stroke, and sum up how I spent a good bit of time in college. (See also the accompanying slideshow and video.)

Welcome from the land of boxes, and, if you live in Kentucky or Oregon, please consider voting for Barack Obama today. I expect updates will be sparser than usual this week on account of my imminent move, but, to catch up on recent electoral goings-on: Since the last super update, Sen. Obama has picked up the endorsement of Sen. Robert Byrd, Rep. Madeleine Bordallo (GU), DNC members Greg Pecoraro (MD), Larry Gates (KS), Blake Johnson (AK), Dwight Pelz (WA), and Cindy Spanyers (AK), and 3 UADs (2 in California, 1 in Kansas). (In the meantime, Sen. Clinton has picked up 3 Cali UADs.)

So, that's Clinton +3, Obama + 10 and Warren Buffett. The upshot being, however much tiptoeing is going on at the moment, Sen. Obama should wrap this thing up for good tonight when he takes 50% +1 of the pledged delegates. And there will be much rejoicing.

So, I noticed last night that my old GitM coxing columns at Rowersworld, written a decade ago, had at some point disappeared into the midnight realm of the 404, and that my writings page was thus featuring tons of dead links. But, with the aid of the trusty Wayback Machine, I was able to recreate them again here, where they can reside until this entire site falls into its inevitable disrepair. I'm not sure very many of my regular readers are of the rowing persuasion (anymore). Still, in case y'all are interested, the articles are back up.

Also, while searching for the lost articles, I found this essay on how to throw your coxswain correctly, which references the pic above. Just to clarify, I have "a blissful smile" on my face mostly because we won, yes, but also because I'm fully aware it's early May in Massachusetts, and the waters of Lake Quinsigamond won't immediately close down my bodily systems. Getting tossed at Dartmouth in early April is considerably less blissful.

Another personal plug: As part of the online rollout for a new edition of Walter LaFeber's The American Century, I recently composed four brief classroom essays on various 20th century events, as evaluated from a 21st century (re: ruthlessly presentist) perspective. In case anyone's interested, they've now gone live: The Versailles Conference | The Military Industrial Complex Speech | The Tet Offensive | A Second American Century? Now, that's edutainment.

So I guess I'm probably way behind on this one, but anyway: My sis informed me at dinner last night that not only has Portishead been working on their third album (and first in ten years), but it's in the can, it's called Third, and it officially comes out in only two weeks. The video for the dub number "Machine Gun" (the first single), is just below. Even notwithstanding the "Blue Monday"-ish rat-a-tat that drives the track, I'm loving that subterranean bass lurking under the surface. (Hearing it reminded me of the beginning of this Chemical Brothers video, which I always found more nightmarish than I think they meant it to be.) And then it gets all Kraftwerky right around 2:40, which is a direction that generally sits well with me.

I know Dummy was everybody and their brother's favorite trip-hop album back in the day, and it kinda lost some cool cachet just by becoming so gimongously popular. (Normally, I wouldn't hold that against an album, but, Dummy was kinda everywhere there for awhile. Sorta like Air or The Crystal Method a few years later.) Still, along with R.E.M.'s Monster, the Tribe's Beat, Rhymes, Life, Ill Communication, the now-insufferable, then-inescapable Pulp Fiction soundtrack, and a few others, Dummy was the score of my college years. Both melancholy and beat-intensive, it worked in the background for almost any occasion, and a lot of my fonder memories from school days are keyed to that Bristol sound.

At any rate, it seems the rest of the new tracks are also floating around Youtube: Silence | Hunter | Nylon Smile | The Rip |Plastic | We Carry On | Deep Water | Machine Gun | Small (check out that Syd Barrett bridge) | Magic Doors | Threads. At this early stage, my current favorite (other than the single) is "The Rip," mainly for that catchy acoustic-to-electronic fade right around the two-minute mark.

You may have noticed it's been quieter than usual around here over the past week. This is partly because I've come around to the opinion that blogging every minor twist in the Obama-Clinton primary saga has become redundant. We all know Sen. Obama is our nominee, and many of us have known it since Wisconsin back in February. (The most recent evidence of this assertion: Obama picked up a +2 delegate swing in Miss. on Thursday.) So, my inclination to cover this extended garbagetime as closely as I would an actually tight contest has grown more attentuated over the past few weeks. This isn't to say I won't be covering the primary anymore, just that I doubt I'll be spending as much time on it.

More to the point, it's also been quiet around here because I've been busier than usual in meatspace this week. To wit, I've been stripping down my apartment, throwing out all the useless junk, as per the spring cleaning norm, but also putting all but really necessary items in boxes, to prepare for my imminent departure from the Columbia environs in two months. I'm still writing at the moment, and don't plan to defend until the fall term. Still, it's soon time to leave this place, in preparation for either a return to writerly-type ventures in DC or an academic job search, which I plan to embark on after knowing the electoral lay of the land in November. (Or perhaps I'll just spend a few years walking the earth like Tom Joad, 'cause you never know.)

Either way, the bills don't pay themselves, so my non-dissertating, non-blogging time is now mostly spent looking for remunerative employ -- if not a full-time gig then at least enough freelance projects to swing the summer months. We'll see how that goes. Early feelers to Team Obama in Chicago came up blank, unfortunately (they seem more than fine in the speechwriting department anyway), and applications to some higher-profile political blog-jobs didn't even merit a rejection letter. (Which reminds me, I have a rant about the current state of the paid political blogosphere on broil at the moment -- short version: it's effectively become as insular and echo-chambery as the Weblog Jr. High/"blogger cabal" of the early days -- but I'll save it for another post so it doesn't come across totally as pique.) But, I'm working on other leads too, so hopefully something will shake out. (Of course, if y'all hear of anything, do let me know -- the resume is over here.) In any event, if you're wondering why it's quieter than usual here for now, that's why.

A personal plug: Also out in stores this week, my fourth collaboration with Democratic pundit Bill Press (1, 2, 3): Trainwreck: The End of the Conservative Revolution (and not a moment too soon). If you couldn't guess from the title, it basically argues that, just as the New Deal era lasted from 1932-1968, the Age of Conservatism that began in '64 with Goldwater, hit its stride in the 70's and 80's, and gave us the likes of Reagan, Gingrich, and, of course, Dubya, has now hit the proverbial, inevitable, historical brick wall. So let's survey the wreckage: On one hand, from Katrina to Abramoff and Ed Meese to Alberto Gonzales, right-wing attempts at governance over the past thirty years have usually degenerated into dismal experiments in cronyism and/or incompetence. On the other, conservatism has strayed so far from its ideological roots in the Reagan and particularly Dubya eras that the likes of Robert Taft, Russell Kirk, and William F. Buckley would never even recognize it. (Case in point, the Ron Paul candidacy, wherein a traditional Taft conservative ended up being treated by his esteemed Republican contemporaries in every debate as either a fringe joke or a terrorist-sympathizing dupe.) Either way, the right-wing ascendancy is over, and it's our time again now (and, though it's not reflected in this tome, I think y'all know who I'd prefer to be carrying our progressive standard into battle in 2009 and beyond...)

"Pity the would-be Romeo who earnestly confesses middlebrow tastes: sometimes, it’s the Howard Roark problem as much as the Pushkin one. 'I did have to break up with one guy because he was very keen on Ayn Rand,' said Laura Miller, a book critic for Salon. 'He was sweet and incredibly decent despite all the grandiosely heartless "philosophy" he espoused, but it wasn’t even the ideology that did it. I just thought Rand was a hilariously bad writer, and past a certain point I couldn’t hide my amusement.'" In the NYT, Rachel Donadio looks at relationships undone by differing book tastes (and, along the way, quotes a college friend of mine, Christian Lorentzen.)

Funnily enough, my last serious relationship, lo, 18 months ago now, didn't end because of book taste, but -- like Laura Miller above -- I always considered the Ayn Rand citation on her Friendster profile an ominous red flag (and, in the clear light of retrospect, I was absolutely correct in this regard.) In the relationship before that, things started out ok, and then, eight or nine months in, we daringly ventured to trade lists of recommended books. At first, all was well: She seemed to dig All the King's Men, and I finally got around to reading Moby Dick (I liked it, but also found most of it the longest...Atlantic piece...ever...) But we got on shakier ground when I didn't cotton at all to her favorite tome, Thomas Wolfe's Look, Homeward Angel. (If you've never read it, here's the short version: I, the protagonist, am more brilliant and tortured than absolutely everybody here in fake-Asheville, NC, and thus noone will ever understand me. After 500 pages of complaining about it, I will leave, and seek my fortune elsewhere.) Meanwhile, she was so embarrassed to be seen with Dan Simmons' Hyperion -- a book I don't love, but thought might make a good intro to decent sci-fi yarns for someone with highbrow sensibilities, what with all the Chaucer and Keats nods therein -- that she'd hide it from people on the train. Whether all this brought about or hastened the end, I know not...but it surely didn't help. The point being, be wary, young lovers: The book collection can be a minefield, as the Donadio essay attests.

In the past week, two friends and readers have informed me that GitM is acting somewhat squirrelly in the latest version of Firefox for Mac. Now, I'm a PC guy (by usage and by temperament), so I can't troubleshoot the problem on my computers here. But, is anyone else out there having issues recently? My guess it probably has something to do with embedded videos, since that's the only "new" thing around here lately, and most likely I'm betting the problem is either this St. Patrick's Day post from last week or the Tracey Morgan SNL one right before it. Does anyone know if Firefox (on a Mac) hiccups with certain types of embedded videos, or am I barking up the wrong tree? Any help is greatly appreciated.

Update: Raza at High Industrial informed me that the offending party was likely the Tracy Morgan post. I've now removed the embedded video...Mac Firefoxers, is everything back to normal?

It's that time of year again: The madness has come upon us. Between the primary and real life issues (namely, working on the dissertation and looking for writerly employ for this summer and beyond), I haven't been paying near enough attention this season. But, that's usually when my bracket does best...

And now for something completely different: a Friday night trip on the wayback machine. A few weeks ago, I showed up at a winter gathering wearing the snazzy official Tom Baker scarf my mother made me for Christmas. And, while a few folks correctly identified it (and were suitably impressed --Thanks, mom!), absolutely no one had any clue what I was talking about when I aped this classic moment with the wires from The Genesis of the Daleks ("But do I have the right?"), when the Doctor contemplates his own version of the baby-Hitler conundrum: Is it moral to destroy the genocidal Daleks before they've ever been created? Well, admittedly old-school Who is a pretty niche interest here in the States...it's not exactly "I drink your milkshake!" Still, since everything is on Youtube these days, sure enough, I found this fun fan-made trailer for Genesis online, and thought I'd share it. If you ever watched Tom Baker Who, I'm guessing you'll probably dig it. If not, it'll just seem realllly cheesy (although perhaps not as cheesy at first glance as another Brit sci-fi classic (and the Farscape of its day), Blakes' 7. Blakes' credit sequence may not hold up at all in 2008, but the dour finale certainly does.)

By the way, there are plenty more classic Who trailers where that came from, including this one, featuring scenes from every episode. Collectively, they bring back fond memories of staying up into the wee hours as a kid on Saturday nights to catch Who on SCETV (and, roughly half the time, waking up in the middle of Jack Horkheimer, Star Hustler wondering where the hell I was.)

"Despite the attention blogs can get, the poll said 56 percent of Americans say they never read blogs that discuss politics. Another 23 percent read them several times a year, the survey showed. While blogs are largely considered the realm of young people who are most Internet-savvy, only 19 percent of people ages 18 to 31, and 17 percent of those ages 32 to 43, regularly read a political blog, the poll said." A new Harris Interactive poll finds that most people don't read political blogs. Believe me, I've noticed. :s

Happy Valentines' Day, everyone. As per previous years (2005, 2006, 2007), I've gone ahead and thrown up some songs for the day (for the first time via the magic of Youtube.) The obligatory once-a-year update from behind-the-curtain: Sadly, no romantic life to speak of around here, uh, whatsoever. But, that's fine. Particularly given that my last serious break-up metastasized into Something Awful, and I spent basically all of 2007 with a virulent case of the broken-hearted blues, I'm actually feeling pretty happy about being single right now. Even as little as two months ago, I might've gotten defensive about it, and, to paraphrase our dear Senator from New York, grumbled that "false hope" is not a luxury I can afford to indulge in at the moment. But, these days, all the old wounds feel cauterized, and I'm actually just content to live as I am, I am Legend-style, with Berk, new movies, the most exciting election in a generation, and goodly amounts of dissertoral work taking up my plate. There are much worse ways to spend your days. Anyway, to the music:

If Kraftwerk's "Computerlove" didn't tip you off two years ago, there's a certain kind of cheesy, toe-tapping, heart-on-your-sleeve love song to which I'm highly susceptible. Yep, I'll admit it, occasionally I can be a huge softy. I saw Titanic five times...in the theater. I'll go hit the dance floor when somebody plays Madonna. I thought "Cry Me a River" was an inordinately good pop song. And I'll admit to digging such obviously embarrassing groaners as "Always," "Truly Madly Deeply," and "Your Body is a Wonderland." (Hey, admit it: Sometimes, only sometimes, you must be as embarrassing as me.) Still, I figured, if you're really going to commit to outing your cheesy streak this Valentine's Day, you might as well go straight to the source. Sigh...so, here it is. All I'll say is, God help me, I can't not smile and shimmy a little when I hear this tune.

From its fragile opening to its shimmering close, "If You Wear that Velvet Dress" may just be U2's sultriest song. (I mentioned this the other day, but I'd have loved to hear this one through the IMAX system during U2 3D.) As in Achtung Baby's jauntier "So Cruel" (today's U2 runner-up), all is not right with Bono and his ladyfriend here -- The end is obviously near, but neither party wants to talk about it. ("It's ok, the struggle for things not to say. I never listened to you anyway.") In fact, the two have fallen into a self-destructive pattern that's only making things worse. ("We've been here before, last time you scratched at my door.") But, when the moon is in the sky, and she's wearing that velvet dress, the clock stops, and nothing else matters. (This isn't the official video -- I'm not sure if there even is one -- but it gets the point across: Whatever else is going on, something about that certain someone under a certain light will always take your breath away.)

I ran a Leonard Cohen ballad ("I'm Your Man") last year, and Tom Waits is of the same gravelly, take-no-prisoners persuasion. But while the older Cohen sings with grim resignation, and often sounds like he's got a handle on his heartbreak (even when he clearly doesn't -- see "In My Secret Life") Waits is flailing about in the center of the maelstrom. You'll either see it or you won't, I guess, but I find this performance of "Make it Rain" from Letterman a few years ago almost frightening in its intensity. It's like Waits crawled out from the black, primordial, whiskey-soaked depths of the male Id to bellow away his rage and hurt. (He can sometimes ruminate on the happy times too, of course, such as in this lovely waltz (and a close runner-up for this post), "All the World is Green.") One wretched soul's undiluted howl of pain, anchored and drowning in a bluesy murk, "Make it Rain" is a song to beware of in concentrated doses. (But, as Bob Dylan once said of another classic, play it f**king loud.)

Looking at the ledger of my 33 years thus far on Earth, I'd say I've been in love four times and had three all-consuming (unrequited) crushes, none of which I will delve into here. Nevertheless, for those seven women -- and, even though none of you are in my life anymore, y'all know who you are -- this one's for you.

As a bonus track, I'm recycling this one from 2005, and why not? Even notwithstanding all the imagery from this jaw-droppingly beautiful Chris Cunningham video that I've pilfered for GitM over the years, it's really the best Valentine's Day message one can hope for. So, happy V-Day, y'all. Have a safe and happy one.

Hello, all. So...can you guess who I'm supporting in Tuesday's NH primary?

In any case, now seems as good a time as any to plug some GitM spinoffs I've recently put together, if anyone is interested. First up, if you usually come here just for the movie reviews, I've created GitM Reviews as a separate review site (although -- don't worry -- they'll always be posted here first.) Second, if your interest was piqued by any of the entries on civic progressivism of late, I've also created Small-R Republic as a central clearinghouse for that information. (Again, everything will be either posted here first or linked to as written.)

Both of these are projects I'm only starting to develop online, but they're enough off the ground that they can bear page views and/or advice from the regulars. (Also, while I've refrained from putting advertising here and plan to continue to, I may decide to put up ads on GitMreviews...so if anyone has had a particularly good or terrible experience with an ad provider, please let me know.)

(Obama silhouette pic via a friend/colleague at Peasants Under Glass, where we talked about some of the following in the comments.)

Something is happening here, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones? Let's go back a few days to Friday, just after Iowa, at the 100 Club Dinner in Milford, NH: "What you need to understand about the dinner and the venue is this: it was supposed to be a Clinton room." The Clinton advance people had secured the best tables at the front, so all the formidable Granite State luminaries who've backed Hillary could show their strength, and show the Iowa upstart how things work in "independent" New Hampshire. Meanwhile, the Obama voters had been shunted to the back of the room, far away from the podium, the cameras, and the action. All well and good...except it didn't work out that way. The legions of Obama voters surged to the front just before his speech and, by most accounts, blew the Clinton operation out of the room. "'I'm really worried about him,' said [Beverly] Hollingworth, a member of the state's Executive Council and a former state senator, as she headed for the door. 'Other people have been working their whole life for change, and have made good progress. This is just rhetoric.'" And you know something is happening here, but you don't know what it is. Do you, Mrs. Hollingworth?

Fast forward to this morning, where George Stephanopoulos held his usual This Week roundtable at the site of last night's Manchester debate: Sam Donaldson, Cokie Roberts, George Will, and Donna Brazile. For his part, Will seems to be among the "national greatness," "Morning in America" civic conservatives -- such as Peggy Noonan and particularly Andrew Sullivan -- who've responded to Obama's candidacy, and see elements of their beloved Reagan in his crossover appeal. (No doubt anti-Hillary schadenfreude is playing a considerable part too.) Brazile, who worked the comment desks at CNN on Iowa night, had already said her piece last Thursday, and didn't add much this Sunday morning.

But those venerable dinosaurs of the Beltway punditariat, Cokie Roberts and Sam Donaldson, were virtually beside themselves that the Insider candidate seemed to be going down in flames, and soon proved themselves absurdly in the tank for Clinton. Cokie sneered at the constancy of Obama's youth appeal: "Young people, as much as we'd like to see them active in politics, are notorious for not showing up when you need them." She then went on to parrot Clinton's most recent talking points. (Consider "It's a lot of talk, when the reality is, change will happen," or "She embodies change just by being the first woman who might be elected president.")

Donaldson, meanwhile, got bogged down in a wish-fulfillment metaphor about the old champ wearing down the young hotshot (i.e. The Hustler, with Obama as Fast Eddie and Clinton as Minnesota Fats) and huffed and puffed with aggrieved authority, "I agree with Bill Richardson, experience is not a leper!...She's the only one who brought up the economy, did you notice? Anyone could've said look, we may go into a recession here, there's hard times. Only Senator Clinton -- with her experience, if you will -- managed to bring it up!" (You heard it here first, folks. Obama is too inexperienced to have considered the possibility of a recession.) "We're always looking for the non-candidate, the non-politician, and we'd think that'd be great, Donaldson intoned. "But, George, when you have a toothache, most of the people here go to the dentist that's drilled teeth for a long time, I think that's where the country could turn out." (Note here that it's Edwards, not Obama, running the standard outsider-against-the-Washington-ramparts campaign that Donaldson is decrying.)

Now, on one hand, who cares what Sam Donaldson and Cokie Roberts think? Not only are they so completely invested in the Beltway power structure that it's in their very marrow, but they've been living the sheltered life of the television Green Room for decades now. (So, it seems, has ABC's Charlie Gibson, who showed last night during the Manchester debate that he thinks a two-academic family makes $200,000 a year. Uh, Charlie, try $3,000 a class.) As I know from considerable personal experience, the higher echelons in Washington invariably turn up their noses at candidates with outside-the-Beltway appeal, and tend to view them as interlopers worthy of ridicule (or, if they catch a spark, vitriol. At its most extreme, this is how you get Senator Clinton angrily exclaiming in 2000 that killing Ralph Nader "might not be a bad idea.") In short, Sam and Cokie, like countless other members of the Washington media machine, see themselves as bastions of the Beltway order, keepers of the flame, and they don't like any provincial outsiders upsetting the established status quo. All the more reason why Obama is causing them great consternation: "You've been with the professors and they all like your looks. With great lawyers, you have discussed lepers and crooks. You've been through all of F. Scott's Fitzgerald's books. You're very well-read, it's well known. But, something is happening here, and you don't know what it is..."

On the other hand, if we peel away their affronted Beltway dismay about Obama's upstart candidacy, Sam, Cokie, and Mrs. Holllingworth's views speak to arguably the biggest open question about the Illinois Senator's broad-based appeal, and the one demographic factor that most threatens his winning New Hampshire, and the nomination: the generation gap. Pulling up the Iowa numbers again: "Among all caucus-goers under age 45, a smashing 50 percent supported Obama, compared with just 17 percent for Edwards and 16 percent for Clinton. Among those under 30, Obama went even higher, to 57 percent. Among seniors, by contrast -- nearly a quarter of participants -- it was Clinton 45 percent, Edwards 22, Obama 18." Obama pulled young voters out in droves in Iowa, and I think he shows every indication that he can do it again in New Hampshire and beyond. Still, as Cokie snarkily reminded us, older voters are consistent voters. And, allowing that individuals mostly defy easy groupings and follow the dictates of their conscience, the Boomers as a generation are clearly not sold on Obama just yet. So, what's going on here?

Part of it, I think, was explained by Andrew Sullivan a few months ago in the Atlantic Monthly: "Obama’s candidacy in this sense is a potentially transformational one. Unlike any of the other candidates, he could take America -- finally -- past the debilitating, self-perpetuating family quarrel of the Baby Boom generation that has long engulfed all of us...If you are an American who yearns to finally get beyond the symbolic battles of the Boomer generation and face today’s actual problems, Obama may be your man." Senator Obama has since furthered this line of argument himself, telling Newsweek's Joe Klein that he aims to move past "the dorm fights of the '60s." To younger voters, the culture wars that raged from the sixties to the nineties just don't resonate. They seem like ancient history. To older voters, who lived through the experience and witnessed time and time again how low today's GOP will sink in their pursuit of power, this past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

This is why, Sullivan continued in the Monthly, Clinton's methodical (some might say calculating) persona and incrementalist approach doesn't seem to rankle older voters nearly as much as it does those under 45. "[S]he has internalized what most Democrats of her generation have internalized: They suspect that the majority is not with them, and so some quotient of discretion, fear, or plain deception is required if they are to advance their objectives. And so the less-adept ones seem deceptive, and the more-practiced ones, like Clinton, exhibit the plastic-ness and inauthenticity that still plague her candidacy. She’s hiding her true feelings. We know it, she knows we know it, and there is no way out of it." To many older liberals and progressives, who've experienced one dismal setback after another since the heydays of the New Frontier and Great Society, the Clintonian brand of cautious pragmatism often seems the only viable approach to moving the country forward. Put simply, you get burned enough times, you stop using the stove. This time, irony isn't the shackles of youth, but of their parents.

The sheer fact of Clinton and Obama's presidential candidacies, I think, also plays a part in the wide generation gap. The great liberal and progressive victory of the Boomers, one that merits them the moniker "greatest generation" just as readily as fighting WWII does their parents, is the sweeping and (for the most part) successful cultural transformation of race and gender in American life. This is not to say that racism and sexism don't continue to fester in America, both individually and institutionally -- Of course they do, and they're all the harder to root out for having gone underground. But, thanks to the civil rights revolutions of the 1960s and 1970s, younger people tend to view race, gender, and other issues of identity as much more fluid concepts than most Boomers do. While many older voters still possess vividly etched memories of separate drinking fountains, grotesque sexism in the workplace, and fire hoses trained on children, Generations X, Y, and Z grew up sharing a multiracial consumer culture of MTV, The Cosby Show, hip-hop, Tiger Woods, Eminem, etc. Similarly, I think it's safe to say that people under 50 are much more likely to have had a female boss at one point or another. (Counting 'em up, I've worked under more women than men, and I doubt I'm in a slim minority on that point.)

Put simply, and while being careful not to overstate the case, categories like race and sex just don't seem as defining to the youth of today. Boomers fashioned this new world through blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice, but -- like Moses at the Promised Land -- they can't enter it as readily as their children and grandchildren. This is part of the reason, I think, why, anecdotally speaking, older columnists seemed so much more taken aback by Obama's victory in lily-white Iowa. This also partly explains why Clinton seems to enjoy the strong support of older women. They remember a considerably lower and less permeable glass ceiling -- and the considerable struggle it required to break it -- while many younger women seem to more readily presume (as I do) that sex isn't really a barrier to the presidency anymore.

Now, the response to an older Clinton voter to all of these arguments thus far might be something along the lines of "Just you wait...We know better than you, sonny. Obama may seem like a rock star, but we can see there's no substance to him." But, it doesn't do any dishonor to older voters to suggest in return that maybe this is the moment to forsake a lifetime of dashed hopes and bet on the possibility that the time for a new, expanded progressive coalition has finally come. This is not an easy thing to do. As accomplished and dedicated a reformer as Jane Addams, part of a progressive generation for which I have great empathy, couldn't bring herself to vote for Franklin Roosevelt in 1932, and she was not alone.

Still, there's something strikingly dismaying about watching Clinton and other members of her generation dismiss Obama's message as merely "false hope" (a particularly vicious phrasing) and empty rhetoric. This is the same generation who recoiled from the tested, experienced establishment candidate in 1960, despite his considerable national security credentials, and flocked to the young, hopeful standard of Camelot. This is the same generation who, buoyed by the words of Dr. King, swelled the ranks of the civil rights movement, and who -- disgusted by the continuance of a badly thought-out war overseas -- was inspired by the moving oratory and surprising crossover appeal of Robert Kennedy.

Those leaders were all tragically taken from us, of course, two of them forty years ago this spring and summer. It's maddening to think of how the past four decades might've played out had we the opportunity of their continuing leadership and inspiration. And it's been a long time, far too long, since we've seen anyone on the left who can be mentioned in the same breath as those fallen leaders without hyperbole. But, look at those Iowa numbers again. Maybe, just maybe, that wheel has finally come full circle. Maybe, Senator Barack Hussein Obama is the real deal. Maybe he's the candidate who can transcend the sad political paradigm we've been operating under since 1980 and bring about that long overdue progressive realignment. We've only seen one caucus, of course, but the game moves fast in 2008, and all the indicators seem to suggest he's got "it." If you're not going to stake a chance on him now, what, then, are you waiting for?

I started this entry with a Bob Dylan song. I'll end with another, one I listened to on Friday for the 1,000th time and "heard" like it's the first time. (It sounds completely different when unburdened for a few moments by the ironic punchline of the years after 1968.) If it seems like GitM has become all-Obama, all-the-time since last Thursday, well, there's a good reason for it. Right now, I truly believe we're standing at a crossroads moment, one that could all too easily become evanescent, another missed opportunity in a political lifetime that doesn't offer many of them. But if, on Tuesday, New Hampshire nurtures the spark set in Iowa last week, and Nevada and South Carolina kindle the blaze, we could be looking at a full-fledged progressive wildfire across the nation come SuperduperTuesday. So, to the older voters -- and to any voters -- who, for whatever reason, may be harboring doubts about Barack Obama, give him another look. We're at the first hinge of 2008, and what we do in the next few days and weeks will echo profoundly throughout the next several years of our governance. The old road is rapidly agin', y'all. So please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand, for the times, they could be a-changin'.

An Early Round Knockout...

...or a new Democratic Frontrunner?

Barring a split decision of some kind, we should have our first real sense of how Election 2008 will all shake out by late this evening. Obviously, it seems somewhat bizarre to choose our two presidential candidates -- a full eleven months before Election Day -- solely by who can best navigate the byzantine complexities of the Iowa caucus system. But the cycle being as accelerated as it is, and with money, name recognition, and the post-Iowa press bounce playing the roles that they do, it's hard to see any other Democratic candidate gaining enough traction between now and Super Duper Tuesday (February 5) to stop Senator Clinton should she win tonight. And -- given her high negatives -- it's almost as hard to envision how Clinton might be able to come back should she definitively lose Iowa and New Hampshire to Obama or Edwards. So, with that mind, it's seems like the last, best time to write up an primary endorsement. Now, as long-time readers might remember, I threw myself behind Bill Bradley in 2000 and tepidly endorsed Howard Dean in 2004, so the track record around here isn't too good. But, hope springs eternal, so regarding 2008...

THE REST OF THE FIELD:

Even if it is a bit unfair, the fact that no other candidate besides the top three is breaking the 15% viability threshold in the polls helps facilitate clumping them together like this. Still, in a perfect world, CHRIS DODD in particular would merit a closer look from voters. An experienced Senate progressive who's stressed the importance of universal service, Dodd would likely make a fine president. But, for whatever reason, Dodd never established the media presence to be a true contender in 2008, and he goes down as the top of the second tier.

Senator JOE BIDEN has run a much better campaign than I ever expected, particularly given his dismal performance during the Alito hearings and his "clean and articulate" flub out of the gate. Indeed, Biden has shown a nuanced understanding of global issues and an impressive command over the foreign policy domain, and he has distinguished himself in debates with wit and (surprisingly enough) brevity. If he is inclined to take the job, I expect he'd make a fine Secretary of State in the next Democratic administration (although he may face some competition from the likes of Richard Holbrooke, particularly if Clinton wins the nomination.)

His considerable record notwithstanding, BILL RICHARDSON has never made a positive impression on me this election cycle. He has scowled his way through debates (when he wasn't capitulating to Clinton), he's shown himself to be a practitioner of the Dubya Fratboy school of leadership (nicknames, backslapping, etc.), and I've yet to hear anything from him that seems even remotely inspiring. In a way, he's been the Fred Thompson of the Democratic side -- the theoretical Dark Horse candidate who's been a total non-starter. At any rate, the fact that the New Mexico Governor can't even break the top three in nearby Nevada suggests his presidential bid isn't long for this world. (For what it's worth, he's apparently asked his supporters to back Obama in the caucuses.)

As in the 2004 cycle, DENNIS KUCINICH has been a breath of fresh air on stage -- he's the one (semi-viable) candidate who unabashedly refuses to join his colleagues in the protective camouflage of GOP-lite centrism. (This is no small feat given how reflexive this knee-jerk "triangulating" tendency has become among Dems in recent years.) Still, even he recognizes that Iowa will not be kind to him, and has also asked his supporters to vote Obama. So, (MIKE GRAVEL notwithstanding, I suppose, although, despite his impressive record of service, he never seemed much more than a novelty act), that leaves the Big Three:

HILLARY CLINTON:

Senator Clinton is a smart, tough, and formidable leader, and although the presidential merits of her experience as First Lady has lately been called more into question, no one can deny that she's a battle-tested veteran of the partisan wars of the 1990s, or that she's the candidate most accustomed to the vicissitudes of the GOP attack machine. She'd make a very good president, particularly compared to George W. Bush and any Republican running.

Still, I've already described my major concerns about Clinton's candidacy here, here, and particularly here, so if you'll permit me to quote from that last entry, my issues are thus: "[1] She's thoroughly lousy on campaign finance reform, to my mind the issue that bears on virtually all others; [2] she apparently didn't have the wherewithal or leadership instincts to realize the Iraq war was a terrible idea in 2003 (it didn't take all that much to figure it out, particularly when you figure how much more information Clinton had access to than we did); [3] her view of centrism is apparently to act like Joe Lieberman every so often; and [4] most of the nation has already decided for various reasons that they don't like her." Once you factor in her unseemly corporate backers, her woeful view of human rights versus national security, her recent campaign missteps and tribulations, and the dynasty issue to that list, I find it hard to get very enthused about Senator Clinton's candidacy.

If 2004 taught us anything, it's that the electability issue is a bit of a canard. We picked John Kerry because we believed he was more "electable" than Howard Dean, and that may have even been true. But can anyone name a single state that Kerry won in the general election that Dean wouldn't also have carried? All that being said, given her very strong negatives, I do think Senator Clinton is not only the least "electable" of the Big Three, but the only candidate -- in either party -- who could manage to reunite the fractured GOP this cycle. It may not be her fault, but she will invariably bring out the wingnuts in force to vote against her. I'd even go so far as to say that the GOP is banking on Hillary Clinton as the Democratic nominee. It's the best possible outcome for them, and they know it.

And given that the leadership Clinton offers is the same unambitious and uninspiring blend of triangulated-to-death DLC centrism practiced by her husband, why even take the chance? This is not to say Bill Clinton was a bad president, not at all. Given the times he was working in and the low-down, unprincipled miscreants he was often forced to contend with, you could even say he accomplished amazing things, once he got his sea legs. Still, we are now at a moment when the Republican party is in rout. The conservative movement which began in 1964, coalesced during the 70's and 80's, and gave us the likes of Reagan, Gingrich, and Bush has now -- at long last -- been thoroughly discredited. Our nation has paid a heavy price for this realization, in both blood and treasure. Now more than ever, it is time for Democrats to shake off the protective camouflage and step into the sunlight. Put simply, it is time for change.

JOHN EDWARDS:

John Edwards is a candidate I've always thought highly of and, indeed, I voted for him in the NY primary in 2004. While he got off to a shaky start this cycle, Edwards -- arguably the candidate with the most to win or lose today -- has improved considerably over the past few months. In fact, I probably agreed with him more than any other candidate onstage in most of the debates. He was often the only person to suggest that the current system is fundamentally broken, and that stronger lobbying and campaign finance laws are needed to cleanse the taint of money from our political process and to make it responsive again to the needs and aspirations of everyday voters. As I said in the two long posts on progressivism several weeks ago, I agree -- as many progressives did a century ago -- that the unchecked influence of vast sums of money in Washington is arguably the central political problem facing our republic. Countless terrible decisions made by this administration, and by their Democratic counterparts in Congress, flow directly from the sad fact that dollars speak louder than people. And all the 12-point policy proposals in the world on health care, taxes, education, whathaveyou, won't change a thing until this underlying problem is recognized and rectified. To my mind, Edwards should be applauded for ringing the alarm bell loudly and strongly. (Not for nothing has Ralph Nader endorsed him.) If this argument carries Edwards all the way to the presidency, the result would almost assuredly be good for the country.

That being said, if I were caucusing in Iowa today, I would not be voting for John Edwards. Not because of any fault of Edwards -- he's my strong second choice -- but rather because I think there is one other candidate out there who shows more progressive potential. More on him in a moment, but, before I switch topics, here's the rub. As much as I admire Edwards for articulating the problem before us, I don't actually agree all that much with his solution to that problem. Put simply, Edwards is sounding the chord of populism, and populism is not progressivism. Populism speaks in a language of class, of insiders and outsiders, of haves and have-nots. Populism is often characterized by free-floating anger towards an elite "insider" cadre of some sort, and, while it's reductionist to group everyone together like this, populism has worked as well for Tom Watson and Huey Long as it has for Joe McCarthy and Ronald Reagan. It's a blunt instrument that despises elites of any kind and relies on and perpetuates an us-versus-them mentality among Americans. From everything I've seen of him in the debates and otherwise, John Edwards isn't really using the inclusive language of progressive citizenship to make his case. He's wielding the often divisive cudgel of populism. Now, if I have to pick a side, I'm obviously with the people against the oligarchs. And if this is the only way America will wake up and recognize the stench of legalized corruption, so be it. But I still think this nation will embrace civic progressivism along the lines I recently discussed, given the right leadership...

BARACK OBAMA:

If Edwards has been articulating the key progressive problem -- corruption in government -- then Barack Obama embodies the key progressive solution. Like no other candidate we've seen on the Left in nearly a half-century, Obama has the potential to restore Americans' faith in government and bring people back into the political process. Many skeptics among the punditry have derided Obama as a "hopemonger," but, to my mind, his optimistic appeal shouldn't be taken lightly. In a country where less than half of us vote anymore, anything that encourages people who have felt disenfranchised to look anew at or become enthused about our common citizenship is a godsend. In short, Obama -- young, thoughtful, intelligent, charismatic -- seems the only candidate with the potential to spark a true progressive revival. True, Obama isn't quite speaking the language of progressivism yet. But he's been veering closer to it than either Clinton or Edwards (Note, for example, the line quoted in his stump speech at the link above: "Americans all across the country are hungry for -- desperate for -- a new type of politics. Something different. A politics focused not on what divides us but on our common values and our common ideals." This argument that we are one people, all in it together and bound together as citizens by our commonalities, is the very warp and woof of civic progressivism.)

What goes for the nation goes for the globe. As Andrew Sullivan noted in his endorsement of Obama back in November, an Obama presidency single-handedly "rebrands" the United States in the eyes of the world. No other candidate running suggests so immediately and profoundly that we live by the democratic ideals we espouse, that we are a nation of diversity committed to individual flourishing, and that America is a land where anyone and everyone has the opportunity to rise to their full potential.

This holds true for our enemies as much as our friends (many of whom will be glad to see anyone but Dubya in the Oval Office.) As Sullivan put it, "Consider this hypothetical. It’s November 2008. A young Pakistani Muslim is watching television and sees that this man -- Barack Hussein Obama -- is the new face of America. In one simple image, America’s soft power has been ratcheted up not a notch, but a logarithm. A brown-skinned man whose father was an African, who grew up in Indonesia and Hawaii, who attended a majority-Muslim school as a boy, is now the alleged enemy. If you wanted the crudest but most effective weapon against the demonization of America that fuels Islamist ideology, Obama’s face gets close. It proves them wrong about what America is in ways no words can."

Progressive potential and global symbolism aside, Obama has shown himself to possess the requisite talents needed to make an excellent president. As we all know, he was the only major candidate with the judgment to speak out against the Iraq War from the start. In debates, he's proven himself light on his feet and displayed a quick, voracious mind. (As Slate's Michael Kinsley put it, "When I hear him discussing some issue, I hear intelligence and reflection and almost a joy in thinking it through.") During his tenure in the Senate, he's shown a pronounced ability to work with people across the aisle, and counts among his friends and working partners such paleolithic conservatives as Sam Brownback and Tom Coburn. His Dreams from My Father testifies to a life of travel and experience that would serve him well in the Oval Office. And, unlike Senator Clinton, Obama has been a friend to campaign finance and lobbying reform, which remains crucial to any real change happening in the next four-to-eight years.

Now, obviously there are some lacunae surrounding Obama. He is a young man, and relatively new to national politics. He has admittedly been vague at times, and could have done considerably more these past few months, when given the nation's ear, to highlight the issues he finds important. There's a possibility -- maybe even a strong possibility -- that he'll end up a Tommy Carcetti-like president: a well-meaning reformer outmatched and buffeted to and fro by the entrenched forces arrayed against him. After nearly eight years of Dubya, Washington is pretty screwed up these days, and I'm not naive enough to think any one politician can undo all the damage that's been wrought in recent years. Still, given the Democratic field, my money's on Barack Obama. He has the potential to be a very special candidate -- the kind that comes around only once or twice a generation -- and I hope this evening sees the first of many successes for his campaign.

GitM votes Obama.

Happy New Year, everyone. So unlike last year, when I took an extra month on account of my travels in New Zealand, the Best of 2007 Movie list seems ready to go out on schedule, and it's below. (If you've been reading all the reviews around here, I'm betting the top few choices won't be a surprise. Still, organizing the 5-15 section was more tough than usual this year.) At any rate, 2008 should be a big orbit around the sun in any event, what with grad school winding down and it being time -- at last! -- to pick a new president. So a very happy new year to you and yours, and let's hope the movies of the coming year will contain to sustain, amuse, baffle, and delight.

1. I'm Not There: "There was a movie I seen one time, I think I sat through it twice." Admittedly, it was a wonderful confluence of my interests. Nevertheless, Todd Haynes' postmodern celebration of Bob Dylan, brimming over with wit and vitality and as stirring, resonant, and universal as a well-picked G-C-D-Em progression, was far and away my favorite film experience of the year. It seems to have slipped in a lot of critics' end-of-year lists (although Salon's Stephanie Zacharek also put it up top, and the Sun-Times' Jim Emerson has been championing it too), but so be it -- You shouldn't let other people get their kicks for you anyway. A heartfelt, multi-layered, six-sided puzzle about the many faces and voices of Dylan, l found I'm Not There both pleasingly cerebral and emotionally direct, and it's a film I look forward to returning to in the years to come. Everybody knows he's not a folk-singer.

2. No Country for Old Men: It probably won't do wonders for West Texas tourism. Still, the Coens' expertly-crafted No Country works as both a visceral exercise in dread and a sobering philosophical rumination on mortality and the nature of evil. (And in his chilling portrayal of Anton Chigurh, Javier Bardem has crafted a movie villain for the ages.) People sometimes refer to Coen movies as "well-made" as a dig, as if the brothers were just soulless clinically-minded technicians. I couldn't disagree with that assessment more. Still, No Country for Old Men seems so seamless and fully formed, so judicious and economical in its storytelling, that it reminds me of Salieri's line in Amadeus: "Displace one note and there would be diminishment, displace one phrase and the structure would fall." A dark journey that throbs with a jagged pulse, No Country for Old Men is very close to the best film of the year, and -- along with Miller's Crossing, Fargo, and The Big Lebowski -- yet another masterpiece sprung from the Coens' elegant and twisted hive-mind. Bring on Burn After Reading.

3. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: Through the wonders of cinematic alchemy, Julian Schnabel took the sad real-life account of Vogue editor Jean-Do Bauby's horrific imprisonment within his own body and made it soar. No other film this year put the "locked-in" experience of taking in a movie as inventively in service of its story (although I kinda wish Atonement had tried.) Special kudos to Mathieu Almaric for conveying so much with so little to work with, and to Max von Sydow for his haunting turn as Bauby's invalid father. And, lest someone holds "arthouse foreign film" against it, Diving Bell is both much funnier and more uplifting than anyone might expect of a tale about hospital paralysis. Salut.

[3.] The Lives of Others: The one hold-over from 2006 on the list this year (I was pretty thorough about catching up before posting last January, although I still never did see Inland Empire), The Lives of Others is a timely and compelling parable of art, politics, surveillance, and moral awakening in the final days of the Stasi. In a way, Lives is an East German counterpart to Charlie Wilson's War, a story about how even small political acts of individual conscience can change the world, even (or perhaps especially) in a decaying Orwellian state. With a memorable central performance by Ulrich Mühe and a languid conclusion that ends on exactly the right note, the resoundingly humanist Lives of Others is a Sonata for a Good Man in Bad Times. We could use more of its ilk.

4. Knocked Up: Judd Apatow's sweet, good-natured take on modern love and unwanted pregnancy was probably the most purely satisfying film of the summer. As funny in its pop-culture jawing as it was well-observed in its understanding of relationship politics, Knocked Up also felt -- unlike the well-meaning but overstylized Juno, the film it'll most likely be paired with from now herein -- refreshingly real. As I said in my recent review of Walk Hard, an eventual Apatow backlash seems almost inevitable given how many comedies he has on the 2008 slate. Nevertheless, we'll always have Freaks & Geeks, and we'll always have Knocked Up.

5. The Bourne Ultimatum: The third installment of the Bourne franchise was the best blockbuster of the year, and proved that director Paul Greengrass can churn out excellent, heart-pounding fare even when he's basically repeating himself. Really, given how much of Ultimatum plays exactly like its two predecessors on the page -- the car chase, the Company Men, the Eurotrash assassin, Julia Stiles, exotic locales and cellphone hijinx -- it's hard to fathom how good it turned out to be. But Bourne was riveting through and through...You just couldn't take your eyes off it. I know I've said this several times now, but if Zack Snyder screws up Watchmen (and I'd say the odds are 50-50 at this point), the lost opportunity for a Greengrass version will rankle for years.

6. Zodiac: The best film of the spring. What at first looked to be another stylish David Fincher serial killer flick is instead a moody and haunting police procedural about the search for a seemingly unknowable truth, and the toll it exacts on the men -- cops, journalists, citizens -- who undertake it for years and even decades. Reveling in the daily investigatory minutiae that also comprise much of The Wire and Law and Order, and arguably boasting the best ensemble cast of the year, Zodiac is a troubling and open-ended inquiry that, until perhaps the final few moments, offers little in the way of satisfying closure for its characters or its audience. Whatever Dirty Harry may suggest to the contrary, the Zodiac remains elusive.

7. 28 Weeks Later: Sir, we appear to have lost control of the Green Zone...Shall I send in the air support? Zombie flicks have been a choice staple for political allegory since the early days of Romero, but one of the strengths of Juan Carlos Fresnadillo's merciless 28 Weeks Later -- perhaps the best horror sequel since James Cameron's Aliens -- is that it foregoes the 1:1 sermonizing about failed reconstructions and American hubris whenever it gets in the way of the nightmare scenario at hand. (Besides, if you wanted to see explicit muckraking about current events this year, there were options aplenty, from In the Valley of Elah to No End in Sight, although plenty of this year's politically-minded forays -- Rendition, Lions for Lambs -- looked rather inert from a distance.) There's little time for moralizing in the dark, wretched heart of 28 Weeks Later: In fact, the right thing to do is often suicide, or worse. You pretty much have only one viable option: run like hell.

8. In the Valley of Elah: Paul Haggis' surprisingly unsentimentalized depiction of the hidden costs of war for the homefront, Elah benefits greatly from Tommy Lee Jones' slow burn as a military father who's lost his last son to a horrific murder. In fact, it's hard not to think of Jones' inspired performances here and in No Country of a piece. There was something quintessentially America-in-2007 about Jones this year. In every crease and furrow of this grizzled Texan's visage, we can see the wounds and weariness of recent times, the mask of dignity and good humor beginning to slip in the face of tragic events and colossal stupidity. Jones is masterful in Elah, and while Daniel Day-Lewis seems to be garnering most of the accolades for There Will Be Blood and Philip Seymour Hoffman stunned in three pics this fall (all on the list below), I'd put Jones' work here as the best of the year.

9. There Will Be Blood: Ah, the maddening There Will Be Blood. I just reviewed this one yesterday, so it's doubtful my opinion on it has changed much. But what Anderson's film reminds me of most at the moment (and not only for the Daniel Day-Lewis connection) is Scorsese's Gangs of New York, a movie I reviewed at the end of 2002 and then bumped up a few spots a week later when writing the 2002 list, thinking that its flaws would diminish over time. They haven't -- if anything, they're just as noticeable as ever. So it may well be with TWBB. Even despite its somewhat unseemly pretensions to greatness, the first hour or so of There Will Be Blood, from the Kubrickian opening to the Days in Heaven-ish burning oil rig, is as powerful and memorable as you could ever want in a film. But TWBB loses its way, and the second half is a significantly less interesting enterprise, ultimately culminating in that goofy, illogical bowling alley ending. I'd characterize Blood as a significant step forward for PTA, and there's something to be said for getting even this close to a masterpiece. But he hasn't struck black gold yet.

10. Hot Fuzz: While I personally still prefer Shaun of the Dead, this fish-out-of-water, buddy-cop action spectacle proved the droll British team of Nick Frost, Simon Pegg, and Edgar Wright can't be considered one-hit-wonders (and that they're as savvy about certain pop culture tropes as their American colleagues in the Apatow camp.) And, while I didn't see Elizabeth II: The Golden Age, Hot Fuzz may well include the second-best Cate Blanchett performance of the year.

11. Gone Baby Gone: First-time director Ben Affleck acquits himself well with this chronicle of missing children and seedy n'er-do-wells in working-class Boston, wisely choosing to stick with a town and a leading man he knows like the back of his hand. His brother Casey holds his own, and crime author Dennis Lehane's original source material provides some compelling twists-and-turns throughout. And, as the drug-addled, quick-to-dis Townie mom who's lost her baby, The Wire's Amy Ryan gives arguably the Best Supporting Actress performance of the year (although she'll likely get some run from Blanchett's Jude Quinn.)

12. Michael Clayton: Clooney's impeccable taste in projects continues with this, Tony Gilroy's meditation on corporate malfeasance and lawyerly ethics (or lack thereof.) The bit with the horses still seems a convenient (and corny) happenstance on which to hang such a major plot point, and I found Tilda Swinton to be overly mannered and distracting for much of the film's run. But most else about Michael Clayton, from Sidney Pollack's Master of the Universe to Michael O'Keefe's snide, unctuous #2 to Tom Wilkinson's last scene to Clooney not rebounding as well to events as, say, Danny Ocean, rang true. A small film, in its way, but a worthwhile one.

13. Charlie Wilson's War: Another one I wrote on in the past 24 hours, so I don't have much to add. Perhaps the best thing about Mike Nichols and Aaron Sorkin's adaptation of Crile's book is that it "gets" politics like few recent Washington thrillers I can think of. Philip Seymour Hoffman shows impeccable comic timing as the gruff Gust Avrakotos, and he works very well with Hanks here, who's gone from being overexposed a few years ago back to a guy I wouldn't mind seeing more of, particularly if he continues along the Alec Baldwinish character actor path Wilson sometimes suggests could be his future.

14. The Savages: I actually thought about putting Tamara Jenkins' The Savages higher on this list, and few other movie endings this year hit me in the gut quite like this one. But, there are definite problems here, such as the wheezy Gbenga Akinnagbe subplot, which compel me to keep it here in the mid-teens. Still, this comedy about an ornery lion in winter, and the battling cubs who have to come to his aid, is a worthwhile one, and particularly if you're in the mood for some rather black humor. As Lenny the senescent and slipping paterfamilias, Philip Bosco gives a standout performance, as does Hoffman as the miserable Bertholdt Brecht scholar trapped in deepest, darkest Buffalo.

15. Before the Devil Knows You're Dead: Now, Before the Devil is a movie I did end up seeing twice, on account of Brooklyn friends who were looking to catch it, and the film didn't bring much new to the table on that second viewing. Still, Sidney Lumet and Kelly Masterson's lean family tragedy benefits from several excellent performances -- most notably by Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Marisa Tomei, and Albert Finney, but also in supporting work by Amy Ryan, Michael Shannon, Brian O'Byrne, and Rosemary Harris -- as well as a memorable Carter Burwell score. (Also, it's just a coincidence that the three Hoffman movies ended up in a row like this -- Still, it's a testament to the man's ability that he seemed unique and fully formed in each. Then again, the only time I can think of that Hoffman was actually bad in a film was Cold Mountain, which was pretty glitched up regardless.)

16. Sunshine: Along with There Will Be Blood, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland's exasperating Sunshine is the other film this year that saw an amazing first hour become undone by breathtakingly poor choices on the back end. Unlike the halting, confused slide of TWBB, though, the moment where Sunshine slips the rails is clear-cut and irrefutable: It's when what had been a heady science fiction tale about a near-impossible mission to the heart of the sun became instead an unwieldy space-slasher flick, i.e. basically an Armageddon variation on Jason X. The wreckage this subplot makes of what had been a superior hard-sci-fi film is more than a little depressing...Still, for that first hour, Sunshine is really something, perhaps the best realistically-portrayed outer space voyage we've seen on-screen in years.

17. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford: Andrew Dominik's sprawling psychological western about the end of the West and the early days of American celebrity-worship is every bit as ambitious and flawed as PTA's There Will Be Blood. Still, maybe it's the often stunning Roger Deakins cinematography, or the lively character actors (Sam Rockwell, Jeremy Renner, Garret Dillahunt) in the margins of the film, or maybe it's even the terrible omniscient voiceover, which is every bit as distracting as the similarly ham-handed one in Little Children, and so goofy at times it verges on endearing. Whatever it is, I warmed to Jesse James more than I probably should, and for whatever reason I feel more willing to forgive it its considerable problems. If you blinked, you probably missed its theatrical run...but maybe it'll find new life on DVD, when the 160-min running time won't seem so off-putting.

18. I am Legend: When the film focused on Will Smith and his dog fighting blood-sucking and badly rendered CGI Infecteds (whose level of social deevolution changed back and forth solely to accommodate turns in the plot), Francis Lawrence's I am Legend could seem pedestrian and forgettable. But, when the movie focused on Will Smith and his dog fighting interminable loneliness in an eerily abandoned New York City, which was most of the first two-thirds of the film, I am Legend was a surprisingly melancholy and resonant blockbuster. What can I say? This one hit me where, and how, I live.

19. Ratatouille: There's no review of this one up -- I actually only saw it on DVD last week. And yet, while Ratatouille is a visual marvel (and Brad Bird and the PIXAR gurus don't seem to make bad films), I found this nowhere near as inventive or entertaining as their last collaboration, 2004's The Incredibles. (I'd put this one at about the level of Cars.) Now, this may in part be due to the fact that I have much more interest in comic book conceits than the culinary arts. (I'd even go so far as to say that I find many foodies -- particularly those who blather on endlessly about Parisian cuisine -- kind of insufferable.) Still, even given my relative lack of interest in the subject matter, Ratatouille bugged me. If "anyone can cook," as Chef Gustave proclaims, why is no one's input ever important but the rat? If it's bad to make money selling pre-cooked (and affordable) food to the teeming masses, as Ian Holm's character tries to do, why is it any better to do what Remy does? (And why should we care then when he and Gustave Jr. move into a deluxe apartment in the sky? I thought this enterprise wasn't about making money.) In short, I thought Ratatouille wanted to have it both ways, cloaking a rather elitist, even snobbish story in the trappings of democratic tolerance. And the closing monologue by Peter O'Toole's Anton Ego, which I thought ostensibly tried to make the movie critic-proof, irked me too. But, all that aside, it does look real purty.

20. Atonement: There were several contenders for this last spot on this list, including Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, The Simpsons Movie, and Jason Reitman's Juno. But in the end I went with Joe Wright's take on Ian McEwan's novel, partly because people I trust who haven't read the book beforehand haven't shared my issues with the film. If nothing else, Atonement looks ravishing, and it features breakout performances by James McAvoy, Romola Garai, and Saiorse Ronan. Still, in a year that saw No Country and Diving Bell, I wish Wright had been less conventional in its approach to the story, and found a way to do the gloomy, misanthropic ending of McEwan's novel justice.

Most Disappointing: The Golden Compass, Grindhouse, Spiderman 3, Southland Tales

Worth a Rental: 3:10 to Yuma, Beowulf, Eastern Promises, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Juno, Live Free or Die Hard, Lust, Caution, Ocean's 13, The Simpsons Movie, Stardust, Superbad, Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story

Don't Bother: 300, Across the Universe, American Gangster, The Darjeeling Limited, Interview, The Invasion, Margot at the Wedding, The Mist, Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End, Transformers, You Kill Me

Best Actor: Tommy Lee Jones, In the Valley of Elah; Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Best Actress: Ellen Page, Juno
Best Supporting Actor: Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men
Best Supporting Actress: Amy Ryan, Gone Baby Gone; Cate Blanchett, I'm Not There

A Good Year For:
• Casey Affleck (Assassination of Jesse James, Gone Baby Gone)
  
• Judd Apatow (Knocked Up, Superbad, Walk Hard)
  
• Josh Brolin (American Gangster, Grindhouse, In the Valley of Elah, No Country)
  
• Michael Cera (Superbad, Juno)
  
• Garret Dillahunt (No Country for Old Men, Assassination of Jesse James)
  
• Full-Frontal Parity (Diving Bell, Eastern Promises, I'm Not There, Walk Hard)
  
• Philip Seymour Hoffman (Before the Devil, Charlie Wilson's War, The Savages)
  
• Tommy Lee Jones (In the Valley of Elah, No Country for Old Men)
  
• Man's Best Friend (I am Legend, The Savages)
  
• Pregnant Hipsters (Knocked Up, Juno)
  
• Seth Rogen (Knocked Up, Superbad)
  
• Amy Ryan (Before the Devil, Gone Baby Gone)
  
• Texans (No Country for Old Men, Charlie Wilson's War)
  
• The Western (3:10 to Yuma, Assassination of Jesse James, No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood)

A Bad Year For:
• The Beatles (Across the Universe, Walk Hard)
  
• Josh Brolin's PETA standing (American Gangster, No Country for Old Men)
  
• Great Cities (28 Weeks Later, I am Legend)
  
• Kidman/Craig Pairings (The Invasion, The Golden Compass)
  
• The Male Derriere (Charlie Wilson's War, Margot at the Wedding)
  
• Standard-Issue Music Biopics(I'm Not There, Walk Hard)

Unseen: Away from Her, Black Book, Black Snake Moan, The Brave One, Breach, Control, Elizabeth II: The Golden Age, Enchanted, Grace is Gone, The Great Debaters, Goya's Ghosts, The Host, Into the Wild, Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten, The Kingdom, The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, The Kite Runner, Lars and the Real Girl, La Vie En Rose, Lions for Lambs, Love in the Time of Cholera, A Mighty Heart, The Namesake, No End in Sight, Once, The Orphanage, Persepolis, Redacted, Rendition, Rescue Dawn, Reservation Road, Romance and Cigarettes, Shoot 'Em Up, Sicko, Sweeney Todd, Talk to Me, This is England, We Own the Night, The Wind that Shakes the Barley, Wristcutters: A Love Story, Year of the Dog, Youth Without Youth

2008: Be Kind, Rewind, Cassandra's Dream, Cloverfield, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Day the Earth Stood Still, Funny Games, Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Hellboy 2: The Golden Army, In Bruges, The Incredible Hulk, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Iron Man, James Bond 22, Jumper, Leatherheads, My Blueberry Nights, The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, Revolutionary Road, Run, Fat Boy Run, Speed Racer, Star Trek, Valkyrie, Wall-E, Wanted, The X-Files 2...let's see, am I missing anything...?

Welcome, 2008. I'll see y'all on the other side.

As of today, I'm 33. More to come soon -- for now, I have to return a rental car (I'm back in NYC) and then, as per the birthday norm, hit up the cineplex...most likely for There Will Be Blood. See y'all in a few.

"And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you -- all of you on the good Earth." Happy holidays to everyone out there. Berk and I are currently at the family homestead, where I'm enjoying home cooking, catching up on work and -- true to form -- checking out some of the better video games of the year: Call of Duty 4, Portal, Rock Band (I'm the frontman.) Hope your own holidays are equally fun and relaxing.

In Francis Lawrence's I am Legend, Will Smith wanders the streets of New York City, his only companion his trusty, loyal, and free-spirited canine sidekick. To stave off the despair and dementia that lurks behind interminable loneliness, he dotes on his dog and immerses himself in routine: He watches as many movies as possible, indulges in his music collection, broadcasts his continued existence into the ether, and throws himself into his work, a solitary investigation marked by repetition and feelings of futility, one whose fruits he knows will more than likely go unused and unread. To all of this, I say: Who the hell wants to sit through a movie about the last year and change of grad school? And couldn't they find a sheltie to play l'il Berk? (As for yours truly, I'd have gone Philip Seymour Hoffman or Paul Bettany -- maybe Michael Cera for the flashbacks -- but, hey, Will Smith works too.)

Seriously, though, when I first heard word they were doing another take on Richard Matheson's eerie 1954 novella, and that word was penned by hackmeister Akiva Goldsman and read "We're blowing up the Brooklyn Bridge!", I figured this would be a big budget stinker, along the lines of Alex Proyas' version of I, Robot. And yet, while a action blockbuster has been grafted onto the basic story (and it's moved from suburban California to the heart of Metropolis), Francis Lawrence's I am Legend is surprisingly true to the grim feel of the novella. In short, Legend is a much quieter and more melancholy film than I ever expected. And, while it definitely has some problems, it's probably my favorite big budget blockbuster of the year, with the possible exception of The Bourne Ultimatum. True, Lawrence's take on Constantine in 2005 turned out better than I figured as well. Still, I'm actually quite surprised by how moody and haunting this film turned out to be. (And, give credit where it's due. Like Paul Haggis and In the Valley of Elah, I'm forced to concede that Goldsman might not always be the kiss of death.)

I am Legend begins innocuously enough with a sports report -- It looks like the Yankees and Cubs in the World Series, although LA has an outside shot at a pennant too. But, in the near future, it ain't just the ball players injecting experimental serums anymore. As a doctor (Emma Thompson) on the news informs us, scientists have altered the measles to work as the ultimate body-cleansing virus, in effect working as a cure for cancer. (A Cure for Cancer! This follows the baseball scores?) Cut to New York City, three years later. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, nothing beside remains...except one man (Will Smith) and his dog (Abbey), chasing down a herd of deer through the empty steel corridors of a desiccated Manhattan. (Sorta like Llewellyn Moss in No Country for Old Men, except now that country is everywhere, and the deermeat is worth more than the bag of money.) Clearly, something has gone Horribly Wrong. As we come to discover, that heralded cure backfired in dismal fashion, killing 90% of the Earth's population immediately and turning the rest, a la the rage virus in 28 Days and 28 Weeks Later, into violent, depraved monsters with a taste for blood and a susceptibility to sunlight. This Last Man on Earth is one Robert Neville, an army scientist (blessedly immune to the disease) who spends his days in a Jamesian manse on Washington Square, working on a cure to beat back the infection, and his nights just trying to stay alive. (Put simply, "scientific atrocity, he's the survivor.") But, even with Samantha, his German shepherd, by his side, the loneliness and omnipresent danger are taking their toll. And as he succumbs deeper into hopelessness -- and the creatures show signs of learning -- his coping strategies begin to shift. Forget the cure...Maybe it's time just to chase these Crazy Baldheads out of town...

Now, as I said, I am Legend does have it share of problems. The movie becomes more of a conventional actioner as it moves along, and the last act in particular feels weaker than the rest of the film. Looking exactly like the cave-dwellers in Neil Marshall's The Descent, the CGI creatures have an ill-favored and badly-rendered look, and the more you see of them the less scary they become. Also, in complete counterpoint to what Dr. Neville tells us about the infecteds' "social deevolution," they eventually seem to get behind a Lurtz/Solomon Grundy of sorts. But his presence or authority is never really explained -- he's just a tacked-on Big Bad. I had trouble believing that somebody could've heard of Damien Marley but not his father Bob. (And, since you're seemingly geared to the teeth, Dr. Neville, may I make some suggestions? 1) Infrared scope. 2) Night-Vision goggles.)

All that being said, for most of I am Legend's run it's a surprisingly rich and nuanced film. Will Smith is invariably an appealing presence, but he doesn't rely on his easy charisma or "Aw, hell no!" bluster much here. His performance is tinged with melancholy, and he does some great work in some really awful moments. Also, I feared going in that the canine companion bit would come across as a gimmick, just a cute creature for Smith to bounce off expository monologues. But Sam isn't just Wilson the Volleyball -- she's a living, breathing character of her own. (Nor is she Lassie -- she doesn't seem preternaturally smart, and occasionally does dumb dog things, which seemed all too realistic.) And then there's New York after the Fall, which in itself is a sort of character in the film. In shot after shot (somewhat akin to, but less showy than, the opening Times Square sequence of Vanilla Sky), Lawrence captures the eeriness of this great city laid low. Other than the aforementioned Brooklyn Bridge, "Ground Zero," as Neville now calls it, hasn't been destroyed or ravaged. It's just empty, an overgrown, city-sized echo chamber for his pangs of isolation. (And as the Marley song goes, "It hurts to be alone.") But, hey, even in a desolate New York City, with vampires lurking in the dark places, there are still plenty of fun ways to pass the time, and particularly if you have a good dog by your side.

Friend and colleague Liam of Sententiae et Clamores has tagged me with a meme of eights. And since GitM recently turned 8 and Berk's nearing that age himself, the theme seems apropos anyway...So, without further ado:

8 Passions in my life: film, history, politics, science-fiction, civic progressivism, Berkeley, Guinness/Jamesons, basketball.

8 Things to do before I die: finish the dissertation; conduct a Great American Road Trip; get immersed in the world's Great Cities; have kid(s); write a truly memorable speech; hit the buzzer-beater 3; attend my own book reading; see an Earthrise.

8 Things I often say: "One ticket please."; "Sit!"; "Ok, let's go!"; "Want to go outside?"; "Get on the couch!"; "If you bark again, you're going in the crate."; "Get in the crate!"; "G'night, little buddy."

8 Books I read (or reread) recently: An Aristocracy of Everyone, Benjamin Barber; The Final Solution, Michael Chabon; The Dissident, Nell Freudenberger; Confessions of a Reformer, Frederic Howe; Public Opinion, Walter Lippmann; Paris 1919, Margaret MacMillan; Watchmen, Alan Moore; Villa Incognito, Tom Robbins.

8 Films that mean something to me: Amadeus, Brazil, Miller's Crossing, Annie Hall, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, High Fidelity, The Empire Strikes Back, Fellowship of the Ring.

8 Songs that mean something to me: "Almost Blue," Elvis Costello; "Get the Balance Right," Depeche Mode; "Romeo and Juliet," Dire Straits; "Visions of Johanna," Bob Dylan; "The Beast in Me," Nick Lowe; "Country Feedback," R.E.M.; "If You Wear That Velvet Dress", U2; "Make it Rain," Tom Waits.

8 Living people I'd like to have as dinner guests: The Coens, Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan, Russ Feingold, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Barack Obama, Camille Paglia, Stephanie Zacharek.

8 People I'm passing this on to: This gets tricky, so I'll just pass it on to whomever feels like partaking...enjoy.

"Most of the time, I'm halfway content. Most of the time, I know exactly where it all went." Maybe it's the impending holidays. Maybe it's dissertoral stress. Or maybe it's the weather, or something like that. Still, it was one of those weekends...So, in light of that, Bob Dylan's "Most of the Time" meets Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I never would have chosen this sort of hermit life for myself. But, given this is the hand I'm currently playing, at least there're great movies and great music on my side.

Way to shield the hated heat. Way to put myself to sleep. Ghost in the Machine is 8 years old today. [0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.] Time to take a break? Nah...I can still reach my destination (tho' it's still a ways away.) Until then, as always, whether you're a long-time reader, a first-time visitor, or (most likely) just a lost Googler, thanks for coming by.

"The Accused is a role that demands the ability to transmute technique into the expression of the passionate intensity, psychological pain and pure hatred that drive the character to her gruesome deeds. And in 2007 it also demands a strength of interpretation that can transcend the stylized Americana that makes this work feel museum-piece valuable and dated at the same time. Ms. Murphy managed just that in an impressive role debut on Friday night."

My sister Gillian draws a rave in the NYT for her Fall River Legend on Friday, as excerpted below: "Her auburn hair drawn tightly away from her face into a gleaming skullcap, her pale face tight and impassive above her high-necked dress, she embodied (to borrow the title of a famous piece of feminist literature) the madwoman in the attic -- the Victorian antiheroine who incarnates the rage and anxiety forbidden by a sexually repressive, socially coercive society. There is plenty of dancing for the Accused in 'Fall River Legend,' but it is testament to Ms. Murphy’s acting that the movements became a seamless part of a succession of memorable emotional moments: her little shudder as the details of the violent acts are read out at the beginning; her suppressed amusement and momentary triumph at her father and stepmother’s fear when she first picks up the ax to chop wood; her disbelieving, scarcely allowable pleasure when the young pastor (Sascha Radetsky, also strong in a role debut) offers her love and compassion. By the time Ms. Murphy, alone onstage at the end, threw back her body and opened her arms in a final, anguished embrace of death and her fate, she had made her character simultaneously tragic and real." I was at City Center for both the Friday and Saturday evening shows over the weekend, and while Balanchine's "Ballo Della Regina" honestly didn't make much of an impression on me, I found "Fall River Legend" quite spooky and memorable. Suffice to say, all sharp objects and implements will be well-hidden next time Gill comes over.

Happy Halloween, everyone. While my Shaun of the Dead costume got favorable reviews last October, I've been entertaining vague notions of dressing up as Heath Ledger's Joker this year. (And, as for Berk, my sister Tessa suggested something along the lines of this, which he'd probably prefer to Yoda again.) But, as it turns out, neither Berk nor I have any costume-oriented festivities on the social calendar, so we'll just be sitting home in plainclothes doling out sweets. Still, if you're up for it, the viral marketers at Warner Brothers have initiated a second round of Jokerish shenanigans (a la Comic-Con) over at whysoserious.com, which involves a photo scavenger hunt across several major cities. If you play along, watch out for Bats. Update: As per the norm, that didn't take long. The hidden message, give or take a few letters, reads: "The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules." So, what happens next? Update 2: Guess I should've made that costume after all. After revealing this new pic, the new site (http://www.rorysdeathkiss.com) asks for people to dress as the clown in question and take a pic in front of a famous landmark. Have fun with it, y'all.

Congratulations and best wishes to high school friend Eric and his new wife Wendy, who tied the knot over the weekend in Houston. (I was in attendance, completing my 2007 wedding tour that's included stops in Louisville and Berkeley...Congrats again to all.)

"For those who attempt it, the doctoral dissertation can loom on the horizon like Everest, gleaming invitingly as a challenge but often turning into a masochistic exercise once the ascent is begun. The average student takes 8.2 years to get a Ph.D.; in education, that figure surpasses 13 years. Fifty percent of students drop out along the way, with dissertations the major stumbling block. At commencement, the typical doctoral holder is 33, an age when peers are well along in their professions, and 12 percent of graduates are saddled with more than $50,000 in debt." By way of Little Bit Left, a new site by a Columbia colleague that's well worth adding to the blogroll, the NYT surveys the sad plight of the modern ABD. (I'll be 33 at my current expected finish date, seven years after starting, and my cohort's attrition rate has been significant, so it seems the stats bear out in my case.) "Those who insist on dissertations are aware that they must reduce the loneliness that defeats so many scholars...'It’s easy, especially in our field, to feel isolated, and that tends to slow people down...There’s no sense of belonging to an academic community.'" Oh, I dunno...Berk and I often have very scintillating conversations...progressive citizenship, New Era consumerism, socks, squirrels, you name it.

A hearty congrats to former Columbia colleague Ted (of The Late Adopter) and his wife Reshima on the birth of their daughter last Thursday. I expect she will be well-versed in both American history and movie lore from a very young age.

With the aid of an eagle-eyed reader, whom I met at my friend Steve's wedding in Louisville last August and who saw it on sale, I went ahead yesterday and procured ghostinthemachine.com. The blog's been here at .net for five and half of its almost eight years, and is pretty well-established here. (Put another way, it seems like GitM already has all the readership it's ever going to get.) Still, I figured it couldn't hurt to finally pick up the .com addy I'd been eyeing since '99, and which now bounces to this site. At any rate, if you've been using ghostinthemachine.net to get here, go ahead and keep doing so. But, if .com strikes your fancy more...well, now that works too.

So where are the strong? And who are the trusted?> Why, Bob and Elvis, of course, and they're in the Nutmeg State, or at least they were last night. As promised, I caught the traveling Dylan-Costello tour over the weekend in (relatively) nearby Bridgeport, CT. The setlists:

Elvis: (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes | Either Side of the Same Town | Veronica | The River in Reverse | Down Among the Wine and Spirits | Bedlam | From Sulfur to Sugar Cane | Radio Sweetheart/Jackie Wilson Said | (What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding? | The Scarlet Tide

Bob: Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat | It Aint Me, Babe | I'll Be Your Baby Tonight | You're a Big Girl Now | Rollin' and Tumblin' | Workingman's Blues #2 | 'Til I Fell In Love With You | When the Deal Goes Down | Honest With Me | Spirit on the Water | Highway 61 Revisited | Nettie Moore | Summer Days | I Shall Be Released

Encore: Thunder on the Mountain | Like a Rolling Stone

Taking the second act first (well, third -- as in Bob's Beacon stand in 2005, Amos Lee was the *real* opener), Bob's set -- as you can see -- was heavy on the Modern Times, which is an album I never really listened to all that much. (It came out just before I was kicked to the curb last year, at which point it just got consigned to the iPod shuffle dustbin.) And, as I've said before, when it comes to new Bob, I prefer the looming darkness of Time Out of Mind to the rockabilly antics of Love & Theft, which was also represented here a few times. Still, there were a few gems interspersed throughout the set. Bob's post-apocalyptic croak these days doesn't really suit tender ditties like "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight," and on "I Shall Be Released" I was thinking it might even be time to go the Leonard Cohen backup-singer route. But he still got a fair amount of mileage out of "Like a Rolling Stone" and the raucous opener, "Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat," and he looked spry as ever while playing most of the new stuff. Plus on this, my eighth Dylan show (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7), I happily got to scratch off "You're a Big Girl Now" on my own mental checklist of songs to hear the man play live. And, while I'm not sure last night's version quite did the song justice -- A line like "I'm going out of my mind with a pain that stops and starts!" needs the plaintive howl of 1975, not the world-weary rasp of 2007 -- I was glad to hear it made the list regardless.

If I'm being a bit harder on Dylan than usual, it may be because Elvis had just left the building, and he pretty much tore the roof off the place in his set. When I heard he was on the bill, I was wondering who his back-up band might be: The Attractions, The Imposters, or some other permutation thereof. Well, as it turned out, this was a solo stand: just Elvis in black, a few guitars, a spotlight, a microphone, ten chords, and the truth. He played more of his standards when I saw him at the Beacon, but that wasn't a problem here; His too-brief set included a few well-known hits ("Veronica," "PLU"), some golden oldies ("(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes", "Radio Sweetheart"), some as-yet-unreleased songs ("Down Among the Wine and Spirits," "From Sulfur to Sugar Cane"), and even a cover of Van Morrison's "Jackie Wilson Said," and each one burned with clarity and conviction. Among the highlights for me were "Either Side of the Same Town," my favorite song from The Delivery Man, "The River in Reverse" (from his album with Alan Toussaint -- it was a blistering call-and-response number last night), and the anti-war lament "The Scarlet Tide" (also from Delivery Man.) (To his credit, Costello also had a remarkable amount of Bridgeport-specific stage patter last night, from name-dropping the old arena there to paying respect to the father of show business, Bridgeport native P.T. Barnum. Somebody had done his homework.)

Woke up, got out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
and looking at the blog I noticed I was late (heah, heah, heah, heah) in posting a review of Julie Taymor's sadly insipid karaoke-musical Across the Universe. Ever since Ms. Quarles' fourth-grade class in Florence, SC spent a full week on the Beatles -- discussing lyrics, watching A Hard Day's Night, etc. -- they've been a part of my mental landscape. (We also did a week on Edgar Allan Poe -- that had more morbid ramifications on my young brain.) In fact, the Beatles were the first musical group I remember being cognizant of. (Hmm, upon further reflection, that's not entirely true: It seems like ABBA got some run in the house when I was a pre-schooler -- I remember my brother getting this record for Christmas one year...You'll have to ask him if that had anything to do wih him marrying a Swedish gal.) At any rate, from that fateful week of musical schooling to about eighth grade, when I discovered Pink Floyd's "The Wall" and Depeche Mode's "Black Celebration" and anguished adolescence began in earnest, the Beatles were far and away my favorite musical act, (In fact, I was justifiably eviscerated by friends and foes alike for crooning "Yesterday" in the seventh grade talent show -- before my voice had broke -- later prompting the waggish schoolyard riposte: "Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be...ever since that vasectomy...")

But, really, there's no point in going on trying to prove my Beatles bona fides. The fact of the matter is, everyone loves the Fab Four in their own way (and those few who don't are either too cool for school or just certifiable Blue Meanies.) It's hard to think of any band that's as universally beloved as the boys from Liverpool...which is one reason why Across the Universe seems like such a misfire. Given Julie Taymor's considerable talent, on display in Frida and elsewhere, and the ubiquitous fondness for the music she gets to play with, how did the final product end up as tepid and uninspired as what we've got here? Perhaps it's a fault of the karaoke-musical genre -- I didn't much care for Twyla Tharp's riff on Bob Dylan either. But really. Surely a band as influential and inspired as the Beatles deserve something better than a remake of Rent with better music. Unless you're really a completist on matters Liverpudlian, or your iPod's broken or something, I wouldn't recommend crossing the street to see this, much less venturing across the universe.

"Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay?" So pleads Jude (Jim Sturgess, looking like Paul with a hint of George) from the bleak gray oceanfront of what could only be North England. You see, before he started quoting Rubber Soul for effect, Jude was a working-class stiff in Liverpool who, on a youthful journey of self-discovery, set out for the green fields of Princeton University to find and confront his absent WWII GI father. Once arriving at the Ivory Tower, he reunites with dear old Dad, and, more importantly, meets up with the fun-loving, dissolute Max (Joe Anderson), who -- in the natural manner of all Ivy League undergrads -- spends his nights playing drunken golf with his father's borrowed set of "silver hammers." But here's the important point: Max happens to have a little sister with kaleidoscope eyes, the lovely Lucy (Evan Rachel Wood), and -- as you can probably guess -- as soon as Jude sees her standing there, he's got to get her into his life. In any case, Max drops out of college, and he and Jude -- and ultimately, Lucy -- procure tickets to ride to the bohemian paradise of New York City, whereupon they fall in with sultry singer Sadie (Dana Fuchs, a.k.a. Janis Joplin), guitar hero JoJo (Martin Luther, a.k.a. Jimi Hendrix), and crush-heavy misfit Prudence (T.V. Carpio, who, in one of many Beatles puns throughout, first comes in through the bathroom window.) All is groovy in East Village Bohemia, for awhile...but, there's a war going on, man, and all things must pass. Soon enough the Magical Mystery Tour has come to an abrupt halt: Max is drafted, Prudence tunes out, Sadie and Jojo break up the band (with nary a Yoko in sight), and Lucy discovers SDS...leaving Jude once again a loser in Liverpool. But, hey Jude, don't let us down. You have found her, now go and get her...

So, as you can see, the movie is basically just a bunch of Beatles songs assembled in a sort of narrative order. That's fine -- that's what we were all expecting, and the Beatles obviously have a lot of great tunes to work with. But, while there are a few nice visual flourishes at times, more often than not, Across the Universe turns gold into lead: It tries to be transporting, but ends up feeling forced. Part of the problem -- for me at least -- is the rather pedestrian choices made, of which the Lower East Side Rent angle is only one. Obviously, I enjoy American history, or I wouldn't do what it is I do. But, frankly, the Forrest Gumpian, TV miniseriesish "Summer of Love derailed in the jungles of Vietnam" trope has gotten really, really old over the past few years. Can we please find some other period in American history to fetishize, or find some way to tell this story differently? In all honesty, the hackneyed "Paradise Lost" version of the Sixties presented here has become as wheezy a historical contrivance as "The Greatest Generation." (And is there a lazier way to string together a bunch of Beatles songs than "the Sixties experience"? Are they that bound up with their time? Even Tharp's botched Dylanpalooza had its own traveling circus conceit.)

And, speaking of wheezy contrivances, I know I'm probably going to be an army of one on this, but oh well, go ahead and crucify me: I'm so deadly sick of the tired rom-com subgenre whereby our hero/ine does or says something irredeemably stupid in the second act of a movie and loses the object of his/her affection, but then goes all out in the third act with some zany, fearless, and/or bravura romantic display and all is forgiven. You see it all the time, and does life ever really work out like this? Um, no. Yes, I know it's a trope that's as old as the hills, but it is totally and utterly played out. (Offhand, I can think of only Annie Hall and maybe The Science of Sleep as movies that show this type of third-act Hail Mary blowing up in the protagonist's face.) I fully realize that a happy-go-lucky musical based on Beatles tunes may not be the appropriate film to make this stand, but screw it -- I've reached my tipping point. This bird has flown, Jude, so next time hide your love away and cry instead. (And, Ms. Taymor, what with all the Beatles characters here, where's Eleanor?)

Even notwithstanding my more curmudgeonly issues, though, Across the Universe takes some missteps along the way. "Let it Be" makes for a lovely gospel rendition, but it's just about the worst advice you can imagine as a civil rights anthem. And perhaps I'm living easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all I see, but the "bleeding fruit" presentation of "Strawberry Fields Forever" here seemed almost completely wrong to me. But, hey, at least those two songs made an impression. Most of the tunes here never even get that far: Usually played deadly earnest and mostly stripped of any subversiveness therein, the songs as sung by the lead actors here tend to be flat, uninspired, and virtually interchangeable. The only way to tell them apart is in the very occasionally striking visual flourishes, from the myriad of Salma Hayek-y nurses present for "Happiness is a Warm Gun" to the teen-dream Bowlmor lanes conceit of I've Just Seen a Face" (which isn't even the best musical number ever set in a bowling alley -- that still goes to Kenny Rogers' "I Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In" from The Big Lebowski.) Indeed, the trippy visuals often overshadow the bland versions of the songs. The eeriest image in Universe may have been Taymor's weird Jungian bent on the famous Kim Phuc photo, but I'll be damned if I know what it was in there for or remember what song it was in reference to.)

As for the musical guests, Eddie Izzard all but sleepwalks his way through a pained version of "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite," and U2's Bono shows up midway to embarrass himself as a Ken Kesey-type character. This AICN comment nailed it: Bono sings "I am the Walrus" as if it's "MLK" or "Sunday Bloody Sunday," like it's the most important thing ever written. He's meant to be ironic, I guess, but he can't seem to get past his own vanity. But, to be fair, one musician here does ring true: In fact, almost everything that's wrong with Across the Universe is made manifest by his fifteen-second cameo. Joe Cocker is partially famous for his blistering rendition of "With a Little Help From of My Friends" at Woodstock," and, as a homeless guy here, he imbues his one verse of "Come Together" with all the heartfelt passion and hard-fought wisdom he brought to that earlier performance. (After it happened, the audience at my showing spontaneously applauded.) Don't let him be misunderstood: Cocker makes clear these songs mean as much to him as they do to us. He's the only one here able to strip away the saccharine, shrink-wrapped Rent-lite blandness of this whole enterprise and, at least for a moment, do the Beatles proud.

Movable 4.D'oh! update: Ok, with my limited knowledge of css and a lot of trial and error testing of MT 4's template system, this is the new look I've managed to piece together for the front page. Let me know if it's a strain on the eyes or otherwise unpleasant to peruse. Now, time to fix the archives...

Hmm. Ok, as you can see, things look slightly different at the moment. I've been trying to update to Movable Type 4.0, and, while trying to get the individual entry pages to update, it seems I've gone ahead and switched back to the default style. That's recommended anyway, but things might look funky around here for a few days while I get everything working again (and try to figure out how to get my individual entry pages to appear.) Bear with me...and hope I don't permanently break anything.

Update: Well, shoot. I think I broke it. Individual entry pages used to be listed by number. Now they're listed by name. So that means every entry that links to another entry is now riddled with "Page Not Found" errors. This is not good.

Update 2: Ok, that problem is fixed. I had to read up on archive mapping and then navigate my way around this bug, but that seemed to do the trick. Now, to start playing with the look around here. Sigh...MT 4.0 better be something else, 'cause right now I'm feeling like Gob Bluth...I've made a huge mistake.

Update 3: Ok, MT 4.0, autosave be damned, just ate the In the Valley of Elah review I'd been working on for the past hour. And, when it comes to fixing the templates, cutting and pasting is absolutely afflicted. I'm really starting to hate this "upgrade."

A hearty congrats and best wishes to grad school friends Ben and Vivian (he of The Oak) on their nuptials this past Saturday at the scenic Brazilian Room in Tilden Park, high above Berkeley, California. (I was in attendance, but otherwise didn't have much of a chance to take in the Bay Area this trip. I'll be back soon, tho', as Hiram Johnson and I still have some unfinished business.) Also, a very happy birthday to my mother, who turned 60 on Saturday. (And, really, what says "I love you, Mom" more than an alarm clock that speaks in the dulcet tones of Stephen Fry?) Finally -- not that it's anyone's business, but it's important to me -- today marks the one-year anniversary of a crushingly bad break-up, after which it's safe to say life took on a decidedly negative turn. But, hey, the earth has gone around the sun once more, I'm still standing, with my health and lil' Berk in tow, and GitM lingers on. So, onward and upward...Now back to your regular fanboy musings and progressive diatribes.

Charles Francis Murphy, 1923-2007. Yesterday (which was also my mom and dad's 40th wedding anniversary, and the eighth anniversary of my own, briefer nuptials), my grandfather passed away at the age of 84. A former miner and longtime veteran of the US Geological Survey, for whom he worked as a cartographer for the bulk of his career, Grandpa spent his life making maps and friends all over this great big nation, before settling down in Lovettsville, VA, and later, New Bern, NC. Father of six children and grandfather to eighteen, he and my grandmother enjoyed their 63rd wedding anniversary this past February. He will be missed.

Careful, Lius: The Demians are keeping pace. Congrats to college friends Dave and Jessica on the birth of their second son, Ethan, yesterday. I sense there'll be some ferocious one-on-one games outside the Demian garage in fifteen years or so.

A hearty congrats and best wishes to high-school friend Steve and his lovely new bride Alicia as they begin their journey down the road of marital bliss. I was privileged to attend their nuptials this past weekend in the Ken-tuck-ee province, city of Louisville -- "home of the Kentucky Derby and Hunter S. Thompson," according to my US Air pilot -- and it was grand fun. (Our revelry, also a mini-high school reunion of sorts, was probably more in keeping with the spirit of the late Good Doctor...the phrase "alcohol-soaked" comes to mind. That being said, I did manage while there to visit world-famous Churchill Downs long enough to lose ten bucks on what I thought was an aptly-named horse...sigh, you let me down, obiwankenobi, even if the city of Louisville did not.)

Congrats are in order once again to my college roommate Ray and his wife Susan, on the birth of their second child (and first son), Ryan Mo Won Liu, over the weekend. (At left is their daughter Josephine, 2, whom I met at our reunion last month.) So, congrats! (And, remember, it's never too early to start preparing Adam for an NBA career...Think Tiger Woods.)

After a really lousy Continental flight that involved screaming kids, spilled Cokes, and an unscheduled refueling detour to Pittsburgh, I'm back from Seattle and once again on NYC time (some pics of my trip can be found here.) With the aid of high-school, college, and grad-school friends, I was able to explore a good bit of the city -- downtown, Belltown, Ballard, W. Seattle, Fremont, Snoqualmie, Capitol Hill -- and all-in-all I was quite favorably impressed. Seattle seemed driving-intensive, but then again, where, outside of New York and a tiny handful of other cities, isn't? At any rate, much fun was had, and hopefully I'll make it back out to the Pacific Northwest sometime in due course.

Also, since I came back to find over 10,000 spam comments plastered all over the Ghost, I've decided to take drastic action and installed a Captcha system, in the form of Jay Allen's comment challenge. So, if any of y'all want to leave a comment from now herein, you'll need to answer the not-very-tricky "challenge question." (The answer, as the hint basically tells you, is Berkeley.) As a result, the spam ratio around here has gone from 10-15 a minute to none, zip, zero over the past 24 hours. Can the war on spam finally be over? I'm not rolling out the Mission Accomplished banner just yet, but I'm cautiously optimistic.

Hello all...GitM is reporting in from the other side of the country for the next few days, as I'm visiting friends in Seattle this week. It's my first trip to the Pacific Northwest,and, the bus trip from the airport notwithstanding, so far so good -- I'm staying in Capitol Hill and wandered around the downtown and market areas yesterday, as well as, of course, the Science Fiction Museum & Hall of Fame (lots of costumes, props, and first editions) and Experience Music Project. (Unfortunately, the Bob Dylan exhibit was gone from the latter, but there was some good stuff on Jimi Hendrix and the early days of hip-hop.) Alas, the camera was out of batteries, so no pics to share just yet...At any rate, add three hours to the usual GitM update times. (Oops, right, there are no usual GitM update times...ah well.)

"The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen, but that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine." Or something like that. Obviously, I've been taking a break from the Ghost for a few weeks (although, as per the norm, that didn't much upset the thousands of comment spammers -- they still love the site, want to borrow my templates, have their own sites about infinitis, pr0n, prescription drugs, etc. etc.) And, since I'm off to my ten-year college reunion this weekend, I won't be posting much for the next few days yet. But, I figured I should pop my head in and say hello. So, hello. Hope everyone else is having a grand summer thus far. For what it's worth, I do hope to return to a normal schedule around here at some point...we'll see.

Also not noted here this past week, another school year ended here at Columbia. Since I've been on a research fellowship the past few seasons, I haven't been teaching, and I rarely have reason these days to leave my home and/or the campus libraries, other than the occasional trip to the movies, the pub, or the dog park, I've pretty much fallen out of the usual academic rhythms of campus...but, nonetheless, another year has passed, so it seems like a good time for an update.

Not to put too fine a point on it, I did less well than hoped -- as in multiple rejections, some expected, some quite surprising -- in the grant-and-fellowship-securing department for the coming year. But, those disappointments notwithstanding, I have secured enough funding to offset my usual freelance writing projects, and I expect to spend at least one more academic year here at my current New York City apartment, during which quite a bit more dissertation-writing will (and, indeed, will have to) happen. From there, with dissertation presumably in hand, it's either moving on in academia, at some university or another (one likely not of my choosing) or moving back into the political-speechwriting world...these days, well, it's still a toss-up, but I feel it's becoming less so. My future will depend a lot on the well-documented vagaries of the job market, of course, and if, miracle upon miracles, an academic job is available at a university that feels like a good fit, and they actually offer it to me out of the hundreds of qualified candidates, of course I may very well take it. But I've found myself increasingly thinking that I'd probably be happier back in Washington regardless, either in speechwriting or at a progressive foundation/think-tank type place, where there's some sense of being involved in both the unfolding of current events and the daily struggle to make this world a happier, more progressive-minded place.

This is not to say I'm closing any doors. I do enjoy working on my dissertation, and can still lose myself for extended periods of time delving into the past. But, for varied reasons, be they the usual late-term graduate student blues, the often maddeningly parochial nature of many academic conversations, the sheer social isolation of dissertation-writing, or something else (and I can't discount last fall's awful romantic implosion, which cast a pall over the whole year and -- still, beyond any recourse -- wearies and depresses me pretty much daily), I've spent most of the past year feeling profoundly dissatisfied with my current circumstances, so much so that I find it increasingly hard to imagine a life along these lines.

But, we'll see -- as I said, there's still one more year to go. I only mention it here as [a] between the graduates in baby-blue robes everywhere and my impending ten-year college reunion, it's felt like nigh time for a state-of-life update and [b] the disconnect between my everyday state of mind and my GitM-blog voice has been feeling increasingly untenable. I really have no desire to see this site degenerate into weekly whimpering and moaning about woe-is-me grad student angst. (There's enough of that online already and, besides, think grad school is tough? Try Iraq, buddy. Or, for that matter, working minimum wage.) So, I'm getting it out of the way now, in the hopes that voicing my existential discontent once and for all will free me to go back to blogging as normal.

Still, I don't yet know what it is, or what form it will take, but, doggone it, something has to change in my life. Several great trips and the always pleasant company of l'il Berk notwithstanding, another year unfolding like the last one did is really just too depressing to contemplate.

Yes, quiet around here again...I've been acting as a nice, warm incubator for this nasty flu bug for over a week now, and have generally spent the last seven days trying to hack up a lung, breathing haphazardly through a wall of phlegm, and/or lying on the couch in a Nyquil stupor. The good news is I'm feeling slightly better today, although I'm still clearly sick...if it doesn't continue to significantly improve by Wednesday, I'm going to look into procuring some antibiotics. Oh, what fun.

"Sexual tension is at the heart of Hopper's Room in New York, a scenario we peer at through an open window. Home from work, the man reads the sports page. Dressed to go out, the woman plays a single note on the piano, knowing it will annoy him. Their faces are almost as featureless as the blank sheet of music on the piano. Separated by the abstract expanse of the tall brown door, they are literally out of touch. But look a little closer at that fleshy pink armchair...Doesn't that pink chair look unsettlingly like a huge hand, a jutting thumb and curled fingers, ready to clutch the unsuspecting man from behind and give him a shake? Is this the woman's fantasy?"

Mount Holyoke English professor Christopher Benfey surveys "Edward Hopper's secret world" for Slate, commenting at length on a painting whose iconography I've been shamelessly pilfering for years here, at the personal site, and elsewhere. Interesting...I always felt the picture captured a state of anomie and self-inflicted loneliness more than it did sexual tension -- It's a furtive through-the-window look at two people crammed into a tiny little room in New York basically ignoring each other. Or, more to the point, the man at left, caught up in the newspaper (news, not sports!) is so distracted by the world at large that he's shut out his neglected lover at the piano: In his attention to distant events, he's missing out on the beautiful things in his own life. But, hmm, that chair...

Back as of Monday from the Dominican Republic, where I enjoyed a crew reunion weekend in lovely Cabarete, a friendly backpacker-going-on-tourist town rife with European ex-pats and kitesurfing experts. With the local reputation in mind, we spent much of the weekend taking kitesurf lessons at Extreme Cabarete (kitesurfing, skate park...that's extreme in the Harold & Kumar sense), enjoying sun, surf, food, drink, and the rather underwhelming De La Hoya-Mayerweather fight at the many restaurants and nightclubs along the beach, taking in more of the local flavor in neighboring Sosua, and staying up into the wee hours at our hotel, the (highly-recommended) Cabarete East, indulging in marathon sessions of competitive backgammon. (Yep, that's how we roll.) All in all, a very fun trip...although unfortunately a sore throat I brought with me to the island on Thursday had metamorphosed into a full-blown virulent cold by Sunday, and I've been waylaid in bed the past few days trying to recuperate. I must say, it's more fun to feel sick under the Caribbean sun.

Yes, so it's been quiet around here again -- the usual reasons. And, what with the GOP debate this evening and
Spiderman 3 on Friday, there's much to discuss in and around here in short order. But, sadly, GitM is likely off again until early next week, as in a few short hours I'll be flying down to Puerto Plata, in the Dominican Republic, for a travel-reunion with old-friends. Y'see, it was ten years ago this weekend that my lightweight crew boat, though derided in the early standings, won the National Championship, and thus we've all decided to congregate and commemorate the occasion in grand style. (This also means my ten-year college reunion is in a month...my, time flies.) So, at any rate, I'm off to escape the dustbin of history for a bit and go enjoy the sights, sounds, and shores of the DR. Have a good weekend and a safe, happy, and memorable Cinco de Mayo. (And, while Tony Soprano may be correct in noting that "'Remember when' is the lowest form of conversation," I have to say, back then, we were pretty darned fast.)

No, Mayra Daemon, as in Mayra the Hare, because I'm apparently "modest, humble, spontaneous, inquisitive, and solitary." (Well, they got the solitary part right.) Discover your daemon at the official Golden Compass movie site, which does a decent job of trying to explain the basics of Philip Pullman's world to non-readers. (And, sorry, Mayra m'dear, but I've already got a power animal...no hard feelings.)

If you turn twenty in the middle of the woods of New Hampshire, does it make a sound? One hopes...A very happy b-day to my sister Tessa.

A faraway Jupiter-like gas planet, HD 209458b, is found (by some) to have water in its atmosphere. I saw this on Blivet on Friday and spent the weekend dreaming about it: If my sleeping brain can be trusted, HD 209458b has winged, eel-like space reptiles cavorting amidst the gaseous clouds there. Alas, my subconscious makes for a lousy exobiologist: "[A] Jupiter-like gaseous planet such as this one, as opposed to a rocky one like Earth, is highly unlikely to harbour any kind of life." Well, damn.

Personal plug: A book I worked on last summer, the second edition of Robert C. Williams' The Historian's Toolbox: A Student's Guide to the Theory and Craft of History, has just been published. As the intro notes, I "helped add sections on the internet, event analysis, public analysis, public history, oral history, and material culture." But, even before those additions, Williams' book made for an excellent classroom tool for teaching the basics of historiography to undergraduates. I hope it finds some use.

A very happy (and belated) birthday to my sister Gillian, who turned 28 yesterday. (She, I, and her friends and colleagues celebrated with a dinner at Rosa Mexicano last night.) Which, reminds me: tickets are now on sale for ABT's 2007 Spring season at the Met (May 14-July 7), in which Gill will be performing in Romeo and Juliet, Othello, and several other new pieces. Get 'em while they're hot.

So, yeah, another week without a post. What can I say? I'm sick of making excuses about it. Part of it is that I've had freelance work and grant applications taking up much of the week. Part of it is life generally has that bad-tramadol-spam feel to it at the moment, but frankly it's been that way for months now. And part of it is I couldn't really care less about who birthed Anna Nicole's baby, Don Imus doing the Kramer two-step, or a lot of other stories engulfing the news at the moment. So, anyway, updates will happen when they happen, and if you're still stopping by GitM and aren't one of the 3000 comment spammers who happened by this past week, sorry for the lack of new copy.

Sorry it's been quiet so far this week. Not only have I spent most of the past few days preparing a guest lecture for a friend's class (delivered this morning, on "The Political World of the 1920's," went fine), but the Internet connection at the home office has been acting ornery of late. Seems to be up now, though, so I had best link away.

Yes, it's that time of year again: The Madness has come upon us, and, as per our yearly tradition, I've caught up with college friends for our annual reunion over the first weekend of the tourney. (I'm in San Diego at the moment, heading for Santa Barbara tomorrow.) So, updates around here may be infrequent over the weekend...if so, enjoy the first two rounds and be sure to knock back a pint for St. Paddy's.

I know on this front I'm a very late adopter (although not the Late Adopter.) Nevertheless, since my local Blockbuster, which was only slightly farther away than my mailbox (particularly when you factor in Berk's walking needs), has now gone the way of the Betamax, I've signed up for Netflix, in the hopes of maybe edumacating myself about some of the films I really should've seen prior to now. Let me know if you want to share lists and/or become Flixfriends, or whatever it's called. (And, yes, I know Blockbuster has long been a suspect company, but they hired me for my first job during a summer back in high school, so I've given them more credit than they're due for years now.)

Oof, Valentine's Day. Not a holiday I've been looking forward to of late, even if it does provide the chance to write up some favorite songs here, as per recent tradition. As many of y'all surely know, V-Day and all the attending hoopla is rarely much fun when you're single, and it's even worse when you're walking wounded, as I'd number myself these days. To wit: Late last year, I got kicked right in the teeth by someone I was really fond of, and even though it's been many months now since it all went down -- long enough that I really should've just gotten over it and moved on -- most days since then are sadly still kind of a struggle. But, oh well...no hope, no harm, just another false alarm. I've loitered on the Injured List before -- in fact, you could say much of my adult romantic life has been Grant Hillish to the extreme, all burgeoning potential cut short by season-ending injuries -- so I'm pretty sure, at an intellectual level if not yet a gut one, I'll get back in the game someday. In the meantime, here's some music for ya. Usual rules apply: the files will be only up for a few days, right-click to save them, and please don't link to them directly.

For all the genre's many strengths, the slice-of-life relationship song isn't normally what you'd consider a central feature of hip-hop. Cuts like Method Man's "All I Need," Outkast's "Mrs. Jackson," or the Tribe's "Bonita Applebaum" notwithstanding, shake-your-booty jams and odes to the playa lifestyle outnumber romantic ditties by at least five or six to one. "You Got Me," from the Roots' 1999 album Things Fall Apart, numbers among the exceptions. Co-written by Jill Scott (who performed the song in Dave Chappelle's Block Party and on tour for the Roots) and co-sung by Eykah Badu (on the original cut and video), "You Got Me" is a story of a meet-cute ("We used to live in the same building on the same floor and never met before until I'm overseas on tour") that grows into a relationship that works despite the odds ("When you out there in the world, I'm still your girl"), and despite the loose talk all around. ("Lies come in, that's where the drama begins.") It ain't easy for the couple in "You Got Me," but they're making do. They got each other, and most of the time, that's enough to get by. (And bonus points for ?uestlove's infectious drum-and-bass outro -- our time with this pair ends with the fade, but their story clearly continues.)

You Got Me -- The Roots feat. Erykah Badu (3.9MB, 4:19)
(song removed)
From Things Fall Apart.

I picked a Bob Dylan song last year ("Most of the Time"), and I freely admit that, however brilliant, Blood on the Tracks is now one of the hoariest of breakup-album cliches. Still, "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" was on my mind a lot over the past year (see also my review of The Fountain), so it's going up anyway (and, hell, maybe I'll pick a Dylan song every Valentine's Day from now on -- he's got enough to go around.) Here, unlike most of the cuts on the album, Bob is actually happy ("I could stay with you forever and never realize the time.") -- Life is good to him, he's got a good woman by his side. But, though he's ignoring it, the insurmountable problem -- "the crystal...in the steel at the point of fracture," to borrow a phrase from All the King's Men -- is already manifest, a tiny speck on the horizon soon to loom over everything. Despite his euphoria, Dylan can already recognize that this relationship is finite: Eventually, "Yer gonna have to leave me now, I know." So, Dylan listens to the crickets and the river instead, and does his best to relish what happy moments still lie ahead, before the axe inevitably falls. (Everybody and their brother owns Blood on the Tracks -- if you don't, buy it! For you and your brother! -- so I've also thrown in a cover version by Mary Lou Lord. It's a bit alt-chickish, sure, but I prefer it to other versions I can name, such as Elvis Costello's too-jaunty-by-far take on Kojak Variety.)

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go -- Bob Dylan (2.8MB, 2:55)
(song removed)
From Blood on the Tracks.

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go -- Mary Lou Lord (5.3MB, 3:46)

(song removed)

From Hard Rain: A Tribute to Bob Dylan, Vol. 1.

Canada's answer to Dylan, the inimitable Leonard Cohen has also been mining the joys and perils of romantic entanglements for four decades now. To be honest, I'm hit-or-miss with his early stuff, but I just can't get enough of his "Satan's lounge act" later period. (As I've said before, and as with Dylan, Tom Waits, etc., I'm basically a sucker for the "broken, gravelly voices with tales to tell" genre.) Like "Everybody Knows" and "First We Take Manhattan," "I'm Your Man" is one of the better-known songs from Cohen's later incarnation (and the name of a recent tribute documentary to him, which I haven't seen.) "I'm Your Man" combines a lot of Cohen's strengths -- that debauched, plaintive, and world-weary croak, a knack for memorable imagery and earthy allusions (even at his most bathetic, Cohen never lets you forget there's a primal beast that "won't go to sleep" raging inside him, one with carnal appetites inseparable from his professions of love -- see also "In My Secret Life," "Waiting for the Miracle," or countless others), and a second-act twist that complicates what initially seemed to be a straightforward pop ditty. Here, what appeared to be a confident ode to that special gal in his life becomes instead a hail-mary plea for forgiveness. ("I've been running through these promises to you, that I made and I could not keep"), one that he already knows is not going to shake out as he desires ("A man never got a woman back, not by begging on his knees...") The joke is, Cohen's not her man anymore. No matter how many times he says otherwise or tries to contort himself to regain his muse's affections, Cohen is stuck being himself, the guy who blew it somewhere along the line. Sorry, Leonard. At least you got Manhattan.

I'm Your Man -- Leonard Cohen (6.1MB, 4:25)
(song removed)
From I'm Your Man.

Since I already lyric-checked the Smiths earlier in this post, why not go straight to the source? Maybe they just captured a certain zeitgest of feeling alone, different, and melancholy in the Reagan-Thatcher era. Still, the Smiths have a lot to answer for their part in helping to fashion a generation of angst-ridden, self-absorbed romantics (in which I include myself.) Either way, nobody does "way over yonder in the minor key" quite like Morrissey, Marr, & co., who built an entire career on the twisted, solipsistic pleasure one comes to take in excessive moping. What the Smiths perfectly capture in song after song is the narcissism of the whole enterprise. With all the horrible things happening in the world every day to people who don't deserve them, it takes no small amount of self-absorption and lack of perspective to luxuriate in a slough of despond for weeks on end. And yet, we all do it all the time, dwelling on our own petty problems while the world seems to crash and burn -- it's virtually inescapable. In "A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours," probably my favorite Smiths song (well, along with "This Night Has Opened My Eyes"), the band brings this irony front and center. In the lyrics' biting condescension even in the midst of gloom ("people who are uglier than you and I, they take what they need and just leave"), in the vague disreputability of the land-grab metaphor at the heart of the song ("A rush, a push, and the land that we stand on is ours! It has been before, so why can't it be now?"), and in Morrissey's trademark wailing, swooning, and growling, "A Rush, A Push, and the Land Is Ours" captures both the varied emotions and uglier facets of heartache that will attend all too many of us not expecting anything particularly special this holiday Wednesday. (Also, courtesty of Youtube, here's what appears to be the vintage video.)

A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours -- The Smiths (3.5MB, 3:00)
(song removed)
From Strangeways, Here We Come.

However you stand on this Valentine's Day, have a safe and a happy one out there, as always. (And, as I noted last year, if you want more music, Fluxblog does the mp3blog thing day in and day out, and is considerably better at it than I am. And Max of Lots of Co. offers choice dance/techno/pop mixes around the start of every month.)

Hey all. So, quiet around GitM of late, sorry about that. Chalk it up to dissertation fellowship deadline season, that insomnia-in-a-box known as Burning Crusades (ding 70), wintertime anomie, or any or all of the above. But hopefully I'll be better about posting around here this month. I'll try, in any case.

Well, there are still a number of flicks I haven't yet seen -- David Lynch's Inland Empire, for example, which I hope to hit up this weekend. But as the Oscar nods were announced today, and as the few remaining forlorn Christmas trees are finally being picked up off the sidewalk, now seems the last appropriate time to crank out my much belated end-of-2006 film list (originally put off to give me time to make up for my New Zealand sojourn.) To be honest, I might've written this list a few weeks earlier, had it not happened that I ended up seeing the best film of 2005 in mid-January of last year, thus rendering the 2005 list almost immediately obsolescent. But, we'll get to that -- As it stands, 2006 was a decent year in movies (in fact a better year in film than it was in life, the midterms notwithstanding), with a crop of memorable genre flicks and a few surprisingly worthy comebacks. And, for what it's worth, I thought the best film released in 2006 was...

1. United 93: A movie I originally had no interest in seeing, Paul Greengrass's harrowing docudrama of the fourth flight on September 11 captured the visceral shock of that dark day without once veering into exploitation or sentimentality (the latter the curse of Oliver Stone's much inferior World Trade Center.) While 9/11 films of the future might offer more perspective on the origins and politics of those horrible hours, it's hard to imagine a more gripping or humane film emerging anytime soon about the day's immediate events. A tragic triumph, United 93 is an unforgettable piece of filmmaking.

[1.] The New World (2005): A movie which seemed to divide audiences strongly, Terence Malick's The New World was, to my mind, a masterpiece. I found it transporting in ways films seldom are these days, and Jamestown a much richer canvas for Malick's unique gifts than, say, Guadalcanal. As the director's best reimagining yet of the fall of Eden, The New World marvelously captured the stark beauty and sublime strangeness of two worlds -- be they empires, enemies, or lovers -- colliding, before any middle ground can be established. For its languid images of Virginia woodlands as much as moments like Wes Studi awestruck by the rigid dominion over nature inherent in English gardens, The New World goes down as a much-overlooked cinematic marvel, and (sorry, Syriana) the best film of 2005.

2. Letters from Iwo Jima: Having thought less of Flags of our Fathers and the woeful Million Dollar Baby than most people, I was almost completely thrown by the dismal grandeur and relentless gloom of Eastwood's work here. To some extent the Unforgiven of war movies, Iwo Jima is a bleakly rendered siege film that trafficks in few of the usual tropes of the genre. (Don't worry -- I suspect we'll get those in spades in two months in 300.) Instead of glorious Alamo-style platitudes, we're left only with the sight of young men -- all avowed enemies of America, no less -- swallowed up and crushed in the maelstrom of modern combat. From Ken Watanabe's commanding performance as a captain going down with the ship to Eastwood's melancholy score, Letters -- as other critics have pointed out -- works to reveal one fundamental, haunting truth: Tyrants may be toppled, nations may be liberated, and Pvt. Ryans may be saved, but even "good wars" are ultimately Hell on earth for those expected to do the fighting.

3. Children of Men: In the weeks since I first saw this film, my irritation with the last fifteen minutes or so has diminished, and Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men has emerged for what it is -- one of the most resonant "near-future" dystopias to come down the pike in a very long while, perhaps since (the still significantly better) Brazil. Crammed with excellent performances by Clive Owen, Michael Caine, Chiwetel Ejiofor and others, Children is perhaps a loosely-connected grab bag of contemporary anxieties and afflictions (terrorism, detainment camps, pharmaceutical ads, celebrity culture). But it's assuredly an effective one, with some of the most memorable and naturalistic combat footage seen in several years to boot. I just wished they'd called that ship something else...

4. Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan: True, the frighteningly talented Sasha Baron Cohen spends a lot of time in this movie shooting fish in a barrel, and I wish he'd spent a little more time eviscerating subtler flaws in the American character than just knuckle-dragging racists and fratboy sexists. Still, the journeys of Borat Sagdiyev through the Bible Buckle and beyond made for far and away the funniest movie of the year. Verry nice.

5. The Prestige: I originally had this in Children of Men's spot, as there are few films I enjoyed as much this year as Christopher Nolan's sinister sleight-of hand. But, even after bouncing Children up for degree of difficulty, that should take nothing away from The Prestige, a seamlessly made genre film about the rivalries and perils of turn-of-the-century prestidigitation. (There seems to be a back-and-forth between fans of this film and The Illusionist, which I sorta saw on a plane in December. Without sound (which, obviously, is no way to see a movie), Illusionist seemed like an implausible love story set to a tempo of anguished Paul Giamatti reaction shots. In any case, I prefer my magic shows dark and with a twist.) Throw in extended cameos by David Bowie and Andy Serkis -- both of which help to mitigate the Johansson factor -- and The Prestige was the purest cinematic treat this year for the fanboy nation. Christian Bale in particular does top-notch work here, and I'm very much looking forward to he and Nolan's run-in with Heath Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight.

6. The Fountain: Darren Aronofsky's elegiac ode to mortality and devotion was perhaps the most unfairly maligned movie of the year. (In a perfect world, roughly half of the extravagant praise going to Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth would have been lavished on this film.) Clearly a heartfelt and deeply personal labor of love, The Fountain -- admittedly clunky in his first half hour -- gradually builds to a memorable crescendo that manages to be joyful, dirgelike, and awe-inspiring all at once, if you let the film work on you. Ultimately less sepulchral than it is sagacious, The Fountain is an exquisite and visually memorable tone poem that reminds us that all things -- perhaps especially the most beautiful -- are finite, so treasure them while you can.

7. The Queen: A movie I shied away from when it first came out, The Queen is a canny look at contemporary politics anchored by Helen Mirren's sterling performance as the fastidious, reserved, and ever-so-slightly downcast monarch in question. (And Michael Sheen's Tony Blair is no slouch either.) In fact, The Queen is the type of movie I wish we saw more often: a small, tightly focused film about a very specific moment in recent history. Indeed, between this and United 93, 2006 proved to be a good year for smart and affecting depictions of the very recent past -- let's hope the trend continues through the rest of the oughts.

8. Inside Man: The needless Jodie Foster subplot notwithstanding, Spike Lee's Inside Man was an expertly-made crime procedural that seems effortlessly fun, as good in its own way as the much more heavily-touted Departed. It was also, without wearing it on its sleeve, the film Crash should have been -- a savvy look at contemporary race relations, one which showed that there are many more varied and interesting interactions between people of different ethnicities than simply ignoring or "crashing" into each other. (But perhaps that's how y'all roll over in car-culture LA.) At any rate, not to lose the thread, Inside Man is mostly a rousing New York-centric cops-and-robbers pic in the manner of Dog Day Afternoon or The Taking of the Pelham One Two Three, and it's definitely one of the more enjoyable movie experiences of the year.

9. Dave Chappelle's Block Party: Speaking of enjoyable New York-centric movie experiences, Dave Chappelle and Michel Gondry's block party last year felt like a breath of pure spring air after a long, cold, lonely winter -- time to kick off the sweaters and parkas and get to groovin' with your neighbors. With performances by some of the most innovative and inspired players in current hip-hop (Kanye, Mos Def, The Roots, The Fugees, Erykah Badu), and presided over by the impish, unsinkable Chappelle, Block Party was one of the best concert films in recent memory, and simply more fun than you can shake a stick at.

10. Casino Royale: Bond is back! Thanks to Daniel Craig's portrayal of 007 as a blunt, glitched-up human being rather than a Casanova Superspy, and a script that eschewed the UV laser pens and time-release exploding cufflinks of Bonds past for more hard-boiled and gritty fodder, Casino Royale felt straight from the pen of Ian Fleming, and newer and more exciting than any 007 movie in decades.

11. The Departed: A very good movie brimming over with quality acting (notably Damon and Di Caprio) and support work -- from Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin, Vera Farmiga, Ray Winstone, and others -- Scorsese's The Departed also felt a bit too derivative of its splendid source material, Infernal Affairs, to merit the top ten. And then there's the Jack problem: An egregiously over-the-top Nicholson chews so much scenery here that it's a wonder there's any of downtown Boston left standing. But, despite these flaws, The Departed is well worth seeing, and if it finally gets Scorsese his Best Director Oscar (despite Greengrass deserving it), it won't be too much of an outrage.

[11.] Toto The Hero (1991): Also sidelined out of this top twenty on account of its release date, Jaco Von Dormael's Toto the Hero -- Terry Gilliam's choice of screening for an IFC Movie Night early in October -- is definitely one for the Netflix queue, particularly if you're a fan of Gilliam's oeuvre. It's a bizarre coming-of-age/going-of-age tale that includes thoughts of envy, murder, incest, and despair, all the while remaining somehow whimsical and fantastical at its core. (And, trust me: As with Ary Borroso's "Brazil", you'll be left humming Charles Trenet's "Boum" to yourself long after the movie is over.)

12. Tristam Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story: I guess this is where I should be writing something brief and scintillating about Michael Winterbottom's metanarrative version of Laurence Sterne's famous novel, one which gives Steve Coogan -- and the less well-known Rob Brydon -- a superlative chance to work their unique brand of comedic mojo. But I'm growing distracted and Berk has that pleading "I-want-to-go-out, are-you-done-yet" look and Kevin's still only on Number 12 of a list that, for all intent and purposes, is three weeks late and will be read by all of eight people anyway. (But don't tell him that -- In fact, I shouldn't even talk about him behind his back.) So, perhaps we'll come back to this later...it's definitely a review worth writing (again), if I could just figure out how to start.

13. Miami Vice: Michael Mann's moody reimagining of the TV show that made him famous isn't necessarily his best work, but it was one of the more unique and absorbing movies of the summer, and one that lingers in the memory long after much of the year's fluffier and more traditional films have evaporated. Dr. Johnson (and Hunter Thompson) once wrote that "He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." Unfortunately for Crockett and Tubbs here, the same doesn't appear to hold true of needle boats and nightclubs.

14. CSA: The Confederate States of America: I wish I were in the land of cotton...or have we been there all along? Kevin Wilmott's alternate history of a victorious Confederate America is both a savvy and hilarious send-up of history documentaries and a sharp-witted, sharp-elbowed piece of satire with truths to tell about the ignomious shadow of slavery in our past. With any luck, CSA will rise again on the DVD circuit.

15. The Science of Sleep: Not as good or as universally applicable as his Eternal Sunshine (the best film of 2004), Michel Gondry's dreamlike, unabashedly romantic The Science of Sleep is still a worthy inquiry into matters of the (broken) heart. What is it about new love that is so intoxicating? And why do the significant others in our mind continue to haunt us so, even when they bear such little relation to the people they initially represented? Science doesn't answer these crucial questions (how can it?), but it does acutely diagnose the condition. When it comes to relationships, Sleep suggests, all we have to do -- sometimes all we can do, despite ourselves -- is dream.

16. Rocky Balboa: Rocky! Rocky! Rocky! I'm as surprised as anyone that Sly's sixth outing as Philadelphia's prized pugilist made the top twenty. But, as formulaic as it is, Rocky Balboa delivered the goods like a Ivan Drago right cross. Ultimately not quite as enjoyable as Bond's return to the service, Rocky Balboa still made for a commendable final round for the Italian Stallion. And, if nothing else, he went down fighting.

17. Pan's Labyrinth: A fantasy-horror flick occurring simultaneously within a Spanish Civil War film, Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth ultimately felt to me like less than the sum of its parts. But if the plaudits it's receiving help to mainstream other genre movies in critics' eyes in the future, I'm all for it. It's an ok movie, no doubt, but if you're looking for to see one quality supernatural-historical tale of twentieth-century Spain, rent del Toro's The Devil's Backbone instead.

18. Little Miss Sunshine: Another film which I think is being way overpraised, Little Miss Sunshine is still a moderately enjoyable evening at the movies. It felt overscripted and television-ish to me, and I wish it was as way over yonder in the minor key as it pretends to be, but Sunshine is nevertheless a cute little IFC-style family film, and one that does have a pretty funny payoff at the end.


19. The Last King of Scotland: I just wrote on this one yesterday, so my impressions haven't changed much. Still, Forrest Whitaker's fearsomely jovial (or jovially fearsome) Idi Amin, and an almost-equally-good performance by James McAvoy as the dissolute young Scot who unwittingly becomes his minion, makes The Last King of Scotland worth seeing, if you can bear its grisly third act.

20. Thank You for Smoking: It showed flashes of promise, and it was all there on paper, in the form of Chris Buckley's book. But Smoking, alas, never really lives up to its potential. What Smoking needed was the misanthropic jolt and sense of purpose of 2005's Lord of War, a much more successful muckraking satire, to my mind. But Smoking, like its protagonist, just wants to be liked, and never truly commits to its agenda. Still, pleasant enough, if you don't consider the opportunity cost.

Most Disappointing: All the King's Men, X3: The Last Stand -- Both, unfortunately, terrible.

Worth a Rental: A Scanner Darkly, Brick, Cache, Cars, Curse of the Golden Flower, Glory Road, The History Boys, Marie Antoinette, Match Point (2005), V for Vendetta, Why We Fight

Don't Bother: Bobby, Crash (2005), The Da Vinci Code, Flags of our Fathers, The Good German, The Good Shepherd, Mission: Impossible: III, Night Watch (2004), Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Men's Chest, Poseidon, Scoop, Superman Returns, The Wicker Man, World Trade Center

Best Actor: Clive Owen, Children of Men; Forrest Whitaker, The Last King of Scotland; Ken Watanabe, Letters from Iwo Jima

Best Actress: Helen Mirren, The Queen; Q'Orianka Kilcher, The New World

Best Supporting Actor: Mark Wahlberg, The Departed; Michael Caine, Children of Men/The Prestige

Best Supporting Actress: Pam Farris, Children of Men; Vera Farmiga, The Departed; Maribel Verdu, Pan's Labyrinth

Unseen: Apocalypto, Babel, Blood Diamond, Catch a Fire, Clerks II, The Descent, The Devil Wears Prada, Dreamgirls, Fast Food Nation, Hollywoodland, An Inconvenient Truth, Infamous, Inland Empire, Jackass Number Two, Jet Li's Fearless, Lassie, Little Children, Notes from a Scandal, The Notorious Betty Page, A Prairie Home Companion, The Pursuit of Happyness, Running With Scissors, Sherrybaby, Shortbus, Stranger