Page 1 of 1
Pavilion Digest: December 2008
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:17 am
The following posts contain Art Deco Dining Pavilion messages for the month of December 2008.
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:17 am
I discovered the link for this potentially pending creative brouhaha on the Inkygirl website. I thought it might be of interest to the artistically minded:
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 6:03 am
Name: Robert Ross
Apropos of nothing being discussed here, I want to point out just how terrific this last season of THE SHIELD has been, especially the season finale. I've always been a big, big fan of THE SHIELD, and I always thought the praise lavished on other shows such as THE SOPRANOS would more rightfully have been showered on THE SHIELD. Did Vic Mackey wind up the season finale eating onion rings in a scene that may not be really be happening? Of course not.
There were a couple of scenes in particular that really got to me. I don't think I'm spoiling anything to say, when one character says to another, "I'm dying. This is what it looks like," well ... since my new regimen of chemo has left me bald and sick, that got to me. And what ultimately happened to Vic Mackey is PERFECT.
If you've never watched THE SHIELD, you could do far worse than giving it a try. If you like the first few episodes, well, you've got seven seasons to watch. If you don't, the hell with it.
Sometimes slow is worse
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 6:22 am
Hey Gary Lee sometimes slow is worse. I mean global warming is slow but we're sitting here like a dumb ox hypnotized by the headlights...
Speaking of the Mummy...the original Boris Karloff version is a wondeful masterpiece but the 1940s sequels were dismal and pathetic (Tana leaves and shit). But there was always one scene in them which sent shivers down the spines of my brother and my cousin and me sitting there in front of a big ole black & white TV in our jammies with our buzzcuts.
In the middle of the night an old couple would be in bed with the window open and the audience would see the shadowy figure of Kharis (usually poor Lon Chaney) passing by in the night on his way to inact revenge for the desecration of the Holy Tomb...
Steve Barber there was an article in the Post over the holidays about the complaints fliers have had about the TSA and the TSA whining about how hard their job is and how misunderstood they are. They're being given job training on how to be nice...
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 7:13 am
Name: Gary Lee
Yes, the original Mummy was very good and the others during the 40s could never live up to that one but I still liked them Tana leaves and all, there are just some movies that I will watch no matter what, I guess Im very easy to please, here is a short list of things that Ill watch anytime, anyplace.
Any movie with the following in the dialogue.
1. my god, exposed to that much radiation it shouldnt even be alive!
2. form the size of those footprints one things for sure, its not from around here!
3. its been hours and yet the heart is still beating
4. I come for a planet in the Orin system with a warning for all mankind
5. ramming speed!
6. that thing is growing at a phenomenal rate, by morning there may not be a New York!
7. doctor you cant do it, that formula has never been tested on humans!
8. theres nothing to worry about, no creature could live through a blast like that!
9. I havent translated all the inscription yet but it appears to be some kind or warning
10. remember what ever you do dont open that box!
Trying to find a good movie on TVGary.
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 8:56 am
Name: Steve Barber
SUSAN, JOSH - Please console me that one or the other of you has seen Harlan lately and he's in good health. Covina has been smoggy of late...
Training in Raleigh NC isn't what they tell you it is in the brochure. It's much colder, and the powerpoint presentations are pretty dry.
But the cafeteria has a decent salad bar...
Let me see if i got this straight.
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:07 pm
Name: Sidney Doubleposter
By way of a casual wager, Harlan believes that he has lost his home to Pogue, and was last seen moving into a Travelodge in a dismal section of Southern California. Despite written and faxed-in entreaties from Pogue, and the pleadings of the level-headed Susan, Harlan persisted in his belief that he had lost his home in a moment of vigilance ceased.
"It was only a joke!" Susan cried, tugging at Harlan's bathrobe. "Here! READ this! A letter from Pogue saying the house is yours! He even had it notarized!"
"Nothing to be done," replieth Harlan, shambling forth into his fabulous walk-in closet (wall paintings by Steranko, floor tiles by Chiluly, ceiling by Orson Welles) to throw a change of clothing into his hobo's bindle. "Haven't had to use this since I was a teenager," he grumbles, his eyes glazing over with the pain over his wholly imagined folly. "Life was good on the road. Bo's taught me how to make good tin-can coffee. Can't be too hard to remember how."
"Will you LISTEN?" screams Susan, by now wondering if a lampshade cord might give her better purchase on her husband. "Pogue didn't take the bet! He doesn't want to take your house away from you!"
"Matter of pride," growls Harlan. He has now made his way into the awards room, his bathrobe stretched behind him like a terrycloth sail. Susan's attached at the end, canted backward at a forty-degree angle, her heels scraping curls of mahogany from the floorboards. Harlan regards his awards, tells himself that they matter not a sou when one makes mistakes like betting with Pogue, and decides that the only award which will accompany him on the Road shall be the half-Hugo for the movie of "A Boy and his Dog." It makes a dinging noise against the Little Orphan Annie drinking tin he'd stashed there yesterday.
By now, Susan has dropped the bathrobe, and is furiously tearing open the package Josh Olson dropped off. It's a custody tracker, an ankle cuff packed with chips and locaters and GPS stuff, and right now Susan is trying to gnaw through the tough vacuform plastic packaging. If she could grab Harlan's ankle for just a moment...
By the time she gets it open, and slams a couple of trible-A batteries into the thing, Harlan has ambled out the front door. He's halfway up the road, hobo bindle dangling over his right shoulder, but no, he hasn't gone out in his bathrobe. No, he's thrown on a Cerruti 1881 outfit he'd picked up in the mid-1960's, as a splurge after that first Burke's Law sale. But he's thrown the bathrobe on on TOP of it because, well, as Harlan walks down the road, he mumbles about having to bear his shame publicly, and thus, the bathrobe. By this point, Susan's decided that nothing's going to straighten Harlan out but Harlan, so she pours herself some iced tea and tells herself to give it a day or two.
Two hours later, Harlan arrives at what looks like a storefront church. And until 1975, that's what it was, but it has since been turned into a clandestine Yiddish Theater founded by dissatisfied Mormons who didn't think they were special _enough_ and figured maybe this might put them over the top, metaphorically speaking. Somehow Harlan manages to get on stage, and performs the role of Uncle Mordechai in the grand tragedy "Tante Shpilkiss' Ungrateful Children" for about forty minutes before people realize that he is NOT Peter Jurasik reprising his role of Londo Molari.
Two hours after that, Harlan arrives at the Travelodge. He pays for his room from a coffee can filled with grimy singles. He'd stopped off at Lower Sepulveda Mutual Savings and Loan, cashed a check, refused the free toaster-oven, and grimed the singles up at the nearby Pep Boys. "Ah, Pogue," he says distractedly, as the clerk uncrumples the bills for the cash tray, "a moment of weakness, a scintilla of certainty, and I am cast out into a life of penury and lost glories." The clerk does not hear this, as his iBuds have sealed his ears to everything but pirated MP3s of "Dokken's Greatest Hits."
So Harlan drags himself up the crumbling concrete steps to Room 204, a number with no significance, drops his bindle on the bed, and eyes the complementary bottle of Muscatel that has become de rigeur for fleabags such as this. (The greeting card reads "You've lost everything, but gained a habit.") The television waits patiently, licking its lips.
Meanwhile, Susan and Josh race across town in the Packard, with clouds of postcards swirling in their wake. It's a Christmas Miracle: thousands of letters have arrived (in fact, many are postcards sent by FedEx, the cumulative charges of which have boosted that company's stock within hours), stressing that there never was a real bet, that Pogue doesn't get the house, that the mortgage is paid off, that the bank's been bought by Frank Church who's forgiven the loan, that David Loftus's marathon seventeen-hour filibuster on pornography in modern life has raised over twelve thousand dollars, that the Easter Bunny has arrested Pogue for identity theft and running an illegal distillery (coincidentally, he was brewing Muscatel for a consortium of fleabag hotel owners).
Will Susan and Josh get to the hotel on time? Will Harlan break down, pick up the bottle of Muscatel and move it someplece where he doesn't have to see it? Will the Packard's suspension hold? Will Adam-Troy Castro make good on his threat to clone Cory Doctorow under a common-use license of his genome? The clock is ticking!
Do I have it about right?
Why Harlan's At Home
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:26 pm
Name: Adam-Troy Castro
Harlan and Susan standing in front of a stone arch, below which flash various newsreel images.
Susan says, "Now, all you have to do is go back in time and STOP YOURSELF from making that bet with Pogue..."
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:35 pm
Name: Josh Olson
You got every single detail right, with the lone exception of this - TraveLodge is spelled "TraveLodge."
Harlan's shame is monumental.
(Gasps for breath)
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:48 pm
Name: Jes Bickham
Absolutely, utterly, dimple-creasingly wonderful. My cheeks hurt.
It's not like I tied li'l Nell to the railroad tracks...
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 2:05 pm
You cut a guy some slack and he goes off in a sulk. Gee, if I knew he was gonna take it this hard, I would've at least insisted on a book or a piece of artwork or maybe one of his fifty jillion comics. Or, I suppose, I could have said nothing and let the whole thing slide...Nahhh, not a chance, baby, HE knows me better than that!
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 2:06 pm
Name: Frank Church
Sidney, like I'd be a banker.
You get the golden dragon, sealed in chocolate tears.
Sidney is one clever mofo. We better up our antes.
Straighten Us, Sidney, Cuz We'z Reddy
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 2:44 pm
HAHAHA...hahaahahaha...hehehehe....ouch, damn that hurts....
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 3:43 pm
Name: Clipping Service
...as I am sure he doesn't even have DIAL-UP at the TraveLodge, he will miss finding out first hand that his "PAY THE WRITER" rant just passed 200,000 hits on YOU TUBE. Two...hundred....THOUSAND individual computers basking in His Righteous Fury!!
Someone please pass along the news to him.
Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 3:56 pm
Name: Sam Wilson
Yes, you're right, No Country for Old Men. (I love Leno's joke, "That's No COUNTRY for Old Men"...)
My favorite movie of the last seven years.
And, in common with Schindler's List, it won Best Picture.
Sorry, no chocolate milk for the W. library water fountains.