The Assassination of My Attention Span by the Coward Robert Ford

Alright, I haven't done a review in a while, but James Cash has Netflix, so a lot of movies come through here. A lot of discs of Arrested Development too, which may be why I'm a little disappointed and surprised that it's Hugh Ross narrating The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford rather than Ron Howard. I felt the movie was full of cons and sprinkled with pros, but could see how critics loved it and how it was nominated for a couple Oscars (which I don't believe in anyway).

For starters, two and a half hours is a long time for a movie, especially one without any bears. I didn't like the selective focus in many scenes, though I did love the fog and mystery in the first train robbing scene. There were too many "the clouds are moving fast to signify passing of time" moments, and too many characters with too many names. It was hard to keep things straight, and I felt like the octogenarian at the movies who has to keep asking who a character is and what's happening now. Most of my other complaints of the film come from not realizing it wasn't going to be an action movie. While watching, I couldn't help but compare it to "3:1o to Yuma," the only other Western I'd seen in quite a while. I thought Yuma was better, due to it having more action, more clip-clopping of horses and more Luke Wilson, though I know this was a more character driven plot. Also, the title kind of gave away how the movie was going to end. Imagine if the Sixth Sense had been renamed "The Sixth Sense of Being Able to See Dead People, Like Bruce Willis." Honestly, Jesse James should have had a spoiler alert in the title. The ending is a bit of a downer too.

I was only vaguely familiar with the Jesse James story, but had remembered him being completely awesome. Apparently that wasn't the case, as he was portrayed as a paranoid, violent asshole of a man. Casey Affleck was real good in the movie, but I couldn't help thinking to myself "hey, wow, Casey Affleck killed Jesse James. This on top of him being a total badass in 'Gone Baby Gone.' Casey's so much better than Ben." Robert Ford was weird as hell, seemingly in love with Jesse, and like everyone else in the movie, a horrible liar. You'd figure in the Wild West, everyone would know about poker faces and not sweating while recounting a made up story of slipping on the roof or where someone they killed was "hiding out." You'd be wrong.

On the pro side, I did pick up the use of "peckerwood" as a salutary phrase.

Adulthood Strikes Part the Second

I recently had a revelation that I missed out on my 2os. Everyone's twenties is all about uncertain living conditions, struggle for a job, hard partying, lack of responsibility, etc. Out of college, I was lucky enough to live with my parents, so it didn't matter if I had a job or not. They were kind enough to provide for me for a nominal rent fee of $100 a month when I could afford it, and I worked odd jobs like tutoring a 7th grader for the SAT to please his overbearing overachieving parents or setting up and shooting product shots for K-Mart of Orange County Choppers' cologne to get spending money. While I'd get sick of sitting around playing video games instead of applying for a full time job (I was convinced any day I'd make it as a photographer and needed to keep my options open), or frustrated that my friends were at work during the day rather than hanging out with me, I never really worried about much. People I knew were moving hundreds of miles away after college and trying to make it on their own, while I was safe and secure, if a bit stuck in adolescence, in my parents' apartment.

It's four years later, and somehow I've aged 10-15 years. At age 25, I got a yoke attached when I co-bought a condo with Human Dynamo, my close friend since I was 15. It's been great, since I have a backyard and we were able to modify the apartment as we saw fit, mostly (no fireman's pole or secret entrances and trapdoors, yet). However, most of my friends my age have moved around a couple of times since college ended, traveling and living free. Oh, and the housing market has since crashed, meaning had I waited my current castle may have been cheaper. I've become rather domestic too. Sometimes it just feels like I'm in my 30s, and I know my days of freedom, if not over, are numbered. As a man with a commitment, I can't just up and leave for Italy or California without giving serious thought to my ties here.

All this really leads up to me turning 27 today, and so far not getting the only gift I really want: a sun bear. They're the smallest of all bears, weighing in between 100 and 150 pounds as an adult at a length of 4 1/2 feet, putting them on par with a Newfoundland. Keep in mind when reading the following excerpt from the Honolulu Zoo's website that I have neither a cocoa or coconut plantation, nor are any to be found in Brooklyn. Their high reproductive rate is impressive and useful, as I could soon have an army of semi-slothful tree climbing bear-soldiers* at my beck and call.

The Malayan sun bear is the smallest member of the bear family. It is also the one with the shortest and sleekest coat - perhaps an adaptation to a lowland equatorial climate.

These animals grow to approximately four and a half feet in length and have a tiny, two-inch tail. Their average weight is less than 100 pounds. The short-haired, deep black or brown-black fur is interrupted on the chest by a pale orange-yellow horseshoe-shaped marking. In folklore, this yellow crescent is said to represent the rising sun and is apparently the origin of the name sun bear.

They have a long narrow tongue which can be extended quite far. The long sickle-shaped claws on all four feet and the large, inward-oriented feet are most reminiscent of the sloth bear. Malayan sun bears are skillful climbers, a useful ability for a species which spends a lot of time climbing trees to get fruit.

DISTRIBUTION and HABITAT:

Although they inhabit both lowlands and highlands, the Sun bears are primarily forest dwellers. They rest and feed in trees in tropical to subtropical regions of Southeast Asia - Borneo, Sumatra, Malay Peninsula, Kampuchea, Vietnam, Laos, Burma, and possibly southern China.

BEHAVIOR:

Relatively low weight, strongly curved claws, and large paws with naked soles help to make the Sun bear an adept climber. It is primarily nocturnal, frequently resting or sunbathing during the day on a platform of broken branches several feet above ground level.

Malayan sun bears sometimes cause a great deal of damage to coconut palms and on cocoa plantations. Young cubs are so lively, playful and attractive that they are often kept as pets in their native lands, but they become treacherously bad-tempered as they grow older.

In zoos, Malayan sun bears often scratch one stone after another out of walls, using their sharp claws.

DIET:

Malayan sun bears are omnivorous. They eat small vertebrates such as lizards and nesting birds and fruit. They are also very fond of honey.

REPRODUCTION and GROWTH:

Sun bears may mate at any time of year; they are thought to have only one mate. Two or three cubs are usually born after a gestation period of 96 days. The young, usually weighing 10-15 ounces each, are suckled for about 18 months. Females reach sexual maturity at about three years and males at four years. These bears live 25 to 28 years in captivity.

Sure, the shared fondness of honey could be a problem, as I envision us comically getting angry with each other whenever Apollo or I finished the honey and didn't buy a new one, but it would also be something we have in common. What does the first half of this post have to do with the last? Well, if I didn't have this condo and 29 years left on my mortgage, I could currently be in Myanmar with a sun bear friend, rather than fruitlessly trying to bribe a local zoo for the release of their ursine captives.


*There were so many good links for bear-soldier, and I wanted to post them all. Here are a few more: Link 1, Link2, Link 3 and Link 4

You're a Tree By the Way

J-Live, notoriously ridiculously good MC, has a song off his last full length album called Do My Thing. The first time I heard it, in my infinite wisdom, I was pretty sure the hook was "You're a tree, by the way, I do my thing. By the way, I do my thing." I just assumed a tree was new slang, and the hook writer was very casual, yet matter of fact, in informing me that he does his thing. The actual line is of course "intrigued by the way I do my thing."

However, this was a great segue into me planting a tree in my backyard! I won't profess to being an expert gardener; most of what I'm doing is trial and error with a little help from the world wide webs and advice I give myself. I saw the dwarf Blenheim apricot tree while shopping for soil and decided I needed to have it. Planting it felt like quite an accomplishment, and not only has it not yet died, but it seems to have tiny green fruit that hopefully will turn into actual tasty apricots. This was followed by two highbush blueberry plants, which also now appear to be fruiting. Check out photos below, and note my excellent mulching technique.

All this gardening has excited many people, including the building's possibly vampire super who has decided he will have the pickles and potatoes I'm growing in my vegetable bed (I'm growing neither pickles, which are delivered by a stork anyway, nor potatoes). I'm also convinced he wants access to my vegetables for his own nefarious purposes. What I'm actually growing is red leaf lettuce, sugar snap peas, eggplant, dragon carrots, zucchini, a potimarron squash and roma, sungold cherry, brandywine, sweet pea currant, brown berry and costaluto genovese tomatoes. In case they ever develop cars that run on fairly obscure tomatoes mixed with common tomatoes, I'll be in the money. Till then, it's salsa sandwiches with V8 for meals.

In other backyard news, James Cash and I named the ridiculously bright red cardinal that visits our backyard Benedict. Thankfully, despite being highly territorial, Benedict has not yet attacked his own image in my window or his mirror he uses for preening. His song sounds like this: "bright bright bright, cheer cheer cheer." And no, learning that from the Field Guide to Birds of North America that I own doesn't make me feel like a dork.

Jobs Ahoy!

While technically there hasn't been much change in my employment status, I did recently pass an interview with flying colors* and come second week of June, I'll be the newest and proudest member of the WCS family. That's right. I've been hired as a volunteer wallaby hugger and river otter playmate at the Prospect Park Zoo. Yes, Prospect Park has a zoo. Yes, it's in Brooklyn. Yes, seriously.

To start with, I'll be working in their Discovery center as an adult supervisor, with animals like kestrels, tarantulas and some other things which I didn't hear because I was busy feeling squeamish about icky spiders and other invertebrates that freak me out. I can only assume one of my duties will be throwing kestrels at kids. Or, at the very least, supervising them in the proper manner of throwing kestrels at each other, as only an adult like myself could.

I'll be issued a uniform shirt, and am allowed to wear bermuda shorts; there isn't much of a dress code, because as an adult, I'll know how to be properly dressed at all times. It goes with the territory. No doubt I'll also be beating women off with a stick, because it's a proper fact that women love a man in uniform. Eventually I'll get to give talks to kids and educate them on how much better a bear is than whatever animal I'm holding and supposed to be talking about is. First, of course, I'll have to go through animal handling training, which will undoubtedly make me even more irresistible. Women can't control themselves around uniformed adults who are allowed to hold porcupines and know things about them. True fact.

The only thing I'm still uncertain about is how much and how often they'll be paying me. I mean, I'm not planning on volunteering for free or out of the goodness of my heart. If suitable monetary compensation cannot be agreed upon, I'll gladly take my pay in wallabies. I'm easy going and flexible like that.


*This, despite me feeling the need to bring up my totally rational fear/hatred of squid and octopi. Damned parrot like beaks and multi-suckered tentacles.

Raised Bed, Raised Bed

A couple weeks ago, I finished building an 8' by 4' by 1' raised bed out of a bunch of old studs I found in the basement and a 16 foot long 2 x 12 of deliciously sappy Douglas fir from Home Depot. I even installed small PVC pipes along the side in case I ever want to run bird netting or plastic across the top to extend the growing season. The project took some time and effort, as 8 foot long lumber isn't easy to maneuver or attach to shorter lumber using small screws I had lying around (the themes being cheapness and reuse of materials). Despite drilling a good portion of the holes on my wooden floor, I managed to never drill into it. Naturally I was excited to finish this personal project one year in the thinking, and composed a song for the occasion.

Raised bed, raised bed
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do when I grow vegetables in you?

After a few renditions, James Cash started to hate me. But no worries, as I soon had a new reason to sing a different song. After filling half the bed with fifteen 40 pound bags of soil, I managed to quickly come up with this song:

Top soil, top soil
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do when I fill the raised bed with you?

Admittedly, it doesn't have that certain excitement, tension and superior lyrical quality of the first song that just grips you, but I was working quickly. In fact it was really more of a freestyle. Afterwards, we put my grill outside and decided we needed light out there so we could bbq at night, which resulted in a trip to Home Depot and a purchase that excited Jamie. Clamp light, clamp light...