Posts from — February 2010

Hold it, just hold on a fucking second. The last several Olympics, summer and winter, have carried a certain sporting elitist criticism on various new sports added to the games. Sports like snowboarding and BMX have been derided by various idiots as not being true sports, presumably because the sports’ elite athletes utter words like “stoked” — or the more vehement “totally stoked” — to explain the inner workings of the sport. Frontside. Backside. Fakie. McTwist. Apparently these are unacceptable bastardizations of the English language, but somehow Slachow is perfectly acceptable conversation if you are listening to Scott Hamilton.

Well, this shit all annoyed me but I pawned it off as old school stupidity and narrow mindedness — until tonight, when an event called “Skeleton” was advertised; I tuned in.

Skeleton, Salchow, what’s the difference? The difference is that the latter is an old move that figure skaters do, something about inside edges and outside edges, and landing, and ice, and skates, and I’m bored already. The former, well, the former is not some Halloween prank or costume but rather a freakshow stunt that seems like it made its debut on the MTV show “Jackass” and not a “sport” worthy of any attention on national television or awarding of precious metal medals for the “best” performers of same idiotic activity. But there it is, skeleton, men’s and women’s events, on the TV, with people talking about it like it’s an actual sport. Medals awarded. Let’s compare and contrast “Skeleton” to another winter Olympic sport that proponents should question whether theirs is any more or less a sport than snowboarding or BMX, shall we?

Luge: insane thrillseekers pull through a standing start, then lay on their backs, and proceed to head, feet first, on rails at speeds of 70 MPH and steer — dubiously, I might add — with their legs while they careen down an ice chute toward certain death; winner is the one who gets down the chute fastest while remaining alive. People yell “whoo!”, and ring bells, in encouragement.

Skeleton: insane, moronic, retarded thrillseekers get a RUNNING start, then lay on their STOMACHS on a plastic tub attached to steel rails and proceed to careen, HEAD FIRST, on the same ice chute with little to no directional control, toward certain death; winner is the one who gets down the chute fastest while remaining alive and with their skulls still attached to their spinal columns. People yell “whoo!” and ring bells in encouragement, but the “whoo’s” and the bell ringing has this tentative feel to it, like they are being emitted by people who are feeling like they are about to witness a horrific, decapitating crash at any moment.

This skeleton shit, this is a goddamned freakshow, is what this is. And yet, the commentators talk about this insanity as if it’s a perfectly legitimate “sport”. My questions for these puppets are: Is Johnny Knoxville on the US team, maybe in a coaching capacity, and do they foresee a companion event where instead of using carbon fiber slabs to careen to certain death, they will do a variation of skeleton where they use shopping carts instead? I think it would be awesome to see those uniforms: maybe a red, white and blue leopard print thong or something — with scrotum padding of course.

What do you think?

Wow. So, once again, Brenda & I spent part of a February weekend checking out various films at the Boulder International Film Festival, and once again, we were not disappointed. This year, we had a nice manageable program: a movie a day, Friday through Sunday. Two were at the Boulder Public Library and one was at the fabulous Boulder Theater. The surprise of the weekend was that the library has a great theater; we hadn’t seen any screenings over there to date, and I was expecting folding chairs and a temporary screen. But it turns out that the Boulder Public Library has a really nice theater, on top of everything else it has going for it. And on Friday evening, at the Boulder Library’s theater, we saw “Split Estate”, a decent documentary about the shit going on in northwest Colorado and other southwestern states with the oil companies ruining lives and land right here in America. Check your listings on Discovery Channel or Green Planet or whatever, because it’s airing on there now. Pretty good.

On Saturday, we saw “Ajami” at the Boulder Theater, and the wonderful venue was a stark contrast to the brutal setting and eventuality of the film’s subject matter and gutting plot. The final shot of that film is burned into my brain forever, Gallipoli-style.

Today, it was time for “The Misfortunates”, and this film, this film was the highlight of the festival for me.

It seems like every year since Brenda & I have been going to this festival, we have seen at least one film that has resonated with at least one of us, a film that renews your appreciation for why people make films in the first place. Films that strike a chord, films that make you laugh, and cry — with actual tears, and make you want to do the following: be a better person, call some people on their shit, take better pictures, and write more.

“The Misfortunates” was the film for me, this year, that did it all. A coming of age flick of sorts, set in Belgium; the protagonist, this poor kid, is screwed from the beginning by his situation: crazy family, surrounded by alcoholics and no supervision, no money, crazy uncles, general class angst. And yet this fuels both a fucked up childhood, and, well a fucked up adulthood, but an adulthood that ultimately makes the best of things. This is the best movie I have seen in a long time.

In past years, we have seen “C.R.A.Z.Y.”, “Sunshine Cleaning”, “Anvil; the True Story of Anvil”, and “Diameter of the Bomb”; for the most part, these ended up in mainstream theatres or on cable, but it was fun to see these years ahead of the rest.

I’d say this year was the best of all the years Brenda & I have been attending the festival, but every single year we seem to see at least one memorable film, one that sticks with us forever. I can tell you, “The Misfortunates” is one of those films that will not only stick with me, it will inspire me — forever.