Geek Speaking of Stockholm with a Side of Happy Music

Geek Speak: Stockholm Syndrome

I blame Die Hard for the overuse, and often misuse, of "Stockholm Syndrome" in the popular lexicon. Even so, that's what it sometimes feels like when my daughter insists on watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic for the umpteenth time. All told, I think Mildly Sensational and I have seen the three seasons available on Netflix a dozen times. Even as I write this, my daughter is in the living room with her mother working on making it a baker's dozen. 

To be fair the show actually its merits. The animation is consistently of very high quality, the voice acting is solid, even brilliant on occasion; and many of the songs are difficult to get out of your head once you've heard them. I'm particularly, and consistently impressed with the woman who gives voice to the characters of Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy. She makes the character voices so distinct you'd never assume they were voiced by the same person. She even gives them noticeably different singing voices, a feat that becomes especially amazing when both characters are singing together, and you still can't tell it's the same person. 

With that said. I really wish the girl child would find something else to watch, within reason. Caillou is a dick. For all of its merits the show's central message about friendship, while important, is delivered with all the subtlety of a bedazzled wrecking ball. 

Sounds like she's starting over with season one, episode one...again. Imagine me sighing as my shoulders sag.

"Friendship is magic," and my eyes well up with anguished tears, "friendship is magic." 

Random Thoughts

In the quest to find some music that would help to lull my infant son to sleep I pulled up some Pomplamoose on Spotify. He didn't care for it, which meant I had to change his white noise to something more...white. For the little bit that we were able to listen I discovered something about Pomplamoose. Their music makes me happy. It's a small but significant victory, discovering there is some music out there that can just make you...happy. 

Geek Speaking Wuffles and a Beautiful Moment

Geek Speak: Wuffles!

If I may be honest, maybe make a little bit of a confession here, it really didn't occur to me what I'd done in that first panel until I'd read it a few times. She dresses the dog in tutus and then calls it Ruffles. That's fantastic. It's completely unintentional. If Bob Ross were still alive he would probably call it a "happy accident."

Every so often when my wife and I are out (which happens a lot less now, but that's part of the parent gig) we'll see someone, usually (but not always) older, walking a dog they've dressed up somehow. I've always wondered what the dog might say if it could talk. Honestly, I don't think I'm too far off the mark here. If every living thing has its own sense of dignity, then putting your dog in a pink onesie and bunny ears is a cruel affront to that dignity. The first chance they get they'll find someone who'll treat them with respect...or smother you in your sleep.

New Email

You may have noticed a new addition to the bottom of my comic strip. I've added an email address, geekspeakcomic@gmail.com. This is a new addition, and something new to me. I've crated a new email address you can use to reach me to ask about the comic and about my blog posts. I'll be checking my email on this address at least once a week, and I look forward to ready your comments.

Pachelbel's Canon

In this space for today's blog I was going to talk about getting a baby sitter and going to see Star Trek: Into Darkness with my wife on the eve of Father's Day. Instead I would like to write about something that occurred as I was leaving a showing of Iron Man 3.

As we live in Burbank the local movie-plex, the AMC 16, is an easy one to get to when we want to take in a movie. It's the movie complex we would go to even before we moved into Burbank. With sixteen screens they're reasonably assured to be showing one or more movies we want to watch, it's close, it's no more expensive than anywhere else, and there are a lot of restaurants in the general area to get a meal either before or after your movie.

The area in front of the movie-plex is also a large courtyard and plays host to buskers performing a variety of acts. The typical street performer at the Burbank AMC 16 is an acoustic guitar act, usually strumming out, and sometimes singing, popular music with varying degrees of skill. Every now and then there will be something unique in the courtyard. I once passed a kid who could not have been more than twelve who was dancing his heart out. He popped with great precision and moved with an effortless grace in rhythm with the music so that my mouth hung open in happy amazement. Talent calls out to be recognized.

Today was different. As I was leaving Iron Man I heard amplified music, which is not at all unusual, the performers frequently have amplifiers or stereos blaring their accompaniment. What grabbed my attention was not the fact of the music playing, but the music itself. The melody was a cascade of strings, falling lyrically over each other, like a shooting stars set to music. In a chair a man sat playing a cello in accompaniment to the music with all his heart and skill.

The selection was Pachelbel's Canon in D Major. You know it. It's been used for diamond commercials, and its frequently played at weddings. As classical music pieces go it's a bit overdone. When done with even a modicum of skill, however, it is one of the rare pieces of music that reaches past my ears to some dormant corner of my soul and pulls on my emotions.

I don't know the reasons why, but when I hear this music it transports me, carries me back to bitter and sweet memories of Colorado. I'm in my grandparents house on some summer weekday. I'm in boulder listening to a girl of no more than ten or eleven with a violin play a piece of music that's considered challenging for seasoned adults. I'm at my sister's wedding, and on like that.

Back in the courtyard in front of the Burbank movie-plex I drop three dollars into the cellist's tip jar. It's all the cash I have on me. I let the memories sweep through me for a moment, riding the wave of nostalgia, and I start to feel the tears forming behind my eyelids. With a deep breath and an effort of will I chase them back to the ducts from whence they came. To distract from my own complicated and inexplicable feelings I look around. Other people have gathered to listen.

As I look around an older woman of Asian heritage, probably in her seventies, walks past me to put money in the tip jar atop mine. She then returns to the man with her. He's a shade or two older than she, and probably her husband. They stand close together and watch the man with the cello play his music.

To my left is a younger couple. They stand, arms entwined, and smile at me as we listen to the music. Two little boys pull their mother and father over to listen to the music. Mom watches the cellist, as entranced as her two boys, the father looks critically at the musician, the mood of the others not penetrating some possibly defensive layer of cynicism. I want to call out to him, to make him look around and understand what is happening.

Those of us drawn to the man with the cello, playing to the strains of a piece of classical music we've all heard, are responding to something in ourselves that resonates with the music. In that moment we're joined in a common experience, and wrapped up in a moment of shared feeling. It is a moment of stillness in the chaos of commercial enterprise around us, and it is deeply, achingly, beautiful.


Before I know it, even a little before I'm ready for it to be so, the moment is over as the song ends. There's sparse applause from those of us watching, and the musician looks truly grateful, even a little flushed, to have his efforts rewarded in this way. I suppose it's unusual for people to pause long enough to drop a buck or two in the jar, much less to stay, listen, and applaud. As I walk away I take the moment with me.

I don't know how long I'll remember it. In all likelihood I won't be thinking of it even a week later. What I feel is this; when something is beautiful take a moment to pause and enjoy it. If you can, share it with someone, even if it's just to glance around at share a smile with strangers who are doing the same thing. Those moments can lift you up and carry you through the times when beauty seems far away. 

Quinn's Uncles at Genghis Cohen

Quinn's Uncles Rock Genghis Cohen

Rock Gods with Day Jobs bring the house down with an acoustic accompaniment to Szechuan cuisine.

Quinn's Uncles is a rock duo composed of brothers Jim and Tim Meade. Their music is chiefly acoustic rock that ranges from energetic numbers that will have you bouncing and rocking out in your seat, to ballads such as "Quicksand" that seem to have been wrought from raw materials drawn up from some deep emotional place, which reaches out through the guitars and voices of the Meade brothers to wrench at your own emotional vulnerabilities.

I was first introduced to Quinn's Uncles by Jim when he appeared as Don Pedro in a production of Much Ado about Nothing that I was directing. After hearing him sing bits and pieces of songs from what was at the time their latest album, Meadevil, I picked up the album. It immediately began to get heavy rotation in my car's CD player, and I belted out all the lyrics to "Say Uncle" and "Hot Monkey Love" using the imperfect instrument that is my own voice (it's better now that I've spent two years singing to a tiny human who shares my last name and some of my genetic material).

The first time the opportunity presented itself to see Jim play live with his brother Tim, I jumped at it. Mildly Sensational and I made the trip into Hollywood to meet up with a friend who works with Jim at his day job (the subtitle isn't me being clever, he really is a "rock god with a day job"). The show was in the back room of the Pig 'n Whistle, a cozy events room with its own full bar.

Before Quinn's Uncles took the stage I was unsure what to expect, I'd been listening to the album, and I'd really enjoyed it, but with a live performance there's always the risk of discovering the band who sounds great on the album is largely the product of extensive studio engineering. It was a genuine pleasure to find this was not the case.

Tim sings and plays lead guitar, Jim also sings and plays rhythm. They switch vocals depending on the song, which works as both are accomplished singers, and their voices blend, pardon the choice of words, harmoniously. The album featured drums and some other instrumentation, and the live show was the two of them with their guitars. I didn't miss the other instrumentation as their performance was electric and I left the Pig 'n Whistle that night humming and smiling.

On Saturday Quinn's Uncles played the music room at Genghis Cohen, and rocked it. Admittedly I was running late and came in partway through the first or second song of a forty-five minute set, but the disappointment of possibly missing the opening number left quickly as I was introduced to a song I hadn't heard before. From there they took the audience, near the sixty-seat capacity of the Genghis Cohen music room, through a selection of their songs from three albums.

Tim and Jim are consummate entertainers, as comfortable talking and joking with the audience as they are
playing their guitars and singing. Between sets they would banter with a charming brand of self-deprecating humor that pulls the audience, ever so briefly, into the brother dynamic they share. The audience is not left to passive participation in the show, as the Meade Brothers invited the audience to sing along with a couple of their more well known songs including "Let Me Down Easy" off of their sophomore album, Meadevil. In both cases the audience participated enthusiastically, singing and clapping along and both songs ended with the largest and most heartfelt applause of the evening.

The evening ended with their rock ballad "Exclusively" given a heartfelt performance by Jim, and wrapped up in true rocker fashion with a scorching guitar solo performed by Tim. The end of the show was a bittersweet moment, full of the infectious joy the brothers devote to their performance, but sorry to have it ended. Even so, I'm sure I wasn't the only one to leave last night humming my favorite tune from the evening. I am just as likely not the only who will be putting Quinn's Uncles back into heavy rotation on the car stereo to drive the streets of L.A. belting all the lyrics from their latest album with my own imperfect vocal instrument. 

Confessions of a Rock and Roll Pariah and some Speaking Geeks

I am a Rock and Roll Pariah:
There's no one reason I could point to and say, "that's it, that's why I hate the guy," but David Lee Roth really bugs the shit out of me. He makes me want to change the radio station. This means that any Van Halen song that comes on the radio with Diamond Dave as lead singer automatically gets turned to something else, while any Van Halen song featuring Sammy Hagar's pipes gets turned up. I have the same problem with Breaking Benjamin. Anytime they come up in my Pandora station I hit the skip button. No good reason, I just do. In some circles I believe this makes me a Rock Pariah*, a wandering outcast in the golden land of sweet riffs and face-melting solos. Shunned by the rock elite who dismiss Van Hagar and sing "Free Bird" around bonfires built of Nickleback albums.

*It probably cements my status as a rock Pariah to admit that I actually really like this song. I just think it's fun.

Terminology I can do without
I really wish people would stop referring to PowerPoint Presentations as 'decks.' You can't shuffle it, and some lowly sailor isn't going to come by with a mop to clean it up. It's a presentation. Please leave the officious corporatese at home. No one is impressed. Oh, I'm sorry, you have an MBA? How foolish of me, you are special. Here's your cookie.

This week's comics
This week we take a look at three new (or new-ish) comics. One of which I don't particularly care for, one for which I have mixed feelings, and another that I feel confident in recommending. The comics this week are Greek Street #1, Escape from Wonderland #4, and Zen #1.  

Greek Street #1
Publisher: Vertigo
Written by: Peter Milligan
Illustrated by: David Gianfelice

I want to go on record as saying that I had high hopes for this book. Legendary Greek stories and characters retold against the backdrop of a gritty urban landscape. This has been done well in other works, with other mythological figures, like Neil Gaiman's outstanding book American Gods, or John Updike's classic The Centaur. Sadly, the creators responsible for Greek Street have neither the literary gravitas, nor the cleverness of either Updike or Gaiman. In fact, the only really positive thing I can say about this comic, is that it only cost me a buck.

This statement hardly needs justification beyond explaining that the first panel of the first page is topless strippers in mid-gyration. What follows shortly after is some intensely expository and overly melodramatic dialog about the old stories which, "aren't through with us yet." You can practically hear Andrew Lloyd Webber warming up the hard rock symphony to score the scene. At which point we are introduced to 'Eddie,' a street thug who is ultimately seduced by a woman who turns out to be his mother, and who he accidentally kills in a struggle. Eddie...Oedipus...get it? Things do not get better.

I find this book offensive on many levels. Aside from the obvious misogyny it leaps enthusiastically into the same trap most other books designated 'for mature readers' struggle to avoid. Namely, it is an excuse for excessive foul language, nudity, violence, nudity, shock value, and nudity. The book is trying so hard to be hardcore that it utterly fails to tell a story, much less entertain.

Escape from  Wonderland #4
Publisher: Zenescope 
Written by: Raven Gregory
Illustrated by: Daniel Leister

I'm reminded of an iconic comic book villain who's big screen counterpart once said, "I don't know if it's art, but I like it." Honestly, I'm not too sure about that second part, either. My opinions are mixed on this book. It falls into some of the same traps as Greek Street in that it's story uses characters from a classical work. As a result, some of the character concepts seem a little forced, like the main character who's name is "Calie," which is an anagram of 'Alice.' Like Greek Street there are some moments that reek sex for the sake of a puerile thrill.

Where this book succeeds is in not attempting a straight retelling of the story of Alice in Wonderland with awkwardly bolted on urban grit and profanity. Instead the creators use recognizable characters in a familiar setting and mold a unique story around them. The tone of Escape from Wonderland is more frightening than you might expect from a story based on what is generally considered a children's book. This issue in particular has some genuinely creepy moments, and some gruesome images. These moments are accomplished with a genuine flair, and obvious passion, for the horror device of adding something macabre to an ordinary setting. In one such scene, Calie's mom brings in the groceries, and in the next panel intestines have burst through the blood-soaked bottoms of the paper bags. Though this issue comes at the end of a much longer body of work, making up a trilogy of stories, the degree to which the characters are fully developed, with clearly defined relationships is impressive. In the end this book accomplishes what the first issue of Greek Street failed to do; it makes me want to read the rest of the story to see how it ends.

Zen #1
Written by: Steve Stern
Illustrated by: Bill Maus
Published by: Zen Comics Publishing

I feel like putting this book in with the other two is a little unfair. Kind of like a pit fight featuring a frail, elderly cat with one tooth, a fit but slightly dumb pit bull, and a tiger armed with a fifty-caliber machine gun.

Anywhere the previous two books are weak, this book is strong. The plot of the book features several interconnected stories, with each story is told from the perspective of a different main character. Central characters to each of the stories fall under the heading of protagonist, antagonist, and undecided. All of the characters have well developed personalities and their own unique point of view. The characters also have clearly defined relationships, making the book as a whole a strong, character driven narrative.

The illustration is somewhat less realistic than the other two, but this doesn't impact the appeal of the book in any way. Instead, it appears to be a conscious decision on the part of the creators to go with a more-cartoony, slightly over-the-top artistic style. This gives the book a cinematic flow and feel that would affect the reader differently with more realistically rendered artwork. I strongly recommend this book as one that is as fun to read as it is to look at.

Geek Speak
I don't think a lengthy explanation of this cartoon is really needed. If only shaking the pencil could actually dislodge creativity, and cause it to flow effortlessly from my hand onto the page. Alas, inspiration is a fickle mistress, and she has too many lovers to devote much time to any one of them. It's probably fair to assume that anyone who endeavors to make others laugh with a few carefully chosen words feels like this from time to time. Oh well, back to trying to dislodge some funny.