Well this is odd. Apparently, there’s a modern-day film version of Herman Mellville’s famous short story “Bartleby the Scrivener“. I came across the trailer quite by accident yesterday at ComingSoon.net. Having read and discussed the story more than a few times — I was an English major, that’s what we do — I have to say, Crispin Glover seems like the perfect casting.
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Back again, the Friday Five:
1. What shampoo do you use?
I think it’s Suave something-or-other. I usually don’t buy the cheapest brand available, but I’m not picky.
2. Do you use conditioner? What kind?
Almost never. I threw out an almost empty bottle a couple weeks ago, and I seem to remember it was pale blue. That’s all I know.
3. When was the last time you got your hair cut?
Last Sunday. I let it grow for months at a time and then, when it starts to fall in front of eyes, I stop off at Supercuts. In two years, I have never had my hair cut by the same person twice. I pays my money, I takes my chances, and I never suggest any styling other than “shorter” or “off the ears”. I am an extremely boring person in this respect.
4. What styling products do you use?
I use styling mousse ocassionally, usually only to keep the hair off my forehead and thus prolong my wait between haircuts.
5. What’s your worst hair-related experience?
When I was in grade school, I briefly had head lice, and after that I switched barbers. For most of my teen years and through college, I had my hair cut by George, a quiet Italian man who always knew how I wanted my hair cut, no matter how long I’d been away — probably because I never wanted it cut differently. I think we had the same three or four sentence conversation every time I went in there. But I’ve never had an especially awful hair-related experience. My hair is simple, as are the demands I put upon it.
This evening, just a few minutes ago actually, I pulled into the parking lot outside my building and found a crow, a baby rabbit clutched in its beak. I think I startled it as it was trying to take off, and the little rabbit was let loose and ran for safety beneath the car parked next to mine. The crow and its compatriots cawed angrily, but they flew away to nearby rooftops and trees when I stepped out of the car. An older rabbit, perhaps the mother, ran off in the direction of another building. I don’t know how hurt the little rabbit was, I don’t know if the crows will just wait it out for another chance, and I don’t know why I’m sharing any of this except that it seems like it ought to mean something and is the sort of thing that doesn’t happen every day.
And now, a deceptively simple word game. Found via Speckled Paint.
This afternoon in the caption gallery, a brief discussion about magic erupted. Not too much was said, and I wasn’t there for long, but it’s bugged me ever since — I think in part because I got the feeling that Penn and Teller, whose work I respect and admire, were being equated with Fox’s “Masked Magician”, whose work (to put it mildly) I do not. I’ve never quite understood why people want the secrets of magic revealed to them, or why they need to prove that some magicians are fake. All magic is fake, it’s all a lie, and the joy in watching a performance is not knowing how it’s done, allowing yourself to be fooled by that lie. I know David Blaine didn’t entomb himself in a block of ice, and I know David Copperfield never made the Statue of Liberty disappear, but that’s why they call it a trick. Magic is the art of misdirection — a palmed card, a hidden coin, a rabbit up the sleeve — anything is possible if you look the other way, if you are willing to be deceived. To strip away that deception and show the bare bones is to eliminate the wonder an audience feels in letting themselves believe a lie.
In an interview with the Onion, Teller said:
Everything that’s evil about lying, once you put it in a frame on a stage, becomes virtuous and becomes wonderful. And people love that, and they love measuring one view of reality against another. They love situations in which they can look at something and sort out for themselves where make-believe leaves off and reality begins. So I’m not surprised that that [masked magician] show is popular, because it’s not in any way a dismissal of magic. It’s a tribute to the fact that people are fascinated by magic. They’re not fascinated by illusion, as Doug Henning would have us believe. Magic is a much tougher thing: It’s not about watching a cartoon or a special effect. It’s about seeing something that seems to violate all your previous experiences in the world, and coming to some sort of terms with that — whether it’s coming to terms with it as poetry, or coming to terms with it as deceit, or coming to terms with it as technology. It’s an incredibly vigorous kind of natural form to work in.”
Penn and Teller tell you they’re revealing secrets, but they’re not. That, too, is part of the trick.