Just Sayin'

After finishing Disney+'s "The Mandalorian," I think it's pretty obvious that Din Djarin, the refugee saved and raised by a troop of Madalorian warriors and is the titular Mandalorian, is way cooler and more interesting than Boba Fett:

Boba Fett, above on the right, is the clone of disgraced Mandalorian bounty hunter Jango Fett, the one clone raised as a son instead of becoming a storm-trooper. Like his "father," he works for himself outside the good graces of other Madalorian subculture. Or so I hear.

Din Djarin, simply known as "Mando" throughout the 8 episodes, is a respected member of the guild, is such a thing exists, and lives by some sort of code.

Disney banked on the cool-ness factor of the Boba Fett mask, and let Jon Favreau craft an entertaining western television show, eight episodes deep, that may be the best Star Wars product since 1983.

Was it always this trippy? Revisiting Three Caballeros

I don't really want to write about the trippyness of the Three Caballeros, Disney's animated feature from 1944 that used some unused footage from the earlier, surprisingly successful in South America, Saludos Amigos, mixed love action and animation, used simplified backgrounds to save money, and let the animators go a little crazy.

The film is quite weird, mildly uneven, and has that psychedelic Mexican "third act" section that I probably should talk about later. My brother and I watched it regularly as kids---at least I remember that way, and with Disney+, I just recently watched it with my son.

I remember being fascinated with the categorical trio of avian ethnicities: Donald, and American duck; Jose, a Brazilian parrot; and Panchito, a Mexican rooster.

What I did want to write about this time were two things, one I completely forgot about until the audible cue came up, the other was something I noticed because of the elevated level of sophistication in my more mature ears.

The first was the song of the aracuan bird, a character and musical cue I had totally forgotten about:

For some reason, the annoying song and presence of this Woody Woodpecker-inspiration is something I love? Dearly? I guess? I can't explain it. On Youtube someone has pasted together a six-hour animated cycle of the annoying song scene, and while it would be a form of torture to be tied up and forced to listen to it, I think I could last longer than most before losing my faculties.

Instead of a full-order review of this animated project, I just wanted to keep this short and sweet. The aracuan bird, and this other observation:

When Donald meets Jose for the first time, in the middle third of the piece, there is about 25 to 30 minutes of regular samba beats, Brazilian music for a solid brick of time. The music shifts noticeably, and it should, when we head to Mexico with Panchito. It's all pretty informative for the era---the 1940s---and yet is characteristic, I'm sure, of specific regions in those countries.

But you hear them and think: "Brazil" or "Mexico."

At one point, Jose and Panchito are pushing a reluctant Donald to go dance with a pretty live-action lady at Mexican fiesta, and Donald complains that he doesn't know the dance steps. He gets up on the stage and the music changes: the band starts to play a jazzy dance number, with pianos and horns, and I realized: this is American music.

It's a noticeable shift, and in the movie theaters of the 1940s, anywhere in the world, all three of the music cues would have been obvious to listeners; samba, garricha, and jazz. In another room not watching but still able to hear, it's obvious.

I have a thesis about portrayals of the concept of "American" to foreign audiences, like Jiminy Cricket, or Joseph Cotten in The Third Man, or the kid who plays Han Solo in the stand-alone movie. And these music cues are another aspect of that thesis.

Happy New Year

I've heard plenty of people complaining about 2019. Maybe since November 2016 each year seems like a shittier version of the previous. Besides November of '16, that year was pretty rad for us. 2019 was pretty awesome also: got a new place, a new car, a crazy trip to Italy, a crazier trip to Orlando, and a bun on the oven that's about to join the family. We made it past Cass's arrival, so all's well on that end.

Anyway, check out what opened up on the ground floor of our building:

A comic shop...A COMIC SHOP! They've already offered to watch Cass anytime. They're good people.

Here's to the new year, hopefully we won't have to strike again!

2019: Year in Review

This year started and we were about to STRIKE.

Later on, we went to Italy, and later still we went to Orlando. This year I wrote about most of it, most of that, anyway.

These entries probably exhibit the best of this year's writing by me, as judged by me. I'm sure I left some things out, but that's how it goes sometimes. But, the way I got the links, show it going in the reverse direction, with the most recent posts first and ending back in January.

First up was our Kayak Trip in Orange County. Just a beautiful Saturday afternoon family adventure.

Next up is one of my favorite things I've written for this site, about going to help some friends as they had their second kid, aptly titled Answering the Call.

The piece I'm including from the Orlando trip has what I call the Airport Scene, something that really happened that will stick with me forever.

In Italy this June I realized, and later lamented, our species' current near-total Reliance on our Phones.

The reason we went to Italy in the first place is lengthily summarized here: International Pynchon Week 2019

I started this blog, Caliboy In Brooklyn, back in 2009, while living on Halsey, between Malcolm X and Patchen, and this year I discovered a tidbit of history about one of those namesakes: Connecting to CaliboyInBrooklyn's Past.

This is the last piece for this Year in Review, and dates back to January. I've included it because it was the only thing I actually wrote while we were on STRIKE itself: Ruminations While on STRIKE.

Sometimes I think these Year in Review posts are really for me, so I can easily find specific pieces that stick out in my memory.

Happy 2019. Happy 2020.

Two Watching Notes

As the year winds down I just wanted to say a few things about two items I watched recently.

The first: we (Cass and I) finally sat down and watched Cars 2.

In the past I've spoken poorly of Cars 2 without ever having watched it, basing my point of view on the many negative things written about it---beginning with the fact that it's a sequel (that pushes up the Larry the Cable Guy character to front and center) of the worst Pixar movie from their Golden Era (1995-2010).

Having seen it, I can safely say that it still ranks among the bottom of the Pixar movies, but I found myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. Espionage with cars? Mater as the star? At least I got what they were trying to do. I still feel like Cars and Cars 3 are the natural one-two punch story arc for Lightning McQueen, but at least you hear how many Piston Cups he's won by the start of the first sequel (four).

Anyway, it's more mindless than other Pixar fare, but it isn't unwatchable. But, does Pixar even make unwatchable movies?

The second: the Netflix German series Dark.

I can't say enough about this show. If you take Stranger Things, Twin Peaks, and Back to the Future and put them in a blender, you'd get the idea, and this show is that only better than you'd imagine and so much more.

Not to spoil anything, frankly, because if you dare watch it you'll forget that I even mentioned it, but anytime a character turns out to be her own grandmother (and who's mom is also her own grandmother), you know you're onto something fierce.

It mainly takes place in 2019, but then it goes to 1986, and then to 1953, and then to 1920, and then 2052, and then the scenes just play out and the casting is what gives away what year the scene is in.

It's so full of WTF moments and twists and turns and tragedy and icestious issues...it's worth the time.

Decemberween in Santa Monica

Again we stayed "local" for the Dec. 25 gift-day, heading to Santa Monica, gifts in-tow. Our boy is beginning to understand presents and not be as overwhelmed by the scene.

Corrie and I stayed up until the wee-hours of the 24th's night building the "big reveal," the large unwrapped gift that should occupy a youngster as they wait for grandma's arrival with Santa's bounty. Last year it was a train set that seemed to excite his mom more the boy himself. This year the initial reaction was less than exciting, but that changed pretty quickly:

Now he loves his bike.

I took him out to show him how to ride, er, to teach him how to ride, and I realized something: it's quite difficult for uncoordinated young humans to figure out bikes. The pedaling isn't as natural as we think it is, and getting the circular pattern down takes a minute, and then you realize---as dad---that the child may not have the strength to power the craft at exciting speeds yet.

Add to the strange leg action, which apparently needs to be watched by the rider as they figure it out, is the fact that the arms are in control of the steering. If the your eyes are on your legs and the struggles with the pedals, they're certainly not on the road (or sidewalk) in front of you.

This led to some funny moments, with me helping and coaching and praising---and huffing and puffing in a hunched over manner---as we biked around the block in a cutesy Santa Monica neighborhood. We were the official mascots for Christmas Day to the many childless dog-walkers out at the time.

"Awww! Right out of a catalog!" and "I bet that's more fun for you than for him!"

That last one caught my attention, and I looked up. Sweat was beading on my forehead and my back screamed silently beneath my shirt and I said, "Yeah...something like that."

I joke, but it was a pretty great time.

The entire few days with the fam---mom coming in from Arizona, Mike and Zailda coming down from Vancouver---was, like usual, fantastic.

And that's what the season is all about.

Starting December with an Annoying Discovery

Early on in the life of this blog (er, 2009), I made the conscious decision to address this exact topic. My mobile device still won't seem to do it...

There's a tiny birdhouse looking cabinet on a post down the street that's one of the Free Tiny Libraries, a "Take-a-book, Leave-a-book" variety that I mentioned last month or the month before. I've been slowly titrating my excess books into it.

The other day we were walking by and Cass decided to take a look. Since he regularly helped me bring books to it, I liked the idea of him being interested in exploring book-dom.

Instantly he saw something he had to have:

This turns out to be the ninth entry in the Animorphs series, and, if you can't see the title (kudos if you can) it's actually called "The Andalite's Gift."

Not to spend too much time on a specific YA title's backstory, but: the Animorphs are a team of four kids, a hawk, and an alien, that fight other aliens and fend off an invasion. When one of the kids touches an animal, they can turn into that animal. If they stay the animal for two hours or more, they can't change back, which is how a hawk is part of the team (poor Toby). The alien is the "andalite" of the title. (Any fans out there? Did I eff this up?)

Anyway, the reason I know any of this is because I started reading the text to the Boy on that particular Sunday, and whenever it seemed like he wasn't listening anymore and I'd stop reading, he'd holler for me to read it "a'geyonn."

(Really, how kids learn language and in the early times do funky things with vowel sounds could be an entire post...sometimes the short 'a' in 'dad' ends up with three vowel changes, and can sound like "daa-ayy-odd," and each time it's the best thing I've ever heard.)

The annoying part, the part that will lead to me more likely putting the book back than keeping it, is this:

Do you see? DO YOU SEE?

It's a sans-serif font. There are no serifs! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? AN ENTIRE BOOK?

A subway map; okay. An ad insert in a newspaper; sure. Text messages; of course... (look at me, such an old man...not Uber-ing, knowing what a newspaper is, not communicating fully with emojis...)

Serifs are the tiny horizontal lines that adorn the hard edges of the printed letters of our Latin alphabet...well, most of the printed letters found in book-form blocks of texts. Books, newspapers, magazines, scholarly articles and scientific texts will pretty much, by convention, be printed with serif fonts. The websites I read: serif fonts. My own blogs: I try to see to it that they're serif fonted, but I may not yet be at a hundred percent.

It's just easier on the eyes while being more aesthetic.

Please publishers: DO NOT PUBLISH BOOKS WITH SANS-SERIF FONTS.