I don’t understand politics.  Which is to say, I don’t get the people that aren’t politicians and the way they blindly back one political party or the other.

We’ve all got our stance on issues. Economic, social, whatever… You’ve got a stance, one way or the other, and you gather the majority of your opinions and pick a party.  Democratic for the more liberal among us — which is to say, apparently, the hippies — and Republican for the conservatives — or religious zealots and rich people.

If you don’t have a stance on issues, you’re either hopelessly out of touch, or dead, or French.  If you’re not one of those things, you believe that abortion is right or wrong, that taxes should be raised or lowered (and where those taxes should and should not go), that we should be at war with other countries or at peace.  It’s part of being a thinking, feeling human being.

I guess I’m a liberal. I’m not really sure.  I’m pro-choice, anti-censorship, and all for equal taxation.  I don’t really understand the deeper mechanics of economics, so I won’t argue too strenuously on the taxation issue (hey, maybe there’s a good reason that rich people get to keep a higher percentage of their money than the family that can barely keep a roof over their head — what do I know, outside of 1s and 0s and phrygian modal progressions?).  The rest of it, though, is mostly opinion, and we’ve all got assholes.

But then you get things like Rep. Mark Foley emailing and IMing underage boys with naughty (to say the least) intent, and you know what? Contrary to what the press and politicians would have you believe, it’s not about party lines.  What I hear on TV and radio — to wit, that it’s a nefarious plot by the democrats to leak this to the media just in time for elections — and it makes me sick.  Who cares who told who?  What matters is that we’ve got further evidence that the people writing our laws are evidently convinced that they are above those same laws.  We’ve got allegations — that should be looked into without any question — that other lawmakers are covering for them (for political reasons).

I don’t care what party you belong to: if you break the laws that we elected you to write, you should be punished.  This country was founded on a concept of rule by the common man, which means that statistically, we’re going to get more than our fair share of greedy, opportunistic, power-hungry people in our positions of power, versus people that want the best for our country and the people in it.  I can accept that.  What I can’t accept is that your guilt or level thereof seems more and more to be relative to your party affiliation, and the amount of power that party has at the time.

I’m not a fan of Bush and his administration; no secret.  But it’s not that I don’t think they’ve done nothing right (although I can’t think of an example offhand), nor will I zealously decree that they are the worst thing to happen to the US in my memory.  Nor will I say that Clinton was the greatest, having done no wrong. It’s not just that I have opinions on issues that land on both sides of the fence, either.

Maybe what bugs me is hearing the laughable (un)logic spouted by the Rush Limbaughs and the Bill O’Reilly’s, and the almost knee-jerk reactionary comments by Al Frankens and … er… surely there’s another Liberal commentator that isn’t a gigantic wimp?  No?

Although, admittedly, at least Franken backs his arguments up with real, tangible evidence.  And makes me laugh.  Which O’Reilly does too, but I’m laughing with Franken.

Tonight’s the season three kickoff of LOST, and I’m of two minds about watching it.  I was with the show from the beginning — I don’t watch a lot of television, but the premise was intriguing and different enough from what had come before that I gave it a shot, and loved it from minute one.  As the first season progressed, there was just enough of everything to keep me interested, a fine balance of mysteries and character chemistry and backstory.

Season two was just as good, though it felt in places like it was already tempting the slippery slope paved previously by The X-Files. I understand viewer psychology enough to know that it’s the mysteries that keep people coming back for more; if you reveal too much, you risk losing the audience.  On a parallel note, if you give an answer to a long-running question — any answer — someoneis going to be unhappy with it and feel let down.

But season two felt like it was laboring under the wait of all the new mysteries and twists, while getting little relief from answers to the old.  We found out what was in the hatch, and — well enough — the answer to that question simply opened up a new basket of questions. That’s fair enough, and good writing, to boot.

Still, as we head into tonight, I feel like I’m about to stick my hand back into what has become an ever-growing Gordian Knot of venomous snakes that have wound themselves perhaps painfully close into something that can never be unraveled to anyone’s satisfaction.

I remember reading early on that the writers had a master plan, an ending to the whole story, and I love that idea — a self-contained, finite story.  I’m reminded of comics like Sandman, Transmetropolitan, and Y: The Last Man.

Leave ’em wanting more instead of wearing out your welcome.

Not that there’s anything wrong with shows running forever.  But those shows — CSI, Scrubs, M*A*S*H, to list a few that fit this bill — are situational narratives.  The plotline of the show, the pitch, is a framework that is used to set up standalone stories.  Within these stories, you might have long-term arcs develop — a serial killer that crosse seasons, for instance, or the marriage between Turk and Carla — but the framework is unlimited (in theory).  The pitch for LOST, though, is a singular story, that without a decided finity simply opens the door to being painted into a corner.

X-Files, coincidentally, could have never become the distasteful memory that it is in my head, had Carter avoided the overarching mystery of the aliens (and the miasmic collapse that came with the Man Behind The Curtain).  The self-contained episodes were, by and large, wonderful, sort of a fictionalized Ripley’s Believe it or Not, driven by the chemistry between Scully/Anderson and Mulder/Duchovny.

Here’s hoping that the minds behind LOST stick to their original plans to have the show aimed at a final destination, and that they don’t let network executives steer them away from that ending. And that maybe, just maybe, these first episodes of the new season will offer some resoution to past wonderings before introducing a passel of new ones.  There’s only so many plot threads that I can juggle before I decide to see what’s on at 8 PM on Wednesdays on NBC.  Or just go back to whatever book I’m buried in at the moment…

Yeah, it’s old, but I boycotted the SW pre-logy on DVD, so this is the first I’m seeing of it (via Neatorama).

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkeWjWKqHdo]

And anyway, it makes me happy.

You ever get one of those headaches that isn’t so much a headache as a portent of things to come? A pre-migraine is what I always call them, because they tend to foreshadow the clustering pains that take me out of the real world for a day or more.  It’s that lead-up to what feels like might be balls of nuclear waste just behind the wall of my skull, above my left eye — it’s a pain that defies accurate description, as it’s neither sharp nor dull but both and then some.

And now I’m in day two of the pre-game festivities.  I should be thankful that I haven’t gotten a full-blown migraine yet, and that maybe I still won’t, but walking around like this is not a lot of fun.  You’re not quite down enough to rest and/or bury your head under a pillow, but not up enough to care much about anything that you’re doing.

And so, when writing is a chore, you think that, hey — at least no one’s reading this drivel anyway.

There is no wrong way to eat a Rhesus.

This is how our mornings start off:

• I try to wake CL after she dozes through three separate alarms.
• I try being sexy, knowing that there’s no better way to start a day.
• I whisper sweet nothings to her as the coffee brews a room away.
• When all that fails, the bodyslamming begins.
• And then, because I know she’s awake (I saw your legs come out from under the covers, bitch — don’t you lie to me!), it’s time for more sex. This time with my first and most intelligible words of the day.

Art Teacher Loses Job After Kids See Nude Sculpture: Children Were On School-Approved Field Trip

I’m still trying to figure out what people are so afraid of when it comes to the human body.  I’m also amused that we seem to have no ethical problem exposing kids to violence, but an unclothed human body — something that we all have, mind you, that we are born with, that nature dictates will unite us as a species — is the greatest sin of all.

Okay, fine: we can’t say “fuck” on broadcast television or radio; it’s just a word, and I think it’s stupid, but the majority of the people don’t want their kids hearing such language, so we keep it off the public airwaves.  I can type it here all I want — fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck — and nothing happens, and kids can read that.  Seriously — any kid, anywhere.

And again, I have an issue with the balance apparent (or not) here.  We go out of our way to prevent our kids from hearing words, or combinations of words — when it’s up to the listener to give those words power, not the speaker — but we have no problem with (in fact, seem to encourage) them listening to lies, slander, and all the other crap inherent with politics (and a lot of religion).

We can show the inside of the human body, but not the covering. Everyone I know thinks the latter is beautiful, and the former disturbing if not downright disgusting (hey, we’re only meat, guys); in essence, we’re discouraged from the beauty in the world.

I think someone should market child-sized blinders. Those would make someone a fortune, if pitched right to the puritanical crowd that seems to think that pleasure is not something to be experienced in this lifetime.

Muckfuppet is reviewed! Or pimped. Once ethics and personal relationships come into the picture, I get my terms all screwed up…

• Glenny at the Birmingham Weekly is the only person ever to mention my movie and a drunken office party kiss in the same breath.
• Considering that I’m on the tail end of a cold and suffering allergies, I’m not sure that Wade should have used “coughed up” as a metaphor for me writing the script. I hope Muckfuppet is prettier than the thing coming out of my lungs this week.
• Podcasting! Woot! Birmingham public radio’s Tapestry…

I think this is called TMX Elmo? I don’t care. I want twenty. Can you imagine how great this will be on stage? Or better, how freaked out the cats will be?

The universe is something like 13 1/2 billion years old, right?

Okay. While I don’t keep a very tight record of times and dates (happy birthday to my little brother, by the way, about ten days late. Or is it eight days late?), I think, if memory serves*, we’ve been working on the sophomore Exhibit(s) album for about three days longer than that.

It’s all worth it, though, as this Friday night, September 22th, we’ll be holding the official CD release party. It’s at Bailey’s Pub in Southside, where two of us were born, a third will one day die, and the last of us met his true love. It’ll coincide with a three-or-so-hour set of live tunes (with potential Very Special Guests), including originals new and old, our usual eclectic mix of covers, and an a cappella rendition of Slayer’s new CD, from first track to last.

I was going to say that its obvious that one of those won’t be happening, but it’s not so obvious, really.

The new album (it’s either called AVERY ELLIS PRESENTS THE EXHIBIT(S) IN ACHLUOPHOBIA: MUSIC FROM, INSPIRED BY, AND COMPLETELY UNRELATED TO THE MOTION PICTURE HIDE & CREEP, AVERY ELLIS PRESENTS THE EXHIBIT(S) IN PRODUCTION AND DECAY OF STRANGE PARTICLES: MUSIC FROM, INSPIRED BY, AND COMPLETELY UNRELATED TO THE MOTION PICTURE HIDE & CREEP, AVERY ELLIS PRESENTS THE EXHIBIT(S) IN DEVIL TOOK THE WHEEL: MUSIC FROM, INSPIRED BY, AND COMPLETELY UNRELATED TO THE MOTION PICTURE HIDE & CREEP, or NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS…; we can’t decide) will be available in a special, limited edition format** for only five dollars. There’s no cover charge, and Bailey’s has some of the cheapest prices on drinks in town, so you really can’t have more fun for less money***.

Come out: Bailey’s Pub, 10:30 PM until ??, Friday 22 September 2006, Exhibit(s) CD release party.

* Memory obviously doesn’t serve me very well.

** Soon to be collectible and fetch high dollars on eBay! Buy five!

*** Unless you are a serial killer or a very boring person who defines fun as “not fun to anyone else.”

(This appeared in its original form at www.muckfuppet.com on October 27, 2005)

Muckfuppet is largely based in truth. The character names aren’t even that far removed from reality (which prompted one of my readers to comment, “Why can’t you filmmakers ever use names of people that you don’t know?”) — Kevin = Kenn and Celia = Neely.

Yes, I know Celia and Neely aren’t that close. But can you think of a name other than Celia that even comes close in sound?

This, fellow writer/directors, is the importance of bringing in outsiders to work with you, and being open to their input:

Because it’s so largely grounded in truth, I know how it ends (and yes, I’m aware that the “ending” of the script is sort of transparent from the word go, and I’m okay with that). It colors the tone of the entire piece in my head, and thus makes the lines read a very specific way to me. When Melissa sat down with me for the first read-through, we discussed the character and the lines at length.

(Melissa knows Neely, but she’s not playing Celia as Neely, which I feel is a good choice. In fact, I mentioned that she might play Celia as reacting to Kevin as me — if that makes any sense.)

But when we got to the mid-section, and she was asking me how I saw certain lines being played, her approach made me realize that there were many more options for the final outcome than reality, than the eventuality that is stuck in my head. And it opened everything up on so many different levels, and honestly made me more excited about the script than I’ve been since it was written.

And about the strange dynamics: Melissa is my ex-wife, playing Celia, who is based on Neely, one of my closest friends, who is dating Scott Ross, playing Kevin, the character based on me. And the first time I ever met Scott, he was in a play that involved him kissing Melissa.

It’s a strange small world, this Birmingham. But filled with a scary amount of talent.

Muckfuppet is showing at the Alabama Theater at 1:30 PM, Saturday, September 23.  It’s part of the Alabama Shorts #2 Block of movies; admission is $7.  More details can be found at www.sidewalkfest.com.