Creeping Spookies

As I've probably mentioned previously, WOS enjoys horror movies.  Really enjoys them.  Since we've been together, I've seen more horror movies than I had even HEARD of in the 30+ years of my life to that point.  Now, I myself am not as much of a fan of the genre, my tastes running more to mindless action and hoity-toity "art films."  I have trouble differentiating one grade-B horror flick from another, and when WOS assures me that I HAVE seen, for example, "Hellraiser 9" (seriously), I just take her word for it and nod appeasingly.  Still, every once in a while, one of these movies stands out for one reason or another, penetrating my generally resistant consciousness.  One such movie is "Insidious" (2010).

"Insidious," directed by James Wan, tells the story of Josh (Patrick Wilson) and Renai (Rose Byrne) Lambert, who have recently moved in an attempt to escape a haunted house.  Unfortunately, they quickly find out that the thing that was haunted was not so much the house as the people who lived there, i.e., the Lamberts.  The movie functions in many ways as an updated "Poltergeist," as the Lamberts soon turn to quirky "psychic detective" types to help them root out the evil spirits.

What I think makes "Insidious" work better than most of its generic peers is a certain subtlety.  There is very little outright violence in the film, and essentially no gore.  The evil spirits don't jump out at you so much as they loom menacingly in the background.  Instead of snarling, they as often as not smile hideously, inhumanly, which is far more frightening.

"Insidious" is available on Netflix instant-watch, so, if you're in the mood for a fun little horror flick, check it out.

Another Day at Solipsist Central

WOS: How'd everything go?

SOLIPSIST: Oh, fine.

WOS: You got the oil changed?

SOL: Yeah, it was kind of expensive.  You needed transmission fluid, too.

WOS: Oh, OK.

SOL: And I also had them replace the air filter.

WOS: OK, thanks.

SOL: There was something else, too. . .  I can't remember what he said.  It was something they couldn't do there, though.. . .

WOS: Oh.  Was it something important?

SOL: Um. . . I don't think so. . . I wish I could remember. . .

WOS: Brake fluid?

SOL: Maaaay-be. . . . I don't think that was it.

WOS: 'Cause that's important.

SOL: Yeah. .  .It wasn't coolant!  He told me that the coolant was fine.

WOS: OK, but what WAS it?

SOL: I don't remember!  But the guy didn't sound overly concerned, like it wasn't urgent. . .

(Two hours or so later)

SOL: STEERING FLUID!

WOS (starting awake): Wuzza?

SOL: That's what you're low on.  Steering fluid.

WOS: Well, that's important!

SOL: Well, yeah, but not important important.

WOS: It is!

SOL: Only if you steer!

WOS: And you don't steer, I suppose.

SOL: I go straight on!  Turning just means you're going out of your way.

WOS (mumbling): Wish you would go out of my way.  . .

SOL: Hm?

WOS: Nothing.

Read a Book at the Ball Game

Perhaps you've seen this picture of a reading Royals fan.  Despite the fact that this man has presumably paid a hefty sum for the privilege of sitting behind home plate, he seems more interested in his book than in the action on the field.  Snarky commentators have suggested that this picture captures the enthusiasm level of Kansas City baseball fans, who are disheartened by the team's lackluster performance so far this season.

This is unfair.  Plenty of people--from Stephen King to the Solipsist--read during baseball games.  Indeed, baseball--with its intermittent action and regular pauses between "events" (i.e., pitches)--lends itself quite well to reading.  This has nothing to do with the relative quality of the team being watched.  Sure, the Royals stink, but I'd bet this fan would read during games even if the team were in first place.  I, myself, like to read during baseball games, and I'm a fan of the Mets.

Oh shut up!

At the Church of the Prophet of Freehold

Last night was the night, the long-awaited Bruce Springsteen concert, tickets to which I won by virtue of a surfeit of trivial Bossiania.  This was my second trip to a Springsteen show, the first having was just about 20 years ago.  Looking around at the audience last night, I was struck by the fact that, while I haven't changed, the rest of the crowd had gotten really. . . old.

Actually, that's not entirely true: The audience members' ages spanned a broad range: Just within my section, there sat a boy who couldn't have been more than 10 (more on him later) and a woman who had to be close to 80.  One of the more amusing signs read, "Bruce: Dance with old people!"

He didn't, though.  (And God knows I tried!  I flashed my chest and everything!  No reaction--well, other than some questioning by security.  We all had a good laugh.)  Quite the opposite, really.  For "Dancing in the Dark," his "Courtney Cox" was a tween, complete with pink, animal-shaped backpack.  And about that ten-year-old: He had come prepared with a sign of his own, reading "Hey, Boss: I've been practicing!"  During "Waiting on a Sunny Day," Bruce walked over to our edge of the stage, saw the sign, and waved the boy up on stage.  He then let the kid sing the chorus--both a capella and with the band--and taught him how to do a rock-star slide across the stage.  Some kids have all the luck.

By now, it's a cliche to point out that Bruce Springsteen is one of (one of?) the greatest live performers in the history of rock and roll.  But cliches are cliches for a reason.  A Springsteen show is less entertainment spectacle than religious revival for the secular-humanist set.  The final set rolled from classic to classic; "Out in the Street" to "Dancin' in the Dark" to "Born to Run" to "Rosalita" to "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out"--the music slamming to a halt after "A change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band."  This was followed by a minutes-long "moment of silence" for the recently departed Clarence Clemons--if a "Moment of Silence" can consist of 15,000 screaming fans applauding maniacally as a video tribute played overhead.

For the last half-hour or so, the Shark Tank in San Jose felt more like a well-lit (and large) high-school gymnasium than a rock-concert venue: Plain unadorned house lights replaced colored gels as fans danced uninhibited, led by the Boss himself.  This 62-year-old man, who had been performing uninterrupted for two and a half hours, possessed more energy than he had at the beginning, more energy perhaps than the entire audience even.  He sang like a revivalist preacher on a mission to save the souls of his gathered flock.

Practically every song in Springsteen's 26-song set featured some element of call-and-response, creating and then amplifying the evening's spiritual component.  In "Lonesome Day," Bruce led the crowd in a chant of "It's all right, it's all right, it's all right"--and for the evening, in the presence of this musical prophet, it was.

How great must it be to be Bruce Springsteen?

Crossing a Line

Undeniably, there is something heart-rendingly tragic about the sudden, violent death of an innocent child.  On the bright side, though, those memorials provide a handy supply of free teddy bears.

(WOS: Oh, no!  No, no, no!!!!)

Monday Miscellany

Did you know that April is "National Distracted Driving Awareness Month"?  It is!  And when I heard about this on the radio while I was driving to work, it startled me so much that I crashed into a bus.

Bummer

As a New Yorker living in the San Francisco Bay Area, I seldom get to see my favorite baseball team play.  I'm OK with that though.  It's just one of many crosses I must bear for being a Mets fan.  And far from the heaviest cross, I might add.  It falls below the indignity of actually following the Mets' travails and that of having to tolerate the inevitable response, "You're a Mets fan?" when I inform others of my predilections.  Still, I do like to watch my team on those rare occasions when they show up on local TV, most reliably when they are playing my "local" team, the so-called San Francisco Giants (or more rarely the Oakland A's).  So I was looking forward this morning to settling down with the Sunday paper, a cup of coffee, and game 3 of the Giants series against the Mets.

And the game was rained out!!!

I feel I'm entitled to some kind of refund, but I don't know where to request one.