Anybody remember when they were good? I do.

A dog stares into a gramaphone trumpet
Waits for his call to action
Mute and obedient, standing to attention
Look a little closer, the dog is a man
Working on the factory
floor as hard as he can
The trumpets is a loudspeaker,
fixed into the roof
The man can hear His Master's Voice
And it always tells the truth
The man obeys his master, and
carries out his work
And of course he is rewarded
with bonuses and perks
You see, they have an understanding
And this is it:
The man stands under his master
Whilst his master has a shit

There's always been a pattern of struggle and defeat
Never that cycle incomplete
Never enough to tip the scales
Too many people rotting in jails
Or bloodied on the battlefields
The history books from every age
Have the same words written on every page
Always starting with 'Revolution'
And ending with 'Capitulation'
Always silenced by the truncheon
Or bought out with concessions
Always repetition...
Repetition... repetition... repetition...

'I'm the boss of the factory
'I'm in charge of the U.K.C.
'Shopfloor workers run and fetch
'As I sit around and smugly watch
'And the process makes me stinking rich'
We're all links in the factory chain
And the chain grows longer day by day
And whilst we're apart
The process won't stop
Repetition... repetition... repetition...

But we're kept apart by philosophies
And moral stances and policies
We'll be stuck in our own little ghettos forever
'Til we start to work together
Together... Together... Together...
Together in the open or together in
our little heaven?
Fighting for total change, or working for concessions?
Do we take what is ours, or ask that it be given?
Are we stealing it together, or asking for permission?
Even though we disagree we share a common enemy
Our methods may not be the same
But together we can break the chain
Different aims, different means, with
common ground in between
Don't sit back, it's time to act
This life is ours, let's snatch it back
Even though we disagree we share a common enemy
Our methods may not be the same
But together we can break the chain
Different aims, different means, with
common ground in between
Don't sit back, it's time to act
This life is ours, let's snatch it back
The time has come to make a choice
Stop taking orders from His Master's Voice!

The malware spiderweb story that broke on the front page of yesterday's New York Times is interesting for a few reasons:
First of all, whoever doesn't have malware protection - and isn't running regular malware checks - is a fucking idiot. Apple yuppies are not exempt.
Second, anyone who thinks that, because this originated in China it must be coming from the Chinese government, is missing the point. This is an international problem, and has roots in China, Israel, Russia, the United States, Nigeria, and many other countries.
This one isolated incident highlights a growing problem: that malware and virus creators, along with spammers, are increasingly operating transnationally, and often in a legal grey area.

Last year, when Dengue Fever played NXNE, a bunch of cokehead creeps I'm acquainted with, while shoveling Tide up their rotten noses in anticipation of the Friday-night show, could hardly mitigate their desire to "check out some sweet Thai music." Fucking disgusting. Total Blues Hammer moment.

Anyway...

Ros Serey Sothear was a supernova of Cambodian pop during the pre-Khmer Rouge cultural renaissance in Phnom Penh. You'd have to be deaf to ignore the transcendent quality of her voice. Her brief life was snuffed out at its peak, possibly by Pol Pot himself after she was forced to marry one of his assistants.
Her story either reinforces my belief that humans are garbage, or supports the idea that we are wonderfully complex and creative spectres who regularly shove broken vases through the violent ether of life and emerge with bouquets of stinking flowers.
I haven't decided which.

So, Sean Penn wins the Academy Award for a dull, predictable performance in Milk, probably due to Prop 8 guilt. Mickey Rourke, the Jocelyn Wildenstein of actors, is left to reign in the court of public opinion (for what it's worth, I thought Frank Langella and Richard Jenkins were far more complex and interesting, and Sean Penn was robbed years ago for Dead Man Walking).
Anyway... The Wrestler. Darren Aronofsky's movies are shit, but I actually enjoyed this. He captures a defeated has-been, his stretch-marked Jersey girl, and pock-marked exurban New Jersey perfectly. Mickey Rourke's performance is a tour de force, and yet remains wonderfully subdued and understated. Marisa Tomei, always underrated, is the perfect foil to Rourke's limping performance.

So, where does The Wrestler fit into the pantheon of broke dick dog movies? Here are my all-time faves:

10 - The Wrestler. I used to work in podunk Jersey, and knew guys just like Mickey Rourke's character. Great cast. Depressing movie. The Boss is definitely appropriate for the soundtrack. Seems like he's been waiting his whole life to write a song for a movie like this.
9 - Five Easy Pieces. "He Rode the Fast Lane on the Road to Nowhere." Filmed in Bakersfield, this is the Merle Haggard of movies. Jack Nicholson looks like my dad.
8 - The Passenger. Five Easy Pieces set in Africa and Europe, with a master behind the camera.
7 - Goin' Down the Road. Shots of a pre-condo downtown Toronto set to Bruce Cockburn provide the backdrop. When I drive by the Maple Leaf Tavern on Gerrard, I think of this classic Canadian film.
6 - Fat City. Stacy Keach as an alcoholic boxer in early 70s Stockton. Stockton, at the time, was like a shittier Bakersfield, which is like saying Cleveland is a shittier Buffalo. Incredible movie.
5 - Buffalo '66. Mickey Rourke. Jan Michael Vincent stumbling over his lines. FUCKING BEN GAZZARA! 5 minutes of Vincent Gallo trying not to piss his pants in the Buffalo Greyhound station. What's not to love? I have watched this movie at least once a year for the past ten years.
4 - Badlands. Better than Days of Heaven. Based on the Plains murder spree of Charles Starkweather, and featuring bold performances by Martin Sheen as an out-of-his-league teenage killer, and Sissy Spacek as his muse. The Boss updated it on Nebraska. This is Nebraska set to film.
3 - Dog Day Afternoon. Nothing about this movie is bad. Al Pacino's finest hour. A taut thriller that highlights man at his weakest. John Cazale's face before he gets shot is the personification of defeat. In too deep, no way out.
2 - Paris, Texas. Probably the best movie of all time. Screenplay by Sam Shepard, whose stories and plays embody the attitude seen in all of these films. Stark scenery, great soundtrack. This is Harry Dean Stanton's greatest role. Perfect movie.
1 - Straight Time. Satisfies Roger Ebert's Stanton-Walsh rule, and includes normal guy Gary Busey for good measure. Dustin Hoffman's mumbling portrayal of a con who has had a taste of the straight life and knows he doesn't fit was initially overlooked, and has been forgotten by many, but remains one of the great performances in American film.

I could include movies like Taxi Driver (too urban-realist), Midnight Cowboy (same), One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (more of a 60s film, despite its release date), The Deer Hunter (2nd half is pure 'Nam movie. First hour would fit, though...), and many more, but the aforementioned movies feature depressed geography (even Dog Day Afternoon has a rough, blue-collar Brooklyn for a backdrop), solitary characters who are in over their heads, and grit you can feel in your teeth.

Anyway, most of these films were made in the 70s. Here's a good introduction to 70s cinema: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0342275/