You know what's awesome? Bein' a dude.

So my lovely wife is ten weeks pregnant, and I am feeling vague twinges of guilt. She gets nauseated; she doesn't have much energy; her boobs are giant and painful, and it's all only going to get worse. Even worse, she can't relax, put her feet up, and have a beer or a smoke or something to take the edge off. I know she's deliriously happy to be growing a little person inside of her, and once the baby is here we can both take on the responsibility, but for now she has to do all the heavy lifting. To top it all off, she's the one who works full-time outside the home. I mean, she's not putting together cars or anything, it's a desk job, but she still has to get up early and come home late.

As I sit around writing blogs and smoking my hookah, I do wish there were a way for me to share in the burden of pregnancy. I try -- I try to get her anything she needs, be very patient and groovy and anticipate what will make her more comfortable, but in the end, I'm still on the outside. So all I can do is make sure she knows how much I appreciate her.

C'mon science, there ought to be a way for us to trade off. Like, "you take the uterus for a month, and I'll party like a rockstar, then we'll trade off." Lego pregnancy, that's what we need. Pop the belly off and snap it on somebody else, and just keep tradin' off.

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'...

So every time I look at a calendar these days, I get a little jab of slightly queasy surprise. This year has been a procession of -- 'holy shit, it's February. Holy shit, it's March. Holy shit, where'd March go?' Even though there have been plenty of events that stand out and mark each month -- March was the trip to Vegas with Matt, Gretta, Zack, Aliah, Erin; May was the trip to Phoenix; April we spent remodeling the bathroom of death and despair -- it's amazing that this year is already half over.

Of course, looking back to the first of the year, at the New Year's Eve party, that seems like a lifetime ago. Time goes by quickly but has gone by slowly -- memories of moving into our house eight months ago have the same sepia-tint of nostalgia as memories of my high school graduation.

I'm not sure how to go about siezing each day and living in each moment and all that stuff that's supposed to keep time from sliding by. The unfortunate truth is that the things that make life easy are the things that make time go poof -- routine, for example. Spending hours on the computer, for example. It's amazing that someone with as little to do as me -- someone who works from home at a job that requires a maximum of two hours a day -- always feels crunched for time.

One of my college professors, after continued frustration at my last-minute papers and constant tardiness, told me "do not be a slave to time. Sieze it and use it or it will use you." Which is all well and good, but I'm not quite sure how to start. Maybe this blog will help - having something to distract me from all of the other distractions up in this piece.

Must See: The Fall

So there's a new movie out this week by Tarsem, the director of The Cell and many music videos. You probably won't find it playing anywhere but groovy, small independent theaters, which is a shame, but if it's anywhere near you, seek it out and see it. If you enjoyed the trippy visuals of The Cell, but didn't enjoy the Jennifer Lopez parts of it, you'll definitely enjoy The Fall. If you enjoyed Pan's Labyrinth and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, you'll definitely enjoy The Fall; it splits the difference between the two.

It's set in California at the beginning of the motion picture industry. A young girl, a migrant fieldworker, is hospitalized with a broken arm. At the hospital, she meets a twentysomething man who was injured on the set of a movie -- though she doesn't understand that his injury was actually a suicide attempt. The man tells the girl a fantastic, Arabian nights/american tall tale story, and we see the story as it's filtered through the girl's imagination. As the story progresses, we learn more about the girl and the man and the way they relate to each other.

The movie has absolutely stunning visuals, but they're not just an end unto themselves: the fantasy sequences are absolutely in service of the "real-world" story and the characters. This is no sterile parade of images; it has a vibrant, beating heart that breaks and mends itself through the course of the narrative.

The reviews for this film have been frustrating. Like The Fountain, Lady in the Water, and Donnie Darko -- all movies I thought were incredible -- you get two types of reviews. The first is the cynical, hip reviewer who doesn't know what to do with a movie that is equal parts batshit insane and incredibly sincere. If it were just batshit insane, they'd praise it (lest they be found wanting in their cool hipness) -- witness the praise heaped on the sterile nonsense of Mulholland Drive, for example. But because The Fall actually has compassion for its characters, and dares to make big statements about heroism, love, and healing, it simply isn't cool to praise it. Instead, you have to rant about how the filmmaker's ego runs rampant on the screen: how dare Tarsem think he can tell us anything about the human condition? How dare he take big risks with image and story, even if those risks pay off? How dare he bring tears to my eyes? What a bastard. These reviewers are people who are burned out on movies in general, if you ask me. If you're unable to surrender yourself to the experience of a movie this masterfully crafted, you need a break.

The other type of review that pisses me off for a movie like this is the lazy review. For example, take this genius critic: "It doesn't make a bit of sense. And after a while, even pretty images become boring when there's nobody in them we care about." I remember similar criticism for Donnie Darko, and all that means is that the critic is unconscionably lazy. Folks, if it's your job to review movies -- if you're the lucky douchebag who gets PAID to do so, it behooves you to pay a modicum of attention to what's going on on-screen. It's not a hard story to follow, it's just slightly unconventional, and it heavily rewards the merest bit of attention paid.

Roger Ebert doesn't always get it right, but his review is spot-on; see for yourself.

The film is rated R for a few gory scenes -- this isn't the kind of fantasy where someone gets shot with an arrow and doesn't bleed. It's not as scary or as violent as Pan's Labyrinth, though, and of the same caliber. Go see it if you get a chance -- like Pan's Labyrinth or The Fountain, you'll kick yourself for missing it on the big screen.

Anniversary goodness!

Okay, so last night the missus and I celebrated two happy years of marriage. It was a great day, full of little wistful smiles as I remembered our wedding on the beach, our honeymoon in Jamaica, and all the little reminders that I am lucky beyond belief to be with this woman for the rest of my life. My mother-in-law found us an amazing restaurant in Minneapolis called The Cave Vin -- It's basically the same restaurant we ate at in Paris, a little hole-in-the-wall that serves fresh Frenchified food, different every day. The only difference is that it doesn't cost an arm and a leg to eat there. We had delicious, delicious frog legs (slightly fishy, slightly rabbit-y, very garlic 'n' buttery), king crab gnocchi, and a rack of lamb, and topped the whole thing off with a tiny, almost unbearably rich dessert called a "Pot de creme," basically super-concentrated dark chocolate pudding. Wonderbar. Jess surprised me with a beautiful card that brought tears to my eyes, and we basically acted like newlyweds the entire evening. We ended up going to see a movie afterward, the first time in our 6-year history that we've had a dinner-and-a-movie date. I'll review the movie in the next post, but just had to put in the date's details for future reference.

We ended the evening with a steamy (in more ways than one -- it was 90 degrees yesterday and humid) bedroom tryst, not that I'm going to provide many details. Just let it be known that my wife kicks ass, and the only way we can add more love to our household is by havin' a baby. By lucky coincidence, we're doing just that.

I'm feeling much better now.

Let it be known that after I wrote that post, I logged into Kingdom of Loathing and talked to a few people who helped me get over my whiny, silly, hand-wringin' self. Big ups to the likes of Werebear and Ashallond, who gently reminded me that being a father doesn't mean you can't be awesome anymore.

The whole world looks better from this end of the day, I have to say. Maybe I shouldn't post during the morning doldrums anymore.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Wow, looking at that first post, I think I said "30-year-old" at least five times. Guess what's on my mind these days, children?

I can't help but think about getting older, though, because giant, sweeping changes are coming, and I don't know what my life will be like after they hit. Right now I feel a combination of boredom, weird excitement, and dread -- like I'm floating in a little pond, ever-so-slowly getting closer and closer to a giant waterfall. I don't have any frame of reference for what comes next, except the assurance that I know people who have done it, and they're still around. Sometimes, though, that's just not enough assurance for me.

What I'm talking about is that me and the missus are going to have a baby in January. That definitely marks the end of an era that's a known commodity: lots of travel, parties, booze, and the occasional illegal substance, having a little extra money and loads of free time. I know the downsides to having a baby -- namely, the loss of all of the above -- but I've never experienced the upsides to it, so I have the trepidation without the assurance that it's okay. I know on an intellectual level that we'll love the baby, we'll be over-the-moon happy with the baby, and that it really *doesn't* mean the end of all the fun stuff -- it means less of that fun stuff, and more of a different kind of fun stuff. But tell that to my spine, man, because that doesn't stop the shivers.

I'm not saying I don't want to start a family; I do. I also think that the booze, the partying, the etc., does lose its luster after a while, and you eventually need some deeper pleasures in life, and that process has already started. It'll be a very empty life ten years from now if I'm still trying to party like a twenty-something. So I want this to happen; I just wish it didn't feel like I only have a year left to be relevant, and that year's already half over.

Aimee Mann and Kanye West...

So last week, me and the missus took in some quality live music. I had heard that Aimee Mann was playing at the Minnesota Zoo's amphitheater on the 12th of June, and booked those tickets well, well in advance. I had also seen that Kanye West would be performing at the Target Center on the 11th, but initially wasn't going to go. That wasn't due to any lack of awesome on Mr. West's part, just that I've never been to a stadium-venue show like that, and I tend to prefer a little more intimacy for live music, if you know what I mean.

Then I saw some of the props Mr. West was going to be using for his stage show, including the 20-foot-tall gold holographic dancing girls, and decided I'd kick myself for missing it. So we ended up seeing Mr. West on the 11th and Ms. Mann on the 12th.

The Kanye West show turned out to be pretty damned incredible. Sure, the performers were pretty far away, and the acoustics in the hall meant that if you didn't already know the song, you didn't have a prayer of catching the lyrics, but the energy and spectacle was well worth the trip. Lupe Fiasco opened the show, and I found that instead of just waiting for them to play Superstar, I was grooving on every track. Lupe's got an incredible flow, which he somehow sustains while doing everything but cartwheels on the stage. His style is equal parts nerdcore and gangsta, I would say, so it's part "check out my gold rims" and part "check out my giant battlebot."

After Lupe, N.E.R.D. took the stage. I wasn't as impressed with them as I was expecting to be, but they still got everyone, even my pasty 30-year-old self, jumping. I did, in fact, throw my hands in the air, and with no irony I waved them like I just didn't care.

The third opener was Rihanna, of Um-ba-rella fame. I wasn't expecting much from her, but was pleasantly surprised -- she's got a lot of personality and spirit. Her voice isn't as powerful as, say, Christina Aguilera, but she really gets into the songs. She's also ten pounds of sexy in a nine-pound bag. I maintain, by the way, that Um-ba-rella is a pretty damn decent song. Sure, it's a friend/end together/weather kind of thing, but there's no denying the propulsive chord changes and the giant, giant hook.

Between Rihanna and Kanye, they pulled a giant curtain over the stage and spent a good half an hour putting things together. When the curtain opened, we saw a moonscape-looking stage with a 10x10 video screen horizontally on top of part of it, another 20x10 video screen vertically sticking out of it, and a giant screen behind the whole thing. Kanye was lying on top of the video screen with his eyes closed, and a computerized female voice said, "wake up, Mr. West."

Yup, Kanye turned his stage show into an incredibly nerdy science-fiction rap opera. Turns out his spaceship, Jane, had run out of power, stranding him on an alien planet. He had to find the one thing that would fuel the spaceship and return him home, while kicking the shit out of his greatest hits. Spoiler: the only thing powerful enough to take the spaceship home was Kanye's giant ego. No foolin'.

So it was an incredible evening, and a reminder that those who get too caught up in labels and irony (more on that in the next post) miss out. If I had thought, "wait, I'm not a fourteen-year-old girl, I'm a 30-year-old white nerd and music snob; I can't go to this show, and it's totally beneath me, anyway," I wouldn't have seen these amazingly talented performers rock an arena full of good vibrations for damn near three hours. It was great stuff, and not to be missed.

I have less to say about Aimee Mann, mostly because as a 30-year-old white nerd music snob, she's definitely what I ought to be listening to. She put on a great show, though, with completely unaffected, ego-free banter, dealing with accolades and heckling alike with humor and charm. For example, some douchebag kept shouting "Voices Carry!" until she finally stopped, said, "now, you know I'm not going to play Voices Carry. What the hell's the matter with you? Check it out, this guy is totally losing his shit," all with a wry smile that got even the douchebag heckler laughing. I do wish she would have played more old stuff, as the set was mostly off her new album, but we got some of the classics, too. And she finally acknowledged the weirdness of the whole "we go away for a minute, then you applaud until we come back for the encore" thing. And then went ahead and did it anyway. Class all the way, Ms. Mann.

So if you like good music, some recommendations:

!#$@%# Smilers -- Aimee Mann's new album. I keep hearing that it's too similar to her other stuff, yadda yadda, but I loved it on first listen and it just keeps getting better. Like, say, Cake, Aimee Mann's someone with a definitive sound and a limited vocal style who somehow never gets boring.

The Cool -- Lupe Fiasco's second album, and the only one I have at the moment. It's not a home run -- there are a couple of songs that are fueled by samples made out of pure obnoxiousness. But the concept is neat, the lyrics are intelligent, and it's definitely worth a few spins.

Graduation -- Kanye West's album is a year old now, but I'm still listening to it with regularity. There's just something about that guy -- the giant ego, the dumb smart lyrics, the smart dumb lyrics, the off-the-wall production -- it's a good antidote to most mainstream hip-hop, which tends to be bitches 'n' bling set to somebody banging two keys on a Casio.

So yeah. New blog. Maybe I will write in it. We'll see.