Answers! (Part One)

OK, the time has come to start answering the questions posed in Ask Me Anything! version 2.0.

I’m answering these in Order By My Whim, which means, in whatever order I want to. So there!

:: Someone going by the handle “Opus” asks this technical film music question:

I just found your blog via google, as I was searching for some comment on James Horner’s Apollo 13 score. So as long as you’re entertaining questions, here’s mine: Have you ever noticed that, in the last moments of the last scene of the movie (on the Iwo Jima), Horner moves chromatically away from the tonic, thus ending on a chord that bears no relation to the tonality he’s been working on for at least the last 20 minutes of the film? If you haven’t noticed it, do you know where I can find fellow fanatics who would be driven as crazy as I by this nonsense?

No, I hadn’t noticed that. Next!

Actually, though, there’s a more serious point to be made here. When I listen to music, I’m quite good at hearing melodic motifs and the relationships between them, as in leitmotif-based scores like Lord of the Rings; I’m also very keen on instrumentations and rhythms.

But with tonalities? Not so much.

I can hear that the chords that begin Tristan and Isolde are dissonant, and I can hear the dissonances at work in lots of Percy Grainger’s music. But I’ve never been good at being able to tell by ear when a work modulates into a subdominant key, to name one example. I can tell that a modulation has occurred, but I’ve never been good at identifying the destination key or at identifying the new key’s relation to the old key.

I’m honestly not sure why this is (other than that I probably didn’t put enough effort into my ear-training classes in college). Has this level of listening ever been the norm?

(And for a suggestion as to where to go on the Web to meet listeners who are equally attuned to keys, I’d probably pose either the Filmus-L mailing list or the FilmScoreMonthly message boards, where a number of fairly astute listeners hang out. I like to think of myself as an astute music listener, but in this case, I’m pretty much impotent.)

:: Chris Byrd from IndaBuff asks:

Why does Jimmy crack corn?

AND…

Why don’t people care that he does?

Well, I have no idea, either. And that means, to the Google-cave, Batman! It turns out that “Jimmy Crack Corn” was originally a slave song from the pre-Civil War days.

Via Wikipedia:

There has been much conjecture over the meaning of “Jimmy Crack Corn and I don’t care.” One possibility is “gimcrack corn,” cheap corn whiskey; another related theory is that it refers to “cracking” open a jug of corn whisky; another is that “crack-corn” is related to the (still-current) slang “cracker” for a rural Southern white.[7] Another, and possibly the most popular, is that the chorus refers to an overseer who, without the master, has only his bullwhip to keep the slaves in line. Most etymologists support the first interpretation, as the term “cracker” appears to predate “corncracking”, and “whipcracker” has no historical backing.[8] This suggests that the chorus means the slaves are making whiskey and celebrating. Pete Seeger himself was said to explain the true lyric was “Gimmie cracked corn–I don’t care”,[9] a reference to a form of punishment for something very bad, in which a slave’s rations were reduced to cracked corn and nothing else. In this case, the author seems to have decided that even this punishment is worth it, since the master is now dead and gone.

Another explanation:

Most of the theories about who Jimmy is and what he’s really doing agree that whatever he’s doing, the slave doesn’t care about it because his master is gone. Whether he’s gleefully carefree or woefully despondent is a point of dispute, depending a bit on which of the two main theories you subscribe to:

1.”Cracking corn” is opening a bottle of corn liquor; the phrase is self-referential and means “I’m Jimmy, I’m upset, I’m drinking, and I don’t care.” Well, that sense of crack is certainly old enough, but I can’t find any evidence of “corn” being used independently of the phrases “corn liquor” or “corn juice.” And if Jimmy is really talking, why use “I” in the second part of the sentence, but be Bob Dole-like in the first part?

2.”Cracking corn” really is crushing corn, and it means that someone named Jimmy, presumably a fellow slave, had to start grinding corn for food because of the penury visited on him after the master’s death. This is as plausible as any other piece of speculation, but it’s not a satisfactory answer to who Jimmy is and why he suddenly turns up in the refrain.

I found a lot more along that vein.

Basically, “Jimmy Crack Corn” is a very old folk song that arose from the plantation life of the antebellum South. As such, it’ll probably never be conclusively established just “jimmy crack corn” means, but apparently he doesn’t care because his master’s gone. What’s interesting is that depending on interpretation, he may be happy that his master is dead, or he may be sad.

More answers to come!

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Loops! Look at all the pretty loops!

One oddly endearing thing I always forget about when I go to Rochester, until I see it again, is the Inner Loop. This is an expressway that runs tightly around the city’s downtown core, presumably built for easy commuter access to downtown. I’ve done a bit of Googling, and I find that like many such expressways, it’s seen as a barrier between the downtown and the outlying neighborhoods, creating an artificial barrier to development or whatnot.

Parts of the Inner Loop are below the normal street level (I’m not sure what the actual term for this is), but if we’re worried about the barrier to neighborhoods and streetscapes posed by their crossings of expressways, I’m reminded of a unique solution they did in Columbus, Ohio.

Expressways can be dividers in cities. But there’s nothing that says they have to be.

UPDATE: More photos of the Columbus I-670 cap here, from the streetscape level. You literally never know you’re crossing an expressway.

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Preznit Day!

A good time was had by all yesterday, for the holiday known as Presidents’ Day. After we lit memorial candles for Zachary Taylor, Chester Alan Arthur, and Warren Harding, and after we sacrificed six live weasels in hopes of securing the favor of The Gods of Rodents for George W. Bush*, we took The Daughter to Rochester to visit the Strong Museum. I’ll have pictures up on Flickr in a week or two (I need to upgrade my account before I do more uploading), but for now, let me note that if you haven’t been there in a long time you should definitely go again. It is one of the classiest places I’ve ever been, and it’s actually been significantly improved since then, what with the addition of an entire new wing and an amazing butterfly habitat exhibit. We were there for more than five hours, and we still didn’t see everything before we staggered back out for the drive home. The admission prices are very reasonable, and the parking is free. So those of you with kids, what are you waiting for???

And wouldn’t you know it, but at one point while we were there, we rounded the corner to head into the Sesame Street-themed exhibit area when I was stopped by a woman who asked, “Hey, do you have a blog?” I answered affirmatively, and it turns out that she’s a regular reader of Jennifer‘s, her name is Tracy, and she’s just launched her own blog, LitMama. Again, Blogistan turns out to be a very small place! (I can’t imagine how she recognized me, though. You wouldn’t think that long-haired guys wearing tie-dye and overalls would stand out that much.)

Anyway, more connections are being made all the time! What a world.

* No, we didn’t sacrifice weasels. What kind of ogres do you think we are!

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Where’s Phil?

Now we’re onto the “All-Stars” edition of The Amazing Race. Thus far I can only say this:

Rob and Amber are evil and must be destroyed.

Seriously: since they’ve been on Survivor twice and they’ve already been on The Amazing Race once, this is their fourth shot at winning a million bucks. Why doesn’t CBS just cut them a check and be done with it? Sheesh.

Best exchange amongst contestants on tonight’s episode: “It sure is nice in Peru.” “That’s nice, but we’re in Ecuador.”

Worst thing said by a contestant: “We need to go more ‘rapido’. Not less ‘rapido’.” Said in an exaggerated Latino accent.

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Sentential Links #87

I’ll probably be away from the computer most of the day tomorrow (Monday — Presidents’ Day), so here are this week’s Sentential Links, one day early.

:: One of the reasons I love researching for Pulp Heroes is that I’m constantly reminded that our predecessors could be so exuberantly imaginative. A crossdressing rocambolesque zeppelin-piloting master criminal from a 1915 silent film–how fun is that?

:: I’ve always figured that anyone who thinks that the world today is more dangerous and more frightening than, say, the decade after WWII, is either too young to remember, too incurious to have read any history, or else just plain nuts.

:: What does it mean to “love thy neighbor”? Where does my social/spiritual obligation or opportunity start and stop?

:: I’ve seen biggies like the Eagles, Pink Floyd, U2, and Bob Dylan, not to mention personal uber-faves like Dwight Yoakam, but the list above still did the best live shows.

:: Things get pretty moody out in space, I guess. All that training, and then, at the end of the day, there you are with no gravity, some other astronaut is having sex with the astronaut you’re supposed to be having sex with, you’re trying to eat something that looks like a mylar balloon, and you have a load in your pants.

:: Boy, the early years were rough on Jerry, weren’t they? 17 episodes in and he’s only had four girlfriends, really. We’ll check back in with the next season soon. Things might pick up for him then! (Schmoopy! Yes, he’s blogging his way through Jerry’s history of love on Seinfeld. Hilarity should ensue.)

:: Being a kid means feeling afraid, feeling sad, feeling lost and confused, feeling let down, feeling alone, feeling sad, feeling bad for reasons you can’t name for yourself. (One of those posts Lance uncorks on a regular basis that makes me wonder why on Earth I’m blogging in the first place. Criminy.)

:: One thing to consider about the Glenn Reynolds / Hugh Hewitt assassination strategy for coping with the Iranian nuclear program (“we should be responding quietly, killing radical mullahs and Iranian atomic scientists”) beyond the obvious is how we once again see conservatives (or in Reynolds’ case “libertarians”) displaying an almost childlike faith in the competence, honesty, and efficacy of the federal bureaucracy insofar as that bureaucracy is tasked with dishing out lethal force that they would never in a million years ascribe to, say, the people in charge of the Endangered Species Act.

:: I am not a Freak.

:: Pig, the last animal of the zodiac, is considered a very good sign to be born under. They are sincere, gregarious, diligent, generous sensualists. (Personally, I’d rather call it the Year of the Boar, but hey, it’s my year! How about it, readers? Am I a sincere, gregarious, diligent, and generous sensualist? According to the placemats at Chinese restaurants, I’m noble and chivalrous, and while my friends will be lifelong, I am prone to marital strife. [No comment. -Ed.] I’m also supposed to marry a Rabbit, which The Wife is not. Hmmmm.)

That’s it for now. Back next Monday.

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Sunday Burst of Weirdness

Here we go:

:: Almost two years ago I finally filled a giant hole in my small geek-toy collection when, through the services of eBay, I bought a die-cast Millennium Falcon. Finally I could play out the asteroid-field chase from The Empire Strikes Back in my head! And the final battle from Return of the Jedi! Hooray!

(Actually, I now own two die-cast Millennium Falcons; the months following the release of Revenge of the Sith saw a whole bunch of new Star Wars toys on the market, among them new ships from MicroMachines. My second toy Falcon, viewable in this photo (although not very well), is a “battle-scarred” one. That apparently means they dabbed more gray paint on it to simulate carbon scoring from laser blasts and whatnot. So basically I seem to now have a model of the Falcon from both before and after Han Solo got his hands on it.)

Why am I bringing this up? Because now you can get a Lego set to make your own Millennium Falcon. It checks in at almost three feet in length, and it costs five hundred dollars.

I don’t think I’ll be buying any of these anytime soon. Not just the money, but who the hell has the patience to assemble it?!

(via)

:: The stuff people do these days. Ye Gods. (Kind of a creepy image involving tattooing. Not graphic, but creepy.)

:: Superman versus the KKK. Seriously. This is fascinating.

(via)

:: I saw this mentioned on a blog somewhere over the last few days, but now I can’t remember which blog. I’ll update if I find it again, but for now, here’s a bit of Presidential lore I didn’t know: sixteen years after he left the Presidency, John Tyler, our tenth President, was elected to the Confederate House of Representatives.

Now, Tyler died before he could assume that office, but I’m wondering: if he’d lived to serve in the Confederate Congress, would that have constituted an act of treason against the United States? Committed by a former President? Man, history’s fascinating, but you never hear about this stuff in high school. It’s like, they give you all the boring outline stuff, but the year ends and you graduate before you can start learning all the good stuff.

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The Ecstasy of Influence

Anyone interested in the increasingly important issues of copyright and intellectual property needs to read this Jonathan Lethem essay. A brief sample:

Honoring the commons is not a matter of moral exhortation. It is a practical necessity. We in Western society are going through a period of intensifying belief in private ownership, to the detriment of the public good. We have to remain constantly vigilant to prevent raids by those who would selfishly exploit our common heritage for their private gain. Such raids on our natural resources are not examples of enterprise and initiative. They are attempts to take from all the people just for the benefit of a few.

Any text that has infiltrated the common mind to the extent of Gone With the Wind or Lolita or Ulysses inexorably joins the language of culture. A map-turned-to-landscape, it has moved to a place beyond enclosure or control. The authors and their heirs should consider the subsequent parodies, refractions, quotations, and revisions an honor, or at least the price of a rare success.

A corporation that has imposed an inescapable notion—Mickey Mouse, Band-Aid—on the cultural language should pay a similar price.

The primary objective of copyright is not to reward the labor of authors but “to promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts.” To this end, copyright assures authors the right to their original expression, but encourages others to build freely upon the ideas and information conveyed by a work. This result is neither unfair nor unfortunate.

Contemporary copyright, trademark, and patent law is presently corrupted. The case for perpetual copyright is a denial of the essential gift-aspect of the creative act. Arguments in its favor are as un-American as those for the repeal of the estate tax.

Art is sourced. Apprentices graze in the field of culture.

Any text is woven entirely with citations, references, echoes, cultural languages, which cut across it through and through in a vast stereophony. The citations that go to make up a text are anonymous, untraceable, and yet already read; they are quotations without inverted commas. The kernel, the soul—let us go further and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances—is plagiarism. For substantially all ideas are secondhand, consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources, and daily used by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them anywhere except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral caliber and his temperament, and which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing.

Read the whole thing. It’s brilliant.

(via)

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When the old words fail

I saw the other day that former NBA star Tim Hardaway said of gay people:

Well, you know I hate gay people, so I let it be known. I don’t like gay people and I don’t like to be around gay people. I am homophobic. I don’t like it. It shouldn’t be in the world or in the United States. So yeah, I don’t like it.’

I think we need to stop using “homophobic” to describe attitudes like this. A phobia is an unreasoning fear, and it’s hard to see Hardaway’s attitude toward gays as being similar to a claustrophobe’s fear of being in an enclosed space.

Let’s call this what it is: bigotry. Tim Hardaway is a disgusting bigot, in precisely the same way that many are toward blacks.

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Saturday Morning Geekery

Some geek-type stuff to launch the weekend:

:: I kind of liked this quiz, because not only does it tell you which superhero you are, it also breaks out a bunch of others you could be. (Although as much as I love Wonder Woman, I don’t much see how I could be her, since I’m a dude and stuff.)

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

























Spider-Man
85%
Hulk
75%
Robin
68%
Iron Man
65%
Catwoman
55%
Supergirl
53%
The Flash
50%
Green Lantern
45%
Superman
45%
Wonder Woman
38%
Batman
35%
You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.


Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

Spiderman, eh? Fine by me!

:: Here’s an article about the ratings-crash of LOST. I no longer watch the show, having quickly grown bored with it in Season One. What interests me is the way the show is constantly mentioned in the same breath as The X-Files, with the earlier show continually being cited as an example of a mystery-mytharc type of show petering out in an unsatisfying way. And yes, TXF certainly did that, but it’s worth noting that TXF managed to go on for nine seasons, surviving far longer than LOST‘s current three. (From what I’ve read in the past, LOST is almost certain to go away after its fifth year, if the ratings allow it to survive even that long.)

Why did TXF go on so long? Well, a few reasons — for most of its run it focused on the chemistry between two characters, as opposed to the large cast that inhabits LOST, it was able to tell stories that were a lot more varied than sticking to a single island (character flashbacks notwithstanding), and most importantly, for all the invective thrown at TXF for the way its internal mytharc was eventually mishandled, TXF just didn’t do mytharc all that often. Over nine seasons the show produced around 180 total episodes, with only around 60 of those actively advancing the mytharc (and that’s depending on how you count the mytharc episodes in the first place — is “Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man” a mytharc episode at all?). LOST seems to be all-mytharc, all-the-time. (I may be wrong here, of course, since I stopped watching a long time ago, but back in the 90s, FOX only felt it necessary to air a “Mytharc summation” TXF special once, whereas it seems that ABC has to do this for LOST twice a season.)

:: I’ve probably linked this before, but it’s worth doing so again: Wil Wheaton is slowly blogging his way through watching Star Trek: The Next Generation. His write-ups of each episode are hilarious; for instance, from his writeup of “The Last Outpost” (when we first meet the Ferengi):

Data says Ferengi are like traders, and explains this with the most obvious contemporary reference: Yankee traders from 18th century America. This indicates that, in the 24th century, the traditional practice of using 400 year-old comparisons is still in vogue, like when you’re stuck in traffic on the freeway, and you say, “Man, this is just like Vasco de Gama trying to go around the Cape of Good Hope!”

Even better, his introspective ruminations on the part he played on TNG are fascinating. Here’s an excerpt from what he says about the episode “The Battle” (that would be the one where Picard is being mind-controlled by a Ferengi captain who has a personal axe to grind with Our Dear Captain):

I haven’t watched this episode in over a decade, but it’s probably one of the most important for me to see, because it clearly illustrates exactly why Wesley Crusher went from mildly annoying to vehemently hated character so quickly: First of all, acting ensign or not, having Wesley rush into the middle of the Bridge and effectively tell Riker, “Hey, I figured this out before you all did because I’m so fucking smart” is quite possibly the worst way to help the audience accept that this kid is going to be part of the main crew.

I never loathed Wesley as much as many other fans did, but it did get annoying when all these Starfleet personnel would turn out to be too stupid to figure out what’s going on. It would have been helpful to have an episode where Wesley bursts onto the bridge and says, “Hey, I figured it out! You need to…oh, you’ve already done that. OK, but next make sure you…oh, you’re on that, too. OK, I’m gonna go back to my room.”

:: The Disney Corp. has lost a legal battle over the ownership or some other rights issue pertaining to Winnie the Pooh. Maybe we can finally start tilting back in favor of the idea of public domain over the next decade or two? (And maybe someone who understands the issues involved in that case I linked can sum up what happened?)

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