ChrisT

Any of you Seattle-ites got the inside scoop on Pearl Jam's touring schedule? Are they *ever* gonna come to Portland again? Any sites that have real information as opposed to speculation and rumors?

I wish!

If we only get three squares, how are we able to ever sink anything?

don't be daft

THE GRADUATE By BOSLEY CROWTHER Published: December 22, 1967 Suddenly, here toward the year's end, when the new films are plunging toward the wire and the prospects of an Oscar-worthy long shot coming through get progressively more dim, there sweeps ahead a film that is not only one of the best of the year, but also one of the best seriocomic social satires we've had from Hollywood since Preston Sturges was making them. It is Mike Nichols's and Lawrence Turman's devastating and uproarious The Graduate, which came yesterday to the Lincoln Art and the Coronet. Mark it right down in your datebook as a picture you'll have to see—and maybe see twice to savor all its sharp satiric wit and cinematic treats. For in telling a pungent story of the sudden confusions and dismays of a bland young man fresh out of college who is plunged headlong into the intellectual vacuum of his affluent parents' circle of friends, it fashions a scarifying picture of the raw vulgarity of the swimming-pool rich, and it does so with a lively and exciting expressiveness through vivid cinema. Further, it offers an image of silver-spooned, bewildered youth, standing expectantly out with misgiving where the brook and the swimming-pool meet, that is developed so wistfully and winningly by Dustin Hoffman, an amazing new young star, that it makes you feel a little tearful and choked-up while it is making you laugh yourself raw. In outline, it may sound skimpy and perhaps a little crude—possibly even salacious in a manner now common in films. For all it is, in essence, is the story of this bright but reticent young man who returns from an Eastern college to his parent's swanky home in Beverly Hills, gets seduced rather quickly by the restless wife of his father's law partner, then falls in love with the lady's daughter and finds himself helplessly trapped in a rather sticky dilemma until he is able to dislodge himself through a familiar romantic ploy. That's all. And yet in pursuing this simple story line, which has been adorned with delicious incidents and crackling dialogue in the screenplay by Calder Willingham and Buck Henry, based on a novel by Charles Webb, the still exploring Mr. Nichols has done such sly and surprising things with his actors and with his camera—or, rather, Robert Surtees's camera—that the overall picture has the quality of a very extensive and revealing social scan. With Mr. Hoffman's stolid, deadpanned performance, he gets a wonderfully compassionate sense of the ironic and pathetic immaturity of a mere baccalaureate scholar turned loose in an immature society. He is a character very much reminiscent of Holden Caulfield in J. D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. And with Anne Bancroft's sullenly contemptuous and voracious performance as the older woman who yearns for youth, Mr. Nichols has twined in the netting the casual crudeness and yet the pathos of this type. Katharine Ross, another comparative newcomer, is beautifully fluid and true as the typical college-senior daughter whose sensitivities are helplessly exposed for brutal abrasion by her parents and by the permissive society in which she lives. Murray Hamilton is piercing as her father—a seemingly self-indulgent type who is sharply revealed as bewildered and wounded in one fine, funny scene. And William Daniels and Elizabeth Wilson fairly set your teeth on edge as the hotcha, insensitive parents of the lonely young man. Enhancing the veracity of the picture is first-rate staging in true locations and on well-dressed sets, all looking right in excellent color. And a rich, poignant musical score that features dandy modern folk music, sung (offscreen, of course) by the team of Simon and Garfunkel, has the sound of today's moody youngsters—"The Sounds of Silence," as one lyric says. Funny, outrageous, and touching, The Graduate is a sophisticated film that puts Mr. Nichols and his associates on a level with any of the best satirists working abroad today.

kudos to you for going through the looking glass in the first place.

In Vancouver WA, where i live as well. Our water is good, no need for aquafina. Like I said, it was a treat, an impulse and now I have filled the Aquafina bottle with tap water and put in my fridge...like I always do. BTW Blake your avatar says B-ham.

It reminds me of that Woody Allen quote about masturbation which he called "sex with someone I love".

and you've had none? hmm?

Nothing sexier than aloofness.

well maybe it was the bacteria that made this Aquafina taste so yummy. Bottled by pepsiCo

I don't usually buy bottled water because I think it's a ripoff not to mention the added waste to our landfills, etc. But today I treated myself to a bottle of Aquafina. Man that stuff is good!

Billygoat- You have got to be hands down THE most generous person on this board. May the Gods smile on you and reward you ten-fold for your kindness. Christ

I saw Mt. Hood yesterday afternoon from Portland basking in a bright sunny glow. Did anyone get up there at all? High winds?

I was at the Vet yesterday with the cat ("Rock Star" - the kids named her) and there must've been 5 pooches named "Buddy" in the lobby. Please do not name your dog "Buddy". thanks.

Howard Dean!

I always thought Bjork had good lyrics but only snoboy may share my fascination with B. "Hyper Ballad" we live on a mountain right at the top there's a beautiful view from the top of the mountain every morning i walk towards the edge and throw little things off like: car-parts, bottles and cutlery or whatever i find lying around it's become a habit a way to start the day i go through this before you wake up so i can feel happier to be safe up here with you it's real early morning no-one is awake i'm back at my cliff still throwing things off i listen to the sounds they make on their way down i follow with my eyes 'til they crash imagine what my body would sound like slamming against those rocks and when it lands will my eyes be closed or open? i'll go through all this before you wake up so i can feel happier to be safe up here with you

You just can't beat B. Dylan either It's alright Ma (I'm only Bleeding) Darkness at the break of noon Shadows even the silver spoon The handmade blade, the child's balloon Eclipses both the sun and moon To understand you know too soon There is no sense in trying. Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn Suicide remarks are torn From the fool's gold mouthpiece The hollow horn plays wasted words Proves to warn That he not busy being born Is busy dying. Temptation's page flies out the door You follow, find yourself at war Watch waterfalls of pity roar You feel to moan but unlike before You discover That you'd just be One more person crying. So don't fear if you hear A foreign sound to your ear It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing. As some warn victory, some downfall Private reasons great or small Can be seen in the eyes of those that call To make all that should be killed to crawl While others say don't hate nothing at all Except hatred. Disillusioned words like bullets bark As human gods aim for their mark Made everything from toy guns that spark To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark It's easy to see without looking too far That not much Is really sacred. While preachers preach of evil fates Teachers teach that knowledge waits Can lead to hundred-dollar plates Goodness hides behind its gates But even the president of the United States Sometimes must have To stand naked. An' though the rules of the road have been lodged It's only people's games that you got to dodge And it's alright, Ma, I can make it. Advertising signs that con you Into thinking you're the one That can do what's never been done That can win what's never been won Meantime life outside goes on All around you. You lose yourself, you reappear You suddenly find you got nothing to fear Alone you stand with nobody near When a trembling distant voice, unclear Startles your sleeping ears to hear That somebody thinks They really found you. A question in your nerves is lit Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy Insure you not to quit To keep it in your mind and not fergit That it is not he or she or them or it That you belong to. Although the masters make the rules For the wise men and the fools I got nothing, Ma, to live up to. For them that must obey authority That they do not respect in any degree Who despise their jobs, their destinies Speak jealously of them that are free Cultivate their flowers to be Nothing more than something They invest in. While some on principles baptized To strict party platform ties Social clubs in drag disguise Outsiders they can freely criticize Tell nothing except who to idolize And then say God bless him. While one who sings with his tongue on fire Gargles in the rat race choir Bent out of shape from society's pliers Cares not to come up any higher But rather get you down in the hole That he's in. But I mean no harm nor put fault On anyone that lives in a vault But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him. Old lady judges watch people in pairs Limited in sex, they dare To push fake morals, insult and stare While money doesn't talk, it swears Obscenity, who really cares Propaganda, all is phony. While them that defend what they cannot see With a killer's pride, security It blows the minds most bitterly For them that think death's honesty Won't fall upon them naturally Life sometimes Must get lonely. My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards False gods, I scuff At pettiness which plays so rough Walk upside-down inside handcuffs Kick my legs to crash it off Say okay, I have had enough What else can you show me? And if my thought-dreams could be seen They'd probably put my head in a guillotine But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

*sigh*

at least chelle was good enough to credit the author of the lyrics

Not to hijack your thread or anything but I just made a kickass supper - Chicken Cacciatore with gemelli, peas and garlic toast. Man i totally outdid myself!

I don't believe a computer can calculate what's ideal for me. It's bogus IMO. Petite I ain't but for probably the first time in my life, I am happy with body size, shape and weight. Call it acceptance. And I still like big tall men.

Hah! You and me both. You know that kd lang song "Big Boned Gal" ?- I think she wrote that about me.

When my son was bit by a neighbor's dog (on the ear - the dog almost ripped his ear off) Kaiser held this family liable for medical expenses and I believe it was covered by their homeowner's insurance. It's called third party liability. I did not sue the people - didn't even think about it - but their dog (a samoyed(sp?)) was eventually put down.