The documentary is pretty well structured. Michael Stephenson played the role of “Joshua” in Troll 2, and as an adult, decided to revisit the making of the film and what the actors are up to. As such, it follows Dr. George Hardy, DDS — an Alabama dentist who was the one-time star of Troll 2. It lays out the case that a group of amateur and fledgling actors worked on a film by Italian director Claudio Fragasso, each having trouble figuring out the totality of the movie from the script, and further challenged by Fragasso’s attention-to-detail and their inability to speak Italian (thankfully Fragasso could speak a little English). And when every single one of them finally saw the resulting product (through exactly two venues: HBO or on VHS tape video), they were aghast at just how bad it was. But — there are a small group of people who adore the sheer terribleness of the film. And as such, Dr. Hardy is a minor celebrity. Emphasis on “minor”, as he’s a celebrity to fans of the film and some weirdly gregarious Alabama dentist to everyone else.

Fragasso’s wife Rossella Drudi co-wrote the screenplay with him. In the documentary, she says she was annoyed with her friends becoming irritating vegetarians, so she decided to have the central point be that the goblins in the film are vegetarian, resorting to transforming people into plants before eating them. (I should mention that there is a connection solely in name to Troll, and nobody in the movie utters the word “troll”, always referring to the monster creatures as “goblins” instead.) Fragasso insists the film paints a portrait of American families — more so than Americans can even see.

And what is this portrait? Well basically a family from Utah decides to go on vacation by swapping houses for a month with a family in the rural town of Nilbog whom they have never met. As best I recall, they bring no provisions or luggage, save for an overnight bag or two. When they arrive, they swap keys with their aloof hosts and head in to the house. They find a feast of bizarre pastries but before they can eat them, Joshua’s dead grandfather appears to him and insists they must not eat or they will die, freezing time, and giving Joshua time to formulate a distraction. Annoyed with his solution, Joshua’s dad Michael (Hardy) sends him to bed early, noting (among other things) that he’s “tightening [his] belt one loop so that [he doesn't] feel hunger pains”, establishing the surreal scripted line that acts as the make-or-break moment when you, the viewer, decide if you’re curious enough to proceed.

I cannot fathom what Fragasso was driving at with the vacation, interactions, and actions of this so-called American family. I wish I knew what I, as an American, am so blind to that my fathoming is in vain.

The movie definitely piqued my interest.  It was made with the full commitment of Fragasso who insisted on his form of perfection. The actors did their best to deliver, but between lack of skill and not being able to access the material, they tended more toward failure — although in their obliviousness, they managed to transmit Fragasso’s vision. In the end, I think it is the portrait Fragasso envisioned. And that is why it has a cult following: that is is the tenacious work of one man and his wife to successfully and purely make an artistic statement.

Although I think it’s predicated on one more thing. That artistic statement?: it’s batshit insane. The metaphors are both ham-fisted and inaccessibly subtle (goblins turn people into vegetables to eat them — American mass-consumerism? turning humans into commodities? hatred of vegetarians? all of the above? one of the above?) Whatever Fragasso and Drudi set out to do, they may have succeeded, but the product of their work will remain an enigma forever.

So I went to the film about as unbiased as I could have. In general, I found it to be absolutely fascinating. It’s a year-in-the-life kind of thing, edited more topically than chronologically.

I found Rivers to be generally likable and vibrant, but with a manner of living that is outside how I can imagine myself. She’s a powerhouse in media — understanding it on a level that I can barely comprehend. She can somehow digest negative opinions of her and her work and continue to thrive, whereas I’d be back living in anonymity at the first sign of complaint.

She’s constantly working on the cutting edge — heck, she’s a 75-year-old woman who can still make audiences squirm in her comedy (which is nothing new: consider her joke cut from The Ed Sullivan Show in the late 1960’s on abortion, [paraphrasing] “she had 14 appendectomies, flying back-and-forth to Puerto Rico; then she walked down the aisle in white”) and she was on Celebrity Apprentice of all things. She has a well-contained big heart — generous and kind in what she cares about, but never for purposes of image (despite her claims that she will do anything for a buck).

As I watched, I came to realize Rivers was in charge of the film. I mean, obviously it was a documentary about her, but she expertly used the documentary medium as a means to advertise herself. She constantly sees herself as a brand (and rarely tips her hat to reveal that she sees herself as anything but) so this film was a way to reach another audience. I wonder if I was some part of her target audience — someone who is media-averse and human-interaction oriented. Whether I was deliberately in her cross-hairs or not, it worked for me — I’d even go see her comedy as I found myself genuinely surprised by her punch-lines, uncontrollably laughing out loud. If nothing else, the film greatly improved my opinion of Joan Rivers.

And now I’ve got another thing to talk with my mom about.

The play starts off with Helena, the daughter of the president, visits the robot factory with the intention to liberate the robots as if they were human. In this, we are dumped into the misogynistic world of 1920 Czechoslovakia de Karel Capek (despite it being set in some undefined future). It was intolerable. The Helena character is borderline mentally disabled, a staple of female characters written by men who never listened to a woman. (I even recall hating Helena in my high school reading as well.) The robot factory is on an island, and (naturally) exclusively operated by men. Even the robots were almost exclusively men [which you may have noticed didn't change in storytelling until writers realized that robots were not superior to humans, at which they started being female] except for one: a replica of Helena who was “useless as a worker” because of her whimsical ways.

But okay, I grit my teeth and did my best to not be overwhelmed by that central theme.

The story trundles along, revealing the robots to be organic things akin to super-smart, human-looking, genetically modified animals. It’s clear that Capek is making a statement about the ideal worker in either a communist or capitalist world: one that works tirelessly, has no internal drive, and that requires virtually nothing in the form of pay. The robots (naturally) revolt and (despite their intelligence and realization of a finite lifespan) kill off all the humans. Except for those in the factory, at least for a while. They enslave the factory operators in an attempt to extract the formula to make more robots. But all is not lost for humanity and its attempt to be a god, for Helena R. (the robot) apparently has a function after all — at least in not-so-subtle implication.

Aside from introducing the word “robot” into the lexicon, I have to say this play offers really nothing else. It combines man’s desire to be a god, the oppressed rising up against their oppressors, and an overwhelming dose of “women are only good for housekeeping and making babies.” I want to say that an adaptation would be improved by eliminating the misogynistic overtones, but it so central to the plot that it seems an insurmountable task. At least the actors did their best with it and did a fine job with the script-in-hand reading.

We stopped at a number of restaurants and bars. I particularly liked the salami/Gorgonzola pizza at Piola Restaurant (1550 Wilson Blvd., Arlington, VA); their drinks and desserts were also excellent. We also visited Galaxy Hut (2711 Wilson Blvd., Arlington, VA) which is a really cool bar — much like Lux Lounge (666 South Ave.) in its casual atmosphere, outdoor patio, interesting clientele, and absence of advertising and televisions (well, except for one).

On both sides of the trip, the train stops in Manhattan and it’s an hour and a half before the Rochester train leaves, so I had a chance to get lunch. I stopped at New Pizza Town II (360 7th Ave., New York) which was pretty good — nothing like a slice of ziti-topped pizza with big glops of ricotta. On the way home, I learned that Amtrak’s Business Class is not worth much: the seats are a little bigger with curtains on the windows, free soft drinks, and most importantly, the car is located at one end of the train so foot traffic is minimal.

Anyway, the idea is similar to The Moth StorySLAMs, although minus the competition. Some were better than others for various reasons, but it’s not so much a “slam” as it is just a way for people to connect. I’ll probably go back next month, although I expect it to be much different as I would feel like I met half the people there this month.

Jon Moses started things off. He’s clearly more comfortable improvising and being inclusive and seemed a little off being on-stage separated from the sparse audience. Nonetheless, he showed his acoustic soloist skills admirably. Then it was Les Shelleys turn which shrank the audience notably further since Jon relinquished the stage to once audience-members Tom Brosseau and Angela Correa. They provided an impressive display of their elegant vocal harmonies and evocative lyrics — the only other instrumentation being Tom’s guitar and Angie’s percussive clapping and stomping which gives exactly the kind of minimal-but-not a capella sound you’d expect.

Daryl Fleming was next and played his own style that is loosely an interesting mix of lyrical, groove-rock-ish country/folk/rock. He was saying beforehand that he’s recently been fascinated by the unusual chord progressions in some fairly popular 1960’s songs — he demonstrated it with a vocoder-enhanced cover of The Seekers’ “Georgy Girl”. You really never know where Daryl’s mind is going to take him on stage.

Finishing up was Hinkley who I consistently re-experience as excellent, deceptively mellow, complex rock-and-roll. I never catch on right away, but quicker-and-quicker I’m swept into the nuances of this excellent band.

The unique and comfortable Soft Star Ramblers I designed

Back in February of this year, I found out about Soft Star Shoes (521 Southwest 2nd St., Corvallis, OR) from the The Running Barefoot Yahoo! Group. I was impressed that they were minimal shoes to begin with, but more that they could be day-to-day shoes that could be worn comfortably. I actually ordered off-the-shelf to start with in two sizes which they shipped out and allowed me to return before designing custom Ramblers. They were even nice enough to send a swatch book of leather so I could really get a feel for the colors. I picked chocolate brown and purple. I had a minor problem after just a short time with them: one the split uppers was more split on one side than the other. They happily took the return and made a minor fix that corrected the problem.

Well, after just about 1 month, I had worn a hole clear through one of the soles. I don’t think I was being unusually hard on them — I probably walked no more than 50 miles. I had also made a point of mentioning that I was looking for a long-wearing sole, as they had several options available. They suggested their thin rubber sole which they said is “durable and will last a long time”. Maybe we just disagree on what’s meant by a “long time”, but I am very disappointed. As such, I decided to make sure “Soft Star Shoes” and “Suck” appear in the title, as that’s how I assess new products with a simple Google search.

Bridgestone Potenza RE-92 soles are H-rated for 149 miles per hour

However, since I liked the style, I decided to have car tires cut to match the soles and stitch the uppers to that. I had made tire sandals before using a reciprocating saw with a metal blade, but the edges weren’t well defined and I wanted holes to stitch through. I decided to go with Nifty-Bar, Inc. (450 Whitney Rd., Penfield) who I use for work for their water-jet cutting services. I provided an outline and asked that small holes be laid out along the edge about 1/4″ apart. The water-jet machine made nice cuts through the rubber and various steel belts in the tire.

I took apart the Ramblers and reassembled them successfully with tire soles. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about wearing them out anymore.

What the hell was that all about? He said nothing to the pedestrians who cut through the road, jaywalking outside the crosswalk. But once again I get to have a negative experience with the police. By riding a bike, I not only have to be responsible for a motorist hitting me [let's be real here: if I were killed by a car, you'd hear a lot of, "well, he was taking chances riding that tall bike"] I also have to deal with being hassled by the cops (just like last time).

If Officer Killjoy wasn’t just a power-hungry egomaniac awarded a badge by Mayor “More Cops For More Problems”, he would have actually stopped me and given me a ticket — after all, that’s his job. Along with all the jaywalkers. But he was out to ensure I “knew my place” — that he was the Authority Figure. I tell you what, pig: how about you ticket the myriad of SUV’s that get a tax discount for being a commercial vehicle, but that exceed the 3-ton gross vehicle weight rating (GVWR) on most residential streets, and I’ll start caring that you have anything to do with enforcing the law.

Why not? Here’s a thought: BP Oil.

Someone riding a bike says, “we don’t need oil.” It’s a statement that although the oil companies could go bankrupt and the economy could go to hell, people will be okay. Illegally using a commercial SUV as a commuter car is a statement of faith in infinite oil and in a vibrant and ever-growing economy. Guess which activity attracts more police attention? See, it’s only through ensuring people are terrified of something (in this case, gas shortages) that they stay in line and obey cops. After all, it depends on what you think is important: a viable future for America, or an easily controlled populace.