Feelings are facts.

Mad linkage:

Clive Owen to star in Intruders, the next from 28 Weeks Later‘s Juan Carlos Fresnadillo.

An interview with Sam Lipsyte.

On translating Don Quixote.

Images are from Olafur Eliasson and Ma Yansong’s “Feelings Are Facts,” an art exhibit currently on display now at the Ullens Center for Contemporary Art in Beijing from now until June, 2010.

I first noticed these striking images via Karina Wolf’s tumblr.

But you can find out more about the incredibly interesting looking art project over at designboom.

Space shuttle performs incredibly back flip.

John Paul Stevens is retiring.

For his next project, Spike Jonze is teaming up with Arcade Fire.

Fake Hills” by MAD architects.

Passion Pit “The Reeling” (Miike Snow remix).

President Obama goes nuclear over Sarah Palin.

Sleeping insects covered in dew.

The photography of Pierre Wayser.

I can absolutely not get down with this Kiely Williams video/song. Something about date rape just doesn’t have a beat I can dance to, you know?

Masters and servants.

The girlfriend vs. the Xbox.

Are cosmic rays the reason you keep crashing your car?

The House passes the health care reform bill.

Lindsay Lohan looks like Bob Dylan.

Sam Mendes and Kate Winslet split up for stupid reasons.

“Words are good servants but bad masters.”

-Aldous Huxley

New planet Corot-9b has Earth-like temperatures.

New trailer for Series 5 of Doctor Who.

My thoughts on the finale of the latest series of Skins.

Will reclusive mathematician accept $1 million prize?

Stunning Swiss house is buried under the Earth.

The magickal notebook of William Butler Yeats.

When it comes to the next entry in the X-men film franchise, Bryan Singer doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Evidence found rotting in closed Illinois police HQ.

First quantum effects seen in visible object.

Science fiction author Peter Watts found guilty.

L’Engle’s A Wrinkle In Time to finally get a decent film adaptation?

Shocking news: Sean Hannity is scamming people.

Cancer fighting robots in your blood!

Combat dogs take to the skies for secret missions in Afghanistan.

The museum of bad art.

Screencaps from here.

Zooey Deschanel and Michael Cera: Quirkmuffins.

A brilliant Hitchock mystery made in Korea.

Carmelo Anthony called for traveling back in time.

P.T. Anderson’s amazing sounding Scientology-skewering film, The Master, turned down by Universal.

Sandra Bullock, Jesse James, chick with forehead tattoos, whatever.

“Words ought to be a little wild for they are the assault of thoughts on the unthinking.”

-John Maynard Keynes

The Counterforce Casting Couch: Independence Day 2

Let’s face it, Hollywood is never going to fund a big-budget original movie ever again.

Search your feelings, you know it to be true.

Marco and I have been talking for a while about doing a series of posts on movies that should be made. Now don’t get me wrong, the projects we’ll be proposing shouldn’t actually be made. In a better world, the budgets would go to real artists who do good work, but that’s not the world we live it, and at Counterforce, we believe in making the best out of a bad situation. Just like Liam Neeson.

no thank you

no thank you

So, let’s get right down too it. You know, you know they’re going to make an ID4:2 some day, so we might as well make it enjoyably bad. Hell, just the idea of watching this movie instead of some Michael Bay cartoon-adapted crapfest gives me a boner. You can never ever go wrong blowing up as many international landmarks as possible.

Thus, The Counterforce Casting Couch: Independence Day 2


This is gonna be a little rough, we can fill in the blanks during lighting shifts on the set. So, it’s like 20 years after the event of ID4. Will Smith is the President, obviously. The White House will have just finished being rebuilt and look exactly the same as before. Jeff Goldblum will basically be playing Al Gore. Sorta Green Living Apostle / Technocrat in Chief. Shia LeBeouf is Goldblum’s rebellious kid and Aaron Yoo is his buddy who films all their wacky adventures on his Flip Camera. There will be some drama because Shia doesn’t know his dad was a hero because Goldblum’s role was classified or something.


Ryan Kwanten from True Blood will fill in the Hick Character contingent with his little jailbait sister, Dakota Fanning. I threw a lot of brits into the cast so there can be other groups of characters in the UK and Australia, Iraq, etc. Famke Janssen will play somebody’s wife. Maybe Bill Pullman’s.


So, the Aliens come back, only this time, they come in peace and claim to be seeking asylum. Apparently these aliens are the not-evil faction of the bad guys. Will Smith will have all these mixed feelings because he hates aliens, but doesn’t want to be prejudiced to the nice ones. It will be like that scene in Star Trek 6 where Kirk talks about the klingons who killed his son, only this time it will be Will Smith saying it, and he’ll be talking to the First Dog.

Ryan Kwanten

Obviously, the bad aliens come back and destroy a shit-ton more monuments and landmarks. They’ll be led by Nic Cage, who is some kind of evil billionaire who helps the Aliens in exchange for world domination. Definitely gotta sack the Burj Dubai, the White House, Big Ben, the Golden Gate, the Vatican, etc. But this time, the good aliens have shared some of their technology, so the fight is slightly more fair, but earth still gets its ass kicked and the bad aliens occupy the planet. This would all take place on July 2nd.

yeah, that shit's gonna fall

yeah, that shit's gonna fall

The next day would be a lot of failed counter-offensives and characters hiding from Alien stormtroopers. Then Shia LeBeouf will decide to form a resistance and Aaron Yoo will do all the tech shit to get the word out on the internets. Ryan Kwanten will be there with Dakota, and he’ll turn out to be some kind of hillbilly ass-kicker. I see a scene with him, shirtless, feather tied to the back of his head, destroying enemy food supplies boston-tea-party style. Then we’ll cut to Said Taghmaoui in Iraq with a British accent and he’ll be all, “It’s the Americans, they want to organize a resistance, about bloody time!”

not the bees!

And then July 4th will be the big counter-attack. Aaron Yoo will die. Will Smith will fly an alien fighter ship with Bill Pullman as his wingman. They’ll fight their way to the mothership, land on it, then fight their way to Nic Cage’s lair on the bridge. Somehow, Jeff Goldblum will be there too. A big fistfight later, Will Smith wins, then escapes and Bill Pullman and Jeff Goldblum pilot the Mothership into the sun, sacrificing themselves. Shia hooks up with Dakota Fanning, and then after the credits roll, Samuel L. Jackson walks into a bar to talk to him about the Avengers initiative.

And… scene.

Fuck yeah!

Fuck yeah!

You know you’d pay to see it.

Counterforce on Vacation: I’m only happy when it rains.

This is my weird but wonderful celebrity sighting from over the past weekend:

Most of my associates here at your semi-friendly neighborhood Counterforce have gone back to work, whatever their day jobs are, or back to school. They’ve gone back to the grind. But not yours truly. Marco Sparks is still on vacation, grinding away here in the golden state and chilling in Benjamin Light’s apartment while he’s off making a little paper.

Anyone care to know the contents of Light’s porn folder?

The nice thing, let me tell you here, about starting a blog with a bunch of people is that when you go on vacation, it gives you places to stay. So, you know, thanks to both Peanut and Lollipop for putting me up for a while. Occam, understandably, is a cheap bastard who wouldn’t put any of us up, but he has been hosting the official Counterforce Lost parties the last two weeks, and that’s pretty stand up of him.

Speaking of official Counterforce anything, over the weekend, all of the assorted weirdos from this blog were gathered together in one room, and in the same hotel room for a while, in San Francisco. There were some lurid stories, some large quantities of consumed alcohol, and some down and dirty drama: The ingredients of any good party, yes?

In SF, pretty much all of us attended a nerd convention, and Lollipop took home the best spoils: a picture autographed by Mitch Hurwitz, Will Arnett, Henry Winkler, and Kenan Thompson (Kel was busy manning the Coolburger). Oh, and the guy who did the voice of Spongebob was in there somewhere too. A very cool grab.

But me? Other than the pleasure of everyone’s company, which would’ve been more than enough for me (more than I deserved, certainly), I got the photo you see up at the top of the page of a certain flame-headed singer of a 90s “alternative” band (who now sadly stars on that Sarah Connor show in the middle of the Friday night graveyard of programing on Fox)(Right before Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse which, sadly, I’m expecting to get cancelled any second now).

The story of the picture is simply that I was out to lunch with August Bravo (who smells like straight up mayonnaise, no joke) and my friend Anthony at some Chinese place. “the best dim sum in the city,” the sign outside told us. I was broke, Anthony was buying, so that meant I would’ve followed him into hell. Or a dim sum place when the sketchy looking tempura house he originally wanted was closed (damn you, SoMa!).

I’ll spare you the nitty gritty of our conversation there, but Anthony’s training for a job in which he’ll have a gun. Sigh. What starts out there was cop talk slowly devolves into cock talk and something tells me to look over my shoulder. Perhaps alternarock nostalgia. Either way, there’s Shirley Manson, radiant and glowing, like 5 to 6 feet away from me, having lunch with some wanker. I quietly mutter to my associates in a hushed, stealth tone, “HOLY WTF OMG JESUS CHRIST, THAT’S SHIRLEY MANSON OVER MY LEFT GODDAMNED SHOULDER FUCK!” Luckily, August is on the ball (he was already sexting away on his iphone, so it was cool) and snaps the photo. We decide not to be the kind of pricks who interrupts a celebrity’s life or meal, even if it is with some wanker, to ask for an autograph or ask them to marry us or seek out any kind of validation for our own weird existence. Instead we took a much more subtle and despicable route of just casually glancing back at her like constantly. I suggest to Mr. Bravo that he should get another picture of the lovely Ms. Manson, this time with me leaning into the frame (cause I’m an asshole like that)(and cause the one above has Anthony in it staring off into nowhere or perhaps our waiter’s ass cleavage). He tries to, but it’s too late, the jig is up, and they’re onto us.

The wanker proceeds to look back at us constantly now and we feel shame. Not too much, mind you, a little. Anthony orders more duck and we bullshit our story for in case the wanker decides to say something to us, you know, to stick it too us. Anthony orders some shrimp porridge, rattles off all the police codes for various nefarious sexual acts one can visit upon a minor, and we bullshit that we’re celebrities too. No, not as bloggeurs, but that we’re actually an avante garde folktronica groupe called Infinity Sign. The story we come up with to back that up holds no water and of course, Shirley Manson isn’t going to lower herself to talk to us, and that’s understandable, and I do feel bad about taking the picture. By the way, our first single, “Put My Thing In Your Thing Where All The Other Wild Things Are” will be available on itunes soon.

This picture is absolutely for Peanut, who loves Gwen Stefani so much.

Eventually Shirley Manson and the wanker – whom we try to hypothesize could be her young lover that she takes whenever in the city or her bodyguard or both – leave. And let me tell you here: Some women leave a room and some women leave a room angry. And some do it in the sexiest way imaginable. That’s Shirley Manson. And most likely that dopey guy enjoying the meal with her was probably just the executive producer of her show, but whatever, he’s still the executive producer of that show. Wanker-ish.

Several days later, Commander Light and I took in a showing of the new Clive Owen picture, The International. What a bizarre, wonderful film. Total 70s paranoia thriller fetish porn and all the major action sequences take place in post modern art museums. There’s a wonderful collection of weird European hair happening this film (this weapons manufacturer character who’s running for Italian PM in the film would appear to have a sleeping falcon resting on his head at one point, but, no, it’s just his mega hair). Naomi Watts is barely in it (because, I assume, Jennifer Connelly was busy) and Clive Owen has clawed his way into being my favorite living movie star. Why? Because he’s not a star. He’s not even a man. He’s an animal in a suit and it works.

That, of course, leads me to the Clive Own interview in the latest Esquire. An excerpt:

It just didn’t occur to him to feel the part in advance of doing it. British actors are utterly different animals. You talk to a British actor and he’ll tell you about the night before very matter-of-factly: ‘I fucked her three times.’ They don’t care about your reaction. And you’ll say, ‘Hmm. You fucked her three times. How did it feel?’ and they’ll be blank. ‘Feel? Feel? What’s feeling got to do with it?’ They don’t cart around their emotions about the job. They have lives.

As for Lost, since we do tend to ramble on about that show a bit here, I have to express some love for this past week’s episode, “LaFleur.” It was packed with little tidbits for the fan, and quite frankly, you know that any episode that’s “previously on Lost” clips package starts with a character getting slapped is going to be. Plus, there was this: