A Tale of Two Kitties

This weekend, I had the pleasure of cat-sitting for Henry. During the five years Nicole and I lived together, we shared cats. Ever since I rescued him from the mean streets of Doha, Henry has been such a willful and energetic creature, wound tighter a White House press conference. Nicole fell in love with him instantly, and they’ve had a codependent relationship ever since.

True love or not, Nicole had things to do, and she often needed him mellow, you know, like a normal cat. She leash-trained him and took him for spins around the neighborhood. Eager to give her time to study, I often plugged into a podcast and let him guide me on long walks. He was always excited and curious, as a cat should be, and witnessing it never got old.

If you’ve been following me, you know that my attempts to duplicate this Zen with Oscar have resulted in terrifying disasters, including throwing myself into four lanes of traffic or diving into bamboo topiary. The opportunity to go walking with Henry, two old buds just chillin’, was too cool to pass up. Saturday morning, I hooked him up to his new harness, the one he couldn’t slip out of, and away we went.

Taking a cat on a walk is an exercise in patience. If you’re used to dogs, you know that they like to stop and sniff. Cats like to sniff, eat some grass, sniff some more, trot over to the next patch, lie down, and dart away. You have to be ready for every eventuality, so there is no relaxing or zoning out. This time, he did this in front of an elementary school, where a children’s birthday party was going on, and Henry wasn’t visible from their angle.

I’m going on a list.

Suddenly, he moved with purpose across the street. I saw what caught his eye. It was another cat. I let him lead me to it because he was curious, and the yodeling sounds he made were pretty funny. It’s not like they were going to get into a fight. They were a safe distance away from each other, and I had the leash wrapped firmly around my arm.

The other cat was not on a leash.

I dove into the melee and yanked Henry away, holding him either until he calmed down or he tore my arms to shreds. He opted for the latter.

Naturally, I dropped the little fuzzsaw, and he immediately slipped out of his harness. If he got away in this neighborhood, I was either never going to find him again, or he was losing an eye to the other cat. I sprinted across the street and literally tackled him, screaming, at the top of my lungs, “Fuck!”

Right in front of the party.

The kids weren’t interested. Green Lantern and Daredevil say the F-word these days, so they’d heard it all before. The parents, on the other hand, stopped sipping their wine in plastic cups and glared at me. I’m definitely on a list.

I was going to hang onto Henry, whatever happened. The look on his face was crazed, unlike anything I’d seen before. I knew he would go back to normal (i.e. begging me for treats) if I could get him home, but I couldn’t carry him.  Incredibly, I got him back into the harness, which he should stay in. It shouldn’t be a problem anymore because the other cat was—

On the opposite side of the sidewalk, pointing his fingers at us, then at his own eyes, and back at us.

I needed to get Henry back to Nicole’s place before I bled out, but I couldn’t drag him. What I did was pick him up by his armpits and sprint half a block until my out-of-shape lungs stopped working. The other cat was still there, yelling parting threats.

I made it another half-block, and another. Back on Nicole’s street, I put him down on the sidewalk, and he loped home. Still skittish, he calmed down when I gave him one of those puree packets, until he plopped down and went to sleep. Just another day for Henry. The memories of that ordeal chill me to this very day.

A.I.! Aye-Aye! Aye-Aye Will Never Love You!

I rarely watch movies all the way through anymore. Even the most compelling movie I’ve seen in a long time, Backrooms, was started in the evening and finished up with breakfast. The same goes for one of my favorite action movies, Accident Man, which couldn’t hold my attention for more than an hour. Therefore, I enjoyed my breakfastduring the last stretch of the film, which included Ray Park and Michael Jai White, two of the best fighters in cinema, fighting Scott Adkins, possible the best fighter in cinema, and it was glorious.

Next, I checked Facebook for the extended conversation on divorce I started there, and some glowing reviews of some of my art, and maybe see if Jason Pargins had a new reel up. (Hint: he always has a new reel up.) What I found were stills of something I knew from a glance would be an AI fight scene. I’ve seen a few of these, and they’re easy to spot.

I watched it to see what it looked like. My low-fi action flick was superior, and I don’t just say that because I’m a Luddite, which I proud to be with my iPhone 17 and my Tahoe 6.5.2. (Look up the Luddites sometime. They weren’t anti-technology, they were anti-capitalist.) There are several reasons for my assessment:

  1. These the images are too crisp, even in low lighting. A digital camera with 1,000,000 quantum pixels (or whatever) couldn’t fit that much detail into a small space.
  2. The motion is too smooth and too fast, without any of the wobbling and hesitation even the most graceful ballerina in the world can’t hide. They use bullet-time effects that are over in a second, instead of letting us savor the shot like in The (first and one and only) Matrix.
  3. Speaking of The Matrix, the subway station from the climactic fight was grimy, covered in litter and dust. It looked like a real, neglected subway station, unlike the metros in AI videos. Clutter and dirt is what differentiates the original Star Wars movies from their pre- and sequels.
  4. The “camera” is always moving. Think about one the swordfights in Highlander. Russell Mulcahy was a music videos filmed them epically, with long, slow tracking shots. It enabled you to see the poetry of it all.
  5. When I watched this fight in a (bunker? hallway?), the hits were hard, and the camera shook with each one, yet they didn’t feel solid. This morning, I watched Scott Adkins, who has legs like jackhammers, kick Amy Johnston through a door. It was staged, but you could register everything, from the physical acting, to the choreography, to the sound effects, to the direction. It actually look like it hurt.

Cinematics from video games look better than this, even without the dive into the uncanny valley  because humans are animating them, not machines that take orders from prompts.

It’s an old adage that, in real life, put a small man up against a big one, the big one wins. In the movies, it’s the opposite. At least the bros get this right. All the AI sequences I’ve seen feature a small woman beating up some guys. But here’s the deal: there’s no tension. You know from the minute you see her cocky, generated smirk that she was going to win without breaking an electronic sweat. She throws thugs around, and no one gets a shot in. I saw one in a (pristine) subway where a girl in a school uniform threw these thugs around like they were children. Who cares? Who wants to see an unstoppable killing machine (except maybe John Wick—more on that in a minute.)?

What made Indiana Jones so great was that he triumphed, despite getting the shit kicked out of him every time he put his fists up. Keanu Reeves in The Matrix was defeated in that subway fight (something the sequels forgot). Keanu Reeves in John Wick is weary and bloody after killing two hundred people, and he always looked like he was about to fall over by the time he killed number eighty-seven.

Also, who are these girls? Who are the thugs she’s beating up? Why is she in that (bunker? hallway?) She seems to be escaping from something, but you can’t tell from her face or body language or her physical state what it is.

You can argue that it’s hard to get context from a thirty-second action scene, but let’s look at some of the fights in these other movies I’m referencing. You can argue that I’ve seen these movies a bajillion times and know what they’re about, but you can always read this stuff, even if you don’t realize it.

Neo fights Agent Smith he has something to prove. Indiana Jones fights desperately, like he’s cornered. John Wick is hunting or running away. Kyle Reese throws himself into the path of the Terminator because he’s protecting someone with his life. Mike Fallon (from Accident Man) is furious. The killer (from The Killer) is dead inside. Sean Archer and Castor Troy (from Face/Off) really fucking hate each other. No words are needed from any of them.

This little sprite in this AI reel is nothing. No emotion, no motivation, just pure martial arts. The graphics will get more natural. The jerkiness will make way for more natural moves. The backgrounds will have more detail. But, as long as these same illiterate tech lovers continue to make them, they will never have soul.

AI, which is less popular than ICE, is being pushed on us. In some places it has its uses. In some places, it doesn’t. I refuse to use AIs to write emails because I’m dealing with human beings, and it’s a sign of respect that they get to talk to one. Entertainment will get around their union contracts and use AI in TV and movies, but people don’t want that. They also want human beings (for the most part). Writers I know, artists I know, musicians and filmmakers I know, let’s give it to them.

Sunny Days I Thought Would Never End

I’m sitting here in the Brookland Arts Walk and Farmer’s Market in the summer heat. Crying and trying not to fall into disgusting sobs.

I had a rough night, and I overate some pizza, which was supposed to make me feel better, but made me sick because I’m fifty.

As my ex-wife always said, sleep is the great reset button. The next morning, I finished the movie I couldn’t finish last night, eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and petting Oscar.

It was a rough start, but I rode the Metro a stop to Brookland. I spent the early morning in a coffee shop, eating second breakfast and sipping a London Fog, watching to-go coffees passed out to neighbors in various stages of wakefulness.

I’m in the business of people-watching. And doodling them. I came to the Arts Walk to show my cool picture to Mina, the cool printmaker, and pick up a couple of things to tide me over for the weekend.

I found a bench to settle down with my pupusa (a doughy pancake stuffed, in my case, with spinach, cheese, and chicken) and pineapple smoothie while a blues performer played.

A couple of people had caught my attention, so I finished third breakfast and broke out my sketchbook. That’s when the musician broke out James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” It was the third time he sang, “And I always thought I’d see you again,” that it hit me violently.

Here I go, twenty minutes later, and here come the sobs. I tipped the singer twenty bucks on Venmo for, “Making me cry.”

I have so much to tell you, Shane. I have so much to show you. But you’re not here anymore.