Saturday, December 31, 2005

A quick story

A pair of panties are on my bed right now. I did my laundry today, and found them when I was finished. They're not mine, and they're not Aili's. I should probably take them downstairs. And I will, in fact, when I'm done posting this. I guess what is interesting to me in situations like this is that I'm one generation removed from a pervert, or that is to say, I have no interest in doing perferted things with them, but I can't help but think of how someone who might be perverted would react and/or do with them. I guess that means I'm a writer or a wimp.

Searches that have turned up my blog: "Buthole Pleasures" "Marchello Sanchez was gay" "Kristy MacNichol pictures"

The worst film experiences I had this year

There are probably some films I could put on this list that would be less memorable (such as the exorable THE CAVE [my review will be available for perusal tomorrow]) and more awful, but here's a couple of bad experiences I had with the lady love of my life that's not Finnish.

THE HONEYMOONERS: Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously are you fucking kidding me? An outdated classic updated starring Cedric the Entertainer and Mike Epps? You're kidding right?

SERENITY: I saw this at one of the first test screenings and haven't gone back. I've been told the finished film is better, though I doubt the structure or writing or acting changed, and completed CGI effects ain't gonna change how I feel about the film. The Joss Whedon phenomenon is something I don't understand, and I wonder if with Buffy (the show that has netted him most of his love) much of the success had to do with the show's other writers. Gene Roddenberry was the worst Star Trek writer and Chris Carter wrote the worst X-Files episodes, one wonders if the same could be same of Whedon, especially when television writing's possessory credits are so maleable. Anyway, the film was garbage, and the clever writing that Whedon's known for feels so god damned forced, and - as I always go back to - having a character deliver dialogue before he dies is such a hackneyed conceit, the fact that it happens three god damned times is inexcusible. And Whedon can't direct action to save his fucking life. If the film was a minor bad beforehand, the fanbase's actions towards this film are inexecusible, though they quickly seemed to align themselves with Scientologists as scary to the mainstream. Your film flopped, and you should just be happy you got it. Now shut the fuck up.

ELIZABETHTOWN: Some were worried this would be GARDEN STATE REDUX. And it was and it wasn't, in that this was an entirely different sort of horrible. Cameron Crowe has lost touch with reality, and this film - though with some nice grace notes - is the sort of embarassment that should be publically flogged.

STAR WARS EPISODE III: REVENGE OF THE SITH: Hey, Scott, I love you, don't ever forget that. But few films filled me with the sense of shock and awe as SITH, from the begining to the end, just a horribly depressing experience of missed opportunities, tone deaf cutting and acting, and it's not even worth talking about. ULTIMATE POWER! ULTIMATE POWER!

THE BAD NEWS BEARS: What a missed opportunity, or at least with the talents involved, it should have been something more than unfunny.

And that's my negative rant for the day.

Friday, December 30, 2005

Evolution, Manifest Destiny and Terrence Malick

Does Terrence Malick believe in evolution? I would suggest yes. As a man who translates Heidegger I would suggest he is a learned man, a contemplative man. And The New World begs the question of where Malick stands on Heidegger, and Malick's relationship to nature. Often the director is typed as something of a naturalist, and his nature studies are what he has been known for doing, his visual poetry.

But I get the impression from The New World that Malick believes in evolution, and in man's quest for knowledge. I think he also recognizes that something is lost with each new world, that the explorer and the visited land must change, are bound to change, and yet such must be done. Which may be why I fell in some love with this film. I have only my interpretation, and it is sure to change with a repeated viewing, but what I took from the film was the idea that Malick is presenting the idea that man must evolve and move forward. It is interesting to note the lack of direct religion in Malick's films, especially in this.

This really became clear to me in the final third, in which much of the critical audience seems to have become bored. It is in Pocahontas's relationship with her second suitor, her decision to move on with her life, to move forward to me that suggests though Malick mourns the loss of innocence, he recognizes that it is something to be moved beyond. And as tragic as much of the European settlers' relationship with the Native Indian was and is, the nature of man's innate curiosity is that he had to traverse the world, to find the boundaries, to eventually travel outside of it. Manifest Destiny, in the less politicized definition, is man's innate desire to traverse, and perhaps to conquer strange new worlds, and though Malick's films have a lack of modernity(the closest he's come to filming in the present is his first film), I don't think that mean he resents the modern world. Ergo, to me the end of the film, without spoiling it, represents the tragic loss of the new world as a noble sacrifice, a worthy sacrifice to be made.

But that may just be me.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

I had lunch with myself today

Guess who showed up at the office today? I did. Not me, me, but I guess my doppleganger. Who said we should go for a long lunch at the nearby Quizno's. People at work asked if I had a twin staying with me for the holidays, and I said yes. He was also wearing the jacket I got in Portland, so I was all nervous when I got home (it was there). He told me I should drive so I did.
Me: So?
Me (2): yeah?
Me: How does this work?
Me (2): I don't know.
Me: Where do you work?
Me (2): Here.
Me: Can I go home early?
Me (2): I don't know.
Surprisingly enough we had a lot to talk about when things settled down.
Me (2): You know what I've been thinking about lately?
Me: Pretty sure, but what?
Me (2): If I ever get famous, and someone asks me why I wanted to get famous I'm going to say "to get hot chicks."
Me: Because saying you're doing it because you believe in your art is so pretentious?
Me (2): And saying it's for the money is uncouth.
Me: Making pussy the only option that sounds halfway noble.
Me (2): Pretty much. I mean, I like what I... we write, I'm just saying.
Me: If we made out, would that be gay?
Me (2): Pretty gay.
Me: But a circle jerk, that'd be like masturbation plus, right?
Me (2): You're just saying that so you can write it up on your blog.
Me: My blog?
Me (2): Who gets the possesory credit here?
Me: Not sure.
Me (2): I was thinking about Kristen today
Me: The girl in college who loved Peckinpah and Russ Meyer?
Me (2): Yeah. We're sure to get some Peckinpah's in the next week, so it made me think of Stanley Kramer, cause she liked Judgement at Nurenberg.
Me: Who knew thinking of Stanley Kramer could get someone excited?
Me (2): I know.
Me: Hey Aili, want to throw on On The Beach and make out?
It went from there, I went back to work, and he ended up flirting with a girl for a while. I never knew I could be jealous of myself.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

The Portland recap/ Non ho sonno

Okay, I've been here for 48 hours and I leave in 16. A very brief stint, but I was also here for Thanksgiving, so there's that sense of "What's changed in a month? Nothing? Okay. Good to see you." Friday started when I got up and my mom decided she wanted to see a movie. That being Brokeback Mountain. As we got downtown, I saw the lights on at my old office and decided to call my old boss. We had a couple minutes so I got to see him and two other old coworkers and got a Brokeback Mountain jacket out of it. We then head over to the theater and I run into someone I know who works at the theater, and chat him up for a couple minutes, and then watch the movie, which we both loved. As the movie ended a girl walked by and said "I lied it, but why did the sex have to be so violent?" My mom asked what the girl said, I told her, and moms said "What an idiot." My response was like "Yeah, you're my mom, mom."We then trekked over to Powells to sell some books for my brother and ran into Chris and his wife, who were in town from L.A. That's the nature of Portland, you're more likely to run into people you know from L.A. in Portland than you are in L.A. My friend D.K. was working and I made sure he was to swing by the Aalto that night. I then went to Rich's (as I previously essayed) and then grabbed some dinner. I took the bus over to South East, and told the peeps that I should be there around seven. When I got to the Aalto at 5:30... I ordered a Bloody Mary and decided to do some reading. After a half hour I thought "should I go up to Madness?" I then grabbed a Diet Pepsi elsewhere and decided upon the greatest idea known to man: I went to the nearby nickel arcade, to play some pinball and Dance Dance Revolution.

I got back to the bar a little after seven, and still there was no one there. Bobby showed shortly thereafter and it was him and me chatting it up (he had also recently seen Brokeback) until around nine, when Scott and Heather showed with Scott's mom. Bobby bailed shortly thereafter and then an old friend named Sam rolled in announcing DK's appearance, and gave me a cigar. Shortly after DK showed so did some other friends with whom I started dancing, which led to a pole dance performed by me. And it was hot. When Bobby was talking of bailing early, I thought I might get home before midnight and take the bus, but more and more people I knew started piling in, and another friend who lives part time in LA showed, and we now have plans to hang out when he's in town in two weeks. Sweet. The party started to wind down, and I kept drinking in that way where you just stay in the balance of the right buzz. It's hard to manage, but it totally worked out for me. Got a cab at one and came home.

Today I got up and the big plan was to hang out with Jeff. We watched some Ultraman (including an episode where Ultraman fights a violin monster), Ride Lonesome, and the truly amazing Turkish film called Death Warrior, which does not make a god damn lick of sense in it's 72 minute running time. If you liked Turkish Star Wars, then you'll love Death Warrior. Mom and I got back and watched Meet Me In St. Louis (great!) and The Dark Corner, which was rather good. Mom crashed out and I jumped in her hot tub for a bit to veg out.

I get out and there's a message from Aili on my cell phone. I call her back and she had just gotten off the phone with her family, a group of early risers. Her sister and brother were home for the holidays and Aili is stuck in Los Angeles cause she had too much work. She basically spent an hour decompressing. She wished me well, and as the conversation wrapped up, she spit out in a tired (and slightly drunk) voice "I love you." My reflexes kicked in and I said "Love you too." and we got off the phone before I realized what had just happened. And I tell you, it's fucking with me so bad right now that I feel like shit. It was a slip that changes everything. And so here we are and there you go.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

So Gay

The Scene: Rich's Cigars. I know half the staff, but I bullshit with some of the new people.

Me: You have Gryphon tattooed on your foot.
Girl: Gryphon is my last name.
Me: So, like, if you get murdered, then they'll know who it is.
Girl: Something like that.
Me: I only have one tattoo. It's right here (points above heart). It says "So Gay"
Girl: Can I see it?
Me: (said not as a proposition) No, you can only see it if you have sex with me.
Me: Hey, you know, I understand, not everybody bites.
Girl: Really?
Me: Oh yeah, and it works too, cause some girls actually do go home with me, and then, after sex, I'm all like "well, you read the tattoo. I told you. So gay."
Girl: It's like a disclaimer.
Me: Exactly! It's truth in advertising.
Girl: Can I see it?
Me: You know the rules.
Girl: Are you fucking with me?
Me: ....
Girl: Seriously, are you being serious?
Me: ...

A Sketch From the Burbank Airport on a flight back to Portland

Me (internal): That's Rob Schnieder waiting for his flight... What's he doing with a jug of... cider? Is that cider? Could it be urine? I'm looking around and he looks up to look at me and then looks down I see someone I work near... Fuck it, I'm not talking to them I don't really know em anyway... Rob Schnieder Making Copies... Set your clock back... Wearing a fedora and a scarf... GAY... The Animal Fuck the Animal, that shit was horrible and the Deuce Bigalow films? I mean seriously The Hot Chick? But Knock Off.... Oh fucking Knock Off should I go over tell him that I love, absolutely love Knock Off? Will he think I'm a fucking nuts for loving that film? Should I tell him I saw it five times in the theaters? Will he think I'm making fun of him? Of course you're not going to say anything FUCKING KNOCK OFF! Knock Off "no one would work with you Ray, you're the king of knock off's!" (Van Damme accent) "But you're still a fake to me." "Only the one's with Sean Connery, Moneypenny." "MOVE IT, YOU GOTTA WANT IT." I'm not going to say shit huge fan of Knock Off "I thought Tang was a beverage." Jesus, I wanna watch Knock Off I hope I make my flight Rob Schneider, Burbank airport, KNOCK OFF! Knock Off. I'm convinced that this is really not my song, I bought it in Hong Kong... It's a Knock Off. You're not going to say anything. Nope.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Bro's before Ho's, man!

Damon: What's shakin?
God: Damn.
Damon: What?
God: I haven't heard from your faggot ass since the bachelor party.
Damon: That was a bachelor party?
God: Duh.
Damon: And how you doin' Chewbacca?
God: Still hanging around this loser?
Damon: I'm fucking tired.
God: Damn right.
Damon: How you been?
God: Busy as always.
Damon: How was Munich?
God: I liked it.
Damon: Oh, snap, my brithday wishes for your boy.
God: You get him anything?
Damon: I'm going to Portland tomorrow, I'll get him something there.
God: Smooth. How you been?
Damon: Recovering from Aili's office party.
God: How'd that go?
Damon: First off, she told me to restrain myself. Which I get, I say some wild shit from time to time....
God: Dog?
Damon:No, I know, but it's not like I don't know enviornments. Also since her coworkers don't know, I had to play boyfriend.
God: Good set up, how was the evening?
Damon: Eh. I had to drive, so I couldn't drink, which is probably for the best.
God: And then...
Damon: It went okay. I stuck with Aili for most of it, but made small talk near the vegetable dip. The big thing was one of her coworkers had a couple and sort of pulled me aside telling me how lucky I was.
God: I know you didn't punch him.
Damon: It got to that weird zone where he was crossing my boundaries.
God: Certain things a man shouldn't say to another man. Speaking of, you know who one of my favorite bands are? The Minutemen.
Damon: Fuck you.
God: So I haven't seen you in over a month?
Damon: New Year's eve?
God: For sure.
Damon: I'm back Monday, ifyou've got some time.
God But what about Aili?
Damon: Okay, I'm sorry it's been a while. Cool?
God: Yeah but you've been slipping and tripping.
Damon: Don't I know it.
God: All right. Peace!
Damon: Peace.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

All my favorite Questions have no answers

I was watching The 40-Year-Old Virgin this weekend, and there's acouple of female anal jokes in it. And it seems that heterosexual anal sex has hit a crossover point. I mean, not like people are going to talk about doing it on Oprah (or maybe....) but ten years ago I don't think it came up as often. And that it does in the film to laughs (butthole pleasures, Elizabeth Banks character) seems to say something, but nothing scientific

This sort of thing also ties into my theory that internet time is collapsing. The Shining, The Chronic(what) cles of Narnia, these zipped around in record time. Literally in the case of the SNL sketch, which has already saturation point four days after its airdate. Granted this shit is hilarious, but it seems the world has it down to a science. I say that mostly because I'vestumbled across the mention in four different places. Which ties into my curiousity if some friends of mine were really patient zero when it came to the Snakes on a Plane phenomenon, or ahead of the curve. I wish that thing we did had a site meter at the time, damn...

And I wonder if Aili cares about me, and could ever love me at this point.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Sometimes, yeah, it does all revolve around a day

My weekend was crazy. I will get to that a little later tonight or tomorrow. I'm waiting on something at work, and I realized that much of my life revolves around the day I decided to rent movies at Mike Clark's Movie Madness. Had I not done that, I wouldn't have started working there, which had I not done that would mean I wouldn't have spent five years working as a film buyer, which had I not done that, it's likely that I wouldn't have spent as much time writing reviews and hanging out on the internet, which means I wouldn't probably have the friends I have today, which means I may not have to come to LA as I did, or perhaps wouldn't have survived as long as I have (then again, had I not known them I might have lived in a cheaper housing establishment, etc. etc.

That said, I find it hard to believe that had one of those pieces not fallen into place, I wouldn't have done some of the things I've done. And, of course, those pieces did fall into place, because that's the way it went. My fate weighs heavily on me these days, cause things got heavy this weekend. I will flesh out the story, but there was some yelling, a little vomiting, and some make up sex involved.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Wimmens is hard

They are. Like my wife. But we're over whatever we had going earlier this week. We've got to do a business party tomorrow night. Got to get my shit tight tomorrow. Got to.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

The First top ten of the year: DVD

1) The Astaire Rogers Collection
2) Pickpocket/Au Hasard Balthazar
3) Naked - "Well, basically, there was this little dot, right? And the dot went bang and the bang expanded. Energy formed into matter, matter cooled, matter lived, the amoeba to fish, to fish to fowl, to fowl to frog, to frog to mammal, the mammal to monkey, to monkey to man, amo amas amat, quid pro quo, memento mori, ad infinitum, sprinkle on a little bit of grated cheese and leave under the grill till Doomsday."
4) No Direction Home - "It's hard to be wise and in love at the same time, you know?"
5) The Big Red One - "You know how you smoke out a sniper? You send a guy out in the open and you see if he gets shot. They thought that one up at West Point. "
6) Le Samourai
7) Seven Men From Now
8) Shoot the Piano Player/Jules and Jim
9) The Band Wagon
10) 2046

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine

There's no easy transition. And I can't escape that I know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. And that's why I find it hard to apologize. The thing in question isn't the thing itself. And yet an apology is due. And I don't want that to be how I open the conversation, but there's also no good transition point. "My cat hasn't done anything dickish since she clawed me... by the way, I'm sorry for acting a dick last night." I think the only thing to do is show up tonight without calling and just fuck the living shit out of my wife.

A bit of a fight

I got in to Aili's after work. Things were going well. She was superconcerned about my cat scratches, and was being almost excesively mothering. Aili has about fifteen movies in her DVD collection, including Dirty Dancing (which I kinda like) and Garden State. And I said "Well, I'm all up for the cuddling, just don't make me watch Garden State again." Targeting system, now armed.

"Hey, I don't even get what women could get out of that movie." With that Fat Man and Little Boy were deployed (and I didn't even pick on her copy of Amelie). I'll admit that was rude. But here's the thing, I know in my heart of hearts what this is about. It's about two things. One is that I am something of a ruthless tastemaster. The second part of that is that I love something she cannot and probably shouldn't love at the level I do. When I question her taste in film, it's kind of like I'm judging her. But I'm not, but we're still so fresh that I get it. And again I get railed on for being passive agressive, when I thought I was just being frank. So I'm at home watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force (and no, that's not a euphamism).

Here's me acknowledging my faults. I don't have a lot of power and control in this relationship. Was I hitting her buttons in a passive agressive way? Was I trying to exert some Alpha male where I could? What would Freud say? He would say I was trying to run herover, that's why he's a genius.

Fingers crossed for hot make up sex.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Picture Pages, Picture Pages...

First off, The Busby Berkley Boxset is coming in March! The picture is of a poster from the Houx Collection.

Second off, CAT SCRATCH FEVER. Also,I like Diet Pepsi.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Fuck so pretty you and me, Erratic City come alive

Shoot the Piano Player
Where the Sidewalk Ends

The Wife. Yeah. Here's a story. A Finnish word for yeah, or yes (as, say in the context of "oh yes.") sounds like the word Jew. My wife has a cute mole on her left breast. I think about it at work and sometimes get distracted. And there you go.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

My wife has garbage farts

I woke up at three this morning, and smelled a smell that I doubted could have originated from a human being. And then I hear the sound of a lazy sleepy fart. And it wasn't me, and then, man, whoo I smelt that shit and giggled myself back to sleep after trying to fan the sheets as much as possible without waking Aili.

Since I've been ill, Aili has suggested I crash at her place after I get off work. And since I opened this door, it's only fair I should close it. Here's the last update on this: the sex has been irregular. But there was more, and it wasn't as awkward (frankly, even though I had no staying power, I could feel the tension just drain out of me, so I can't say it was bad sex for me, as much as it was rabbit quick). It's still weird, though. And not in a creepy/exciting way. There's other things, but I should remember to not be as honest on this here blog about our sex life. Maybe someday she'll google my name and find this.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

The Scary Truth

Jesus (not Jesus, Jesus, but Jesus) I'm almost 30. This morning really kicked that in for me. People my age have kids and shit. I had that weird wave of "Time to really ship up your ship" shit go through me. Not that I'm not an adult. I mean I've owned my own home, etc. etc. It's just I had that flash. I don't want to be a 30 year old boy.

Whatever. At least I can claim I'm married. And shit is moving forward I guess.

Elizabethtown is one of the most wrongheaded films I've seen, probably ever. It's not terrible, terrible should be reserved for the Taxis of the world. It opens with a self fulfilling prophecy of a character analyzing his failure, and is about to kill himself. Yet, other than the evidence presented by language, this is never felt in Orlando Bloom's rather nominal performance.

And 2005 is the year that proved (definitively, I reckon, the Pirates sequels are being sold on Johnny Depp) that Bloom is not a leading man. He's the 21st century's John Gavin. But I think Crowe may be one of those directors who doesn't trust great actors. I think he loves dialogue, and he's sort of great at writing it, but he seems to like casting performers who don't bring much to the table (there are some notable exceptions). It seems John Cusack reconfigured the role of Lloyd Dobler to give the character the darkness that makes him so goddamned lovable in the film, and I wonder if Crowe bucks at that. This is probably a theory better for a blog than published, but I get that sneaking suspicion. And there is a sense in the film that Crowe is trying to leap to a more cinematic (pictorial) sensibility, but has to put everything in words. He overwrites, especially in the overwhelmingly awkward final third that has a character on a road trip at a point in the movie that makes said road trip feel sluggish and pointless.

That said, this film is obviously a mess, and one wonders how much of Judy Greer and D-Day ended up on the cutting room floor. Oh, huge cardinal offense, putting a character on a stage and trying to win over a crowd that never happens emotionally (though the crowd behaves as it is written to, alas). Played by Susan Sarandon, in a role that is an embarrassment to which little of it seems her fault.

The film is about the loss of a father without ever being about it. About being in a strange southern environment without ever feeling connected. About a character ready to kill himself without ever feeling like he's ready to kill himself. It seems all this is to (or became out of failings, hard to say how much or what hit the cutting room floor) foster a love story between Bloom and Kristen Dunst, playing the archtypal "Girl who shows up and does all the work." This sort of character needs to die. There's also a sequence where the two are on their phones all night, and the rhythms of the scene are just all wrong. Crowe seems to have lost touch, he knows the rhythms, but people have become abstractions to him, there's a sequence when Bloom steals a beer that could have been great, but it never hits on a real feeling.

I was nervous about the film, mostly because I have huge father issues, and was facing the strong possibilty of my father's death weeks ago. And yet there is no sense of that relationship, really, even though it's suggested Bloom and his father had a complicated and empty relationship. There's dad stuff in here, but it goes nowhere.

Watching the film, I was reminded of my brother's wedding. Before it started, I had to run to work, and found out my friend DK wrote a piece about me in the latest issue of PDXS, a now defunct weekly. I brought a couple issues home, and my (great) Aunt Veda (now deceased) told me I shouldn't tell my brother about it or mention it because it was his day. Fair enough I thought, though I showed it to my brother, and he was stoked.

Cut to: the wedding dinner. The family were asked to say something, and at my turn I stood up and got choked up, voice a-cracking talking about my bro. I was supremely happy for him, and tried to explain my joy for him (note: they're now divorced), and I said some words that were pretty emotional for me and the crowd (I was told later my crying made others weepy as well). When it came time for my aunt Veda to say something, it was all about how she lived in La Grande, and a short version of her life story. It was a very base irony, but I couldn't help but choke on it.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Watching Frenzy

is sort of like having your grandfather tell you that he and your grandmother liked anal. Maybe on some level you're happy for him to have the ability to open up and let loose, but otherwise, freaky sex and relatives don't exactly go hand in hand. And there's something about the imagery that is both unwholesome and quaint at the same time. Hitchcock didn't pick hot women to taketheir clothes off. No, sir. Not like that old story about him and Grace Kelly...

I'm not saying it's bad. It's just odd.

He would see faces in movies, on T.V., in magazines, and in books....

He thought that some of these faces might be right for him:

The Dukes of Hazzard

I am fighting a nasty cold I think I got from my mother. Or Aili. I guess I'm coming through it, though, if the grotesque display of flem is a sign of getting better. I've had some nasty ass throat butter, and when I cough it sounds like a car trying to but faling to start.

I went to the thing on Thursday and had a great time. Aili couldn't make it, some briefs for Friday, etc. I cancelled on my thing last night cause I'm so ill (both in the real and DMC sense of the word). I kinda opened the door talking about Aili and what's going on, and it's all symptomatic of me being in LA. I've got friends here, but I work crazy hours, and I get home and I can't always call the homies, you know?

So let me say this. I saw her Friday night. We hung out. It went well. It was an early night for both of us. I'll leave it at that.

I watched Shoot the Piano Player this weekend. YAY.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Free me from myself

Okay, I'm awake. Maybe I'll take a nap after posting this. I could barely sleep. What was I dreaming of? Guess who? I've got to stop using this place as a confessional. I almost dialed her number at least five times yesterday. I'll call her tonight. Blog, hold me to this.

Please, come inside



I picked my wife up from LAX when she got in at nine. I asked her how her trip went and she told me fine. I asked if anything fun happened, and she kinda responded. I guess (or I guess I know) she was staying with her married friends Linda and Shawn, and Linda is now five months pregnant. "A lot of baby talk." "All their friends now are couples." I didn't have the nerve to ask if she mentioned me. "I've still got a half pint of Jack Daniels, you want to have a couple drinks tonight?"

Cut to: her apartment. Some Beck (Sea Change). The full story of boredom on the East Coast. Petty jealousies. Insults directed at Aili's choice of profession. Flirting. Mutual flirting. An empty bottle of Jack, mostly her doing. A comment "What I'd really like is some hard dick in me right now." (and that's burned in my brain for keeps). Nicotine stained kissing. Clumsy touching. Briskly removed underwears. A lack of condoms brushed off with quick comments about our relative cleanliness. Thrusting. Premature ejaculation.

"What you wishin' see I'm keep you up all night,
for a long time so I'm countin' away.

Break me off,
show me what you got,
cuz I don't want no
one minute man."

I wanted to spray paint in turquoise my apologia on her living room wall. I told her that I had spent the last couple with my family (see the post two back). I wanted the chance at more foreplay, to perhaps even the score as it were (though decidedly after a shower on both our parts.

"Well, you got what you wanted." Did I, did I? We laid there in her living room, mostly naked (my shirt was still on [though my socks were off], her shirt was still around her neck), and I started in by saying it had been a while for me. An awkward conversation ensued. I stayed the night. We woke up early and I apologized in a fashion. And now I'm more confused than ever. Work went well for a while, but I had to stop for a bit and decompress. The questions in my head about what to do and not to do (calling, flowers, etc.) are still circling me. I didn't call today. Perhaps it's fair to suggest that if she likes me like that, I can do no wrong, and if she's offended, then I can do no right. She's going with me to a birthday party this weekend (and maybe if she can swing it this thing I'm doing on Thursday), unless she cancels.

And so I return to the profound wisdom of Russ Meyer: "One wonders if that the fucking that you get is worth the fucking that you get."

Monday, November 28, 2005

Stating the obvious

The cult of Bettie Page is stupid. I get it, she's cute, and I get the fetishistic appeal of her. But she's one step above Miss November 1978.

Aili's getting into tonight. Gotta get her. And watch Havoc. If I have enough time when I get home. I'm tired and went to work off the plane. I got home early, and now I'm just trying to stay awake until midnight. Hopefully I won't be a mess on the road.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Masturbating at Your Parent's House: or

More end of Holiday weekend musings

-I'm still in Portland. My mind sometimes hits clock mode. On Wednesday, I hit a point where I realized in less than 24 hours I would be in Portland, and now I realize in about twelve I'll be back at work. And here I am drinking Fat Tire (yay!) and having seen many people I wanted to see while I was here, if only for a couple of moments (such as D.K. who stopped by briefly before having to go to another friend's house). I've got to be up at six A.M. so I'm trying to drink enough beer to get sleepy enough to crash out by midnight (sometime after I finish this), and be awake enough to board the plane though groggy enough to catch some sleep on the flight back. In the last paragraph I have deleted my use of the word home twice, once in regards to Portland, once in regards to L.A. Where is home? Both. Neither.

- And admittedly, here's what I miss about Portland. Leonard (my intrepid brother) and I went out last night to The Sandy Hut. We go in and they have a Shuffleboard table, which is being played by a couple. The girl knows me from both Movie Madness, and a Broken Social Scene show. At the bar was someone I used to work with and her boyfriend. While waiting to see my friend Pete I ran into someone I know. That's just my way around Portland. I'm "that guy" here. I have to say I like that.

- I brought up my wife a lot. I think most people don't believe me when I say I'm now married. I should have had Aili pose for some cell phone photos, real poses, to show my wife (I have one, but it's not that good). Something to remember for Xmas.

- I got to see my friends Heather and Scott three out of four days here. Yay!

- Unlike LA, one can smoke in Portland bars. The downside is that your clothes tend to stink from a night out. We were only at The Sandy Hut for about two hours max, and we reeked so much in the morning my mom aired out both our coats. The upside is you get to know if the girl you're talking to is a smoker. I'd say it's a fair trade. Portland, at least in comparison, is a smoking town. Or, that is to say, a more public town for smoking. Standing outside today, I just spotted more people smoking than I normally do in LA. But I think that's also geography. It's also 31 degrees out right now (that's what my mom's computer is telling me), whereas in Los Angeles, it'll probably be 80 when I get back. This is nice, but my office is so air conditioned that I tend to need to wear a hoodie regardless (I usually leave one at my desk for it. So Mr. Rogers). I leave for work and it's warm out, and I go home at night and it tends to be cold.

- I watched Land of the Dead with my brother and mom. She didn't care for it (shock, surprise) but my brother liked it. I still like it, but I see its flaws, which I have conceeded since first viewing, mostly that it's Canadian and small. And as a political polemic, its weight is more in the heft of the Romero canon than on its own merits - its analysis is cartoony, but that this is carried out in a zombie movie is what gives it bite. I think the film works best in context of its canon, under the dubious weight of the auteur theory.

- I'm also three hours into No Direction Home with my mom. She gets tired early. I still love this film with every fibre of my being, and will watch the rest with her at Xmastime.

- My mom's TV is thirteen years old and dying. I gave my mom some monster speakers that have warped the picture irreperably, and watching films on it is awkward, but due to the warping, interesting in its own way. Having seen most of the films I watched here previous, it gives films the thing film people want watching something again: a fresh view.

- Ah, yes, the title thing. I was concerned, returning home as I have for a four day retreat, that I would need to do what the title suggests, made awkward by the presence of my brother and mother nearby. That is, the thing that no one wants to talk about, but most people probably think about in said situation. Or that is to say, I do. But the cold winds, constant drinking, and simply being in the house I spent my adolesence has worked as well as salt peter. Is this too much information? Probably, but I couldn't not start my latest entry with that title. It's too good.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Holiday musings

- The Ice Harvest is a solid piece of work. It verges on being funny, and occassionally causes laughter, but it's got it's own zoned out rhythm. At the heart of it is the plight of hitting middle age and looking at the wreckage of one's life. One wonders if Jeremy Piven was too busy for the Piven role Oliver Platt plays. As a Piven Surrogate, Platt is rather good playing the movie entirely drunk. There's a Christmas dinner scene that crackles with nearly (but no quite) the same intensity as a similar one in The Ref. What I think I like about it most is that it's a film noir in a year that has at least three of them (this, A History of Violence and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang) all of which reflect different period of noir (KKBB for the early sort of Chandler noir, this for the beginings of the post war moral grays, and AHOV for the later perverse ones).

- I'm going back to Portland tomorrow. I haven't been back in a little over a year. It will be good to see some old friends again. I have for the last couple months plotted out what this Friday is going to be, where I'll be, and even around the times I think I'll be at some. Whom of these people will ask about my wedding? Dunno. Should be fun.

- A year ago I was still in LA, and I was taken in for Turkey day by my good friend Paul, who has done so much for me since I've been here, I have no idea where to start thanking him. All I can say is that a year ago Paul, his wife and child, Chris and his wife and child (whom I whipped at board games all night), Jared and his girlfriend, and Bob and Cathy made me feel home. And part of me wishes I was joining them again. But if I'm going to cornball this paragraph, let it be said I am thankful that Paul is a friend.

- The wife called while I was in the theater. She got in okay. She wished me well. I didn't ask her to call, so I dunno. The world is filled with people, and you meet new ones every day, have interactions, half the time with members of the opposite sex, and you recognize the differences that seperate their sex from yours. All of whom should be functionally compatible with you. Here I am with a wife. And it was such a spur of the moment "Do you mind driving to Vegas" sort of thing. We'd been hanging out every once in a while, she went with me to the BSS show, I took her to see A History of Violence, we would sometimes go to The Well and yell at each other. But I got in that friends mode I hate, and that I let myself fall into cause I couldn't read her. And now we're married, and I'm sure she thinks she can push me around. And she can. Damn it. But she called.

I start trouble at work

From an interoffice e-mail:

"By the way Damon showed me some movement. I have to say he is a pro."

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

The Couch

So I got off work early today (how you like that), so I'm here enjoying the new King Kong. Sweet. But it's doubly nice, cause I had to take Aili to the airport this morning, and I'm beat. Last night she called and said she needed a ride to the airport, so I made haste over, and she told me I could sleep over. Okay. So I got over around tennish (anyone) and we hung out for a bit even though her flight was at 10 AM and we had to get up at seven. She broke out a bottle of Vanilla Stoli, and we got drunk and listened to some more Talking Heads (the box was in my car).

It's weird, but I keep finding out more and more about the woman I'm married to. I guess married people go through this, but every new facet is dreamy. And there we were singing along to "(Nothing but) Flowers" and there was that moment, us on the couch, feeling comfy, and there was that moment where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. That pause, that delicious pause of the conversation stopping, the tension, the naked sex in the air, and I, well, I fumbled. I let it pass. My wife, I let it pass.

I slept next to her last night. We were both mostly clothed (or that is to say I wore boxer briefs, she a nightie), and I've yet to see my wife naked. Even this morning, I let her get up before me to the bathroom. But as we slept, and I could barely sleep, we spooned for a couple of hours. And there you go.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

I feel like a gigantic ass

Let me start by saying I loved Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Loved it. Such a smart movie. Such great writing. So god damned smart. Why they can't market such a great film boggles me. I'm boggled.

My Sunday started as it normally does, I got up and finished up my review, then spent some time going over tearsheets for the J with the editor. Today we finished early around four, and with three and half hours until my date, I decided I'd run some errands that I wanted to get done before Turkey vacation. I got a hair cut and grabbed two books for the flight and personal edification: Profoundly Erotic, and The Moviegoer, which I should have read a long time ago. The barber talked my ear off in a good way, telling me stories about his father, and about how the AIDS epidemic killed off all the good art in the 80's. As his gentials seemed to rub against me once or twice, well, I'm adult and it didn't bother me, but it was notable. With enough free time, I went to Amoeba and grabbed A Man Escaped and Cop. And it's sort of shameful that I know which I'll watch first. But I still had a bit of time to kill, so I waited outside the Arclight reading Profoundly Erotic, and popping my head up like a kid waiting for his x-ray specs. Aili took a cab and showed up about five minutes before the movie began. Admittedly I started sweating about ten minutes before she showed. I shouldn't be this nervous, I know, we're married, but I can't help it.

The movie was great, and then we headed over to this Thai restaurant nearby. Aili said nothing of the haircut, and I had that moment where I was having a conversation with myself about what a girl I am about this stuff, but then it's like "hey we were hanging out on Friday, and this is my God Damned wife." She liked the film okay, but she's not all that movie critical. She works as an administrative assistant for an Entertainment lawyer, but unlike 99% of the LA immigrants, she's got no cinematic aspirations that I know of. She liked Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but she says she rarely goes to movies, and she's mostly a reader, but she sees "the good films when I hear about them enough." That said, we had a good dinner - I got her to laugh a couple of times, just riffing on stuff. Somehow it came out that a big cultural reference for her was Facts of Life, she had seen numerous episodes while she was growing up, and we had a nice long talk about how the show is horrible, but we were both addicted. The conversation came to a bit of an abrupt end when I said I get her the box set when it comes out as a wedding gift. "That's a nice thought (pause)." Conversation reboot.

In fact it wasn't until we split the check that the conversation got lighter. I still only know her slightly, I know a little about her childhood (she has an older sister and a younger brother, both of whom are in Europe still. Her sister is married to a East Ender and has picked up a slight British accent, while her brother still lives in Finland and lives with his partner. He's a hairdresser, so - based on scant evidence - I guess hairstyling is a common profession the world over for homosexual men), and her parents (they're still together and her mom works as a nurse, while the father is a retired architect. Crazy). As we exited I said "Shall I give you a ride home?"

I didn't expect her response: "Would you knock it off with the passive aggressive tactics, Damon?"

Wha huh?

As someone who was raised in a matriarchal household my first assumption was that she was right, and that I was guilty. "What's wrong with me saying 'Can I give you a lift home?'" "I told you earlier that I needed a ride home, why are you asking?" "Because it slipped my mind." "No it didn't." "Now you're telling me what's going on in my mind?" "Look, let's drop it."

We get to the car, and she wants to smoke. I roll down the windows, and put on More Songs About Buildings and Food (from The Talking Heads box set Brick, buy it now, the 5.1 mixes are insane). While driving I tucked my right hand under her leg which stood for about a minute and then the argument transpired. I wish I had recorded it, but this is what is echoing through my mind right now. And this is hard, I shouldn't reveal this much about myself or her, but I feel bad, and I'm trying to work through this, so if I delete this in a couple of days, you know, there you go. I'm embarrassed by my behavior, but here is an approximation/greatest hits:
"It seems all you American men are defined by your high school experiences."
"Not me."
"What were you like as a teenager?"
"I watched a lot of movies. I hung out with my friends. I had friends. I didn't date much but enough. I wasn't a geek, I just lived in a bubble, and then when college hit, I became more socially refined - I think most people liked me, but I was too busy watching movies. I entered the Mr. Lincoln contest, like the male version of the prom queen, and came in second from what I heard. Hell, I was even on MTV at one point. I still have video of that lying around somewhere if you want to see. Most of my issues revolve around Daddy, and his illness. What do you want to know?"
"Damon, you're aggressive and passive at the same time. I don't know where it comes from so can't get a read on you. It's like you want to jump me but you'll do everything but jump."
"Would things go easier if I jumped you?"
"So then what?"
"Why do you insist on making this so difficult?"
"How am I making it difficult?"
"You're an entire boxed set of mixed signals."
"A Facts of Life box set?"
"Did you have a couple of drinks earlier?"
"Maybe a couple."
"Jesus, should you be driving?"
"It's fine, quit changing the subject. You're my wife Aili, and I know it's a marriage of convenience, but I can't just pretend we have a relationship. What we're doing is a federal offense. I'd feel better about it if I actually knew and cared about you a little more."
"And you want to fuck me."
"Just say it."
"This is what I'm talking about. I'm asking you a direct question and then you get sheepish."
"Are you asking if I would have married you if you were ugly and still gave me ten grand, well, the answer is probably. I do like you as a person."
"You barely know me."
"I'd like to."
"But again, there you go. I asked you a direct question and you danced around it."
"Do you (pause) want to (pause) fuck me."
"Why do you have to ask me that?"
"I'm asking."
"It's not a gentlemanly thing to answer."
"Do you want to fuck me? Would you be happy if I grabbed your inner thigh, and started massaging?"
"That's not fair."
"You know what's not fair? You."
"How do I not come out as a creep in this situation? If I say yes and you're just teasing me, then I lose. If I say no, then I'm either lying or mean. I'm a guy, I'd fuck most anything."
"There you go again, deflecting."
"Okay, I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you since we met, and me marrying you is just an elaborate stratagem to get into your pants."
"Even now you're dancing around the point."
"Maybe, but I still used the word stratagem, and I think I deserve points for that."
"Turn here."
"Are we there?"
"No, you go up to Pico and turn right, then it's still about two miles."
"When we move in together, where are you thinking?"
"Well we both work in Burbank, so around there would be good."
"I could ask my apartment manager if they have a two bedroom near where I'm at."
"Can we get back on the subject?"
"This is Pico, take a right, then what."
"It's not that hard from here, I'll point it out when we get there."
"This is my favorite Talking Heads song. 'I wouldn't live here if you paid me to.'"
"I love them. I grew up listening to Remain in Light Side one every night. My sister Lilliah... Look what you did, you tried to change the subject again."
"No, what happened was that you had to give me directions and the conversation went from there. I love this song."
"I was asking about you wanting to have sex with me."
"And I was using the word stratagem."
"Are you fucking twelve?" (her Finnish accent stings me every time I think about this "Are you fuck-king twelve?")
"Why are you making this so hard?"
"I don't know how I'm making this hard."
"If you go for a pun on the word 'hard' then you'll have to let me out of this car."
"Here's the thing, if I say yes the whole situations become inorganic."
"What does that mean?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Do you want to fuck me?"
"Yes, okay, yes."
"So you think I'm a whore?"
"Hey, you paid me ten grand."
"I don't think you're a whore, and yes I would like to have sex with you."
"How's that going to work?"
"I don't know."
"Some people I know, they didn't get their Green card for a couple years after they had been in the country. Do you think I want to jeopardize that with love?"
"You don't think I'd be honorable?"
"When it comes to love... Turn right here."
"Wait, hold on, did you marry me because you're not attracted to me?"
"So you are attracted to me."
"It's on the left. Park here."
"I had a nice night, Damon."
"Do you want me to walk you to your door?"
"So you can make more offhand flirtations and then settle for a dissatisfied hug?"
"Is that as good as it gets?"
"You make this so fucking difficult, Damon."
"Do I, I'm not even trying."

I parked, (miracle of miracles there was a spot near here place) and got out and gave her a hug goodnight. She started crying. I held her for a moment or two before she got upset and stormed into her building.

I've been drinking since I got home, and will continue to. I pick through our conversation like a child picking through bat shit looking for the skeleton of a mouse. And I can't do justice to what we were talking about, sadly. And I feel guilty as a writer writing out her and my side of things, cause I just read through it, and I think I got the rhythms right, but again, it's all from memory. And maybe I'm playing up the good or bad side of it, I can't tell. Life is so easy to control when it comes to fiction. Here, I'm slightly hopeless. Am I fucking twelve? Am I, like Tyler said part of the generation of men raised by women who own duvets, I guess fucking so. Maybe I should have said I was a gigantic pussy instead of an asshole at the start. And I wish to God I wasn't crying right now.

Don't you Remember When You Told MeYou Loved Me Baby?

Tales of Hoffmann
I'm supposed to meet Aili at Amoeba tonight, she's leaving to visit her East Coast friends for Turkey day, and so we're doing dinner and a movie. Our relationship is what it is, you know, and she knows I'd like to have sex with her, but I want to earn it, you know what I mean? And I feel bad about this too. Like if we hit it tonight, will it be pity sex? I hung out with her and Q on Friday. Q and I are back on speaking terms again, and this was our first hangout in a while, so the evening was helladicey for me. Q called me on Saturday to congratulate me about my wife, but he also noted she was cold, even for a European. Even her pretend-affectionate is cold. And I go back to Portland on Thursday, and how often will I pocket the ring? Should I not take it just so I don't accidentally show it to my mom? When does she get to know? I don't want to tell her cause baby talk will come too soon. And how much bragging do I do withmy boys? AllI have is a couple cellphone snaps. This is fun, but running me lightly ragged.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Christ rhymes with Heist

I was thinking, Guy Ritchie should direct a movie about Jesus. Think about it, the whole resurrection thing is a heist move. Jesus and God gotta fool the peeps around them to do what they want to get done what they need done.

Week one of marriage is sort of weird. I get a lot of attention from my coworkers and friends, calls and such, but then I haven't seen much of Aili. We had a conversation this week, and we're probably going to have to get a place together soon. Sometime around February as we both have to go home for the holidays, and we both have our year leases to get through. We still haven't slept together, but maybe when we move in the magic will commence. She's told me that she wouldn't care if I brought women home, or whatever. How am I going to do that working 54 hours a week, and then coming home to write reviews and screenplays? And yet possibilities keep popping up. Someone from work suggested we have "naked drinks." Maybe that means doing shots.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

He was told he tries too hard, so now he's trying too hard not to try

Yesterday was a trip. It took some of my female coworkers about ten seconds to clock my light blingage, that being the wedding ring. Some coworkers, honestly I think I hurt them (male and female), they were shocked I could get married and not even have mentioned the possibilty earlier. One coworker (female) gave me a mischievious smile and said "That's our Damon, he can keep a secret when he wants to."

I'd be lying if I didn't say I got married to have more sex. But it may not be the sex I was thinking it would be. If your marriage is similar to a business arrangement, is it cheating? I'm not sure. I mean, I think Aili really likes me, I think we've got something. But what?

And I keep thinking about the possiblity that Aili will fall for me. I mean, look, I know I'm pretending if this means more than just what it is, but my god is she hot. And Finnish. Maybe in the next couple months (years?) we'll be forced to spend some time together. And she'll get to know the real me. The one who's more than just the guy who accepted ten grand to marry a near complete stranger. Fingers crossed.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

You may say to yourself, my god what have I done?

The Fugitive Kind
O.C. and Stiggs
State Fair

Letting the days go by... Letting the days go by.

I'm Finnish-D

So I've been absent from the Blog more or less for the last couple months. No real effort to do this thing. "What the fuck?" you think to yourself. Well, let me let you in on a little secret. I got married this weekend. Yup. Married. To a Finnish girl named Aili. We met a couple months ago near the Rock N' Roll Ralphs, and we've been touch and go for a while, but she told me she really needed to get her green card, so I figured, what the hell. Though we haven't slept together, and she's never been over to my place, we're married, and I have to say I'm rather happy about it. It's like a weight off my chest, I don't have to worry about meeting girls any more. And, you know, at least half the time Aili returns my calls. We went out to breakfast the other day, and she paid for her own meal even. It's going great.

I did the Karaoke thing on Thursday night with a bunch of my coworkers. I enjoy Karaoke on some levels, but as an outgoing guy, for me it's always been a situation where I feel I can only look less cool. And because I'm outgoing people tend to expect me to want to jump on stage and shake a tail feather. And it's fun for that, but I tend to want to do a good job and shit. I did Talking Heads' "Life During Wartime" and felt I acquited myself well. There are some parts in that where you really have to roll your notes, and that makes it fun ("I've got three passports couple of visas, don't even know my real na-ah-ame") The party went until two but I bailed early cause it's been a long week and I need an early night. I did join in the fun when the theme song to Enterprise was sung (workjoke) and for a rousing rendition of Baby Got Back.

I got to see a firend's movie this weekend, that was made by a veteran filmmaker. I have to say it was amazing, I mean it is just in principle, but it's nice that it's also good.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Sam Fuller is a God

Though I love a director like Alfred Hitchcock, I'm in many ways drawn more towards people like Sam Fuller, Budd Boetticher, Joseph H. Lewis. It's not that they are better directors per se or that they have better films - I think Vertigo trumps The Big Red One, Seven Men from Now, and The Big Combo - it's just their artform is purer. This though may be a white man's connection to the noble savage ideal of people who come from their own world and give us the outsiders view. God I'm drinking and blogging again. Help me Jesus.

It's just that Fuller and the others, they create their own language of cinema that isn't born of ripping off their predecessors, but people working from their own cadence, much like Bresson, or Gerard Manly Hopkins. Creating their own patois can be limiting, but like my love of Notorious B.I.G. there's something about a talent that creates a voice only their own that I find it hard not to genuflect to. There works have a raw tangible quality, something the French New wave latched onto, rightfully so, that you may be conscious of the effects of it's cinema, but that in no way dilutes what has been created.

Something I also love is what Hawks loved to do, have a third character relate who the main character is to the secondary character. What I love about this is how it not only informs us of a person, but it also does something that is so utterly human, it sums up someone in only the way an outsider can. One cannot sum up oneself, or if one can, then one has failed as a human being. We can now view the character through that perspective without thinking it is the final word. In a word: Brilliant.

Tomorrow me and a bunch of coworkers are going to bar where the management is paying for drinks. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to have two beers and call it a night, or have seventeen and catch a cab. Decisions decisions.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Broken Social Scene

I've been home for about thirty minutes, as I crawled into my apartment. I'm 29 for at least three more months, and I don't know (especially at such a happening show) if I can do the front row thing again.

I made my my way home from work only to get stuck in some nasty traffic, reminding me why later hours (I tend to work from noon on) are so god damned sexy in this town. I got home with enough time to get to my polling location and help crush the govenor's agenda. It felt good too. I then had to drive only a bit to get close to the Henry Fonda theater where the boys and girls where playing. I ended up in line with a couple from San Diego, and we chatted as we waited for the show. Leslie Feist was the opener, and since I tend to collect all things BSS tangential I had heard her album and didn't fall for it. Live, it was much more exciting, and during her set the guy in front of me got her (and her band's) attention by clapping obnoxiously. I still don't think I'll give Let it Die a retry.

I was positioned about a person behind the front, but when they kicked in some aggressive and possibly wasted people pushed their way in front of me. I eventually got some of my footing back, but I wasn't going to fight, and I was likely to be ten years older than much of the audience around me. For their second night in a row, they put on a hell of a set, and Feist and Kevin Drew dueted through three numbers, absolutely killing each time. They had a new girl vocalist, Lisa Lobsinger, and many of their tangential collabatrons (the Metric set, Jason Collete) were not among the collective, though they did have a horns section.

They closed with Track 13, after doing a disco version of one of their songs, and I've never felt so refreshingly exhausted after a show. If I ever get or have the power, I totally want to do my Stop Making Sense with these guys. That is the pipe dream. And in their final song, with fourteen musicians going at once, this rock and roll orchestra, it was god damned closed to being ephinal. Which it might have been had I not been surrounded by so many teenagers.

One the way out, I Wanted to buy a shirt, but they were all sold out. I knew I couldn't grab one pre show (and lose it to the floor), but I did find a hoodie on my way out. I thought about taking it to Lost and Found, but I couldn't find anyone to give it to. I held it up on my way out, but no dice, so I guess I did get my souvenir

Sunday, November 06, 2005

They hear the words, such as "You're really special" and they... can't face the feeling


Huh. This should be a crazy week. BSS on Tuesday. The Open Bar drinking party for my coworkers on Thursday, running to WGA tomorrow. Should be nuts.

What's going on you ask, Mr. Quiet blog man? Not much, movies, counting John Singleton say "You know" 377 times, practicing my dance moves, etc.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

It was the third of November, a day I'll always remember...

That my mom and I pulled up in Hollywood to my new apartment. A couple calls later, Jeremy and Chris were here to help us unload all the crap. I remember Jeremy being impressed with the quality of my speakers. The place was in no order, and Chris made fun of my couch (as well he should), but we did it. That night I took my mom and Chris out for dinner for some sushi, and we hooked up with Jeremy and some other friends to watch the election, which came down to Ohio, and we all knew it was more than likely over as we drowned our sorrows in booze. More later, I've got to (seriously) go meet with a Lawyer.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Three days to 365

When I was in college, I knew little of the world, and made my way with women by hook or crook for much of it, collecting sexual experiences like a magpie - never counting on anything to be more than transitiory (though sometimes it was when it wasn't and vice versa). A friend, Phil, hooked it up with a girl he called he "Comic Book Dream Girl" because she (who resembled Chloe Sevigny) was this hot little raver chick with rather large breasts for her small frame, ala every comic book girl in existence. As we both lusted after her (and I seemed to have fumbled my shot) I was interested to hear of their interactions, not least of all because she had a boyfriend, making their encounter all the more illicit. What I gleaned was that they had been hanging out and he asked if he could kiss her. I then pried for more details of the seduction, and he rebuffed me: "I told you I kissed her."

As I have grown older, I have realized how right he was. You hit a certain point, and you realize it's not so much about getting the power and privledge of getting to the next base, but not fucking it up along the way to sex. Sex is only one stopping point in a relationship, and usually comes before love - or as a friend and I used to joke, sometime you sleep with a woman on the first date simply so you never have to talk to her again. To a certain extent, when you hit a certain age and setting, if you are kissing on a girl and she's receptive, the course of action is predetermined baring errors. You're going to more than likely get your groove on. In some cases, one could argue that extends even further back into the seminal meetings. Perhaps even the binary moment in meeting of "I'd fuck you/I wouldn't fuck you?" Then again work and similar get to know you situations changes that curvature, as fuckability can get into a passing grade or not passing grade with more knowledge of the subject. Though to lose fuckability is something of a misnomer with men... Losing fuckability usually means "I'd do her, but only if it meant we didn't have to talk." which can also hit a sine curve effect.

Monday, October 31, 2005

Halloween Night

I watched Halloween III: Season of the Witch, and The Miracle at Morgan's Creek. Huzzah. Still recovering from my week with God.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Find a city, find yourself a city to live in.

Batman and/or Robin
That Bird's got Crystal Plumage
7 Deaths in a Cat's Eye

I spent a week with God

Jesus. Not Jesus, Jesus, but Jesus. God called me Sunday night, and told me it'd been arranged for me to have the week off. And that I'd still get paid, and that I'd pull a couple of hours of overtime. Like the Military, when it comes to this stuff I have a don't ask, don't tell policy. I mean my boy acts in mysterious ways, like that U2 song.

God picked me up in his Jag at noonish on Monday (so to make sure my car was safe for the week) and dropped me off about thirty minutes ago to find my laundry done, my cat purring and my reviews written, while my head throbbed from a six day hangover. It was a long week.

Monday, we get in the car, and God's got a sixer of Newcastle sitting on the passenger side in a mini cooler. He tells me to crack two, and we drive around Hollywood drinking. God decides to mix things up, so he whips out his flask, and we takes pounds of Jaeger (God likes girl drinks, what are you gonna do), as we ride the strip. Our first stop was at the Arclight and Amoeba, as we looked for imports (I ironically bought God Bedazzled) and then headed over to the Arclight to catch A History of Violence for my third time. I loved it, God was mezzo-mezzo on it. "Eh, I don't think he had the balance of The Fly for a Cronenberg commercial effort." I thought he was wrong, but he loves eXistenZ, so I didn't press it. We then went to the Cat and Fiddle for more drinks. By the way, God (God has these huge balls) smuggled in a couple of beers to the screening. I'm getting kinda wobbly, but that doesn't stop the Fiddle from serving us. Some snacky type foods and a burger later, I'm leveling out. We head back to God's pad, and Jesus catches up with us, and makes us all some Apple Martinis (I told you these guys love their girl drinks) with PBR chasers, and pop on 48 Hours. Jesus decided it'd be funny if we took tugs every time the N word was said, and for Jesus that wasn't good enough (outside of the bar scene), so he decided that it was only worthwhile if we drank at every swear word. I started faking the funk, and by the end Jesus was hammered. By this point Lot showed up, and it was decided to watch Beverly Hills Cop, and (I've weighed putting this on the blog, but whatever) Lot whipped out some X. I've never done it before, but I think Lot's batch was more speed than the other stuff, so I had to start smoking a cigar to counterbalance the jittery teeth grinding. And then another. God then gave me my "year in LA" gift, which was a pipe, and some nice apple flavored tobacco. It's a nice pipe, and I smoked the hell out of it. Cop is not that good all things, but Murphy knew how to deliver, and the film works on that level.

After our four hour Murphy marathon, we were all rather high. Jesus couldn't stop rubbing the arms of the chair he was sitting in, and God decided we should go to Cheetahs. I'm not really a strip club dude, but when I'm hanging with the boys, I find it hard to say no. We get there, and I'm feeling uncomfortable but loose, and we go in. Now, I could count the times I've been to a strip club on both hands (mostly a place in Portland that had - I shit you not - a one eyed stripper, and a crooked pool table that cost a quarter), and it's not my normal scene. But we go in and these girls don't take off their clothes. I went from shame to indignation in less than 60 seconds. God wanted to sit up front, and we kept drinking. It was nine, and it was only modestly busy, so we got up front, and God just kept throwing ones at the girls like a fiend. A couple of the girls had a total mastery of the pole, and they had some great moves. After about a half hour I was ROLLING, and I notice that Lot comes back asking if we could leave. Turns out he got a lap dance, and well... We took off. Then we went to Shelter and God ran into Shannon Doherty. They had an off again on again thing for a while, and they went to a back room area for a while. Having been drinking pretty regular since noon, by eleven I had to head to the toilet and yakked the contents of my stomach fairly well into the middle stall. By some sort of miracle the bathroom was empty outside of Jesus (Lot got dropped at home, and... Well, he smelled like what we figured happened at Cheetahs happened at Cheetahs) who totally applauded my vomiting. "Go like a pro, Houx, go like a pro!"

For some reason, Doherty slapped God, and she took off, but we took a private corner for most of the night, and I was still rolling, so God introduced me to this girl Rachel, while he and Jesus took their shots. I was high, and I had a couple of pills left, and she was down, so we both took two hits, and with Lot out of the car, she came with us back to the pad. Rachel works in films as a key grip, and really likes Earth Wind and Fire. With God's guest room my bungalow we listened to some good music and by about six in the morning we were both coming down a bit and passed out.

When I woke up Tuesday it was four in the afternoon, and there was a number by the dresser, and an unopened cold beer by the bed. God popped in and told me that I was poked prodded, and tossed around, but was out out out for those ten hours. Hoping that the hair of the dog would help, I downed the beer, and ate one of Jesus's gourmet quesadillas with chicken, roma tomato, cillantro and four kinds of cheeses. I hit the TV room, and we threw on the first Bad News Bears, which was a perfect hangover cure. Alas, the four cheeses caught up to me and God, and we had a bit of a farting contest. After two hours of being awake it was decided that the only thing to do was to keep drinking. Keeping to beer, God had some Fat Tire imported to us (YAY), which I hadn't had in about a year, and we decided to do a BNB triple feature. It, as was expected, followed the laws of diminishing returns. Jesus stopped checking what's what on the internet halfway through Breaking Training and Solomon showed up briefly while we were in Japan, only to bail quickly when he realized we were on a mission from God bender. Then God played greatest hits with Chappelle Show Season Two, and it was decided we should just hang out at the place, while God ordered some great Meat Lovers style pizza from this place off of Delongpre (I think, I'm still kinda drunk from the week), and Jesus kept calling me Turtle. Jesus then decided we should watch Santa Claus Vs. The Martians (MST style), and then we all worked on some Glenlivet. At some point I blacked out during the screening of Manos, and then at some point we moved on to My Science Project, and then Top Secret (I think).

Wednesday, I want to say around five in the morning, I remember that we were at the La Brea tar pits, and Solomon, Lot and Jesus were digging in the tar, and God was taking pictures. I was camped out on a blanket drinking Chablis, and I don't really remember how we got there. Jesus did a variation on his walking on water bit, and some security guards came by about eightish telling us that we should get out of there by nine, which became "immediately" when I vomited in/on one of the pits. I have no idea how much sleep I got. I wasn't sure if I was still drunk or hungover, and not helping matters was our pit stop at Burger King. We get home, and God throws on De Palma's Dressed to Kill, which I watched all of, and then crawled my way to the guest room. I got up around eight at night, and felt sideways backwards. I got cleaned up, and got my Hugo Boss out of the closet, which God's maid had cleaned and pressed. I was looking nice, if not a bit dressy for this town. We went to some club on Fairfax, I think it was Largo, and hung out. Amiee Mann wandered in and gave God a hug. Of course if you're hanging with these guys, you have to get used to the banter:
Lot: Hey, Jesus you had sex yet?
Jesus: Does anal count?
Lot: Giving or getting?
Etc. The more Lot and JC get in them the nastier it gets. Generally it revolves around Lot calling Jesus a homosexual, and Jesus teasing Lot about how his wife cheated on him, and how he got Herpes from Gwen Stefani (which Lot usually considers a low blow, and then God tends to separate them). It's a loving thing, strangely. Rachel showed up with another girl, and I thought maybe she brought someone for one of my friends, but it turns out they are partners and as luck didn't have it, they didn't swing that way. In fact, I was so coldly rebuffed that as I walked back to our table the boys stood up and mooned me. The thing about hanging with these guys is that they get away with everything. If I returned the favor, I'd get thrown out, but I catch an eye of someone who sees the three moon fever and it's the bouncer and he's just laughing his ass off.

Lot starts claiming the place is a Sausage fest around 1:30, so we head over to Canters and I get a Caesar salad, and try and pick up the bill, though God's not having any of it. We get back to his place around three, and Lot tells us he's got to take off because Claire Forlani needs a ride back from the airport. Which should be a euphemism but isn't. God tells me around this time he hasn't been checking his messages for a couple of days, cause he knows what's going down in D.C. so he just tunes out. Around six in the morning after numerous shots, and some cigar and pipe smoke (ahem) it was decided we should go to Disneyworld in Florida, and we should all be on ether at the time.

The next two days are an absolute blur. All I can tell you is that Jesus broke my glasses, I now hate everything Disney, I vomited five times, with the last time me heaving up some rather serious quantities of blood. Most of what I remember is asking repeatedly to go see Captain EO. And shouting, I remember shouting, and walking around. I know that we went to at least two strip clubs, and I had some badunkadunk booty rubbing all over me, and deriving no real pleasure from it. Sometime on the plane ride back today, I opened my eyes and realized they were bloodshot, though I was thankfully sobered. I hit the bathroom, and the private jet had some visine in it. My eye were dying. God made a makeshift repair of my glasses, and I found out I missed getting tickets for the LA Metric show. When we got in to Burbank, we all wore sunglasses and God got us a Taxi to the nearest In and Out burger. He even bought the cabbie (Ronald P. Hassir) a 4x4. Food helped a lot. I don't know if I ate in Florida, though we may have just gone to Burbank. I haven't been to Disneyland in twenty years, and I'm clocking never on Disneyworld. Frankly the ether (which I think we all dosed about five times) just ruined me, and when we got back to God's place I crawled into bed and curled up for at least twelve hours. I'm finally home, and after a week like I had, I can't wait to go back to work.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

I wouldn't live there if you paid me to.

Fatman Forever
Le Samourai

This blog will eventually become more than simply me linking my reviews, we'll see how the winter season goes.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

The Musician Who Fell to Earth

Hey, guess what? There's a new Talking Heads box set out, and I've been listening to it on the drive to and from work. 77, More Songs about Buildings and Food, Fear of Music, etc. etc.

David Byrne was born in Scotland. He's mentioned this often. He also mentioned in the Once in a Lifetime that he can no longer write the lyrics he wrote back in the day. What strikes me as most obvious about Byrne's lyrics is the sense of a mostly benevolent alien who's amused and amazed with both the human condition and the banalities of American life.

There's a party in my mind..
And I hope it never stops
I'm stuck here in this seat...
I might not stand up
Other people can go home...
Everyone else will split
I'll be here all the time...
I can never quit
Everything is very quiet
Everyone has gone to sleep
I'm wide awake on memories
There memories can't wait.

And of course, what I connect to is this sense of distance and alienation mixed with a sense of amusement. As a would be artist, this sense of detachment is something I feel all too well. And like Byrne, I've often felt the outsider. I grew up in a mostly black neighborhood, and went to school in the richest public grade school in Portland. This was my status in middle school as well. I had no real connection to either the people I went to school with or the people in my neighborhood. One group I didn't have the ducats to compete with, and the other I wasn't around enough to be accepted into the whole. As such, I received the occasional beatdown in my neighborhood, and felt out of place with my schoolmates. What are you going to do.

I have always felt a kinship with the Talking Heads music. As I've gotten older, I've grown more integrated into a social world, but I've never outgrown my affection for their music, and listening to them now, it's interesting to note Byrne's progression into acceptance. The further his career went on, the more he was taken into the American way of life, and the more his music became less interesting. Though up to and including Naked there are interesting elements, and I still have a place in my heart for "Uh Oh" there is the sense that Byrne got too old and familiar to feel alienated. Alas. But the joy and discovering of writing lyrics like "I'm painting, I'm painting again" still hold true and meaningful in their particular gibberish.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Gayer than sucking on a circumsized hot dog

I went to my local Best Buy, and they were sold out of the 2 Disc Batman Begins. They had the Unrated Land of the Dead, but it was full frame. Then I went to Target, and they too were sold out. SUCK.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Chris Got Married

Batman Returns!
The Mark of Zorro!

I went to my friend Chris's wedding yesterday. I've known Chris for 15 years, and it's a trip to see him settling down and settling in. We both grew up in Portland and now live in Los Angeles, and he's been with his now wife off and on for ten years. I'm happy they've decided to make it permanent, and I hope they have a great honeymoon.

The wedding itself was a lot of fun. I've known Chris for over half my life, but many of his friends are complete strangers to me. This would be off putting, if it weren't for the fact that as I was sitting next to some of them they were asking for the scores to the games going on that day. I'm just not a sports kind of person. He and I have always hung out and watched movies and that's the way I like it. If I had gotten laid it would have been similar to that movie about guys who crash weddings to get laid, you know Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but that didn't happen. What did happen was I tore the dance floor a new one, dancing with old ladies and one of the ringbearers. You know you've got the moves when the band's all like "yeah, that dude!" By the time I left I was a mess of sweat, and had I maybe worked harder, or had the festivities gone later than four in the afternoon perchance it would have been more like that film. Alas.

I did catch the garter. Most of the men were unenthusiastic about this part of the ritual, and when it was flung near me, I stuck out my hand and got it, mostly because if I hadn't, it would have hit the floor. Perhaps that would have been funny, but also it would have seemed rude. I got my moments in with Chris, and I was on the phone with my mom for a moment, and Chris talked to her, which was nice, and she told me she had to euthanize her dog Musa. A strange confluence. Chris and drank some whiskey, and I have to say it was one of the most loose and fun weddings I've been to. That's what happens when you have the priest quote Boy George, I guess.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

A story that will depress many of my readers

I don't drink coffee much. In fact, I tend to limit myself to Diet Pepsi for such stimulation. But I've been fighting a cold the last couple of days (which I've thankfully kicked it seems, with some lingering snot issues), and I can't afford to miss work, so on Wednesday I had two glasses of Starbucks brew mixed with hot chocolate powder. Which is also known as the ghetto mocha.

It's strange; because I don't drink it that often the side effects are rather intense. After two cups I'm flying, I get sweaty, and I start speeding. It's about like doing cocaine to me. Seriously, the effects are about the same, I even start to grind my teeth. And the first couple hours are FUN. I'm literally flying, and it feels great. But Wednesday night I get home, and I'm watching a DVD and I'm hit with a wave of self-doubt and self-loathing. Like, hating myself and thinking of all the things I've done in the last year that have made me feel like a tool. I was standing in the middle of my apartment wondering why the hell I was having a freak out. Was it because I had been so sober for the last week due to my illness, was it my cold or was Los Angeles finally having the effect on me that others warned might encroach?

When I was twelve I had some coffee and it had such a depressing effect on me, I was feeling a tad depressed over an episode of Mr. Belevedere, an episode about the family helping a homeless dude that I ended up hiding out in the family bathroom for a couple of hours (TMI, you better believe it). And after that I rarely drank coffee because I realized it caused such a strong physiological response. And it was only Thursday I remembered why I don't drink coffee. In the interim my mood has improved tremendously, and I now have to keep in mind my issues with it. Which is funny, because I was enjoying my two cups so much I was thinking I should drink coffee more often, until I remember what it does to me.

You know what, Prince's Batman soundtrack? Not that bad, all things.

Also, it seems when I'm getting my flirt game on, I play with my hair - I push my hair behind my ear. Not that I have so much of it that it gets unweildy, I guess it's a nervous reaction, especially when things seem to be going well.

Lah de dah...

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Sunday, Sunday

Dracula 72
Night of the Lepus

"the sight of a hundred overgrown rabbits isn't exactly panic-inducing; in fact, it may be more cuddle-inducing. There's nothing all that predatory about a bunny, even when its face is smeared with blood or it's made to protrude its front teeth (which aren't frightening incisors because, well, they're not pointy or threatening)."

It's more fun to write about that movie than watch it, but just the same.

I am fucking beat. Not because of any weekend daliances, but due to a cold that has kept me under the covers for the last two days. Yesterday I had to watch the films I reviewed, and I couldn't keep my attention focused on the film for longer than fifteen mintues without getting distracted. Colds do that to me. Fortunately I think my ill mood helped the reviews. I will be getting all four Batman movies this week. I'm going to try to review at least two of them (possibly three) next week. Today, with the heavy lifting done, and the DVDJ put to bed, I'm going to curl up under my blanket, watch some Star Trek and some Val Lewton, drink lots of liquids, and hope I feel better for tomorrow. Lame.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Watch out! You might get what you're after...

Cool babies, strange but not a stranger. I'm an ordinary guy, living in LA. During fire season. Taking photos with his phone. Here's your ticket, pack your bag; time for jumpin' overboard, the transportation is here. Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are... Fightin' fire with fire:

Thursday, September 29, 2005


I thought the summer was over, and it was 93 today, and looks to be just as hot tomorrow. Crazy world.

Not much of a post, I guess. Though we finished the first draft and submitted it to the WGA on Monday, I've been working almost nonstop since. Which is great, but I thought this was going to be a down week. Though that may come to pass as work has hit a bit of a slowdown, and I may be pulling nine hour days more than twelve. At least for a week or so. This weekend I should be watching Inside Deep Throat, more Star Trek Original Series, and Independance Day (for research, actually).

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Did Walter Brennen ever get groupie ass?

The world wants to know.

I think I figured out why this pisses me off

Because with the constant US vs. Them of fandom and slavish devotions to such stuff, geek culture seems to have moved in parallel orbit to Pop singer culture. Sith, Serenity, etc. seem so Britney Spears, N'Synchish to me. Inorganic.

The Math on Serenity

On my test screening card I wrote of Serenity that it is more Star Trek the Motion Picture than Wrath of Kahn, but on careful reconsideration, I think it is best compared to Star Trek Nemesis. Both suffer from similar problems deficiencies in auteurs. Stuart Baird and Joss Whedon get themselves into sequences that seem to bore them, and specifically combat sequences. I guess in both cases you could argue it was a money thing, but I tend to think of the Go-Go Yubari sequence in Kill Bill - we know the outcome, it's the how it goes that makes it exciting. But Whedon stages sequences of the character Psychotic Little Girl who seems a Lot Like Buffy (PLGWSALLB for short) getting into fights with no flair. When you show things that have to happen to advance the story - but the director has interest in stageing them with any excitement - you've run into a situation where the film is damned, because though it only takes one uninspired non-set piece to ruin a film, and having more than one is cinematic death.

This might be palatable if the writing was as great as Whedon's rep makes it out to be but sadly none of the main characters are interesting. You have the slightly gay Han Solo clone, the slightly dumber Han Solo clone, PLGWSALLB, PLGWSALLB's brother - who is a personality vacuum, the cute bad actress who wants to fuck PLGWSALLB's bro, Alan Tudyk and his character's wife. Sound like memorable characters? There may be another character I've forgotten, if so I'll include the name Shecky as a fall back (I haven't seen this film in months). There's also Slightly Gay Han Solo's girlfriend, who's also a whore - but again, not all that memorable. They all also talk in that way that makes you think Kevin Williamson without the total referentiality, more in that Kevin Smith way of sameness in that the snark is interchangeable. Ultimately the film relies upon the audience's interest from the previous TV show to flesh these characters out. Going in cold, I didn't give a shit.

So then you have the plot which is that the GOVERNMENT wants PLGWSALLB, while the crew of Firefly don't want to give her up mostly... it's just PLGWSALLB is psychotic, but CBA really wants to fuck PLGWSALLB's bro, so they run around the world until they unveil the CONSPIRACY which kills a supporting player off, but only after he's delivered... The info... The main... Characters.... ne..ed...ed...

Whedon could be commended for his penchant for killing off characters (though that will be more effective for those who've watched the show), but in the end you're still stuck with a conclusion that revolves Fistfight With Obvious Conclusion, that never jumps to the how of it. In that way I was reminded of I, Robot, though partly for the setting. And reminding of I, Robot is never a good thing.

If Firefly was simply a throwback to the altogether preferable mold of Spacehunter then it might be easier for me to walk away from, but in the end this film has delusions of grandeur that only point off that it heavily sampled it's beat from Godfather of Pop Culture Fantasy (that being the mighty, mighty GL) but lost the funk in the mix. All swagger, no stones.

And still, I know people who really enjoy it. Now were I at Portland in a bar on Thursday night, I'd simply say "You're wrong" and be done with it. But as I've droned on before the fickle and selective nature of fandom celebrates certain mediocrities above others based on whims and needs, and is drawn into creating self fulfilling prophecies. Batman Begins is a rather good film, but it irrevocably and inarguably falls the fuck apart in its last act. I guess you can still enjoy the picture and note that, but it needs noting. And I don't think the flaws of Serenity should be swept under the rug, but since the film won't make that much money, maybe it's unfair for me to pick on it. But I can't help it, bad is bad.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

A weekend of crap

I watched Zapped, Above the Law and Hard to Kill this weekend. Why? Why? These aren't even good movies. Also, I thought - by law - Zapped had to have a scene where Scott Biao turns invisible and wanders through the girl's locker room. This did not happen. For the love of god, what's wrong with this movie? The Seagal films were also a bust, with Above the Law mildy boring, and Hard to Kill just sort of bad. I'm not even nostalgic for these movies.

Also, I've determined I like Revenge of the Sith better than Serenity.

On the good news front, I finished a screenplay I was working on, and I'm pretty happy with it. Now I've got new ideas, and I'm excited about them too. Yay.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

This weekend I'm watching Zapped!

And someday soon I hope to find a copy of Up the Creek. Curiousity killed the brain cells. Next thing you know I'll pick up that Moving Violations DVD. I mean, she's no rocket scientist.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Damon can be used as a flirtation device

It's true. I am a horrible, horrible flirt. Horrible. Terrible.

I grew up watching bad television. I've now been watching really good television, like Undeclared and Newsradio. And, yes, Star Trek. Very laughing out loud funny. Also, Maura Tierney gets me bad, maybe it's that in the first couple episodes she has a lot of sex with Dave Foley's character.

Monday, September 19, 2005


I was outside reading the script I'm working on, and two coyotes wandered by. They trotted down the street with no care for my presence, but both took a look at me as they passed. One entered the driveway of an apartment complex across the way the other walked by it, and the other paused for a moment, waiting to see if the other would join him, only to keep going.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

No, I don't want to talk about it with you...

God: Hey.
Damon: So...
God: Yeah.
Damon: Yeah.
God:... What's up?
Damon: Not much. How you doing?
God: I'm fine, how are you?
Damon: Doing all right.... Yeah.
God: Um... Yeah.
Damon: So...
God: Yeah, well. I don't know. I thought I should give you a buzz.
Damon: Yeah. Yeah, we haven't talked in a while.
God: So...
Damon: Yeah...
God: Yeah.
Damon: You heard?
God: What?
Damon: Well, I guess he's getting a bit better.
God: Oh. Oh. Yeah.
Damon: Yeah.
God: Well, that's not why I called.
Damon: Cool.
God: So...
Damon: Yeah?
God: You seen anything lately?
Damon: Theatrically dick all. At home, shit I haven't had too much time. I squeezed in Naked, and Mallrats, and threw on Hitchhikers guide for the fuck of it. Eh.
God: Jesus and I caught the Exorcism of Emily Rose. I walked out at the halfway point and went the the Cat and Fiddle. Got me a good drunk going when Jesus got out. He said it was the comedy of the year, but I ain't got time for that shit.
Damon: You shoulda done a double feature of that with Just Like Heaven.
God: SNAP!
Damon: Snickety Snap snap snap.
God: You're my boy, Damon.
Damon: I know.
God: And, yeah, you know, you're my boy, so whatever man.
Damon: Thanks.
God: Yeah.
Damon: Yeah.
God: And you can call any time. You know that.
Damon: Yeah, well, right now it looks like a false scare. Dunno. I'll know more this week.
God: Yeah, I know.
Damon: But thanks.
God: Ain't no thing, dog.
Damon: Yeah.
God: But if you want to talk about it.
Damon: I know who to call.
God: Fair enough.
Damon: Yeah.
God: Hit me on my cell tomorrow, if you've got a moment.
Damon: I will.
God: Cool. PEACE.
Damon: Peace.

These weren't so bad.


Friday, September 16, 2005

sometimeswhenifuckyouiwanttokillyou, sometimeswhenitrytokillyouiwanttofuckyou

Mr. and Mrs. Smith is a movie that works without being good. It's the sort of film that (as the filmmakers seem aware) has no interest in its setting and abandons its pretenses for a conclusion that works in terms of character but offers little resolution.

The main thing that's problematic about it is that it reverses the sex roles (standard for a film like this) making Brad Pitt the emotional female, and Angelina Jolie the no nonsense male. Which works in theory, but then it must give each of them balance in their actions. But what it does is it allows Pitt to be wacky, and turns Jolie into a man. In the final sequence both put on suits, and it points out that the film is essentially a homosexual love story, as to make the people equals she must become a man. Where Pitt is allowed to be goofy in his hits (and is tied with Vince Vaughn, more on him in a minute), Jolie is the consumate professional, even when dolled up in a domanatrix outfit, and is surrounded by boring women (though some are rather attractive). As such there's no real balance to the proceedings, and for some reason it's more fun to watch Brad Pitt beat the crap out of his wife than vice versa, perhaps because of the role reversals.

Pitt and Jolie do have chemistry (obviously), but for a film essentially about sex and violence, it features no nudity or blood. The best reason to see the film is Vaughn, who improvs like a motherfucker and steals scenes with a verve that suggests this is the year of Vaughn - seriously his speech about chocolate and vanilla is one of those great moments of "what the fuck" comedy.

I guess, on some level, you can't really follow up my last post. My father is on antibiotics, and may or may not pull through his pnuemonia. It's weird to want my father to die, but that's the way it goes. More on movies soon.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

The perfect excuse to not see Elizabethtown

Oh, well. I guess it's fair to say it's more serious than that. I got a call from my mother Monday while I was at work. She wants/ed me to come visit her at a friend's home next weekend that's about halfway between where we live now. I've been fidgety about this, mostly because it's more for her than me. Selfish, whatever. So she calls, and I'm at work, and I don't know. But the call is to tell me my father has pnuemonia. Fluid in his lungs. And my mom's first response was to get him antibiotics and see what could be done, but my father (who's in his early 60's) has been ill for a very long time.

I'm pretty sure, though not positive, the timeline was that after I "graduated" from college I found out that I needed one credit to complete my schooling, the 16mm camera I borrowed to make an independant film broke, and my father was diagnosed within a three month period. When I was twenty, around the time of my 20th birthday in fact, my father was laid off from the job he had for the majority of my life. I'm sure he had it for at least twelve years. I don't know exactly as I was too young. I still have one of his cards from that time. After he was laid off he got another job that didn't particularly suit him, and he spent the next two years awkwardly getting along. And then, things started happening. My father, more than once, ran out of gas and had to call us to pick him up. My father, who I could always count on for a ride whenever wherever. And for a couple months after college I lived at home. And things got worse, compacted by my mother, who made it clear that the family could get by with or without his help. And so my dad was jobless for a while, and he could never adapt to the ways of computers (my mom has also found this especially troubling). And sometime that summer of 98, we realized that what was going on with my father wasn't just ennui, or whatever, but something serious.

A couple trips to the doctor, and it was revealed my father had been suffering minor strokes for a while. One night, while at dinner, my father had one in front of my mom and I. We rushed him to the hospital. Sometime around that time, or perhaps the same night, my father told us that all he really wanted was to die. My father told me and his wife that all he wanted in life was to die.

I moved out at some point, and at the begining of summer in 1999 moved in with some musicians, and by the end of summer had a new job and new digs (I had morning wake up calls, and musicians aren't good for that shit). Shortly thereafter, my mother moved my father into a home. The first one he couldn't stand, but after a waiting list came to a close, he moved into another home. Around this time he started doing charity work (though I think the people there mostly humored him) and began attending church with my brother. Again, in the second effort I think that was mostly to get closer to my brother. My duty, Sunday mornings, was to take my father from Church to his home. I can't remember how long this lasted. I know I was doing it when I was with Autumn and had my own home, or at least, I cut a short film out of the drive to and from while at the new pad (or shortly before I moved into it).

By this point, my father would sometimes drop by on me at work unexpectedly. People I worked with thought he might be homeless. Often I'd take him out to lunch. My father always had a peculiar sense of humor, and he often made jokes, though they were often less funny. Some time before I got laid off my mother moved him into a home in the Dalles, which was out of sight and mind. I'd visit sporadically, and as little as I could. It was a three hour drive back and forth, and seeing him, well he'd get bored after an hour or so. Often they revolved around us taking him out to eat. I remember sitting in a Dairy Queen while my father regaled me with a story of having loved sitting through the Martin Short film Three Fugitives.

After my two year passed on my house, and I knew I wouldn't get gouged for taxes (even now it seems weird that for a spell I owned property) I sold my home, and moved in with one of my closest in Portland as I waited until the end of October to move. I saw my father before I left I think, at least I'm pretty sure. Butsince my move (all of ten months ago), I haven't spoken to my father, nor would I really want to. I don't think he could handle a phone conversation.

And so now we get to the point of it. My father has pnuemonia. and my mom called to ask if it was okay that we didn't go through the whole antibiotics route and just give him morphine and let him ride it out. Which took me a bit to realize was fine by me. Around 2000 my father gave my mother and I legal control for such actions, and he wanted us to not resuscitate him. Perhaps he could get over this pnuemonia, perhaps he will, perhaps he won't. The days become a waiting game. I called my brother shortly after my mom contacted me, and due to him being on the East coast it was the evening and he had a couple of drinks (as I have had typing this). His response was similar to mine: It's a grave responsibility, but... At some point, a long time ago, my father stopped being the man he was, and if that man still exists in some shred in his current vessel he would be horified with the person he is now.

Ultimately, I have had seven years at least to grieve my father's passing. But like watching a child grow, it's been a slow and steady progress, and it has the ability to creep up on you. And so here I am, facing the fact that my father could die any time now, and I'm not crying. I don't know when or for what reason I will lose my proverbial shit. Talking about it is hard. But here I am.

I have, in the past on this blog, talked about what I'm willing and not willing to talk about on this blog, and the main thing I don't want to talk about is the people that I know and my interactions with them. That's mostly because people interpret things differently, and I am no different. Were I to relay a story that involved three of my closest, perhaps we would all have different takes, and mine is no better or worse, you drag girls and sexuality into that equation, what I read on someone might be totally different than someone else. Am I right? Are they right, who fucking cares? Again, it's the balance of all things, who's to say, especially when it's a tentative you were there moment.

But I write this not simply to dig a hole and whisper in the dirt, but in knowing that friends read this. I'm doing all right. And I'm sure I'll be seeing my Portland friends sooner rather than later. Know that I'm doing okay, but it looks like my father is dying. Which is a relief and something of a burden. And there you go.