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.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
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!
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.
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...
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.
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
LA
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).
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
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.
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.
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.
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
Coyotes
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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