Ball of Fire

What a great comedy! Bravo! Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot) delivers again. Eight stuffy, socially-handicapped, sexless professors live together on a fellowship to write an encyclopedia. The grammarian (by far the youngest and handsomest) is working on an article about American slang, only to discover that he's hopelessly out of touch with the modern parlance. So to remedy, he seeks out various nefarious characters adept at slang, including nightclub singer and gangster girlfriend Sugarpuss O'Shay.

Then, basically, we get Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

The grammarian falls for Sugarpuss - a geeky schoolboy's touching first love - and yada yada yada, the gnomish little professors have to face off with tough gangsters in order to save the girl! As a future academic, I found this premise especially delightful. The idea of my own nerdy colleagues doing something that exciting...oh, it's too much.

Two great quotes; the first of these I should have known, as an English major, but I didn't. Who says you can't learn anything from TV?

"Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,
even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart:
wear both of them, for both of them are thine."
- Richard III, Act 1, Scene 2

In Ball of Fire, Professor Potts wanted this engraved on the ring he gives to Sugarpuss, but it doesn't all fit, so the engraving just says "Richard III" and he explains the rest to her. Isn't that sweet?

The second quote I can't seem to find in writing. Basically it's one of the professors - the widower, the only one among the 8 who's ever been married - trying to give Potts lessons in love on the eve of the wedding. He starts talking about how his own wife loved the anemone, and he spent his whole honeymoon watching her paint anemones in watercolor. Potts starts freaking out because he wants to make love on his honeymoon, not watch anemones. Anyways, the gist of it is, whenever the widower professor felt they needed an experienced perspective on love, he'd start declaiming pompously, "The anemone nemorosa..."

Mallrats + TV

1. Mallrats is a dumb teen movie (+) with the most unfortunate pretentious dialogue (-). I have such hostility for those self-righteous dweeb types that Brody and TS represent. I do, however (and shockingly), enjoy Shannen Doherty's work, and her character in Mallrats is especially good. All in all, an okay movie. It has high jinks and a happy ending.

2. Ever notice how you actually have thoughts in the shower? Normally, I don't pay attention to those thoughts, but today I did because they were funny. I was recalling that part in Starsky and Hutch where they go to Big Earl's bar and rough up the barkeep, Jeff. When Jeff tries to tell them that he's not Big Earl, and S. and H. don't believe him, he says, "Look at me. I'm not even that big." Starsky says, "Well, maybe it's one of those ironic names, like the guy named Tiny who's eight feet tall." "No, but in order for it to be ironic, he'd have to be a lot shorter. This guy's just average."

Lo and behold, not ten minutes after I was thinking of it, I saw that very seen of Starsky and Hutch on TV!

3. I don't understand how Dashboard Confessional qualifies as a band. The only one who ever gets to see the light of day is that one guy, so that I was beginning to think that maybe his stage name was Dashboard Confessional. But I looked it up and nope, it's still a band.

The other amazing thing is: how does their label still qualify as indie? I'm sure they're much more successful right now than a lot of major labels.

And finally...

4. CHEAP TRICK ON CONAN TONIGHT!! What a sad position they're in in their golden years. They're not big enough to tour only, like the Stones; their fans just want to hear "I Want You To Want Me" and "Surrender"; they're not going to be making very many new fans; and yet to be taken seriously their best bet is to keep pumping out new music. Who will buy this new music, I wonder. When I think about that, suddenly Aerosmith's decision to play weak-ass love songs for the pimple squad starts to make a lot of sense.

Incidentally, Bun E. Carlos is like the normalest-looking one now. I'm happy for him, because now he can make the former-hotties in his band look totally silly, but I'm also sad that one of my favorite spectacles problably can't be reproduced anymore.

Battle @ the Roxy Tonight

I heard that Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg will be battling tonight at the Roxy, that historic ground when the two first met. I would go if I thought I were cool enough to attend something like a battle, and if I didn't have a work thing tonight til 7:30. Anyways, I'm already planning at least two trips to LA in the next week, so I have save up my outing points.

North Korea; Perspectives from an Armchair Political Analyst

By the way, when I say armchair, I mean REALLY armchair, since I hardly even read the news.

So I've been hearing bits and pieces about North Korea fueling a test missile, and the US telling them not to do it or else; I can't tell if the reason I haven't heard more is because North Korea has done this so many times that it's not even interesting anymore, or if North Korea just isn't on the American radar at the moment, or if it's been taken off our radar for a deliberate reason, like by the administration. In any case, the most I heard about it was a brief repartee on a morning radio show:

"What do you think, are we going to have another Korean War?"
"Naw, they're just doing this so we'll send them food. I mean, the guy's crazy, so you can't tell for sure...but this looks like the kind of thing that always happens at the end of a communist regime, when it's done itself in."

I thought, Hm, makes sense. Another war would mean the guaranteed demise of the present regime, and I don't know if even Kim Jong Il is crazy enough to be blind to his losing odds. The questions is then, why don't we take him out already? Even before the Iraq fiasco, the US couldn't take down North Korea by force. The reason? According to one version, it's because North Korea is fully backed by China, and always was.

Oh, that's simple then, I thought. It seemed obvious to me that all this nuclear shizzle had to be a bluff, and when the critical time came, China would know better than to stack their chips on the whims of a total loon; thus, there was no way we would lose, and yes, North Korea was just hedging bets for food.

But then I thought: China has everything to gain by going to war with the US. I mean, who even gives a crap about North Korea? The wars in Korea and Vietnam, after all, had nothing to do with those countries, but rather the US's power struggle with the Soviet Union. My guess is that China would welcome the opportunity to reorganize the balance of power. They're not backing Kim Jong Il because he stands for some deep communist ideal at all! If we were to go to war with China, there's a good chance we'll lose, or at least be severely damaged. Look at Iraq, a much smaller adversary: that war has already ravaged our budget and caused a lot of political dissention.

Meanwhile, China will continue to grow, and is more or less fated to eclipse us in the near future anyways. What better catalyst for that takeover, and our failure, than a war? So the solution is simple, for those Americans to whom world domination is important (I admit, I'm counted in that number; I don't want to live in anything less than absolute security from conquests, etc). No matter how scary nukes and crazy dictators are, we can't go to war.

North Korea seems to know that, and is taking advantage of the moment to score some food.

Temporary Fav

I really like Chris Brown's video for "Gimme That." I wish I could dance like that! Very Michael Jackson. Too bad they never teach those moves in dance classes, I bet I could really learn. I had this awesome class once where we had a guest instructor show us some break-dancing moves, and I've been making great use of the six-step ever since.

On a totally unrelated note, like 20 years overdue, I also just saw the Beastie Boys' "Fight for Your Right" video. I never knew there was a pie fight involved...otherwise I would have looked it up sooner! Man, if that's what a party looks like, I've sure been missing out.

Waterloo Bridge

Whoa! Hollywood on freakin' methamphetamines. It was RIDICULOUS. Ridiculous entertaining, that is (warning: spoilers):

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love in one evening (say, 4 hours). Boy and girl get engaged the next morning, but just barely miss the church's "last call" for weddings. Boy and girl postpone wedding until following morning. Boy gets called away from his furlough one day early, so wedding doesn't happen. Meanwhile, girl gets fired from job for going out with boy. Girl and friend live in poverty. Boy's wealthy mother (the lucky break) finds girl, but girl blows it because she's just read newspaper that boy died in war and is beside herself with grief. Girl falls ill for several months. Girl's friend starts turning tricks to support them two. Girl starts turning tricks too. Boy comes back, turns out not dead at all. Boy and girl go off to get married. Girl starts guilt-tripping and kills herself. The end.

Is that bipolar or is that bipolar? At the beginning of the movie I thought it was so hare-brained: if the girl knew anything about human nature or men's shittiness, she would know better to believe a man when he says he'll love her forever and they've only known each other for a few hours. So naturally I saw that things had to take a turn for the worse. But then the movie went ahead and outdid even my direst predictions. Turning tricks, indeed - how dramatic!

What Cracks Me Up

are those people you see in the background of your pictures, whom you don't know at all, but who are definitely smiling and posing for your photo. Ha! Gotta love them.

Funny Cuz It's True!

(from Conan)

Scientists have found that people who eat a huge amount of fruit every day live longer. Unfortunately, all that extra time will be spent on the toilet.

Snot Nosed Kids

When I got my phone back this afternoon, I thought it was strange that my call log had been emptied. Just now I started thinking about it again: why would anyone do that?...

!!!

What if the kid who found my phone decided to use a whole bunch of my minutes? What other reason could there be for the call log being empty?

Now Voyager

A classic Ugly Duckling/Cinderella story starring Bette Davis. Some fun facts from TCM: when Warner Bros first got rights to make the movie, they announced some other actress to play the lead; but Davis, who was Warner Bros' biggest star at the time, made hell on earth until they gave the part to her. She also wanted them to throw out the musical score when she saw the first screening, because she felt it upstaged her performance. However, the director resisted, and the music went on to win an Oscar.

I admire Davis' total non-toolishness. There once was a time, a very long time ago, when I also had a bit of a knack for getting my way, by throwing fits and/or diregarding everyone else, but those days are long gone. I was thinking that I should try to cultivate that ability again. It's the only way I'll ever get anywhere in life and enjoy any kind of success...well, that or act like a tool, but I already know I don't have the stomach for the latter. For the last ten years or so, my method was to work hard and be obedient and deliver quiet quality and treat everyone with fairness and respect, but I suspect that doesn't work anymore. The adult world is more laissez faire than the well-ordered school world, so it's more of a dog-eat-dog thing. You can't get your way unless you raise hell or lick buttholes.

Anyways. I wish I could say more about Now Voyager, but I missed about an hour of it because I had to go pick up my phone which I lost. But I watched the last 20 minutes, and it made me think that I didn't miss much. Bette Davis plays Charlotte, a frumpy spinster who gets therapied into a beautiful swan, then she goes on a cruise to reacclimatize herself with the world. Naturally she falls in love on that cruise. Too bad the man is married, with two daughters. But it turns out his wife is a beast, and her cruelty to the daughter Tina is a lot like Charlotte's mother's cruelty to Charlotte. Yada yada yada, Charlotte loves Tina like a daughter, which makes her romance with the dad a picturesque love story.

When I saw that I thought, "Hm. Not buying it." I don't care how much Hollywood whitewashes it, or how beautiful the people are who play these characters. I feel I will never find it romantic to fall in love with either man or woman who's been knocked up before. By the time you have a kid, it's time to grow up and stop acting like a teenager.

Bummer

I think I lost my cell phone. The last place I remember having it was in class, because I forgot to put it on vibrate and so I took it out for quicker accessibility. What a mistake.

Fever to Kill

No wonder I liked the Epsilons! After doing some further reading on the band, I learned that the song I heard was about ZOMBIES. Truly, this is a strange fate I have with B-list horror. I'm convinced that I'm scared of these monsters, and yet they insist on loving me!

I also learned that that the band would self-describe as "garage" - which I didn't recognize at first because I don't really know what garage means.

Finally, I came across this wonderful quote from the singer, in an interview by Skratch Magazine: "It's about getting next to the lady you want to get next to. Life is too short not to dance, my friend."

Indeed. Life is too short not to dance.

Retard Disco and Coomerz

I came across something entertaining while looking up the record label Retard Disco. Here's the synopsis from the label's wesite:

The "Lost" Retard Disco Release
TWO L.A. HO'S by Coomerz
This 15-year-old skater kid named Coomerz who we'd met just once started calling us a few months later (usually drunk and very late at night) and leaving songs on our answering machine. We wanted to compile them all, but then he stopped calling. You can't harness the wind, you can't hold fire in your hands. Alas, we did manage to salvage this one song, recorded circa 1999

And the link: http://www.retarddisco.com/mp3/coomerz_two_la_hos.mp3

How did I get around to researching this topic? It started off with two likable songs I heard on the radio this morning.

1. The first was by this San Francisco band called the Hospitals. They sound both trippy and punky, consisting of drums and two guitars, no bass. They're main website is their myspace, which is either not updated, or the band is not active and/or networked; only 600 odd "friends" and no gigs. No gigs = dead end (at least for me).

2. The second song was by this Orange County band called the Epsilons. More of the straight-up punk that I'm into, a mix between pop and hardcore. The Epsilons are at that cusp of their career, the time when they can maybe make it big(ger) and take their label to the next level, or go back to working at Wendy's; thus they seem to be touring vigorously and without discrimination - free shows, and even people's basements. Tomorrow night is a relatively major gig at the Smell.

This is a problem for me because, unless I were totally left with no choice, I REFUSE TO GO BACK TO THE SMELL. I like to slum it in a theoretical way (camp, smut, grunge, ghetto, etc...in ART), but I'm also still a suburban nancy-boy at heart. The Smell is located in the central hobo-tent + cardboard box + urine district of downtown LA, and it's main entrance is in the back, accessible only through this long back alleyway, and the last time I was there I was nearly hyperventillating with fear at all the homeless people who were close enough to TOUCH me (not to mention assault me, etc) with their unwashed hands. I even put my keys and my phone in my pockets, so that if I should be robbed of my purse, I would still be able to get home.

Anyways, the Epsilons. Naturally after these recollections about the Smell, I checked to see if they were playing any other dates in the area this summer. The next LA gig is in July, at a venue called Fort Cool II.

3. Fort Cool II is best explained by its bio on myspace: "fort cool started as a fort that bill lived in for 5 months. then rich, andrew, and bill moved into fort cool II. 5009 w. adams. los angeles. we got shows every other week. and its always a party."

I wouldn't have thought it possible, but this venue sounds even WORSE than the Smell. Is it a private home? Is it even a home? Or is a shack, or an abandoned warehouse, or someone's backyard? Why would anyone be crazy enough to do something like this?

4. Then I noticed that they listed Retard Disco as their label, and it occurred to me that maybe Bill, Rich, and Andrew were the founders of the label, and they came up with this crazy fort-party idea because they had to, as a promotional scheme. That's when I looked up the record label's site (incidentally, the Epsilons' label) for info, and that's when I discovered that lost artist named Coomerz - and thus we come back to the beginning of this post.

Ballroom Blitz

I'm ashamed to say I watched the last 15 minutes or so of Bordello of Blood, where this song was featured during the credit roll. Just before that, I saw this Conan O'Brien skit where Frankenstein and Wolfman modelled their summer beach clothes; as they strutted across the stage, the band played them a little surf rock tune. What is it about horror movies and beach pop? I wondered. I love beach pop, and I love camp, but I can never get behind the monsters (even the campy ones), mostly because they still scare me.

These reflections might have colored the way I heard "Ballroom Blitz," because I surely heard something different when Cassandra's band covered the song in Wayne's World. In fact, I couldn't even remember where I had heard the song before, as much as it sounded familiar (so imdb search, etc.). In Wayne's World, I guess I heard hard rock, whereas in Bordello of Blood I heard Cramps-like bubblegum pop. No wonder I was baffled when I researched Sweet and found out they went down in history as glam/arena/album rock...70s masturbation...like Queen but far inferior! Then I sampled "Fox on the Run," and oh, it started to make a little more sense. Apparently Sweet underwent a massive vision-reconstruction between 73-74, when they got rid of their songwriters Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman ("Hey Mickey you're so fine you're, so fine you blow my mind!"), and started writing their own heavy Albums.

Go figure. Because of the way I heard Ballroom Blitz this time, I will always think of it as camp.

The Futureheads @ the Fonda

with the French Kicks. As expected, the Futureheads were great fun; but it's truly a rare treat when you get a stellar opening band as well. The French Kicks were kinda froofy artsy music, except HELL on the old skins. I have a weak spot for an aggressive rhythm section.

The world around me is changing, but only I remain the same.

Every once in a while, I see some token that this is true...and it's deeply unnerving! Around this time last year, I went to my first Futureheads show and met these two guys, Graham (I'm pretty sure that was his name) and his friend - let's say, Josh (blanking on real name).

Graham was a geeky English dude, slightly balding, and very nice to me. We talked about Oscar Wilde and Marcel Proust. I remember him because I thought he looked just like an English archaeologist I know named David.

"Josh" was a cute waifish dude, a hipster who didn't quite dress the part, and very hostile to me. He dismissed me as soon as I said I was there to check out a band I had never heard before, and when I told him what bad music I did like. I remember him because I thought he looked just like a hipster archaeologist I know named Josh.

At the end of the night, they went off to afterparty with some English girls they'd met at the show. By then, I was their friend, and they invited me to join, but I declined. Contrary to popular belief, I actually do set limits for myself.

I thought I saw them again tonight - which is not all that amazing, since it would have been weirder if they didn't show. Josh was unrecognizable because of a new stubble, but Graham looked exactly how I remembered him. I was 90% sure it was them. I didn't say hello, however, because they had some chicas with them (looked like a double-date)...and you know, it's always bad form to be cute and present in situations like that. I wondered with amusement if these chicas were the self-same English girls of last year.

And that's when I got that lightning bolt, that everyone had moved forward in a year except me. Grahams was looking less geeky, Josh was dressing closer to the telos of his inner-hipster, and all of them had found a Somebody they hadn't had a year before. Only I was the same. A year's labor harvested only it's yield of sufferings - sufferings that have come and gone, leaving me perhaps with a deepened sense of humanity (because suffering constitutes humanity), but mostly just striving to regain equilibrium.

And there it was. Only I hadn't changed because only I was yearning toward conservatism instead of change. And maybe the reason I put such a high premium on my having big balls and spontaneity is because I'm afraid I'll never move forward. It's a frightening thought, and a lonely one. I would like to mature with the times, just like everyone else, but perhaps I know deep down that I'm incapable of gambling with my core stability. Perhaps I'm constitutionally not wired to take risks, for all my rhetoric and ideals against cowardice.

Fat Wishes

Pardon the gayness of this post.

If we could choose our own body types - and each type came with certain sacrifices - which would we choose? For example, the first place where I show fat is in my face, a fact that was made indignantly clear to me when I saw myself in some recent photos. I mean, it's not even a matter of putting on pounds; if I don't work out for a while and get in general soft, instantaneously, my widening chin betrays it. On the other hand, I can keep a flat stomach through pretty much all abuse, with little effort.

I'm thinking of at least two nameless friends, in addition to Marilyn Monroe, whose body types are the exact opposite: prone to fat, but their face always holds a fatless shape. If I could magically trade places with them, would I? Would they want to trade places with me? I'm not sure. I guess that's life: sometimes you eat the bar, sometimes the bar eats you.

Hell

to me would look something like watching a soccer match + rabid karaoke singing.

Still, I decided some time ago that I would rather burn in hell for all eternity than find out that there is no afterlife at all. There's a memorable line from Crimes and Misdemeanors:

"But what if you're wrong, Saul? What if there is no God?"
"Then I would still have had a better life than a man who doesn't believe."

I thought this was such a profound psychological insight, but then it occurred to me that it has an ideological significance for me even beyond consciousness. It's not just that I'd love to go to heaven, but if it turns out I don't feel anything, then that's okay too. No, I would actively rather endure all manner of torture and hellfire and soccer matches for the rest of time if only it could mean that there is order and justice and meaning in this crazy world.

Happy Father's Day!

Nacho Libre

Shockingly, one of the better movies I've seen in the theaters. It was a feel-good piece, and funny in a Jackass kind of way; so you know I'd be all over it.

Augustana @ the Viper Room

Good times! The band was cute, but gay-ish, and Depp apparently sold his share of the club years ago - but as my friend says, it's always interesting to go out in LA.

End of Free Ride?

I think the chumps next door finally wised up, because they put a password to their wireless internet. Sad for me.

First Day

of attempting to live under my means. It was a doozy. Gotta do it for the bling.

Camille

My first Greta Garbo. I was surprised to see that the silver screen legend was not as beautiful as I had thought (ie the famous Edward Steichen photograph). It may be that she was a little older by then. Still, 31 isn't faded, and I think a little more fat on the lady would have made her just as breathtaking as ever.

I always surprise myself when I say that someone should be fatter.

I recently read in a NY Times article about how the temperamental Swedish director Mauritz Stiller was responsible for forging the Greta Garbo as we know her. He insisted on importing her with him when MGM first discovered him, and he was the one who dyed her blonde and made her lose weight. I don't know how big-boned Garbo was before she crossed the Atlantic, but I do know that bone-skinny is not a good look for her, and I know that she's far more glamorous as a brunette than a blonde. It just goes to show that you shouldn't tinker too much with nature, even if you think you know what you're doing.

Oh wait, but I was supposed to talk about Camille.

Robert Taylor was very dashing as Marguerite's young lover. He looks like how Jimmy Stewart would have looked if Jimmy Stewart were good-looking. Then unknown, they say that everyone laughed when Robert Taylor was announced as the male lead. (I know, that last sentence was grammatically incorrect.) But he played his part dazzlingly.

That's just the thing about Camille: it's so predictable and hackneyed that I thought I'd hate it, but each moment of the hackneyed sequence is rendered with such care and delicacy and romance that the movie turned out to be very poignant. I knew exactly what was coming next, but I couldn't wait to see what would happen. I guess that's the magic of early Hollywood.

Dancing with the King

I had a very nice dream just now, which is noteworthy because most of the dreams I remember are uniformly horrifying (zombies, poo, etc.). I dreamt that a bunch of people from our time went back to the fifties and threw a big party, and we rounded up jukeboxes and records and Elvis Presley for entertainment. Elvis was still unknown, so we got him to sing for us...and I got to dance with him! He was singing a mix between Blue Suede Shoes and Chuck Berry's Little Queenie. And the man could DANCE! Even while playing guitar.

It must have been because I saw bits of Speedway, starring Elvis, last night on tv. I didn't stick around to watch the whole movie because race cars are not my thing; but I guess I caught enough to be reminded of how dreamy Elvis must have been in his time.

It just goes to show how relative everything is...how in the absence of an ideal we settle for something far inferior and call that the ideal. If Elvis or Marlon Brando were still alive and young, all the Brad Pitts and Justin Timberlakes of the world would hardly have a prayer.

Una furtiva lagrima

I was haunted by this aria featured in Divorzio all'italiana because I remembered being affected strongly by it before very recently. So I looked it up, and found out that it was also featured in Match Point.

What a coincidence!

Two things of note:

1. The aria, to me, sounds like it's just seeped in sadness; but the opera from which it came, L'Elisir d'amore, is actually a comedy.

2. This aria of sadness and comedy has (at least) twice been used as the soundtrack of monster assholes - who by themselves, are neither sad nor comic.

And then the recollection hit me that I know nothing about opera, and I should seek to remedy that asap. But the difficulty about opera is access ($$$ + what city you're in + what this season's reperatoire is) and quality control (no definitive editions or recordings), so i'm not sure how I'm going to start this project. Eh, it may never happen.

Final Lap!

I can't believe it - I finished the second and longest section of my stupid Sophocles paper. Pulling teeth, man. The third and final section may be a breeze (summary of an article + how it's relevant + some concluding remarks), or it may be yet another pain in the royal ass (Jauss' theory of "horizon of expectations" and reader response), depending on how I choose to swing it. I haven't made up my mind yet, but I'll wait to see how I feel in the morning. Let's hope I go with the easy option!

Anticipating another 5-10 pages, with the abovementioned variable. OMG, when I put it that way, the heart within me sinks.

French Joke

Hats off to Yeah I Can Ride a Horse, who came up with this one on the spot.

rexbikini: speaking of Koreans, guess what's happening on Father's Day?
YICRAH: ?
rexbikini: you can come up with a good guess
YICRAH: um...
rexbikini: hint: it has something to do with France
rexbikini: and your knowledge of world news should help you here
YICRAH: surrendering to North Korea?
rexbikini: HA!
YICRAH: without even having been invaded?
YICRAH: ;-)
rexbikini: that's fantastic! I didn't even think of that one
YICRAH: I suspected you'd like that
YICRAH: let's see...
YICRAH: Korea
YICRAH: France
YICRAH: and father's day...
rexbikini: hint 2: I'm probably going to hate it
YICRAH: hmm
YICRAH: oh:
YICRAH: watching a World Cup soccer game?
rexbikini: bingo!

Hawthorne

is the most tedious writer. I just finished his Marble Faun; it's an incredible study of how one could choose to dwell on all the most boring, irrelevant, stilted parts of a potentially exciting plot. More to come...probably.

Saved/Bell Pun

Mr. Belding:
Screech, you can't elope!

Screech:
Who are you calling a cantalope, you melonhead!

Divorzio all'italiana

Genius!! Bravo! Bellissimo! That was one of the finest comedies I've seen - and I've seen a lot of comedies. Marcello Mastroianni plays Baron Cefalu, a guy who's tired of his needy wife and in love with his young cousin. Divorce is illegal, so at first he fantasizes about killing his wife - lots of fantastic shit, including sending her off to space in a rocket ship; phase one.

Phase two, he hears about a trial of a woman who kills her unfaithful lover. According to Italian law, it's excusable to kill if you're under intense rage, and you can get off serving 5-7 years. The baron decides that his wife must have an adulterous affair. He buys her a tight-fitting, lacy dress and parades her around town, looking for a suitable lover. "No, the Professor will never do," as the old Professor checks out her out. "No, not the policeman; no one involved with the law... Not the mob boss - is there no one else! an artist, maybe?"

Phase three, dream come true. It turns out his wife used to be in love with a painter, who had gone off to war 12 years earlier, but is back in town. So the baron hires the painter to do some work at his house. Brilliant sequences! The movie makes a total travesty of all the wrenching conflict and emotional turmoil of adulterous lovers struggling with their feelings, because the husband is in the background the whole time facillitating everything, and getting frustrated because his wife is taking so long to cheat on him!

Anyways, it's just too good that I can't even describe it all here. Nor do I want to give away too much of the movie, because you have to see it. It's hilarious, it's very smart, and at moments, it's even beautifully romantic.

I don't know what it is about these "manipulative fuck/monster asshole" stories, but truly, there's nothing in the world I find funnier. You'd think that after Asshole #2, I'd go numb with rage seeing that character reenter my life through print or film. That was sort of my reaction to Match Point - which admittedly was more of a tragedy - but I'd say my experiences with comic representations are nothing like that. Why is that? I know I've been fucked with an manipulated in the past, and I can even actively sympathize with characters like the baron's wife; in fact, I wonder if I would even enjoy the asshole stories as much if I hadn't personally been a victim of one before. I guess there's something about a total, perfect travesty - like Divorzio all'italiana - that makes the laughter outweigh the pain.

It's an interesting question about how we understand fiction and mimesis.

New Joke

What's classy, black, and goes quack?
A DUCKsedo!

Dirty Laundry

I just had a big fight with my parents for the stupidest reason. No really, THE stupidest. It started off with what I thought was a funny anecdote:

Last Saturday at the bar/restaurant, I ordered an appetizer. The waitress brought me the check, and tried to pick up the check when she brought the food. I stopped her and said I wanted to pay when I was done. Is it because you think you're not going to be happy with your food? she asked. No, I said, I just think it's weird. Then she gave me a Look, and afterwards took FOREVER to pick up the check (vengefully I'm sure), so in return I didn't tip her.

My parents said I was too harsh, that I should have understood that maybe some people (like in the kitchen) were getting off their shifts soon and they needed to settle the bill quickly and split all the tips; they only get minimum, it's a tip-based job, etc. I disagreed, and gave a reply that sounded like a mix between Steve Buscemi's "I don't tip waitresses" monologue in Reservoir Dogs, and John Goodman's "Has the whole world gone crazy? Am I the only one around here who gives a shit about the rules?!" in The Big Lebowski. First of all, I'm poor too, so the waitress' pity points don't go that far with me. Second of all, as long as the kitchen was open when I ordered, I should get regular service; I didn't ask them for any special favors or exceptions, they should still be on schedule, so normal rules apply. I mean, this isn't Nam, there are rules.

Then my dad said I was a hypocrite for saying I'm a Democrat and pretending to care about poor people when I couldn't even show consideration for my poor waitress.

I LOST it right then.

Two things about my dad, who is otherwise a super guy. First, I don't think he has any idea who I am as a person, and second, he can't stand it when I disagree with him. The two have often been related, in just about all of our past arguments. It must have been what first took the shit to the fan this time.

But if my dad had known me at all, he would have known better than to call me a hypocrite without expecting a reaction. In my book, a hypocrite is almost as bad as a tool (I bring it up because "tool" is a well-explored concept in this blog). I feel that most people close to me know how much I value truth and sincerity, even if my execution is flawed.

I also value kindness (though perhaps a little less), and I find it very upsetting that my dad thinks I'm unkind.

Andrew WK Blogging Again!

I'm a little disappointed that it's through myspace, because you run into a whole lot of solipsistic loner babbling around there, and it's even worse when it's a "fan" persona. I'm a fan of many things, including Andrew WK, but I still recognize that a fan is one of the lamer personas you can adopt.

That having been said, I like to think that my dutiful fanhood of Andrew WK was in part responsible for him taking up his blog again. Earlier this year, I sent a note through his website urging him to keep writing, and a few months later - get this - I called him up and left him a message! It was one of those what-the-hell moments I had when I checked the website for updates, but found a phone number instead.

The man's blogging is still in top form, but I think he might be a little more world-weary than he used to be. I always got a kick out of his stuff because he would discourse in this totally crazy/impossible Pollyanna-on-LSD optimistic way that truly got you wondering if he actually believed what he was saying, or if it was just a fun fiction. Thus, not only was his writing hilarious, but it was also a bit of a mind puzzle.

Does Andrew WK still have his old touch? We'll have to see.

Wisdom Teeth, Encore Left

This time I had enough sense to bring home one of my teeth with me. I'll make a super-badass eyebrow ring out of it.

The heat wave is abating, thank goodness. This weekend reached a high of 102 F.

Funny Story

Speaking of Marlon Brando, I remembered a great story about him that I heard from the Bang, who got it from vh1. One year, Michael Jackson decided that he wanted Brando to come to his birthday party and make a speech (only MJ!). Brando said fine, give me one million dollars. So MJ did, and Brando spent the whole time rambling about the wrongs of child abuse.

Classic!

On the Waterfront

WOW!! That was an amazing movie! I was so riveted, there were moments when I stopped breathing. On the Waterfront is one of the most relevant modern tragedies I've seen; who knew that unions can be such a timeless symbol for the universal struggle of the little man? When I read the summary, I was expecting to be bored. But no, this is SO much better than your average American dream story (Gatsby, Citizen Kane, etc.); only people don't realize it because most of us have delusions of grandeur, so that we think we're the Gatsbys and Kanes of the world. A very small margin of us actually fulfill those delusions, but what about the rest? What is the fabric of our dreams of happiness? Again, wow.

The movie also made me reflect some more on the talents of Marlon Brando. I'm 100% skeptical when people talk about an actor's "artistry" in general, and I was about 20-50% skeptical when people talked about Brando's magnetism, mostly because I adore Tennessee Williams and was inclined to think that whatever magnetism that Brando came to own was already written in the character of Stanley Kowalski, Brando's break-through role. Watching Brando in Waterfront made me realize that he does bring something to the written character, but it's something that doesn't always belong there: his own personal depth, sensitivity, and intelligence. In the case of Waterfront, it served him well because Terry isn't supposed to have depth in the beginning, but he develops it later; thus the Brando touch is like a foreshadowing. In the case of A Streetcare Named Desire, I think it was less essential, because Stanley is just a sensuous brute, period. However, Brando's sensitivity probably makes us more sympathetic to his character - he seems both saner and sexier - so that by contrast Blanche DuBois looks like a crazy woman, the last envoy from a truly dying/dead civilization...which I don't think was the playwright's original point, but it's an interesting story anyways. (The original point, I think, is that whatever civilization Blanche was clinging to was a desperate survival mechanism, and at heart she was just as animalistic as Stanley.)

I guess there's something to be said about Brando's power of improv, such as that really, really wonderful "I could have been somebody" scene in Waterfront that takes one's breath away. But I maintain that at that point, the actor ceases to be an actor, and becomes something more along the lines of a writer or director. In fact, I'm not even sure if Brando had a knack for the essentials of acting; I swear he mumbles too much. Nevertheless I can accept that he was a great artist.

But I degress. The point I was getting at is that Brando found his success and acclaim in making the most counterintuive of choices: he picked roles that clashed with his personality, he consistently tried to typecast himself as himbos (he + bimbo), and he deliberately played those typecast parts wrong, ie as himself. The result: a rebel without a cause, but with a cause. Himbo with a brain. Sexy meets romantic. Bingo! We're all mesmerized.

One last comment, since I mentioned the rebel without a cause. It must have been Yeah I Can Ride a Horse who decided that James Dean is a poor man's Marlon Brando. So true!

The Broken Heart

He is starke mad, who ever sayes,
That he hath beene in love an houre,
Yet not that love so soone decayes,
But that it can tenne in less space devour;
Who will beleeve mee, if I sweare
That I have had the plague a yeare?
Who would not laugh at mee, if I should say,
I saw a flaske of powder burne a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
If once into loves hands it come!
All other griefs allow a part
To other griefes, and aske themselves but some;
They come to us, but us Love draws,
Hee swallows us, and never chawes:
By him, as by chain'd shot, whole rankes doe dye,
He is a tyran Pike, our hearts the Frye.

If 'twere not so, what did become
Of my heart, when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the roome,
But from the roome, I carried none with mee:
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
More pitty unto mee: but Love, alas,
At one first blow did shiver it as glasse.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite,
Therefore I thinke my breast hath all
Those peeces still, though they be not unite;
And now as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
My ragges of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.

- John Donne

Oh, KARMA!!

If only I had called instead of writing that non-confrontational email! Then someone would have stopped me and told me that the party is TOMORROW, not today. I got confused because the birthday girl's twin sister is having her party today, and I had heard about that one first.

Ha! I'm such a spaz! Unfashionably early by about 22 hours. That oughta teach me not to be a pansy.

I wonder if this means that I have to carpool tomorrow...

Because tonight's mishap won't get me down for the real party (I hope). The twins have always had their birthdays during finals, and I've never been able to go for the last 4 years I've known them, and so I really wanted to make it this time, come hell or high water.

The only thing that really sucks is that I was looking so fabulous tonight! I was wearing my new Italian leather belt, my new Italian sweater, and my new Swiss watch with embedded rhinestones. Bling bling, baby.

Ps, shout out to my always super, always reliable HDG for helping me out with phone numbers and morale support tonight.

Problem Solved

The always preferable, never confrontational email. Saved me from making that awkward phone call.

I'm Not Heinous, Am I?

Say I have a friend who's celebrating a birthday today. Say I emailed her to see what she's doing, and she emailed me back and suggested that I go with Butterfly. Butterfly is a great friend who threw me a dinner party at her house for my birthday. However, Butterfly lives 20 minutes out of my way en route to the restaurant, and I'm already looking at a 40 minute drive. It really is not to my advantage to carpool, what with the gas prices and all. How evil would it be if I didn't call her first, and just showed up at party time? It's a little awkward because she got a CC of the birthday girl's email to me, so she's probably expecting me to call. Also, the parking situation could be hell, and besides that, people always want to drink.

Catch 22. If I did one thing, I'd be plumb foolish. If I did the other thing, I'd be a terrible friend, and heinous. What to do? Perhaps the title of this post indicates that I've already made my choice.

Dew Gardens

I think the place was Shropshire, but I can't remember the artist's name. I was reading an article in a house/gardens magazine about the cutting-edge styles of the new English gardens, and the dew garden had a profile. It involves a big lawn, morning dew, and the artist running around in cool patterns with some kind of rake or broom. By noon, the artwork is gone, because that's the nature of dew.

The artist said that his project was inspired by "Eastern" ideas about ephemereality and the ruthlessness of nature. I don't know how fair it is to attribute 100% waste to the Eastern man. Something tells me that he would say this artist is being a horse's ass.