Dear Avid Reader,
I kind of enjoy getting behind and cranking 'em out. Gives me some energy.
Tricked you!
D'Artagnan! How Dare You Talk To Me Like That, You!
In Waiting for Guffman, people are center stage. Literally. Oh I kill myself sometimes. What wit! But seriously.
Folks are weird. They are. They're unaware of how truly funny, cruel, or stupid they are. Guffman how truly self-centered we all are is laid bare for the audience. The humor comes from how discompassionate the characters are toward each other. And isn't that what living is all about? My crap is grander than your crap. Let's talk about it. Over Facebook.
This is turning into another romp into zaniness. The center refuses to hold.
Like How Many Babies Fit In A Tire, You Know, That Old Joke
Guffman. Right. Guffman. The flick doesn't hold up after the twentieth viewing. The fact that I didn't enjoy the movie this time around probably has something to do with the fact that I'm watching it alone. The happiest I've been watching this movie is college. All me friends huddled around a TV...laughing...quoting lines. Nostalgia. It can make one sad. Curse you nostalgia!
Great. Now I feel wistful, but in a bad way. I'm not sure why romanticizing the past is so easy. I mean it's just like the present but you already know the ending. That of course is the whole problem I suppose. The current chapter of life hasn't finished, and that's scary. It could be a heart-warming family movie, or a horror, or a tragedy, but it's never known until it's in the rearveiw. This is bumming me out.
But I continue!
I Got Off That Boat With Nothing But My Dancers Belt And A Tube Of Chapstick
Something in the mind nudges belief about the future into negative or positive shades. Those who tend to color with the poo-poo brush are usually cooler. This is a fact. But why be a hip cynic? "Because it feels truer" says the person with black fingernails. Well I say screw that pal! Everything is great or everything is terrible, either way you're lying. Why not pick the one that feels good?
And that's what the characters in Guffman do. The fact that they will never be revered artists doesn't faze them. They plug along. And they are happy to be diluted. Who cares about the truth when my fantasy is so much better?
Ignorance is truly bliss. So don't freak out if I point at your smart phone and scream, "Witch". I'm just following my bliss.
Until Next I Blog,
James
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Week 16: TiMER
Dear Avid Reader,
Tick, tock. Ticky-i-ty tock. Yeah there's clocks in this movie. And you should watch this movie of clocks.
Otherwise you're wasting everyone's time.
Stop wasting everyone's time.
In The Service We Had A Name For Men Like That
In a way I want to explain the world of TiMER. Because I'm sure no one except me has seen it. I don't want to ruin the movie, but it's kinda of hard to write about the flick without the reader having some context. Let's for get about this and just proceed how about?
Guarantees would be awesome. At least I think so. I'm not talkin' about "promise to replace your throw pillow" guarantees. I mean "should I take this job" guarantees. Knowing rather than assuming you're making the right decision. Doesn't that sound nice? Certainty is very attractive.
This is starting to feel like a short essay.
Some People Lead, I Follow
One can probably figure out from the previous paragraph that guarantees are available in the world of TiMER. I'm not going to reveal more than that. Nice try.
See I'm defying the expectation that I should write a coherent blog post. For in reality, there are no guarantees. Like the suffering of the rest of life, those who read this blog will suffer. Suffer dear reader, suffer.
You're The Most Inappropriate Person I've Ever Met And Now You're Gettin' All Appropriate On Me
I will not relent. I will not make sense. My written thoughts will remain raw. Jagged.
Excuse me Monsieur Meaningful Discourse, I shall not join you at the club today. And I can only imagine your disappointment. Your tears plinking into your warm shrimp cocktail while your muscles tense under a too white tennis shirt. Weep not for me but for the countless readers still waiting for the chaos to collapse under its own enormity, crushing itself into a filament of pure reason. Weep not!
There are no guarantees sir, no sir, can not understand that there is none sir, no sir, none at all sir! Guarantees would mean that all people are actors playing their parts for an audience of ghosts. This is not the case. The actors can break the fourth wall. They can change the script. They can haunts those ghosts.
But TiMER is a great flick. Try and watch it.
I sure said "guarantees" a lot in this post.
Until Next I Blog,
James
Tick, tock. Ticky-i-ty tock. Yeah there's clocks in this movie. And you should watch this movie of clocks.
Otherwise you're wasting everyone's time.
Stop wasting everyone's time.
In The Service We Had A Name For Men Like That
In a way I want to explain the world of TiMER. Because I'm sure no one except me has seen it. I don't want to ruin the movie, but it's kinda of hard to write about the flick without the reader having some context. Let's for get about this and just proceed how about?
Guarantees would be awesome. At least I think so. I'm not talkin' about "promise to replace your throw pillow" guarantees. I mean "should I take this job" guarantees. Knowing rather than assuming you're making the right decision. Doesn't that sound nice? Certainty is very attractive.
This is starting to feel like a short essay.
Some People Lead, I Follow
One can probably figure out from the previous paragraph that guarantees are available in the world of TiMER. I'm not going to reveal more than that. Nice try.
See I'm defying the expectation that I should write a coherent blog post. For in reality, there are no guarantees. Like the suffering of the rest of life, those who read this blog will suffer. Suffer dear reader, suffer.
You're The Most Inappropriate Person I've Ever Met And Now You're Gettin' All Appropriate On Me
I will not relent. I will not make sense. My written thoughts will remain raw. Jagged.
Excuse me Monsieur Meaningful Discourse, I shall not join you at the club today. And I can only imagine your disappointment. Your tears plinking into your warm shrimp cocktail while your muscles tense under a too white tennis shirt. Weep not for me but for the countless readers still waiting for the chaos to collapse under its own enormity, crushing itself into a filament of pure reason. Weep not!
There are no guarantees sir, no sir, can not understand that there is none sir, no sir, none at all sir! Guarantees would mean that all people are actors playing their parts for an audience of ghosts. This is not the case. The actors can break the fourth wall. They can change the script. They can haunts those ghosts.
But TiMER is a great flick. Try and watch it.
I sure said "guarantees" a lot in this post.
Until Next I Blog,
James
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Week 15: The Warriors
Dear Avid Reader,
Yo cats and kittens. How's it flowing? You picking up what I'm putting down? You dig? Righteous. Right on.
Blogging time is nigh.
Warriors! Come Out To Pla-i-ay!
Everyone but my wife should like The Warriors. She hates it. I'm sure it's punishment from a past life. I'm sure of it. Everyone else should like the movie. But she is supposed to hate it. Just trust me.
The key question this flick brings up is if looking cool is enough to excuse criminal behavior. And the movie makes a pretty good case. You got, Electric Eliminators, Moonrunners, Rouges, The Freaking Awesome Baseball Furies, all of them violent, extortionist, thieves, but also impeccably costumed. Street crime dressed to the nines. America rules.
For All You Boppers Out There In The Big City
Now, real gangs don't go all out on the uniform. Obviously. Usually it's a color and that's all. After all, they have coke deals to get to. They haven't the time to be bothered on whether sequins or feathers gives the correct blend of intimidation and class when it comes to accessorizing their pork pie hats.
It's really a shame too that so little sophistication goes into modern criminal attire. Wouldn't the public be more sympathetic to a gang that had some flash? A crew that had matching green sweater vests would been seen as a little more interesting than thugs that simply had matching bandannas. The perception would be that the vested gang would be more adult, more organized, better. These aren't just some punk kids, they have their crap together. This gang is going places.
Can You Count Suckas?
Maybe better costumes would lead to less violence. If the fashion caught on, other gangs would engage in a arms race to see who could out-festoon who. Hand-held steamers would replace 9mm pistols. Runway walks instead of drive-bys. No more gang signs, only designer labels. This is the future!
But alas, this isn't how contemporary drug syndicates operate. Real gangsters would abandon this idea. After all, Cyrus also tried to bring order from the chaos and he was shot. Perhaps bringing sophistication to gang culture would end the same for me. Or maybe it isn't so much that street criminals can't handle high level thinking and constructs, rather the fact that these gangs are made up of the poor may prove the true roadblock to felonious haute couture. Picking the shotgun over the vinyl pants is a no-brainer when you are planning a heist on a tight budget. At least it is for now.
Well, Good! I'm Sick Of Runnin' From These Wimps!
Looking to the film's most intense moment we see the truth of how gangs live. During the final leg of the journey back to Coney, some teenagers board the subway car that the Warriors are on. They are laughing and joking, looking like they have just left their prom. The happy group meets eyes with Swan and Mercy. Both of them are marked and worn. Clothes wrinkled and loose. Swan's vest looks more like an attempt at a joke than an indication that he is ready to "bop" an enemy. The kids fall silent. They realize how wealthy they are, even though they aren't rich. They soften. Shame and guilt rip away at them. They are naked in the reality that they will always have more.
Mercy is also ashamed. She knows how poorly she looks. After all, poverty doesn't mean you're dumb. She understands. And as she moves to brush an errant hair from her face, Swan stops her. He refuses to show weakness. Swan also understands what is going on, but also realizes that if he accepts the pity, he admits that they have won. He continues to stare down the kids. He wants them to know that while his world has less, he is king of it. His stare seems to ask the question, "Which world are you in now?"
The teenagers blink first and get off at the next stop. Even though it has more treasure, their kingdom is smaller. They bow and walk out.
Long live the king of the subway.
Until Next I Blog,
James
Yo cats and kittens. How's it flowing? You picking up what I'm putting down? You dig? Righteous. Right on.
Blogging time is nigh.
Warriors! Come Out To Pla-i-ay!
Everyone but my wife should like The Warriors. She hates it. I'm sure it's punishment from a past life. I'm sure of it. Everyone else should like the movie. But she is supposed to hate it. Just trust me.
The key question this flick brings up is if looking cool is enough to excuse criminal behavior. And the movie makes a pretty good case. You got, Electric Eliminators, Moonrunners, Rouges, The Freaking Awesome Baseball Furies, all of them violent, extortionist, thieves, but also impeccably costumed. Street crime dressed to the nines. America rules.
For All You Boppers Out There In The Big City
Now, real gangs don't go all out on the uniform. Obviously. Usually it's a color and that's all. After all, they have coke deals to get to. They haven't the time to be bothered on whether sequins or feathers gives the correct blend of intimidation and class when it comes to accessorizing their pork pie hats.
It's really a shame too that so little sophistication goes into modern criminal attire. Wouldn't the public be more sympathetic to a gang that had some flash? A crew that had matching green sweater vests would been seen as a little more interesting than thugs that simply had matching bandannas. The perception would be that the vested gang would be more adult, more organized, better. These aren't just some punk kids, they have their crap together. This gang is going places.
Can You Count Suckas?
Maybe better costumes would lead to less violence. If the fashion caught on, other gangs would engage in a arms race to see who could out-festoon who. Hand-held steamers would replace 9mm pistols. Runway walks instead of drive-bys. No more gang signs, only designer labels. This is the future!
But alas, this isn't how contemporary drug syndicates operate. Real gangsters would abandon this idea. After all, Cyrus also tried to bring order from the chaos and he was shot. Perhaps bringing sophistication to gang culture would end the same for me. Or maybe it isn't so much that street criminals can't handle high level thinking and constructs, rather the fact that these gangs are made up of the poor may prove the true roadblock to felonious haute couture. Picking the shotgun over the vinyl pants is a no-brainer when you are planning a heist on a tight budget. At least it is for now.
Well, Good! I'm Sick Of Runnin' From These Wimps!
Looking to the film's most intense moment we see the truth of how gangs live. During the final leg of the journey back to Coney, some teenagers board the subway car that the Warriors are on. They are laughing and joking, looking like they have just left their prom. The happy group meets eyes with Swan and Mercy. Both of them are marked and worn. Clothes wrinkled and loose. Swan's vest looks more like an attempt at a joke than an indication that he is ready to "bop" an enemy. The kids fall silent. They realize how wealthy they are, even though they aren't rich. They soften. Shame and guilt rip away at them. They are naked in the reality that they will always have more.
Mercy is also ashamed. She knows how poorly she looks. After all, poverty doesn't mean you're dumb. She understands. And as she moves to brush an errant hair from her face, Swan stops her. He refuses to show weakness. Swan also understands what is going on, but also realizes that if he accepts the pity, he admits that they have won. He continues to stare down the kids. He wants them to know that while his world has less, he is king of it. His stare seems to ask the question, "Which world are you in now?"
The teenagers blink first and get off at the next stop. Even though it has more treasure, their kingdom is smaller. They bow and walk out.
Long live the king of the subway.
Until Next I Blog,
James
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Week 14: Halloween
Dear Avid Reader,
Skip it. Just get to it already.
Well, Kiddo, I Thought You Outgrew Superstition
Fear. It's really powerful. And the fear of something is ALWAYS more intense than the actual experience. There are times when fear is appropriate. If held at gunpoint...start being terrified. If being chased by lizard-people...freak out. But a lot of times we should not be so scared. A lot of times, here in this country at least, our fear is just a complacent mind that is bored. Contentment, it seems, darkens the shadowy corners of the mind.
This is why Halloween was so scary at the time. It wasn't a European remake ala Dracula or Frankenstein. There were no demons like Rosemary's Baby. It wasn't an epic monster like Godzilla or King Kong or natural disaster like The Birds. The monster was a kid. From the suburbs. The monster was one of us.
But You Can't Kill The Boogie Man
Just look at the opening scene. The camera is behind the mask of the killer. The audience is made to feel complicit with the murder. This movie struck to the heart of the biggest fear in America...the good times are soon to be over. No more than right now can we feel this fear. No jobs, skyrocketing national debt, Glenn Beck has still not been brought up on crimes against humanity, and the list goes on. In essence, the fear of losing grip of wealth is the biggest unexplored terror of this country. Thanks a whole lot riches! You suck.
You Must Think Me A Very Sinister Doctor
Micheal Myers never explains why he is killing. He never says anything. He is just a maniac...end of story. A boy born in a tract home with easy middle-class privilege, just all of a sudden snaps. Not touched by drugs or some poor choices that he made, he just is evil.
And I argue that this movie is not about punishing the kids that have sex. Au contraire. I mean Laurie, the hero, smokes weed. Sure she coughs on the harsh, but that is beside the point. The point is that when it was her turn to be served, she snatched that spliff and took the hit. She seemed pretty adept at handling philly blunts for a "good kid". Maybe she coughed up da indo smoke cuz shawty can't take down a jay like east-sidaz! Cannonball! Yeaaaaaaaah boy! See, It's not so much that the sinners are killed, it's that the babysitters in the neighborhood are smokin' out and gettin' down. And that's gonna totes freak dem crazy white folks.
I Hate A Guy With A Car And No Sense Of Humor
And that is what fear really is...that beneath the surface something really bad is brewing. America has had crazy freaking growth in the past 20 years, but never once did anyone feel like they were high on the happy wave. But here in the burst, which follows EVERY bubble, folks are acting like it's the end of it all. Maybe it is. Maybe the fall will continue and America will become the next third world. The fact that we can conceive of that reality shows how tenuous we think things are, or is it how tenuous that we KNOW things are.
Or maybe it's just the fear talking.
Until Next I Blog,
James
P.S. Yes I know this would have been perfect for Halloween week. Just shut it smart alec.
Skip it. Just get to it already.
Well, Kiddo, I Thought You Outgrew Superstition
Fear. It's really powerful. And the fear of something is ALWAYS more intense than the actual experience. There are times when fear is appropriate. If held at gunpoint...start being terrified. If being chased by lizard-people...freak out. But a lot of times we should not be so scared. A lot of times, here in this country at least, our fear is just a complacent mind that is bored. Contentment, it seems, darkens the shadowy corners of the mind.
This is why Halloween was so scary at the time. It wasn't a European remake ala Dracula or Frankenstein. There were no demons like Rosemary's Baby. It wasn't an epic monster like Godzilla or King Kong or natural disaster like The Birds. The monster was a kid. From the suburbs. The monster was one of us.
But You Can't Kill The Boogie Man
Just look at the opening scene. The camera is behind the mask of the killer. The audience is made to feel complicit with the murder. This movie struck to the heart of the biggest fear in America...the good times are soon to be over. No more than right now can we feel this fear. No jobs, skyrocketing national debt, Glenn Beck has still not been brought up on crimes against humanity, and the list goes on. In essence, the fear of losing grip of wealth is the biggest unexplored terror of this country. Thanks a whole lot riches! You suck.
You Must Think Me A Very Sinister Doctor
Micheal Myers never explains why he is killing. He never says anything. He is just a maniac...end of story. A boy born in a tract home with easy middle-class privilege, just all of a sudden snaps. Not touched by drugs or some poor choices that he made, he just is evil.
And I argue that this movie is not about punishing the kids that have sex. Au contraire. I mean Laurie, the hero, smokes weed. Sure she coughs on the harsh, but that is beside the point. The point is that when it was her turn to be served, she snatched that spliff and took the hit. She seemed pretty adept at handling philly blunts for a "good kid". Maybe she coughed up da indo smoke cuz shawty can't take down a jay like east-sidaz! Cannonball! Yeaaaaaaaah boy! See, It's not so much that the sinners are killed, it's that the babysitters in the neighborhood are smokin' out and gettin' down. And that's gonna totes freak dem crazy white folks.
I Hate A Guy With A Car And No Sense Of Humor
And that is what fear really is...that beneath the surface something really bad is brewing. America has had crazy freaking growth in the past 20 years, but never once did anyone feel like they were high on the happy wave. But here in the burst, which follows EVERY bubble, folks are acting like it's the end of it all. Maybe it is. Maybe the fall will continue and America will become the next third world. The fact that we can conceive of that reality shows how tenuous we think things are, or is it how tenuous that we KNOW things are.
Or maybe it's just the fear talking.
Until Next I Blog,
James
P.S. Yes I know this would have been perfect for Halloween week. Just shut it smart alec.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Week 13: Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory
Dear Avid Reader,
A Little Nonsense Now And Then Is Relished By The Wisest Men
It's about to get real. You're about to feel my kung-fu. Put your hands up! Defend yourself!
KEEEEE-YAH!
Up The Airy Mountain, Down The Rushy Glen
This is kind of a conversation that may have gone differently but this is how am writing it:
James: Is this movie about drugs?
Robyn: No.
J: Drug use was at a high during the 70's, it stands to reason...
R: James, you've never read the book. The book is different. It's better.
J: Spalin how.
R: Charlie in the book is shown as a very humble and kind boy. His father is also alive. Charlie never steals the Gobbstopper, the whole Gobstopper thing in this move is totally wrong.
J: I see that the book may have been about something else, but this movie is obviously influenced by the drug culture of the day.
R: *exasperated sigh*
J: Wonka is totally high.
R: Stop ruining this for me.
J: The truth can't ruin things, it can only be.
R: Truth? I don't think so. I think that...oh I hate this scene.
J: Oh yeah, the Fizzy Lifting Drinks scene. It's not in the book right?
R: Of course it isn't. *pause* This is ridiculous.
J: Ah, but in the reality of this film, it does exist. It is as welcome to the Wonka canon as...
R: Arrgh! Seriously? You do this every time we watch this.
J: I'm just trying to present the film as a legitimate work at least on par with the book.
R: No you're not. You're just trying to get a rise out of me.
J: Perhaps. But I really thought you would enjoy the dialogue about how the work impacts culture and...
R: Oh please. You're just taking this very nice movie that was made for children and filtering, no, perverting it through cynical, snarky blog voice.
J: Oh! Oh-ho! So now it begins! I'm incredulous. I am seriously incredulous.
R: Calm down. You just got burnt. Rub some lotion on it.
J: Oh you are gonna get this back in spades, lady. Just wait until you're watching Bones again. Comments will be flying. FLYING!
Until Next I Blog,
James
A Little Nonsense Now And Then Is Relished By The Wisest Men
It's about to get real. You're about to feel my kung-fu. Put your hands up! Defend yourself!
KEEEEE-YAH!
Up The Airy Mountain, Down The Rushy Glen
This is kind of a conversation that may have gone differently but this is how am writing it:
James: Is this movie about drugs?
Robyn: No.
J: Drug use was at a high during the 70's, it stands to reason...
R: James, you've never read the book. The book is different. It's better.
J: Spalin how.
R: Charlie in the book is shown as a very humble and kind boy. His father is also alive. Charlie never steals the Gobbstopper, the whole Gobstopper thing in this move is totally wrong.
J: I see that the book may have been about something else, but this movie is obviously influenced by the drug culture of the day.
R: *exasperated sigh*
J: Wonka is totally high.
R: Stop ruining this for me.
J: The truth can't ruin things, it can only be.
R: Truth? I don't think so. I think that...oh I hate this scene.
J: Oh yeah, the Fizzy Lifting Drinks scene. It's not in the book right?
R: Of course it isn't. *pause* This is ridiculous.
J: Ah, but in the reality of this film, it does exist. It is as welcome to the Wonka canon as...
R: Arrgh! Seriously? You do this every time we watch this.
J: I'm just trying to present the film as a legitimate work at least on par with the book.
R: No you're not. You're just trying to get a rise out of me.
J: Perhaps. But I really thought you would enjoy the dialogue about how the work impacts culture and...
R: Oh please. You're just taking this very nice movie that was made for children and filtering, no, perverting it through cynical, snarky blog voice.
J: Oh! Oh-ho! So now it begins! I'm incredulous. I am seriously incredulous.
R: Calm down. You just got burnt. Rub some lotion on it.
J: Oh you are gonna get this back in spades, lady. Just wait until you're watching Bones again. Comments will be flying. FLYING!
Until Next I Blog,
James
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