Offensive to Almost Every Girl in the Country

I regretted earlier my lack of outlet for book discussion.  I still believe that if I review a book my audience of sporadic personages will not take as much of an interest than if I were to recap a movie, and perhaps their visits to this page will become even more infrequent.  But I'd like to take only a few moments to establish my stance on the Twilight book series by Stephanie Meyer.  Why I feel I must take a stance on some trendy product available for under twenty dollars to all who are willing, I don't know.  I guess I am tired of perfectly innocent human beings presenting this book to me to read as if I am dying to find one good book in this sorry world.  Well, I know I offend many people when I say that Twilight is a bad book.  It is just bad.  And innocent people are entitled to their naiveté.  There is nothing wrong with a bad book being out there for the ignorant to purchase.  But please do not recommend this book to me one more time, or I just might, I don't know, throw garlic on you or something.  

For several months my sister and other friends were dying for me to read it.  A common argument is that they never read, but they couldn't put this book down.  They told me how good it was and how they thought a book about vampires was weird at first, too, but once they got started they were sucked in.  I was never convinced of even the possibility that Meyer's series was "good", per say.  I have no doubt of its popularity or of its perfect execution of a formula to sell novels.  But that's just what it is.  It is a formulaic book with nothing to say except, "Look.  I achieved the American dream.  I figured out what sells, and wrote a vampire version of the OC, now a major motion picture."  Well, thank you Stephanie Meyer for your glimmer of hope in this economy.  I commend you for your achievements and do not criticize you at all for your profit.  But I will not call your book a good book.  (I think if I weren't such a capitalist my argument might be stronger.  I could criticize Meyer for selling for pure profit.)  I want to clarify that I do not mind trends or pop culture manias or even fantasy fiction.  I'm a Harry Potter fan.  I enjoyed Lord of the Rings.  But there is a difference between a good book and a bad book, and Twilight is without a doubt the latter.  

I know that I cannot prove to you the objectivity of art or fiction.  That has been debated for centuries and is not an easy feat.  But I can claim the poor quality of this particular fiction.  Of course, if you believe everything is relative, or even if only art is subjective to the beholder, then I cannot prove Meyer's inadequacies.  I want you to know, though, that I am not speaking from a blind perspective.  Yes, I am a literature snob, dismissing authors like Danielle Steele, Sophie Kinsella and Dean Koontz as far too prolific in regards to their meaningless best-sellers that are anything but substantial.  But I exercised my right as an American and actual started reading Twilight.  I read about fifty pages when I had to close the book I will never open again.  Not only was the writing poor and the scenes cheesy and the characters just what you want to see in a perfect little frame of what this world is not like at all, but I was terribly bored as well!  I did not care one bit about Bella Swan and whether she'd fit into her new high school in Forks.  I did not care if Edward had a thing for the new girl.  I did not care about Bella's relationship with her quiet father.  I simply did not care.  I knew going into this experiment that the book will have nothing original to say.  But several people almost convinced me that I might enjoy the story, just as I enjoy a bad romantic comedy once in a while.  But I did not.  I am sorry.  I know that this is not just a preference of genre of literature, but simply a bad novel.  There are plenty of bad novels out there.  I don't care.  Read all the Shopaholic and Twilight series you want.  But please don't tell me they are good and that I "have to read them".  Don't try to argue with me about its captivating story because Edward is so in love with his prey.  Just don't talk to me about vampires any more, please.  It is rather annoying.  

A Revolutionary Sleep Aid

When I was a baby my parents would make me sleep in a closet because I kept them awake with my unnecessary crying. I never needed anything. I just cried because I wanted to be held. Now it may seem reasonable for me to feel neglect upon hearing this delightful anecdote, but really, I don't blame them. They need their sleep too. I probably would have done the same thing with my child. This all to say that I have always had trouble sleeping. Staying asleep used to be the challenge, but recently it seems to be the falling asleep that proves the most difficult. Needless to note, I am posting a blog due to this ongoing nocturnal routine, and because every other activity available to me at the moment is unappealing.

There is not much I'd like to say. I only have a couple movies I'd like to review, please, if it's alright with you. You are the only reason I write this of course. Your audienceship is greatly valued, my two or three readers. For I do not write for the only purpose of myself, to see what I've written on the internet, but to know the possibility of someone reading what I've written. That is all I ever want. I wish I could write about books instead of movies. I like movies, but not nearly as much as I like books. Throughout this winter break I've already read almost ten books, but I cannot talk about them on here because you do not care about them. Not to say that you aren't a reader or your ignorance will keep you from knowing what I'm talking about. But that you are more likely to go see and engage in discussion about a film rather than buy a book I write about and explore its themes with me. This makes me sad because when I finish a Beckett play or a novel by Camus, I certainly don't understand the meaning of it all. I'd like a buddy to tell me "It's okay. Neither do I." And then we can talk about it and come up with a semi-rational explanation that will (hopefully) help me sleep better at night. Because most of the time, I'm up thinking about these things.

I will probably be up tonight thinking about the movie I just saw (and also from the espresso from the restaurant earlier this evening...bad choice, Hannah) hoping to make sense of it all and really to come to my own opinion. It wasn't until the end credits that I realized Revolutionary Road was based off of the Richard Yates novel, which I have yet to read. This made sense because during my viewing I was thinking about how it would have been a better book than a movie. I really didn't know what to think about the whole thing. We have this Titanic reunion, a good story set up, and a fantastic director. The trailer seemed a little daunting, but I yielded this to what I thought was a bad music choice. I was expecting a Stepford Wives type story, with a conspiracy to conform to the suburban ideal and a young married couple discovering the truth and the secret brainwashing that goes on in their inconspicuous neighborhood. Or not even with a magic realism twist, I was expecting at least a discovery of the influences of a new consumerism society in the fifties and a rejection of the values of the cookie cutter lifestyle, a REVOLUTION for individualism. But the movie did not play out that way, at least I don't think so. When thinking about this movie, especially since it was based on an original story, I consider it in two different categories: the quality of the film and the effectiveness of the message. Strictly speaking in context of the former category, I thought Revolutionary Road was not what it could have been. Although I laughed much more than I thought I would, I was a bit disillusioned. The performances of the actors were not of their best. The two strongest were Kate Winslet and Michael Shannon. And I hate to say this, but I found myself criticizing Leonardo DiCaprio. I really respect him as an actor and have never been disappointed from his films. Maybe it's because I hold him up to such a high standard that I felt this way. But oh well. He probably won't be reading this so I don't risk offending him and so I have no need to offer my gratitude for The Departed, Catch Me If You Can, and What's Eating Gilbert Grape. And maybe I didn't like the scenes because I sensed a lack of editing skills. I imagined the editor at his cutting table (although most movies are not shot on film that can be cut anymore. It's pretty much all digital now, thanks to my aunt and a small team at Qualcom by the way) viewing all the footage and choosing the most dramatic takes for each scene. Now, I want drama in a movie, but not in every scene. And I don't blame the actors for being too dramatic. While filming they do dozens of takes, some of which are dramatic and some of which are more subtle. So I can excuse the actors for this. But, as a judge in such a high authority as mine, I place the blame on the culpable editor, or whoever chose the takes to print.

As for the message, I felt very foggy at the denouement. I so badly wanted the movie to be about breaking from the conformity, from the unauthorized rules that bind us to the "natural way of life": go to school, get married, have kids, settle down, and be happy. But I went away confused. Frank and April were striving after the American dream in Paris. The American dream in America was obviously unsatisfactory to them. But maybe that's just it. There is no such thing as the American dream. Even with a marriage, a nice house, a promotion, two kids and one on the way, they weren't happy. I don't know. I want to think about it some more. It is very possible that Yates was fulfilling my expectations of the message of the story, but the movie remake really muddled it for me. Maybe I'll read the book, and maybe even mention it here on this fabulous website.

I also wanted to talk about Frost Nixon (which was terrific...A+ Mr. Howard) but am actually very tired now and want to take advantage of my fatigue. Perhaps another time.

The Benefits of Roadkill

(THIS IS A PICTURE OF SOME BELOVED ROADKILL AND ME AND MY FRIEND LISA IN CLACKAMAS, OREGON. I AM UNOPPOSED TO KILLING R.O.U.S.s)
Driving home at 1 AM from Garden Grove singing along with Bradley Nowell who "can play the guitar like a mother fucking riot." I see a cat running across Ward. I am going to miss it by a few yards, then it suddenly jerks back and runs directly under my wheels. I hear (and feel) two distinct thuds. I immediately turned off the radio and began sobbing. First of all, just feeling the furry body under my wheels was enough to startle me. Also, that's someone's cat I just killed. I've never killed anything with my car before. I kill bugs. And I've fished. But no one owns those animals. I drove for a few minutes crying hysterically and being awfully dramatic, then decided if I feel this bad about the thing I should probably go back and check on it. I drove back but couldn't see any guts or fur or body through my blurry vision. So I went back to Jon's and he got in the car to help me look for it.
Went back and couldn't find it. That's good. Except I know I hit the thing, with the front and back tires. So that cat, although miraculously on its feet again, is definitely damaged. Then Jon reminded me that it could be a stray. At least no human beings are involved in this catastrophe. There's just some cat limping around somewhere who's got an awful, patchy coat now and the other cats will probably make it an outcast. But the cat could just as likely be someone's beloved pet who will now have to undergo surgery and get one of those plastic cone things that look rather obnoxious and only make the animal grateful for its peripheral vision. I was sad for the sad person who will hate the driver of the car who hit the little black and white animal. But I was able to console myself because there is some gain in this situation. I have just given the veterinarian some prodigious business in these troubled times. The owner of the cat probably needed to take the cat to the vet for something minor and has been avoiding it until now, having a perfectly legitimate reason for spending hard-earned money on such luxuries as animal restoration. And this will all come back to me (and you) in the end when the veterinarian comes to Mother's Market (the vet probably shops at Mother's because of all the animal-friendliness dogma) with that money from the cat owner. I will have more customers to serve and then more likely to keep my job. I don't know how I can revert everything to helping the economy or some glorious demonstration of the virtue of capitalism, but I just did it and it made me feel much better. Another small thing that made me more at ease with smashing the bones of the cat was the fact that I don't eat animals...so it pretty much evens out.

Stay Tuned This Christmas!

It is difficult for me to be upset at the commercialism of Christmas. Sure, I hate working during the holidays, dealing with the crowds, parking lots, and upset housewives who have to cook for thirty. But when it all comes down to it, that's the spirit of Christmas, nowadays at least. As most learned people know, Christmas was originally a pagan holiday, specifically a Roman solar holiday. It has since evolved into the day we are to celebrate Christ's birth. And with the rush of materialism that has inevitably engulfed society, the holiday called Christmas is now a tool used by hundreds of industries to promote themselves and their profits, an evil commercialistic scheme that has depleted the "true meaning" of Christmas. Wow. Apparently peoples' faiths can be pretty easily smashed by lines at the mall and electric talking Santa Clauses that repeat "ho ho ho have a merry christmas" from Thanksgiving until New Year's Day. It happens. People can be pretty greedy. But faith in the real spirit of Christmas, if we're going to talk about origins, is really worshipping a Roman sun god, not the Christian God and his son. Once people become aware of this, the nativity scene manufacturers are going to run out of business.
But the holiday has changed, just like most ancient holidays that have managed to stick around this long. It changed into what is supposed to be a birthday party for Jesus into a gift exchange between friends and family. "The First Noel" isn't the most fitting song, but "Santa Baby" is what most shoppers are singing in their heads while buying gifts for others. I was unfortunately at the cash register the other day (on the side where you collect totals and give change, not the side where you have money and purchase things that you want and/or need) and a customer starts complaining about the commercialism of Christmas. She was evidently upset about the craziness of the holidays, the greed, materialism, and the deviation from the "true meaning" of Christmas (I think she'd just been hanging out with Linus). She was saying all this while loading onto my counter free-range organic turkeys, christmas cards, pancake mix, and knic-knacs from our plethora of the hard goods section. Eight hours scanning barcodes can make me talkative and more willing to express my opinion to these strangers, whether I am opposed or in favor of their quibbles.
"Well, I think Christmas couldn't have come at a better time," I said, rather politely I might add.
"Maybe for you. Do you have to cook for three families and buy gifts for greedy children?"
"No. I'm busy working the register while people buy all the things they need. I'm just glad people are forced to spend their money."
"Why?"
"Well, so I have a job, for one thing. With all these crazy lines I was able to pick up more shifts so I could have money to pay for the gifts I have to buy. But on a larger scale, tons of companies are getting money again. Which will just come right back around to you and me."
I'm not sure if she knew where I was going with it because at this point I was finished ringing her up and another angry christmaser was ready to give me money in exchange for his products and proof of purchase, so she left the store to prepare for the ominous 25th.
That's just what Christmas is right now. Buying things for people and receiving gifts from others. That's what it all comes down to. Of course those who wish to are more than likely to celebrate Christ's birth on this day, because it has been intended for such worship and recognition for some time now, not always though. Things change. This year I personally didn't actual get excited about Christmas until I faced the insanity at the mall. So I not only concede the "commercialism of Christmas", but I endorse it. Without offering my arguments supporting capitalism, I will say that Christmas without presents isn't really Christmas at all. If we are allowing the change of the holiday from pagan to Christian, then we can accept the modification of Christian to commercial, especially if it's going to keep hundreds of industries' heads above water.
(And something that I think is rather obvious but I think should be made clear: people like giving and getting gifts. Why some complain about ripping paper open to discover an item they've been wanting but would never buy themselves is beyond me.)

Burn After Laughing So Hard You Might Make Weird Noises

Burn After Reading wasn't the best Coen Bros movie, but it certainly made me laugh, and scream, and, squeal, and shrink in my chair, and stare wide-eyed at the screen desperately wishing the scene to pass but hoping I can watch John Malkovich continue articulating his tautology of "What the fuck" at the idiocy of every human being in film. The plot is too ridiculous and nugatory to explain in detail, only because we learn in the end that the jaw dropping turn of events have no real meaning at all. Of course, you must pay attention when someone tells you not to pay attention.

The movie is more than just a "Man Who Knew Too Much," first of all because the man, and woman, know nothing at all, and second of all because there is nothing to know in the first place. Linda Litzke tries her hardest to be in control of the situation, never keeping her mouth shut or turning away pretending she didn't find a disc with "secret spy shit". She has to take it to the Russians, of course, because only they will have interest in the numbers and dates and dates and numbers. She probably didn't get the memo that the looming war some have called cold is over. And similarly, Harry Pfarrer seems in complete control throughout the movie, despite the suspicious looks and cars that follow him around. He sleeps with whomever he pleases, but tells his wife that he's crazy about her because he has the keep that constant in his life, whichever type of wood the floor he is standing on might be made of. His paranoia about the food he eats is always false; he never has an allergic reaction to any of it, to the cheese or shell fish. But when he accidentally kills the unidentified man in the closet, he suddenly becomes paranoid to the point of accusing poor little flabby-armed Linda Litzkey of being in on it. All of this lunacy happens in the nation's capital, which has become a sort of panopticon, while the CIA has strict orders to "watch them and see what they do and report back when it makes sense," turning Harry around in a 360 to see people watching him from every angle.

Linda Litzke is fully aware of her sought-after position at Hardbodies as a face to the public, so she has dedicated her life to getting enough money to get 4 extensive plastic surgeries. The filming and lighting through the movie is completely unflattering to everyone. I find almost myself endorsing Linda's taking drastic measures to become the iconic beauty so she can find that special someone with whom to laugh at "Coming Up Daisies". But then I realize she's crazy, and liposuction will only make her as fake as the smiling heads on television and will do nothing for her spastic personality. I want her so badly to stop noticing the strangers that are watching her, but look into the glass office at Hardbodies to find the ex-Greek Orthodox priest who's been pining after her while she internet dates and complains about her loneliness. She doesn't see the his previous position in the church as a fulfilled way of life, but merely points out that "that's a good job." She recognizes the importance of security and stability, but still becomes entangled in a chaotic blackmail attempt, putting her best friend in danger. Osbourne Cox kills the next idiotic person he sees, with drink in hand, because he has been surrounded by morons and is just sick of it. I'm sorry to say that I condone Cox in his drunken decision.

As far as performances go, this is the first movie I have seen with John Malkovich and now understand why he rubs some people the wrong way. But I loved him and his arrogance and his careful pronunciations while castigating the most moronic people in DC. George Clooney is always a charmer and a fine actor. Frances McDormand's was by the far the most memorable performance. I don't know what to say about her besides commenting on her commitment and seemingly perfect fit for this role, and nearly every other role in which I've seen her. Tilda Swinton was great because I hated her so much in the film. And I'm sorry to say, but Brad Pitt was more distracting than anything. His comedy was the type of church Youth Group skit comedy, formulated and preplanned. I felt like I was being told when to laugh. I did not find the way he drank his water bottle funny however. But I guess it was nice to see Brad do a less smoldering role.

This movie was one of the funniest I've seen in a long time, but I didn't know why I was laughing at such horrifically true situations. Even though the audience was small at the 2 dollar theater, it was a good one. There was one lady in the front who kept snorting she was laughing so hard. So every punch line got two sets of laughter, one for the joke and one for the lady's ridiculous snort. It was a wonderful dynamic. A good audience is sure to make the movie better, as long as you aren't too concerned about who's watching you.

Complain About Something Else

    

(I also heard of a sign that says CHICKENS HAVE MORE RIGHTS THAN GAY PEOPLE.  Yes, fine.  Prop 2 went through.  But if I were to make a sign it would say CHICKEN FARMERS HAVE LESS RIGHTS THAN GAY PEOPLE OR CHICKENS FOR THAT MATTER.  But let me step onto a different soap box...)

I thought this election was over.  But apparently there was a small discrepancy with proposition 8.  Maybe you’ve heard of it.  It’s the one that “keeps the definition of marriage” and “upholds Christian moral values.”  And if it doesn’t go through it will “change the education system” and “your children will learn that homosexuality is okay.”  Wow.  That single prop can sure do a lot.  But let’s be honest, without changing the California constitution to say that marriage is between a man and a woman, things will stay the same way they’ve been.  Our little drawings in elementary school text books will remain:  a white man standing next to a white woman, a white son, a white daughter and a golden retriever in front of a one story house with a chimney. 

Voters, or rather current protesters, against prop 8 don’t have much better arguments either. They call this prop the “unfair proposition.”  This is the most unconvincing argument.  I feel like I’m listening to a bunch of whining six year olds.  I voted no on prop 8, but for different reasons.  I’m all for equal rights for everyone, but that’s not why I voted against the government taking the role as God, distributing and taking away rights to anyone it pleases. The rights we have are innate.  The government is not in place to give or steal rights, but to protect the ones we inherently possess. 

I had no idea the Christian Right had such a strong vote in California either.  Or maybe it was because of all the new registered voters who are apparently homophobic.  But why are people protesting and rallying a few days after the election?  They are campaigning the farthest away from the next voting season.  Whose attention are they trying to get?  Not the voters’, because they aren’t going to the polls anytime soon.  Then is it Schawrzenegger’s?  If you keep up all this complaining he just might become one of those new Republicans who aren’t Republicans at all.  He’ll become as big as government can get and take away everyone’s rights:  “Now if you guys don’t be quiet then none of you can get married!”  Well that’s a little counter productive. No one would be able to marry anyone, not even heterosexuals.  All you ring-by-spring folk out there will only have civil unions to look forward to.  Then think of what that will do to the economy!  Think of everyone who would go out of business:  the florists, David’s Bridal, chair companies, invitation printers, and our friend Elvis Presley at the wedding chapel in Vegas. That wouldn’t be “fair” to anyone. 

Since the campaigning season is over, let’s try to get back to those days I remember, when the beginning of our conversations didn’t begin with “Hi friend, how ‘bout them propositions?” Let’s think about when they will begin with, “Hi comrade, how ‘bout them bread lines?”  There are more important things to worry about right now than propositions that might be on the ballot in 2010.  Let’s talk about our current issues, like the radio “Fairness Doctrine” our president-elect is planning to implement.  Let’s focus our energy on neither the recent past nor the far future, but on the present times.  We just elected the most symbolic president our country has ever seen. 

This might be my favorite episode

Embarrassing Moment of the Day

I walked all the way home with my backpack fully unzipped. Not so much a "moment" as a "15 minutes".

Elle avait pris ce pli

I'm a sucker for a good poem. But only the really really good ones. My favorite happens to be in French, and when translated doesn't make me tear up or anything. So, I'll leave it be. Basically, Victor Hugo wrote this poem about his favorite daughter who drowned. I know it's depressing, but...so it goes.

ELLE AVAIT PRIS CE PLI

Elle avait pris ce pli dans son âge enfantin

De venir dans ma chambre un peu chaque matin;

Je l'attendais ainsi qu'un rayon qu'on espère;

Elle entrait et disait : -Bonjour, mon petit père;-

Prenait ma plume, ouvrait mes livres, s'asseyait

Sur mon lit, dérangeait mes papiers, et riait,

Puis soudain s'en allait comme un oiseau qui passe.

Alors, je reprenais, la tête un peu moins lasse,

Mon oeuvre interrompue, et, tout en écrivant,

Parmi mes manuscrits je rencontrais souvent

Quelque arabesque folle et qu'elle avait tracée,

Et mainte page blanche entre ses mains froissée

Où, je ne sais comment, venaient mes plus doux vers.

Elle aimait Dieu, les fleurs, les astres, les prés verts,

Et c'était un esprit avant d'être une femme.

Son regard reflétait la clarté de son âme.

Elle me consultait sur tout à tous les moments.

Oh! que de soirs d'hiver radieux et charmants,

Passés à raisonner langue, histoire et grammaire,

Mes quatre enfants groupés sur mes genoux, leur mère

Tout près, quelques amis causant au coin du feu!

J'appelais cette vie être content de peu!

Et dire qu'elle est morte! hélas! que Dieu m'assiste!

Je n'étais jamais gai quand je la sentais triste;

J'étais morne au milieu du bal le plus joyeux

Si j'avais, en partant, vu quelque ombre en ses yeux.

These two people are alright

I have the most beautiful sister.  Her and Andrew got engaged about a month ago and I couldn't be happier. 

These pictures were taken by Samuel Lippke and I think he did an amazing job at capturing the Andrew and Ellen essence.