Complete & Utter Pap

***SPOILERS*** - nothing you couldn't discern from the first ten minutes of the film, & probably if you had any interest in seeing it you would have already, but nonetheless.

I like Johnny Depp. I like Kate Winslet. I like Julie Christie. But Finding Neverland is, in the Miramax/Johnny Depp lexicon, more in line with the sappy Chocolat than the elegiac Dead Man.

It is, in a word, dreck. Or perhaps it falls more fittingly under the category of balderdash.

The film purports to tell the story of the creation of that already dodgy theatrical icon, Peter Pan, by means of exploring the playwright J.M. Barrie's friendship with a quartet of forlorn fatherless tykes & their tubercular mother. Which is not quite exactly the circumstances under which the real-life Barrie's relationship with the Llewelyn-Davies family was formed. Actually, it's absolutely nothing like it. Mrs. Llewelyn-Davies' husband was still alive when Mr. Barrie entered their lives. She didn't have tuberculosis at all, but I suppose that cancer doesn't easily lend itself to the ever-so-subtle & original cinematic foreshadowing of "Mother has a chest cold". There were five boys, not a film-friendly four. The family was not as bereft as the film would lead you to believe - Barrie first encountered the children in the care of their nanny.

I'm choking on the warm fuzzies

The machinations of the film's plot are so smoothly oiled that not only is it patently obvious that liberties have been taken, but it's clear in several places exactly what those liberties are. Even before undertaking a brief Wikipedia search. Although I'm not by any stretch staunch in my opposition to such glossings-over, when they are held in the service of one big Peep of a film, little more than toothachingly sweet fluff gilded in crunchy colored sugar, it makes my stomach hurt. This film was made to make you cry & I'll be honest - it did make me cry, in much the same way that a Campbell's soup commercial did when I was eight. The same way that The Joy-Luck Club made me cry. Useless tears, shamelessly provoked.

Radha Mitchell as Mary Barrie

As for the actors who instigated my viewing of the film; well, Kate Winslet is as impossibly lovely as always in the accolade-friendly role of the mother & Johnny Depp gives an astonishing turn as the playwright (good work on the accent, Johnny). Julie Christie doesn't have much with which to work, but then again, the enduringly beautiful Ms. Christie generally accepts acting roles only to supplement her political work (ahem, Dragonheart, anyone?), where her passions truly lie, so while mildly disappointing, it's not terribly surprising. However, it is Radha Mitchell's performance as Barrie's emotionally abandoned wife which truly stands out. She invests an otherwise thankless role with more depth than the standard surface antipathy to her husband's growing involvement with the Llewelyn-Davies. Hers is a wound stemming not from simple jealousy, not envy because her husband is sharing his "secret world" with other people, but from the fact that even as he hands it out to others, he steadfastly refuses to share it with her, which is something she desperately wants. It is clear that he has left her long before she physically leaves him. It's a treat to see such a well-rounded performance in a stock part.

Unfortunately, it's all for naught, as Finding Neverland is nothing more than another mediocre Miramax schlock-fest masquerading as "quality" "independent" "film" which nobody will remember in twenty years' time.

P.S. The filmmakers totally made up that crap about the orphans at the play's premiere. Which kind of pisses me off, because it seemed so fucking ridiculous that it had to have actually happened, & it was one of the film's few moments that I found genuinely touching. But the unveiling of the truth does get to the heart of my disdain for the film - I enjoy the myriad of complex emotions which film is capable of evoking. I do not, however, find it particularly enjoyable when a film tries to play me like a violin.

Beer + Movies = Awesome

As though there were any question.

My cherished childhood dream of attending a theater-pub came true this weekend. All right, cherished teenage dream, but still. The other day I saw this kid whom I would have guessed was 12 climb behind the driver's wheel of a car. BY HIMSELF. I think that my teen years have officially passed over into "childhood".

(Note: I'd claim ***spoilers*** but I'm inclined to think my memories are not very indicative of what actually happened. Anyhoo, proceed at your own risk.)

I suspect the Rodriguez/Tarantino masturbatory spectacular Grindhouse would have been far less enjoyable without alcohol. In fact, I recall startlingly little of Death Proof, though that third pitcher of beer may have had an untoward influence on my memory. I do remember that some girl had great bangs & boobs. Apparently she was killed off. See, the way I remember it is, there was one group of girls in the beginning who were sitting around talking about lapdances or something & then Kurt Russell scared Rose McGowan, who wasn't one of the group & I'm pretty sure he also killed her. Then at some point the lapdance girls kind of morphed into these other girls who were driving in a car. And Kurt Russell wanted to kill all the girls, though why on earth he'd want to do such a thing is beyond my comprehension. They totally had a car-fight. There was also a lot of talking.

Planet Terror had a bit more resonance, being as it was the first feature shown. Yet surprisingly I have even less to say about it. Um, Naveen Andrews + severed testicles also = awesome. And, zombies! Watch out!

I'm guessing that the critics who saw Grindhouse were not drunk, because upon closer inspection the general consensus seems to be that Death Proof, in the spirit of Monte Hellman & Two-Lane Blacktop, is actually a good movie; while Planet Terror is more in line with the genuinely bad strain of zombie movies. I, on the other hand, would have to say that Marley Shelton mangling her own hand was better than two films' worth of Kurt Russell being a baddie.

Regarding the theater itself: half of the rows at the Laurelhurst have counters in front of them, for simple! beer! storage! It was awesome. We, sadly, arrived too late to claim such a row; however, our manly handling of the floor-bound pitcher was commendable & no beer was harmed.

An illustrated conclusion (I think the girl in the cheerleader outfit may be the one with the bangs'n'boobs. I am very, very sad that I don't remember this AT ALL):


Where are they? What are they doing? Was Rosario Dawson really in this movie? Did I fall asleep...?

Happy Friday Dear April

Good things:

(1) First holiday weekend after the loooong post-President's Day dry spell.

(2) I've got one of them there jobs where the office closes at 2 p.m. the Friday before the holiday, which I used to think was stupid...until I lived it.

(3) Seattle-ites are invading my house this weekend. They will go roller skating with me.

(4) Aaaand...the icing on the cake: eBay just notified me that these beautiful creatures are for sale:


OMG!!!1!!11! Perfect. Considering I totally JUST DECIDED yesterday that my gray legwarmers would have nice pink stripes. Besides which I hardly need mention...PUMA ROLLER KITTY. However, there is the possibility that these may slip through my fingers. I'm not paying more than $175 for them. Bidding starts at $55 with six days left. I'm already on edge.

Do You Really Have To Ask That Question?

Minor aside from a one-star customer review on Netflix regarding a film called Girl Boss Guerilla:

"(do we really need to have topless fight scenes?)"

That's like asking someone if they want to see you throw a flip-flop out a window.

The only possible answer is "YES". A variation to the tune of "HELL YES" is also acceptable.

Needless to say, all four films in the Pinky Violence collection have been added to my queue. From my entirely too-brief survey of available information, I gather that the Pinky Violence genre in Japan corresponds most closely with the blaxploitation genre in America, insofar as it simultaneously empowers & stereotypes those who in the 1970s were largely relegated to the background in mainstream cinema (whether I should utilize the present tense for this is a matter for another time). In Japan, its subject is women; in America, African-Americans. I would be wary of taking the comparison too far, only because I suspect the differences in intended audiences are substantial - more simply put, I don't think the makers of Deliquent Girl Boss were trying to attract female audiences.

Terrifying Girls' High School: Lynch Law Classroom is first up. We'll see how it goes. I will be most severely disappointed if full advantage is not taken of schoolgirl outfits.

Knitting Nerd

After I finish knitting my scarf, I'm planning to begin work on a pair of legwarmers. Light gray with, I think, two red stripes toward the top. Or yellow. Orange? Depends which I think will go best with...

...my roller skates.

I'm dying of the awesome right now.

And I cannot wait to start in on socks & stockings. I've been downloading patterns all morning.

My mother told me I can have her spinning wheel if I get that into it.

The scary part is, I very well may have to take her up on that offer eventually.

FYI: Buying DVDs From Netflix

At last, Netflix has offered some used titles for sale that I actually want to own. The $5.99 price tag has been tempting, but as I am generally not seduced by straight-to-video comedies starring Mo'Nique or lurid horror movies (unless they feature Kate Hudson in an infinite variety of t-shirt & boy-shorts ensembles), I have heretofore resisted the lure with not a great deal of difficulty.

However: when I saw Grizzly Man for sale, I wanted it. My love affair with Werner Herzog has been well-documented, & if you haven't already seen this movie, well, I can't help you. Stop reading this. I don't want to talk to you. Anyway. Here's what happened:

(1) On 4 May, I clicked the "Buy" button for Grizzly Man.
(2) Netflix sent me an email nearly immediately confirming my order & got their $5.99 using the method by which I pay my monthly rental fee.
(3) They sent another email when they shipped it on 7 May.
(4) I received it on 8 May.

As for the disc - honestly, I'm deep in the throes of a knitting obsession (I know!) & haven't put anything in my DVD player that I actually want to watch, mostly because I can't walk & chew gum at the same time, if you get my drift. So it's pretty much been Harry Potter time at my house. Harry Potter is awesome to knit to. The Big Lebowski may be even better. Anyway, yeah, the disc looks used. But not terrible. The DVD artwork is not entirely inserted into the DVD case, but I can fix that. And $5.99, free shipping, & complete & utter ease of ordering - literally clicked on one button - makes it totally worth it.

In fact, about two days after I received Grizzly Man, I ordered Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man. Same process, same satisfaction, even better-looking disc. & - bonus - artwork solidly in place within the case.

Conclusion? They couldn't make it any easier. Or, hell, cheaper. Thus far, I'm a fan.

Those Criterion Bastards Are Trying to Bankrupt Me

Per the Criterion Collection newsletter I just received, their edition of Mizoguchi's Sansho the Bailiff has a street date of 22 May. They're also releasing Shohei Imamura's Vengeance is Mine, which I've not seen. However, I tremendously admire Black Rain & The Ballad of Narayama, so I'll certainly give it a watch.

And OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY FRIGGIN' GOD. In June they're releasing Chris Marker's La Jetee & Sans Soleil. The former is a series of still photographs now perhaps most famously known as the basis for Terry Gilliam's masterful 12 Monkeys (though it certainly did not lack for recognition prior to Mr. Gilliam's film), while the latter...well, criminy, it's one of my favorite visual experiences of all time, ever. It's seriously awesome. No. For real. I implore you with the sincerity of a thousand baleful glances to watch it. And, in a strange coincidence with my own leanings of late, it deals a fair amount with Japan.

The narrator who reports to us the words & experiences of the letter-writer actually delivers one of my favorite descriptions of Japanese art: "Here to place adjectives would be so rude as leaving price tags on purchases." She is speaking more directly about poetry, but it really applies across the board.

Okay, it applies across the board to the specific Japanese arts to which yours truly is drawn. I don't know anime from animation. And I totally passed on all those creepy-kid horror movies & disgustingly violent pap crap films that the kids like these days. Like Suicide Club, or, from what I hear, Battle Royale. Ugh.

Also - I'd like to think that, were I the sort of person other people had any interest in interviewing, I would respond in the fashion of Mr. Marker, at least as far as Wikipedia has it:

"Chris Marker lives in Paris and does not grant interviews. When asked for a picture of himself, he usually offers a photograph of a cat instead. His cat is named Guillaume."

Which leads to a question - so, when Criterion's website trumpets the "GUILLAUME-APPROVED SPECIAL EDITION FEATURES", are they seriously referring to Mr. Marker's cat...? Because that is awesome.

EDIT: I just sent an email to John Mulvaney at Criterion asking whether the special edition features are indeed endorsed by Guillaume the cat. Should he actually respond to this absurd inquiry, I'll let you know the truth of the matter. And yes, for the record, I am a total, complete, hopeless dork. Who inbetwixt super-existential ponderings on the nature of cat-approved things, has been dying all day to go home & knit. Yeah. What am I going to do when I really am a little old lady?

Blah, Blah, Blah

So I was all excited this morning, because I had three days' worth of pictures to put up on my new blog. And, you know, new blog is more exciting than old blog. It's also easier, 'cause I don't have to put any stupid word-things in there.

But of course I couldn't find the magical computer-connecting cord to bring my camera & computer together. Because I cleaned this weekend. I can't imagine where it could be. Generally, I am pretty sensible with where I put things.

So no exciting Friday night futon action. No pink buildings. No nature-communing. Blah.

On a side note: I went to the downtown farmers market this weekend. The one in SE Portland commences this Thursday, & is much closer to me, but I figured I'd get a head start. It wasn't as big as I thought it would be, but it was pretty fantastic. I think everything there is organic. For real. I'm pretty sure you'd be maimed by morels & eggs from "happy girls" if you tried to sell something that wasn't certified organic, or pasture-fed, or came from the magic land of happy, or whatever.

I understand the appeal of farmers markets to SUV-driving yuppie-types. Maybe because I am a Corolla-driving yuppie-type. Whatever the case, I'm wearing my hippie dress today, so I'll say it: it's nice to get a taste of what human interaction with food should be - buying from local growers & farmers, who grow their vegetables naturally & let their livestock roam in pastures. Crab sellers who don't destructively net the oceans (my technical terms may be a bit jumbled there - all I really know about the ocean & overfishing is that good golly, we sure are messing things up down there, kind of like we are everywhere else!). Buying things at a farmers market is totally destined to make you feel better about your place in the world. The ultimate feel-good move. It makes you feel sustainable. The warm fuzzies certainly come at a good time for yours truly, as I've been voraciously consuming all manner of nature documentaries of late, thanks to the new love of my life, Sir David Attenborough. And while Sir David has the good grace to generally focus on the creatures themselves rather than engage in evil-human finger-pointing, I mean, we all know we're completely fucking this planet up. So if I can say that I shop at a farmers market and I recycle and I vote, well, sheesh, I'm practically saving the world single-handedly, right? (Sorry. This whole paragraph really just references a raging internal debate I've been ignoring for years.)

Anyway. On to the score. I got ramps, sea beans (pictured right), smoked sable & elk sausage, as well as an assortment of drop-dead gorgeous greens. I was, for the record, totally tempted by the aforementioned morels, but sadly their $24/lb price tag put me out of the running. I also came thisclose to buying truffles - Oregon's truffle industry is, how you say, burgeoning - but at the last minute managed to talk myself out of it.

Overall, the market was a bit smaller than I'd thought it would be, but then again, it was largely bereft of craft stands, to the benefit of the food. I think the craft-standers set up at the Saturday Market. Also, there are four total farmers markets in Portland, so although I suspect the Saturday morning one is the largest, perhaps there are vendors who wait for one of the other three. Who knows?

Also, went to the NW Film Center on Sunday - they're screening a series of Kenji Mizoguchi films, of which I've decided to attend only the ones I haven't already seen. Partly due to the $7-a-pop price tag, which also relates to the fact that they're showing tons more stuff I'm dying to see throughout May & June, & partly due to the crappiness of the prints. At least the one I saw last night, Utamaro & His Five Women, was not worthy of its admission price, except for the fact that it's not on video & I'd never see it otherwise.

Having seen it, I wouldn't say I hold the film in such high esteem as I do The Life of Oharu, or Sisters of the Gion, or of course Ugetsu, but nonetheless it was a treat to revisit Mizoguchi's exquisitely (or perhaps rigorously) composed, almost painterly scenes. One of the reasons I adore him is his use of lines in imagery. And I've always been a sucker for the tatami mat perspective (yes, I realize Yasujiro Ozu is credited as the innovator of the tatami shot, but certainly Mizoguchi also utilized it to magnificent effect, particularly in tandem with his famous "one-scene-one-shot" method). It shouldn't be surprising, of course, that the film deals as much with his five women as it does with Utamaro, given that Mizoguchi's films overall are so inextricably involved with the status/state/nature of women.

Utamaro himself is above the mundane vagaries of love. Upon seeing a woman whose skin is so beautiful that Edo's most renowned tattoist refuses to mar it, his request to touch it is done more in the interest of fulfilling beauty than puerile lust. His work is the focus here, his pure desire to paint. This makes sense, given the high esteem in which Mizoguchi held the real Utamaro & the kinship he clearly felt. The other men are subjugated & fall victim (?) to the desires of the women around them, & indeed are jostled back & forth between whichever of the women has managed to drag them off. It's very telling when the geisha Okita forces Shozaburo's hand & flat-out asks him to whom he belongs, her or the courtesan Tagasode. He stammers a bit, ultimately replying "Both of you!" This is of course unacceptable in the women's world, so Okita's subsequent actions are not as jarring as they might otherwise be. One wonders only why the women fancy themselves in love with the weak hedonistic men surrounding them in the first place. I mean, Seinosuke was a big butthead. Yukie could've done so much better. For that matter, so too could Oran, the local girl with whom he runs off.

Also, for the record, there is this totally awesome scene in which Utamaro & his entourage spy on this ritual enacted by the local shogungate. Seems the big guy likes to make all the young women under him congregate, "disrobe" (even kimono-less, they are wearing more clothing than most American fourteen-year-olds) & ocean-dive for fish, while he gets his jollies by watching them do so. Seriously. Naturally, Utamaro's "painter's block" is cured by witnessing this spectacle. Heh.

The other two that the NW Film Center is showing that I've not yet seen are Street of Shame & Sansho the Bailiff. The former is the last film Mizoguchi made, & the latter shares with Ugetsu & The Life of Oharu something of a canonical standing.

Much The Same, Only Different

I now blog in plural.

Because my musings are simply too inane to be sated by a singular bloggy thing.

Or something like that.

On a related note: after a carefully considered period of about five minutes, I have determined that this is one of my favorite pictures that I've ever taken:


I love everything about it. Except maybe the lines in the upper left. Not the middle-ish one that looks like /; I like that one. It's the ones next to it. The ones that comprise what you might refer to as a "window frame". It's not so much the color per se - more the placement, nee composition. But yeah, I'm down with everything else.

ARGH.

Bitchin' time.

When I second-guess certain conditions to which a certain company wishes me to affix my signature, it does not necessarily mean I want my co-worker to sign it for me because I don't want to. It means that I have what I feel are legitimate concerns over ANYONE agreeing to certain things over which they HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO CONTROL, WHETHER OR NOT THESE ARE "STANDARD". ESPECIALLY if "The above information is correct" is not followed by some type of codifier, i.e., oh, "to the best of my knowledge" or something like that.

And for the record, I like to think I have a pretty good eye for this type of crap. I'm thorough. And organized. And detail-oriented. THESE ARE MY STRENGTHS. Let me use them. I've already accepted certain methods of working about which I'm not super-happy (i.e., printing emails. Kinda defeats the purpose, no?). DON'T YOU MAKE ME GIVE UP MY KEEN GODDAMN EYE. I'M LIKE A HAWK. A majestic, soaring hawk feeding on the dribble of insurance documents.

Fine. Fine. Fine. WHATEVER. I'll send that piece of paper on in. It's Friday afternoon, anyway.

All Too Often,The Beat Does Not Go On

Sad story about the Empire Roller Skating Center in Brooklyn closing down in Sunday's NYT. The last indoor wood-floor skating rink in the five boroughs.

It will become...a storage facility.

Makes me want to strap on my skates, head over to Oaks Park & thank the heavens that I live about 3 miles away from the largest roller skating rink in the Pacific NW.

Fact: roller derby (at least for girls) is pretty darn popular around these parts. Portland's got its own league, the Rose City Rollers, comprised of four teams. (From the pics on their site, I guess they're trying to look tough, but I wish they would smile anyway. Football players smile. Of course, I'm generally recoiling from seeing them with their helmets off...but that's beside the point. Ladies, you can smile & still be badass.) I've not yet seen this in action & frankly have little idea what it is, but I do know it is a contact sport involving roller skates, fishnet stockings, & beer. Sounds like heaven on earth, if you ask me. Looks like they're having tryouts in June...hmm...

I Have Waited My Whole Life Minus 12 Years For This

"The [Food & Drug Administration] is expected to approve the first contraceptive pill that is designed to eliminate periods as long as a woman takes it."

Questionable sentence construction aside, all I can say is: Please. Yes. Thank you. What's the point of bleeding if you've no intention whatsoever of breeding?

Also: Hot Chip are coming round these parts again in June. Wonder Ballroom (still debating whether to go see Marianne Faithfull at same). Ticket prices have increased a bit, but have not yet reached the astronomical increases which Franz Ferdinand tickets did when their second album came out.

Also: Jarvis Cocker is in Seattle on Monday 30 April. I can't manage to go, which actually is all right with me, believe it or not, mostly since I never got around to listening to his solo album anyway, but it's a bit sad nonetheless. Somehow, knowing that he's only got 5 U.S. show dates (two of which are in NYC) makes it worse. Maybe I should have moved to Seattle...hmm...nah.

However, !!! on 2 May is definitely happening. I imagine I can make do with that.

Come Here, Sausage

The movie itself would have been infinitely better had it been 90 minutes of this. And indeed, the mid-film dance-tacular set to "Boogie Wonderland" was FANTASTIC. And better yet, came free of the queasiness I felt by the final dance-tacular.

Because sadly, the makers of Happy Feet put in this thing called "plot". Wherein the sheer ridiculous glory of dancing penguins is muted by a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer-type protagonist + questionable ethnic stereotypes + thrown-in & hastily concluded globally conscious message + a lot of sex(ual innuendo). Really. All the penguins except hapless Mumble are pretty much just trying to get laid, whether via song or pebble. However natural penguin booty may be, I maintain that it is still somewhat disturbing when a movie opens with the main character's mother singing Prince's "Kiss" ("I just want your body baby/From dusk til dawn") & segueways into "Let's talk about eggs baby/Let's talk about you & me". Penguins!

Although I must admit it was way more adorable than it should have been to see a baby penguin getting down to the sound of "The Message". Actually, the soundtrack overall was commendably selected, given the film's magnitude.

In conclusion, I'm almost ashamed to say I was half-hoping that since they took it to the "bad humans" level, they were going to give us some hot penguin sweater action. Seriously, if this movie had been made in the 90s it would have been all oil spill badness rather than oh nos we's overfishing badness & then, maybe, we woulda got the sweaters. Although I understand that technically the sweaters are generally used for fairy penguins, not emperors, they could have gotten away with it.

Plus, the only possible competition for penguin-dancing cuteness is penguin-sweater cuteness. If they had combined the two I probably would have died of the cute.

Revel In The Purple

After an extremely questionable first half of the evening, I managed to put as many finishing touches on my kitchen as were at my disposal. My lingering question is this:


Why do I need to bother with that silly plastic thing (I believe it is called a "molly screw")? I have never used one before. I had to ask somebody what it was & what I was supposed to do with it. And I still only managed to get one in, & just used the screws alone for the rest. (This is why I still haven't hung pictures up in my living room. I've never hung a picture in my life, unless you count thumbtacks & posters. I have all this stuff that you can use to hang a picture, & no clue how any of it works.) Helpless female, much?

Anyway. Here's before:


Ew. Clearly, the color is hideous. What may not be so clear is that in the top right of the picture, there's a black pot rack on which I never successfully managed to hang more than four kitchenware items. Which the previous painters did not bother moving prior to painting. So it is generously splattered with "pink". Little matter, as I'm not reinstalling it. Additionally, & you can see the top of it here, the previous painters did not bother to paint behind the stove. So it looked...disgusting. You could still see the red brick wallpaper some idiot had installed years ago.

And now? Voila!


While I fear the shades of purple are actually too cold to flow well with the green of my living room, & also that they are too dark to suit the small space, it's PURPLE!!! And I think actually it would be impossible to make the kitchen look smaller even if I had painted it black with black trim. Overall I am quite pleased. It glows in daytime, it's the darnedest thing. (And yes, I know. The walls are crap. They are old & muchly painted. I constantly run into the dilemma of wanting my apartment to look perfect vs. the fact that I am only renting & the question of whether I really want to put that much effort into it. It tends to end as a tie; ergo, I spackle cracks, repair holes (actually had staples come out of a hole in ceiling, oddly enough) & paint walls & ceilings but generally feel disinclined to go beyond these measures.)

But anyway, who can complain with kitchen protectors like these:

From left: Marty Mushroom, Spike & the Unknown Pony. They keep a lookout for malfeasance & evil-doers & they live on frumenty & mince pie.

Next up: the WC & the bathroom.

Poisson d'Avril

It's sunny. Warm. Gorgeous. The fir trees look magnificent against the blue sky. Heavens do I wish it were Caturday. Lol I'm there!

Speaking of spring: the month of April & the days leading up to it frequently provide the impetus for situations of either massive annoyance, confusion or both for yours truly. The ear-pricking & head-snaps endured during this time can be a bit trying. Also, there is a slight paranoia that sets in wherein I'm convinced that people are talking about me behind my back.

One of the most satisifying 10-minute bitch sessions I've ever had occurred when I found myself in the presence of two other girls named April.

Winner of the award for most frequent question asked by people when I tell them my name: Were you born in April? Why, yes. Yes, I was. My parents, you know, it's the strangest thing, but they were both born without any semblance of imagination. So when I popped out, they couldn't think of whatever to call me & just looked at a calendar & went with it. Lucky for me I wasn't born in September, right?

Okay, I'm full of shit. I was not born in April. And for the record, jokes about April showers are not particularly funny. And you may not call me "Aprilmayjune". Careful! One day I will turn into that girl with a noose for a braid & a knife in her hand. & I will cut you.

Note: I was actually obsessed with the movie April Fool's Day when I was a child. Well, the video box & the title. The horror section at the video store was always my favorite part - the boxes freaked me out. And no, I wasn't one of those kids with the "cool" parents who got to watch "R" rated movies. My cousin was, though. She saw Nightmare on Elm Street when she was six & thereafter slept with her mother until she was thirteen.

I also recall being fascinated with the following box. This is a pic of the poster - the box itself was all slick & puffy! My mom's got this one set aside for me on VHS at her video store (it sure as hell ain't on DVD):


Heavy metal horror. With Carmine Appice. It sounds too good to watch.

Also, this is really embarrassing, but this one made me afraid that toilet monsters were going to rip my ass off every time I copped a squat, for longer than I care to admit:

A Place Both Wonderful & Strange

Finally, finally, at long last, yes that's right, Season 2 of "Twin Peaks" is being released on DVD. The moment we've all been waiting for ever since Season 1 came out lo! these many years ago (2001, to be exact). 3 April, baby! All the meticulous Googling over the years & I totally spaced it. Thanks to Gabe & Cristine for the heads-up.

I've read some grumbling regarding the packaging & extras, but the transfers are rumored to be excellent.

Also - one of the Amazon reviews alleges that a box set with the pilot, Season 1 & Season 2 will be released later this year. I hope so. It won't stop me from buying Season 2 now, since I've already got Season 1, but lordy if they release the pilot in a box set they'll probably also release it on its own & that would be fantastic.

The funny thing is, I always get confused & think there's a Season 3. I was pretty foggy the first (& to date, only) time I watched the entire series, but I think the thing that gets me all muddled & makes me want to divvy up Season 2 stems from the point where the show starts sucking. Hard. I think it's around the time they veer into that horrible James Hurley subplot, the part where he rides the motorcycle a lot. Probably he's crying while he does it. Sheesh. I never wanted to bitch slap a fictional character more than I did the simpering James. "Fiction's greatest dipwad", indeed.

Anyway: yay! Season 2!

EDIT: Ordered it via Amazon on 5 April 2007. Having just re-watched the first season in honor of this release, I'm mighty excited.

EDIT 2: OMG! It will be here tomorrow just arrived, 9 April, a day early! I've crossed from mighty to ridiculously excited.

EDIT 3: Ummm...transfers are NOT excellent. I've never had any problems with my television set, either sound- or image-wise. Now suddenly, the music is drowning out dialogue & the lipstick of both Lucy & Donna glows a hideous orange. The first season looked & sounded nothing like this. Also: Episode 18 is where it starts sucking. Is it mere coincidence that the episode opens with a shot of James riding his motorcycle? I think not.

There's A Freak-Out Brewing In My House

Daft Punk. The Rapture. Seattle, WA. Sunday 29 July.

I'm so there. The logistics will be a bit tricky, since on 28 July I'm due to be a bridesmaid in Pennsylvania. But damn. I would be kicking myself in the ass for months if I missed this.

Clearly I am also so old. Homework marked the tenth anniversary of its U.S. release on 25 March 2007. That's right. This album is now ten years old. Goodness.

Full North American tour info here.

I'm also keeping my eye on this space to see what might pop up. Of course, if Underworld are really only playing 3 U.S. dates, I may need to pay a visit to my brother in Los Angeles...at least I'd feel no obligation 'tall to make it on time for the opening act...

& let's not even mention the respective ages of dubnobasswithmyheadman & Second Toughest in the Infants.

Disco Kitchen

Oh, beauteous creature! I lust after this kitchen. I want to make this kitchen happen in my life. (Except maybe without that island in the front. I'm not actually all that big on the wall tiling either. & I'd probably want handles on the cabinets.) Unfortunately, c'est impossible for so, so many reasons with my current kitchen (let's ignore the fact that I literally JUST finished painting walls'n'trim). No...this is a post for...THE FUTURE. Right about two years from now, I should be buying a house. That is when I will make these kitchen dreams a reality. Picture stolen borrowed from here.

Sigh. I love it. Can you imagine how much fun it would be to cook in this thing?

A Difficult Decision, Suddenly Simplified

LCD Soundsystem are touring. The nearest they are coming to my fair city is Seattle (jerkfaces). Even worse, they are playing at the Suckbox; a place I've only been to once, but frankly once was enough. Too many stupid Seattle hipsters who are too cool to dance. They are playing on Wednesday 2 May 2007.

Which gave rise to several problems. 1) Seattle is three hours away. 2) I'd have to take time off work & I'm already taking three days off in mid-April. 3) I hate the Showbox. 4) I've already seen them live, so was it really necessary to go to all this trouble? At this point I'd pretty much reached the conclusion that no, James Murphy et al could just play without my presence. Then I discovered something wonderful that let me know beyond a doubt that my decision was entirely correct:


Which comes straight from here. This solves every problem. 1) The Someday Lounge is 10 minutes away. 2) Starts at 7 p.m., which sadly becomes more enticing the older I get. 3) Never been there, but "experimental performance art club" sounds equal parts promising & frightening. Plus, as oft noted here, Portland audiences are super-fun & super-excited at shows. 4) Never seen 'em live.

The winner by a knockout: !!!. This is much less heart-rending than November 2006 when Hot Chip & the Rapture both played in PDX on the same night at different venues (I chose Hot Chip. I'd previously seen the Rapture in Baltimore).

Forest Park

Due to limitations of footwear (not MINE, of course, I wore mah hikin bouts) in tandem with typical OR spring ground (meaning muddy), we spent about five minutes on Wildwood Trail at Germantown Road in Forest Park. Its 5,100 acres make Forest Park the largest natural urban forest reserve in the U.S. And apparently its size made it possible for a man & his daughter to live within its boundaries undectected for four years (it's a pretty neat story, with an actual Happy End).

Five minutes proved to be ample time for me to fall in LOVE with the place. It's fucking gorgeous. Quintessential Oregon. Old growth & second growth trees, ferns, trilliums...& just flat-out beautiful. Naturally I'd forgotten both my digital & super-8 cameras. However, I've plans to return this week sometime, at which point I will correct that grievous error. With 70 miles of trails, there's a lot of exploring to be done.

Also, apparently the Wildwood Trail will lead you straight to the Hoyt Arboretum, a 185-acre piece of land, with 12 miles of trails, which has been planted with over 1,000 species of trees, perhaps most notably the Dawn Redwood, a species once thought to be extinct until its rediscovery in China in the early 20th century. This tree is a deciduous conifer, of all things. I'm nerdily excited to go to the Arboretum.

Thank goodness that the people of Portland were concerned about the importance of city parks as far back as 1903.