26 October 2007

April, Er, tiegkopf88, Published Photographer

So this thing called "Schmap" requested permission to use two of my photos for their 4th edition Portland guide...you can see the pics here & here (check the upper right hand corner after clicking on each link).

Sure, I didn't get paid, the pictures are tiny (though if you click on them they take you to my Flickr page) & even though I asked them to credit me using my real name, they used my oh-so-clever webonym...

But still! Somebody who isn't me & doesn't know me thought my pictures were useful/pretty enough to use on a website for a travel guide! I'm happy as a clam. Today, much like the past few days, has been a huge roller coaster of awesome highs & sucky lows, particularly for someone who's become accustomed to riding the Ferris Wheel of life.

True to form, I'm both pleased & annoyed with this change; but this one here is a good thing.

24 October 2007

Oh My God, Little Blobs Of Moisture Are Falling From The Sky!

For serious, people. YOU LIVE IN OREGON. How can you possibly FREAK OUT & drive like MORONS every time it rains?!?!?!


(The 7.9 is on a 0 to 10 scale, with 10 being super-jammed. On the website, it's a little scale going from green to red. The 16 MPH is on the only real interstate in Oregon (no, I-84 doesn't really count, unless you're going to Idaho), I-5.)

Guess it's "Alternate Route" drive time for me!

18 October 2007

I'm Not There

There is a lovely, lovely long article in the NYT Magazine's 7 October edition on Todd Haynes & his new film, called "This is Not a Bob Dylan Movie". Rather informative. Admittedly, I'm not exactly a Bob Dylan fan, but I'm not a hater either; I simply have had neither occasion nor impetus to seek his work out. All right, it is true that his voice kinda bugs me; but if somebody sat me down & said "You must listen to this", I most likely would.

Todd Haynes, however, is simply the greatest living American narrative filmmaker. End of sentence period. (Although it does bear mention that he is also the most truly avant garde narrative filmmaker in the U.S. - but this digression belongs in a worthier setting than I can provide at the moment.) So yes, I will be going to see I'm Not There on opening night. I will fork over my $10 or however much an evening show at a first-run theater costs nowadays.

Read the article. But really, if images such as these two do not foster immediate infatuation with this film's potential, then...well, I don't know. I don't have anything to say to you.

The Love of My Life...

...is playing a solo show in Portland on 28 October at Berbati's Pan!


*Sigh*. My excitement is, um, palpable. I *heart* Amanda Palmer. She is a Fabulous Rock Star.

17 October 2007

Negate Buyer's Remorse; Or, Suck It Up Like The Wanton Consumer You Are, Bitch

I really, really love Alasdair Gray. He may well be my favorite author. Every time I'm at a bookstore, any bookstore, I make a beeline for "Literature - G". Because you never know what you're going to find. Once I found a copy of a book called Mavis Belfrage, which I'd never even heard of before. I get dizzy trying to keep up with Mr. Gray, so by & large I leave internet scouring to others. Because when I do indulge in minor investigations, I tend to find things like gorgeous signed lithographs that cost $800. Or I remember that there are approximately 8 million titles by him, & I'll never get them all.

Anyway, so I went to Powell's on Hawthorne last night to buy a book - specifically to purchase The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, edited by James Morrison, to keep me sated until the 21 November opening of I'm Not There. And of course, after I found it, I went to "Literature - G". Then I went to the Powell's computer. And they still had it...

...The hardcover first U.S. edition of Lanark: A Life in Four Books. *Sigh*. Look at how beautiful it is:


Of course, it's not the actual first U.S. edition. No, that honor was bestowed upon a trade paperback released in 1981 (the year the novel was first published across the puddle). I don't have time to investigate the vagaries of why it was published in paperback first, & why it was then published in hardcover, so for me it must remain one of life's mysteries. I suspect perhaps the publisher of the first was a larger, more corporate entity than George Braziller, the hardcover publisher.

But by now you must realize that the reason I have gorgeous pictures of this ama
zing book is because, yes, dear reader, I purchased that 1985 hardcover U.S. first edition. The problem is, I paid so much for it, it makes me a little sick:


Ha! Don't I wish! Sorry, sorry. If I'd been hip to the Gray back when I was seven years old I coulda had it for that price. Things are a little different now:


And yes, I thoroughly wash & dry my hands before touching this book.

So the problem is, that's almost twice as much as I've ever paid for a single book. EVER. And, um, although I wouldn't go so far as to say that I regret the purchase, I am questioning its wisdom. I'm not a book snob by any means, mostly because it's cost-prohibitive & I have other overriding interests. But my adoration of Alasdair Gray is beyond comprehension or reason. And I confess I wanted it. Powell's has had it for quite some time. Every time I went to that computer & looked Gray up, I saw it & I suspected that one day, some day, I would break down & buy it if somebody else hadn't beat me to it. It's absolutely pristine, too.

I don't know. I don't want to return it. But I feel like it wasn't exactly a decision I should have made. The only thing worse than having bought it is thinking about having bought it. I need to suck it up, keep it & DEAL.

Because I love it.

Besides, now I only have one super-expensive book left on my "want" list (for now!): Etienne Bonnot de Condillac's Treatise on the Sensations. It's fabulous, really - a philosophical text exploring the nature of "vision" in which Condillac imagines a statue which is imbued with each of the five senses, one at a time, & concludes that it is the sense of touch which truly allows us to fancy that we perceive a world outside the self. One day I will be able to pay $150 for it.

16 October 2007

Sustainable Dildos

It's shocking, isn't it, that Portland is the home of online retailer Earth Erotics, the self-proclaimed "natural food store of adult boutiques"?

And that the fetish section has a subcategory labeled "Eco-Spanking"? Heh.

But my favorite thing is that their environmentally friendly, green sex toys are SO FRIGGIN' CUTE.
It's like X-rated Cute Overload! Look at Patchy Paul II here:



I'll admit that some of them are a little too cutesy for me to imagine actually trying to use them. But still, overall, I must confess that I think some of them are really awesome. Including Patchy Paul II.

Also, the whole concept kind of makes a lot of sense, really - the FDA doesn't regulate stuff like this at all, so unless it says on the package, you've got no way of knowing what it's made of. And just think where you're putting it! PVC is the most popular material for mainstream manufacturers, but according to the Willamette Week,
"For use in sex toys, PVC has to be softened with chemicals called phthalates, which the European Union has already banned from children’s toys. Phthalates have been linked to a laundry list of health problems, from obesity to kidney disease to abnormal estrogen production and prenatal genital development". Sheesh.

I think I'll go green.

15 October 2007

I Love The Laurelhurst

It is one of the joys of my life that the Laurelhurst Theater is a five-minute walk from my apartment.

$9 at any other movie theater might, just might, cover the price of admission.

$9 at the Laurelhurst buys me admission and a pitcher of PBR.

Plus an audience that gets as rowdy as I apparently
do after drinking some beer. An audience that cheers when good things happen. An audience that will (thankfully) laugh rather than shush me when I get saucy & yell "Damn straight, fuckwad!" at the screen. An audience that, as both my friends ChrisAnn & Heather have pointed out, is a lot like us. It's disconcerting, to be sure, but you know what? It's also fun. Because this audience knows exactly when Johnny Castle walks up to the Housemans' table & says "Nobody puts Baby in the corner", & you know that they know it because you all say it as it happens. And erupt in shouts & applause.


Anyway, go see The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. It's really fun. What's it about? The world of competitive "Donkey Kong". Billy vs. Steve, & only one is the fuckwad of note. Go see it at the Laurelhurst if you can; if not, rent it when it comes out on video. I recommend getting some beer & some people who are like you, & will cheer when good things happen, & don't mind so much when you hurl obscenities at the bad guy.

And this weekend, they're showing Peter Jackson's Dead Alive! I will be there. If you've not seen it, it's...wonderful. I rented it as a teenager in Scio thinking it was going to be "scary". Ha!

12 October 2007

This Will Be The Best...Pizza...Ever. EVER.


+


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(not what pizza will actually look like, obvs)

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(not what attendees will actually look like, obvs)

09 October 2007

The Maintenance of the Humanoid is Not Cost-Effective

Recently I decided I was going to start taking care of myself, & fuck the cost. By which I mostly mean I decided I was going to go to the dentist & get new glasses. Also get my Oregon driver license. Hey, it's only been a year, right?

So this morning I went to get the license. The secret to the DMV is getting there five minutes before they open. I was #2 in line. To get an ODL, you have to take a written exam (I know, so stupid!). Last night I read the novel-length driver manual to prepare. And I learned some interesting things, actually. The two most relevant ones are:

1) Basically, it is illegal to make a U-turn in Oregon unless there is a sign expressly permitting it. I'm confounded.
2) There are invisible crosswalks! They stretch between the sidewalks at any intersection. Also, there is no such thing as jaywalking in Oregon. The manual just says that if you are
crossing at neither a marked nor unmarked crosswalk, you (the pedestrian) must yield the right of way to oncoming vehicles.

I got a 98%. I also registered to vote. And just made the deadline, since Oregon is a mail ballot-only state. This makes me happy, because as somebody who has no interest in "getting involved" & no discernible political bent beyond the pursuit of my happiness, I always figure that I have an obligation to inform myself of the issues/candidates & vote. As in, it's the least I can do. It marks my contribution to society.

So my (first) dentist appointment was at 11:30. It involved X-rays & a detailed discussion of what needs to happen inside my mouth. Did I ever mention that my least favorite sound in the whole world is the sound of metal scraping against teeth? Apparently, for not having been to the dentist in a long long long time (I'm not telling how long, that's how long) my teeth are in GREAT shape.

And are only going to cost $1,700 to fix.

What? I'm sorry. What? Granted, having the mythical dental insurance beast ensnared means that (hopefully) only about $700 of that is coming out of my pocket. But still. What? And I have to go in twice. My dentist wanted me to make THREE appointments. But I put my foot down on that one. So now in a couple of weeks I go in for my cleaning & to get fillings on the left side, which in keeping with traditional folklore connotations, is the evil side of my mouth. Then a week after that, I get to go in for the fillings on the right side &...bonus!...the extraction of my wisdom teeth. Yessss. Although it seems I have no wisdom teeth in the bottom of my mouth, which strikes me as odd. I've no recollection of ever having them removed. Oh well. (EDIT: After calling my mother last night to bitch about the $700, she not only stole my righteous indignation by telling me that she, my father, & both brothers have each spent WAY MORE at the dentist for things like that, she also told me that I never had any wisdom teeth removed. So apparently I'm just a toothy freak of nature.)

What gets me is, my out-of-pocket cost to get two whole friggin' teeth removed (they call them "erupted teeth" on my cost estimate, which I find disturbing) is $52. Today's X-rays were free. The cleaning is free. Which means that putting crap in my teeth is going to cost...$648? I cry foul.

The "exciting" appointment is my vision exam, which is next week. Look at the place I picked! I picked it for that logo. And its proximity to my apartment. Also, I'd read some good reviews about their frame selection. Which is important, because I've decided that now, for the first time EVER in the history of April, I am going to get whichever frames I want. Not the free ones, unless they're stunning. No insurance discounts considered. I am going in there & I am not looking at the price tag of any pair & I am picking the ones that I like the very best of all. Also, I recently realized that I actually love wearing glasses. So I should love the frames too.

So really, even though spending over $1,000 on myself doesn't thrill me, & the thought of having teeth extracted doesn't either, I feel really, really happy & pleased to actually be taking care of myself. For a change.

03 October 2007

The Fruit of Hot Celebrity Loins Is Also Hot

So, when I found out that Rashida Jones is the offspring of Quincy Jones & Peggy Lipton (thanks, Mandy!), it reminded me of something I discovered a couple of years ago, then forgot, then rediscovered a few weeks ago.

Which is, Zoe Kravitz is smokin'. OMG. Then again, how
could the progeny of Lisa Bonet & Lenny Kravitz NOT be hot? No matter what you think of them, they are two beautiful people.

These pictures are how I first encountered her, at (I think) the age of 17:


Hot & naughty & underage. With a 40 of OE, even. *Sigh*. I was totally sold.

And here are some recent, newly legal (she's 19 in December, folks!), slightly more professional I-am-a-starlet shots:



I have a newfound respect for Lenny Kravitz. Possibly, I would consider having his babies, not because I particularly like him or anything, but because there's at least a 50 to 75 percent chance they would be fucking gorgeous. And maybe I could become the mommy type if I had a fucking gorgeous baby.

02 October 2007

Narrative: Renting An Apartment In Portland

Per the Oregonian's story on renting in Portland, Oregon:

"Inner Northeast and Southeast are popular with young professionals because they're more affordable than the west side, yet close enough to make commutes downtown to work and the nightlife easy. But inner and central Southeast Portland have the lowest open rentals percentage: just 1.6 percent of units available [emphasis added]. That's a 21 percent decrease from 2006 and a nearly 75 percent decrease from 2005."

This explains why I had such a hard time finding a place to rent last fall! I just thought that late autumn had to be a tough time to find good affordable apartments. It really is crazy out here, though. I was so excited to go apartment-hunting when I got out here, because I'd never looked for my own place before (looong story), & it was NOT FUN. At all. Even a little bit. Because things go so fucking fast.

My "favorite" was the one-bedroom in Belmont (I walk past that building all the time actually). I called about 40 minutes after the ad went up on Craigslist. The woman said she'd already had 10 calls. I made an appointment for 90 minutes later, & by the time I'd parked my car (I had to leave work in the middle of the day. From Lake Oswego, mind), she'd left a voicemail saying the apartment was rented! Granted, the monthly damage was only $550, which is super-cheap for my neighborhood. But things really do go almost that fast.

This is what worked well for me in my search (I hesitate to call it "advice", but I guess it is):

1) Do whatever you can to be the very first person to see an available space. Apartments seem to work on a "dibs" basis. If you are the first person to get your application in, as long as they think your credit's okay, it's yours. I got my apartment because I checked the Willamette Week's online ads before the print edition came out. By the time it did, & people started calling my landlord, he had already rented it. To me. Oh, by the way, you will probably not find an apartment unless you have already moved here & can look at it in person. Because there are already 12 million people in Portland whom a landlord can physically meet who want to rent that space. Why should they bother with someone who lives 2,000 miles away, even if you are the nicest most perfect tenant ever?
2) You will probably find your apartment on Craigslist. It has the most & best listings, but you will have to keep the page open all day & refresh no less than every 30 minutes. I was the first person to look at three places using this method. Every place save one that I looked at was on Craiglist. BUT, it is definitely worth it to keep an eye on the Willamette Week & Portland Mercury websites. For some reason my landlord only listed in Willamette Week. Bless him.
3) Expect to fork over some dough for credit checks. This will depend on how your hunt goes. Me? I spent about $100 on 3 credit checks for potential apartments. The first one didn't like my credit. The second was the place I almost took, until I found the third place. (I also paid a credit check fee for a fourth place, because I wanted to think about the fourth vs. the third, & the property manager said they'd hold it & refund if I decided not to move forward. Which they kindly did.)
4) Be overly honest & give too much detail about your credit (if it isn't perfect). The first landlord asked, & all I said was that it was "not perfect, but not terrible". He rejected me. (Which worked out for the complete best for me, for the record.) Lesson learned! For the next three apartments I gave an exquisitely detailed narrative of my credit. Before they did the check. I said, "This is exactly what you are going to find." Then I told them why they would find it there (making it sound as nice as possible, of course). I threw in some personal information. I was not above mentioning my most recent living situation & its possible effect on my report. I even said that I didn't understand why so much importance was placed on letter-perfect credit. After all, what's the very first thing you're going to pay every month? RENT. And every one of the three offered me the space.
5) Have patience (if you're fortunate enough to have that luxury). I started looking for an apartment immediately after my arrival, in the beginning of October. I didn't find the perfect space for five weeks. And when I did find it, I couldn't move in for another three weeks. Which was really hard. But now? I'm totally in love with my apartment. With my neighborhood. It's perfect. Then again, I hate moving, so crashing in my friend's dining room in Wilsonville for two months was worth it to me.

Because I'm not moving again until I buy a house. And in this market, that's not likely to happen for a while.

28 September 2007

Furniture Madness!

(1) I bought a couch! I bought a couch! It's perfect for my space. Ridiculously perfect. I will take my own pictures of it soon, but in the interim here's one my friend took:


The futon will ultimately go upstairs. I'm thinking I'll put it in the record room & use it as a guest bed.

(2) I have decided the time is nigh. I am tired of talking about getting a real bed. I am going to actually get one. However, I am very torn between these two IKEA options:

Noresund. This is the one which I've always
said I was going to get. I like swirlies. I really like this frame. And it's super-cheap.
BUT, I've recently been lusting after the Hemnes frame, because I think I've secretly always wanted a four poster bed:
Currently I'm leaning toward the Hemnes frame. There is a pro. There are two cons.

Pro: Four poster bed! I am super-excited by the idea of having "curtains" on my bed (don't know the technical term). Also, there is no heat in the main loft space, so I'm thinking that if I get some decently thick but still sexy coverings (including top), it will help keep heat in. Maybe? Am I a crackhead?

Con: Ugh. Light wood. Just not my style, I guess. The bitch is, this frame is stained solid pine with a clear polyester lacquer. Now, I know it's not impossible to repaint or stain it another color. But I also know it'd involve a lot of sanding, priming & painting or staining. Then again, the futon will be up there & that is a similar wood/stain. Could I learn to love light-colored woods?

Con 2: Take away the poster thingies, & that is one boring-ass frame.

Any advice?

26 September 2007

Somewhat Curious

When someone's had a headache for six straight days, what are the possible medical reasons &/or ramifications?

And should I be worried?


If this is all gonna end in some Scanners-type action, that's cool.


I mean, yeah. I'd prefer my head to not explode. But at least it would mean something's gonna happen besides me having this headache for the rest of my life.

Which is getting a little old.

When Research Goes Bad

So my friend Heather & I are booking through Seasons 2 & 3 of "The Office" in an attempt to catch up to Season 4 (no, not by this Thursday. We're gonna have someone Tivo the season premiere for us. Hopefully, though by next Thursday we'll be caught up). I haven't seen Season 1, but I've been told that it's not that great. Season 2 is fucking hilarious, though.

Anyway, the point is, I really like Jim. I think he's appealing. I'd say he's cute. I like sarcasm & self-deprecation, what can I say? So I looked up the actor who plays him, John Krasinski. And I kind of wish I hadn't, for the following reasons:

  1. He's a whole year younger than me! I'm officially old.
  2. When did People magazine go all Afterellen.com on me & actually get something right? I feel dirty. And common.
  3. He wrote & directed a film adaptation of David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. Which I didn't read. Because I thought Wallace's debut, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, was basically a full-length book version of the badly written, thinly disguised autobiographical "fiction" that proliferates every Intro to Short Story Writing class on every college campus in America. Ew, John. Are you really a crybaby wanker?
  4. Um, apparently, yes. At least, judging from the fact that his Wallace adaptation features Mr. Death Cab for Cutie himself in his first acting role. DOUBLE EW. Is it even possible to be more emo than that?
I'm going to work really hard at forgetting that I learned all this stuff. Because I'd like to continue to enjoy my little crush. I hope I've learned a lesson from this.

EDIT: OMG, I've gotten my pretentious Dav-s all mixed up! Whoopsy. Dave Eggers is the man responsible for the awful heartbreak book. David Foster Wallace is the guy who wrote that huge-ass book, Infinite Jest, with the footnotes for days. I thoroughly enjoyed those 30 pages of it I read 10 years ago, & hope to finish it before I'm 80.

EDIT CONT'D: My own idiocy notwithstanding, Mr. Krasinski is still not absolved - Ben Gibbard is in his movie. Even if the Postal Service makes music that I wish I'd had on cassette when I was 12, that doesn't excuse the whole Death Cab thing.

24 September 2007

Something To Believe In

Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain is the worst movie I've seen in quite some time. It is truly, tragically awful. The only thing I can say in its favor is that it's mercifully short (96 minutes).

It makes me sad that it's so terrible. I mean, this picture is pretty awesome:


But the film fails to achieve a balance betwixt its narrative & its magic. It can't decide whether it wants to adhere to a more traditional concept of story, & work its magic within those confines; or whether it wants to stretch its wings & take flight into a realm of pure imagination. The end result is that it fails to do either, & images that had the potential to be powerfully moving are instead giggle-inducing (like the one above).

I admire its refusal to explain itself in the beginning; it doesn't tell you why Tommy (Hugh Jackman) is both battling Mayans & meditating inside gold sparkles. But it does attempt to present a story in the present; that Tommy is some sort of brain tumor researcher whose wife, Izzy, just happens to be dying from a brain tumor. Izzy is played by Rachel Weisz, an actress I've never seen in a film before. Unfortunately, Aronofsky (her real-life partner) gives her precious little to do except smile luminously as she accepts her imminent death, so I have no idea whether she's any good or not.

The root of the film's problem is that it demands you merely accept Tommy & Izzy's love unquestioningly, but gives you no indication that it actually exists, other than present-day Tommy being totally obsessed with "saving" his wife. I didn't believe in their love, & I was upset that the film just expected me to believe it. The film is too head in the clouds to allow you to accept narrative conventions that would be easy to believe in a better told story (for example, I also watched Carol Reed's The Third Man this weekend, a walloping good yarn that was so expertly constructed I willingly forgave its lapses of logic).

On the other hand, the film also wants you to accept its magic. But it's too grounded in narrative to let the viewer's imagination have room to take flight. So it's just kind of gross when shaved-head-futuristic Tommy breaths on the dying tree he is insisting on saving, pretty much makes out with it, & then eats pieces of it. The film explains too much to allow the viewer to think.

It's disappointing that The Fountain is so singularly awful; I truly admire its intent. And it is a very unique construction within the realm of contemporary cinema, which is always cause for celebration. Darren Aronofsky is a extremely talented filmmaker, & I deeply admire his work (Pi; Requiem for a Dream). It's just that the film itself isn't any good.

19 September 2007

M.I.A.'s New Album

So apparently M.I.A.'s latest effort, Kala, is "critically acclaimed". I don't know for sure, as I've got better things to do than read music reviews. Like read film reviews. And lick the bones of the internets looking for nuggets of writing on Bad Timing. (Heh. I'm obsessed with a film about obsession. How very meta.)

I've only listened to it one & a half times, so obviously I can't reach a final verdict. But so far? My reaction has been, "Meh". As in, it's not really grabbing me. Whatever. I mean, I'm not one of those people whose dismissal of a "hot" "new" "artist's" sophomore effort can be considered de rigeur. But this just ain't doing it for me.

I actually wanted to turn it off halfway through so I could play the new Go! Team instead.

I actually did turn it off during the final track, which seemed particularly awful. This morning, I figured I'd listen to it on my commute. Maybe it just wasn't a good soundtrack for running around the house preparing for the imminent doubling of my household (plus a bunny).

But it didn't really go any better on the way in. Except that one of the few songs I did like right off the bat, "Jimmy", sounded more gimmicky than good. And then, see, I just got the new Felix Da Housecat album, with its luxuriantly ridiculous title Virgo Blaktro & the Movie Disco. Sorry, M.I.A. I may be slightly frightened of ruining Felix's album title by listening to it, but you know what? In the Virgo Blaktro vs. Kala debate, the latter loses. It's going straight back into its case. Felix is taking me home.

17 September 2007

A Football Team Is Like A Work Of Art

Last night, I went over to my friends' house to watch the late game...the San Diego Chargers against the New England Patriots.

I decided that the Chargers are my second favorite team, after the Colts. This decision was based on the mere existence of their powder blue uniforms (see previous football post) which are so! friggin! adorable! & the lightning bolts that go down the sides of their pants (awesome). And also, that team is like the GQ of the football world. Usually I cringe when the announcers do the team line-ups & show the "pictures" of the players (it's actually usually the players' heads videotaped...think Harry Potter photos, that's what it's like). Most players aren't...aesthetically pleasing. But might I say, the Chargers have an exceptionally good-looking team.

So: good looks & good uniforms make me like the Chargers.

The Patriots played letter-perfect football last night. They crushed the Chargers, whose quarterback just seemed either totally psyched out or terrified (depending on how nicely you want to put it) the whole game. I have to admit, the Patriots are an amazing team. I think they played the best football I've ever seen last night (not that I've been watching all that long). I mean, Tom Brady was sacked three times. (Which definitely helped me understand why Shawn Merriman, a Chargers defensive player, gets his own commercials, drug scandals or no.) But that was just about the only thing that went wrong for him. He was...practically perfect. The whole team was.

Which got me to thinking: why do I hate the Patriots? Because I do. I hate them almost as much as I hate the Dallas Cowboys. I mean, I've only seen them play three or four games. And they're fantastic. I don't see that they're even stoppable this year, what with Randy Moss & their other acquisitions. But I just don't like them. Are they possibly too perfect for me? Are they just too good for me to do anything but admire their abilities? Like robots?

Maybe. I also think Tom Brady is an ass. I know a lot of people think Peyton Manning is a douchebag, but you know what? Manning is out there like opening children's hospitals & shit. Brady is out there knocking up supermodels, then dumping them for younger not-pregnant supermodels. It's like the whole Mary-Louise Parker/Billy Crudup/Claire Danes thing. I just can't respect that shit.

And I guess the Colts & the Patriots are kind of rivals.

But the thought occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, football teams are like works of art. Some you respond to. Some you don't. There are certainly nameable reasons for this, but push comes to shove, it's an emotional response more than anything else. The Patriots are kind of like Andy Warhol to me - not inspiring. Not creative. Lacking in certain innate human qualities. Sometimes technical perfection is perfectly boring. I mean, probably you don't want a Jackson Pollack team or anything. But flawless renderings can just be so dull.

14 September 2007

A Sick Film Made By Sick People For Sick People

This post's title references an (in)famous remark made by one of the executives of the production company responsible for financing Nicolas Roeg's Bad Timing. And Harvey Keitel don't even get nekkid in this one!

This film had a rather astounding impact on me.

One review I read claims that "
Bad Timing tells an extremely simplistic story". Sure, if it were a movie about a psychoanalyst who met a pretty young thing & had an affair with her, & then the pretty young thing ended up in the ER, I would consider the story simplistic. But...that's not the story. That's more or less the "Once upon a time" part of the story. The subtitle of the film at the time of its release was "A Sensual Obsession". That's the story. That's the plot. That's what happens. The film focuses less on standard plot machinations & chooses to make its story the repercussions of obsession.

And the film explores at extraordinary length an inherent factor in any romantic relationship - the desire to make somebody be who you really (secretly) want them to be. As Alex Linden (Art Garfunkel) theorizes when he & Milena (Theresa Russell) view Klimt's "The Kiss", the reason for the lovers' apparent passion & joy is because "they don't know each other that well yet" - meaning Klimt's subjects haven't discovered what would make the other perfect, hence they can still maintain the illusion of perfect happiness with each other. The original title of the film was, in fact, Illusions. Indeed, one of the film's first lines sums everything up - encountering each other at a party for the first time, Alex & Milena speak briefly. Alex says, "Why spoil the mystery? If we don't meet, there's always the possibility it could have been perfect," before confessing that he's not sure what that means.

Roeg acknowledges that nobody is immune from that sickness peculiar to relationships. Everybody wants to change something about their lover, & it's the question of whether you can ultimately accept that you can't accomplish this that often determines the longevity, & conclusion, of your relationship. The film offers a series of mirrors in a range of reflectiveness - Alex & Det. Netusil (Harvey Keitel, whose performance may or may not have been good; I spent every moment of his screen time trying to discern whether he was playing an Austrian or an American detective); Alex & Stephen (Denholm Elliott), Milena's Czech husband. The starkest mirror, the most absolute in terms of respecting the natural contrariness of the "mirror image", is betwixt Alex & Milena. When he laments that Milena will never change, she points out that "If you weren't who you are, I wouldn't have to". It's one of the most telling lines in the film, for it emphasizes that insofar as Alex wishes to tame the spirited Milena, Milena herself wishes that Alex would change. So the wild free-spirit is not immune to the sickness of wanting to mold somebody.

Subtlety is not a characteristic of Nicolas Roeg's. Although he never quite crosses over into Ken Russell territory, the filmic techniques that no doubt were fresh & new in the 1970s often seem a bit dated now. I think particularly of the cross-cutting employed in Walkabout to contrast the barbarianism of the modern world with the civility of the natural (Aboriginal) world. It's a bit obvious & overly dramatic. However, Roeg employed the same sort of labyrinthine structure in many of his films - the cross-cutting, the non-linearity. Bad Timing in a way reminds me of Atom Egoyan's magnificent The Sweet Hereafter, in that each film maker achieves the zenith of the labyrinthine structure (I would argue that Egoyan's style is a bit more akin to those Russian dolls (where each one reveals another) than Roeg's maze-like editing) in which they excel. To be somewhat more succinct, Bad Timing & The Sweet Hereafter are the pinnacle of each maker's distinctive style, in which technique & subject matter coalesce & commingle to masterful effect.

As for the actors, Theresa Russell is simply wonderful. It's difficult to believe she was twenty two when this was made. She has a unique quality, a definite beauty, but not in the cookie-cutter mode of, say, Jessica Alba. In fact, trying to imagine any contemporary young actress achieving what Russell did is well-nigh impossible. The few reviews that one can find online tend to carp on Garfunkel's wooden acting style, as though it were a fault of the film. I, on the other hand, thought it was, if not fully intentional, still rather effective. Because it helps obfuscate what otherwise might be as painfully obvious as those scenes in Walkabout - it keeps the viewer from guessing right away the lengths to which Alex's character is capable of going. What his "angle" is. How, exactly, Milena got to where she is at the film's beginning & what, if any, role Alex played in it. When the characters say they love each other, it's impossible to believe, because by that point all you see is their obsession with each other, & with each other's flaws. Is that a fault of the acting? If so, then it's an excellent fault.

The Criterion DVD release of Bad Timing marked the film's very first time on video. Twenty four years after it first came out. I expect the critical backlash was quite strong at the time of its release (
frankly, I literally have a very hard time believing this film was ever made at all, which is a sad commentary on the current state of cinema), & I can't imagine a lot of people went to see it in the theater, but apparently the main point of contention barring a video release was the film's soundtrack. I'm not surprised - the soundtrack features Tom Waits, Keith Jarrett (the Koln Concert, no less), Billie Holiday & the Who, amongst others. (Roeg actually tells a funny story in the DVD extras about how Jarrett's music came to be used in the film.) Luckily, the good folks at Criterion managed to rescue this film from oblivion.


I say luckily, & I mean it. It makes me indescribably happy that this film exists. But at the same time, I found the experience of watching it unsettling in the extreme. Extraordinarily disturbing. In fact, I found it more disturbing than David Cronenberg's Videodrome, which heretofore was kind of my epitome of disturbing cinema. After the film, I had to go to my video store. The experience was no less unsettling than the film. I literally couldn't make eye contact with people. I wanted to be nowhere near them & I was terrified that one would try to talk to me. The overheard & kindly put suggestion of a boyfriend to his girlfriend that she take some ibuprofen was met with disdain by the woman, who coldly said "I'm going to deal with it on my own. Why are you being such an asshole?" On the surface afforded to me, of course, it seemed that the woman was the asshole. But who's to say? Did they even understand the mechanisms of their relationship?

The ultimate mirror of the film is the film itself, for it is the mirror which Roeg wields at the audience. Said Roeg later of the film:

"I made a film called Bad Timing that I thought everybody would respond to. It was about obsessive love and physical obsession. I thought this must touch everyone, from university dons down. But it had a curious effect on people..."

Across the Universe

I've never been a especially big fan of the Beatles (I come down on the side of the Stones). And I've yet to successfully sit down & watch an entire film by Julie Taymor (though I thoroughly enjoyed the bits of Titus that I saw).

However. My love of musicals is no secret. Well, not modern cinema's equivalent of such, which I generally find obnoxious & lacking the whimsy essential to any musical, however dour, dark or bleak its denouement (Chicago is the best of the revival). Give me Busby! Give me The Umbrellas of Cherbourg! Give me My Fair Lad
y!

So, my *heart*-ing of musicals in tandem with my absolute passion for pretty pictures, makes me very intrigued about Across the Universe, Ms. Taymor's musical set in the 1960s, soundtracked exclusively by the Beatles catalog. I mean, really:



Such promise. These pictures are so awesome I'm almost afraid to see the actual film.

12 September 2007

Nasty Political Radio

For years I was tormented by NPR. Its demonic intrusions into my life were long, ongoing & utterly irritating. I mean, I hate NPR. Okay, so I know that really it isn't NPR that I hate so much as the situations in which I was forced to listen to it. The simple fact is, I am not political. Which apparently marks me as something of a rare bird amongst my acquaintances. The times during which my ears were sullied with NPR, certain of my fellow listeners were politically-minded, & frequently had a sort of tunnel vision to go along with the political platitudes. There is nothing that drives me crazier.

So I must admit I'm thoroughly baffled by the fact that, on my morning commute, I (1) decided I wanted to hear NPR & (2) actively sought out the local station that would be airing it. True to form, I recoiled at the familiar strains of the morning music, but then I kept listening.

My reactions to this morning's broadcast are as follows:

  • It seems the Pittsburgh Steelers have a lot of female fans. The announcer mentioned pink jerseys. If that's the case, thought I, well shit, I'm going to become a Steelers fan. Alas, a quick Google search revealed that the players don't actually wear pink jerseys - they are just sold as merchandise, designed to appeal to women. Oh well. I think the Chargers have the prettiest uniforms - the powder blue & gold? Mmm hmm. Too bad they're "throwback" uniforms. Whatever that means.
  • Iraq. Oh, Iraq. I know it's a bit ostrich of me to not know much about what's going on. But I've always thought the whole gambit was incredibly stupid. I have little patience for or interest in things I find incredibly stupid, for better or worse.
  • Why the hell do people live where hurricanes & other natural disasters not only occur, but are par for the course? I know it's mean but I can't help thinking that they fully deserve whatever travesties befall them. "Oh honey, I've got a great idea - let's move to the heart of hurricane country! Sure, our house may have its roof ripped off. Sure, we may get a bunch of flooding. Sure, our insurance will be expensive as fuck & not actually cover most of the hazards. Let's do it anyway!" Retards. Maybe it's nature's way of winnowing?
  • Oregon rocks! Sorry. I always took a bunch of pride in things Oregonian while growing up. We just didn't figure all that much into the national scheme of things most of the time. I was super-proud that Tonya Harding was from Portland. (And I took a bit of malicious glee when the trailer trash tart beat up the New England Vera Wang-clad princess. I admit it!) This time apparently Nancy Pelosi (who is the speaker of the House & therefore presumably a Democrat, though I know nothing else) was in town talking about energy stuff. And she was just raving about Oregon's energy policies. How awesome we are. I don't know. I think it's cool that other people think Portland is cool. Because Portland is cool. As is Oregon in general. The New York Times has, like, a huge Portland-centric hard-on. (Last month, it was PDX's friggin' tea scene. This month it's Stumptown Coffee. And about once or twice a month for the past year they've had an article on Portland.) The BBC did a segment on our public transportation ("The City Where the Car is not King"). It's nice, particularly since I so recently came around to Oregon. I don't regret living on the lesser coast for 10 years, because it allowed me to fully realize & appreciate how much I love the West Coast, & how much better it is for me. Now I'm only in danger of becoming a complete snobby jackass about it. Oh, wait. Shit. I kind of already am.

So anyway, I recently turned five. Er, I mean, twenty-nine. I've already had the "WHAT?" conversational experiences. I slept all last weekend (naps, even!) to recover from my previous several weeks of severe activity & lack of sleep.

My question is:
Is this another thing that happens when you get old? You wake up in the morning & crave National Public Radio?

If so, I've gone from graceful acceptance to sheer terror about this whole aging thing. I knit. I have cats. I take multiple medications. What could possibly be next?