Haiku

Raw green beans are good.
Is there anything better?
Perhaps raw pea pods.

Also:

I don't always trust
Wikipedia. Why not?
Well, here's a reason:

"Today haiku is written in many languages, but the number of writers is still concentrated primarily in Japan and secondarily in English-speaking countries, like germany and brazil."

New Bathrooms!

My bathrooms. There's only one toilet. There's only one bathtub. They're just in different rooms. I refer to them as the WC & the bathroom.

Anyway, I realized it'd been a couple months since I painted anything. Long enough for the stinging tediousness to have faded to a dull sheen. So I decided to finish up the downstairs & paint the bathrooms. I'd chosen the colors a long time ago; it was mostly a matter of having the extra money to spend on it. (How I can make a decent income, with only myself on which to spend it, & still be constantly broke, is one of my life's mysteries.) Anyway. On to the story!

Here is the bathroom before:


Now, I love blue. In fact, I intend to paint my record room a lovely sky blue & then sponge clouds on it (shut up. It will be classy). But this...this is grotesque. The worst part is, it's actually TWO nasty shades of blue. To wit:


Et voila!:


It definitely photographs very, very oddly. If I don't use a flash, it's too orange. If I use the flash, it's too pink. Slow synchro seems to work the best, but it's a little too bright. Heh. The funny part is, I actually really like this, but at night, it seems as bright as the first picture. With daylight, it calms down a bit, like the below picture. Both were, for the record, taken at around the same time.

It's definitely somewhat disconcerting to stand in the living room & look at the kitchen & the WC simultaneously. The kitchen is done in such cool colors, & these are so hot, but with the Olive Tree of the living room in between them, it works. For the record, I used Ralph Lauren Vintage Masters in Gertrude, Pink Sunset & Olive Tree with a satin finish (yuck. I HATE shiny finishes, but the paint guys told me you have to use 'em in bathrooms). There were two nice things about this round of painting: one, painting bathrooms is not nearly so inconvenient to the flow of daily life as painting the living room & the kitchen were; & two, at this point I've painted enough that I can chill out about it & not get super-stressed.

But the bestest part of all? I finally got to put Tom where he belongs:


In the WC, facing the toilet. Aaahhh...a little something is right with the world once more.

"I Wanted To Make People Happy, If Only For An Hour"

Busby Berkeley is GOD. End of sentence. Period. Oh my word. I always knew the most perfectest time to explore the realm of Busby Berkeley would come upon me one day. AND IT DID. I can't believe it took me this long.

I rented Gold Diggers of 1933. Every moment of "The Shadow Waltz" segment made me gasp. The moment the glowing violins came into play, I knew I was in love. I watched it five times in a row (um, the segment, not the whole movie). Then I immediately bought the boxed set. Recently released by Warner Brothers (who, for the record, seem to have the best collection of classic movies), it packages together 42nd Street, the aforementioned Gold Diggers plus Gold Diggers of 1935, Dames, Footlight Parade & a bonus disc with a number of standalone numbers of Berkeley's from other films.

I am creaming my shorts. Seriously, Berkeley's musical sequences are perfect, dazzling cinema. If ever anybody asked for an example of the joyous heights to which film can not only aspire but in fact reach, I would show them the "By a Waterfall" sequence from Footlight Parade. I'm not sure I've ever experienced anything so intensely, purely visceral as Berkeley's numbers within the realm of narrative cinema. There aren't enough superlatives in the English language to do justice to the magnificence. The surrounding "plots", which were helmed by other directors such as Mervyn LeRoy, are generally so much piffle, but they're fun piffle, anyway. My one complaint is that Dick Powell is a chipmunk-cheeked ass.

And also, Fred Astaire can suck it. I recently also watched Top Hat. One of the extras was a short documentary in which Astaire's disdain for the camera acrobatics of Berkeley is revealed, & he is "credited" (I would say "blamed") for the movie musical's return to the still camera, head-to-toe two-shot formula. "Either the camera dances or I do" he is reputed to have said.

Personally, I think I'll keep dancing with Busby. I am SO EXCITED to watch the other four discs.

FREEDOM!

Desecrating the main memorial to Wallace with a
load of crap: Mel Gibson as William Wallace

Braveheart is without a doubt the absolute worst Best Picture Academy Award winner I've ever seen. Which means it beats Shakespeare in Love. It beats Titantic. Granted, I don't waste a terrible lot of my time trying to keep up with the Oscars' ideas of "best" pictures, & I know somebody who insists that David Lean's Bridge Over the River Kwai is worse.

As far as Oscars go, I think all you really have to do to explain the Academy Awards is look at the original recipients (yes, that's right: there were TWO Best Pictures in 1927): Wings, which won because it had loads of special effects & was a box office smash, & Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, which is possibly the best film F.W. Murnau ever made (& yes, I saw Nosferatu: A
Symphony of Terror) & is certainly nothing short
of a masterpiece. The respective labels bestowed by the Academy were "Outstanding Picture" & "Unique & Artistic Picture". (Apparently following the first year of the awards it was decided that having these two categories was redundant, to which I say HA!) But when a contestant buzzes in on Jeopardy! to question the answer "In 1927, this film won the first Best Picture Oscar", I'd bet ya twenty bucks they come up with "What is Wings?" (And actually, I myself didn't discover that Sunrise was so awarded until several years after my initial viewing of the picture.) ANYWAY, & YES, there IS a point, the Academy Awards long ago chose the path of consensus over true merit. Occasionally, the two collide (the most recent example would be The Return of the King); but rarely.

Still, it's quite an accomplishment to be the worst. And Braveheart is so resolutely terrible that I rather enjoyed it, not unlike Conan the Barbarian. Mel Gibson's cry of "FREEEEDDDDOOOMM!!!!" whilst splayed out in the classic Christ crucifixation pose moments before being beheaded AFTER being tortured, is friggin' hysterical. And the whole love scene with the princess is CLASSICALLY gratuitous & nonsensical.

But ALL I could think about, during nearly the entirety of the movie, was: how did these people cop squats? Like, if they were marching toward battle in a big field & there weren't any trees or large rocks, well, they'd just have to break out & do it, right? Were they so accustomed to that sort of thing that they didn't even bother with trees, even when they were there to be had? Were there outhouses in 1280 AD? Or did they have shit trenches? Did they wipe with leaves, or with their hands? Or did they have cloths like in "Frontier House"?

And what if they had to take a shit in the midst of a battle? I'd imagine you couldn't exactly say "Pardon me, I need to run over to the side here to relieve my bowels". So did they shit themselves or what? IS THIS WHY THE SCOTS WORE KILTS?

I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but I generally have at least one thought of this kind any time I watch something that takes place in the time prior to indoor plumbing. See, I *heart* indoor plumbing. I'm a fan. I cannot conceive of living in a time without flushing toilets & daily hot showers. Therefore, I tend to be obsessed with the thought of not having it.

Dear East Coast,

Here is reason #342 why I DON'T MISS being enfolded in your hot, fetid, sweaty, bug-filled, moist bosoms:


Not at all. Not in the least. Ew. I'd imagine there are some fever-worthy temperatures accompanying that rash. DOUBLE EW.

First, Last & Only

Far be it from me to make such bold proclamations, but I've never before commented on Oprah's Book Club & I hardly think it possible that I should be moved to comment again after this.

And actually, I don't think I know anybody who laps up Oprah-tastic reading selections like so much spoiled milk, but just in case I'd like to proffer a friendly warning with regard to her latest suggested title:

Middlesex sucks. So much so that I very nearly stopped reading it at the turn of every page; of course, given my sometimes masochistic bent toward finishing every book or movie I start, regardless of how wretched (Martin Scorsese's The Age of Innocence comes to mind as an early & enduring example), I did in fact read the entire horrid thing. In my defense, I thoroughly adored Jeffrey Eugenides' first novel, The Virgin Suicides (& was equally miffed when Sofia Coppola made her film adaptation, given my secret yearning to make one myself); so naturally I presumed that Middlesex would overcome its initial crappy trappings. Alas! 'Twas not to be.

In conclusion, do yourself a favor should you see this book, copies of which will undoubtedly forevermore be stamped with the "O" seal of approval: run. Run fast. Run far. Just run. Though to be sure Mr. Eugenides accrued accolades aplenty for this work, enough to cement my opinion into that of a dissenting minority of readers. And I'm certain that Oprah's endorsement will do much more for sales than that silly old Pulitzer Prize he won.

I will still buy his next book as soon as it comes out. After all, he is clearly a Serious Writer:

Visions of Christmas Lights Passed Before Me

Apparently this year marks the 100th anniversay of Portland's Rose Festival. I've never attended any of the festivities; Scio's Lamb & Wool Fair was good enough for us. This year, though, figuring as the downtown PDX activities are about three miles walking distance each way, I thought I'd do well to at least check it out.

Saturday night was the Starlight Parade. Although visions of luminescent glowing floats loomed large in my mind, the quickly realized reality was that it was a fairly hokey parade featuring loads of Christmas lights strung on cars & marching bands with glowing spots on their hats. An instance where I would have done well to nurse the fantasy & neglect the reality. C'est la vie. See here for a few pictures. (What I wouldn't give to have a digital camera that takes decent nighttime shots without a tripod!) It might have helped my experience had I not chosen to stand on Morrison Street angling toward Fourth Avenue, which seemed like a perfectly lovely way to both see the parade & not be crushed amongst the madding crowd; until the parade started & I realized that indeed, the Max was going to continue to run (& frequently stop in front of me) throughout the duration of the parade. Awesome.

Eventually, I was overcome by squalling brats & a harrassing homeless man who touched my ass. Twice. Suspecting this was a ploy on his part to get me to turn around so he could demand a donation for a cheap plastic American flag , I was steadfast in my refusal to acknowledge him & eventually he went away. The nasty children, however, did not & ultimately along with the lack of glowing awesomeness led to my early departure.

I've heard that the Grand Floral Parade which happens this coming weekend is the big one, the one to go to; but honestly I'm not big on either parades or crowds in the first place, & it was only the promise of shiny lights that whetted my interest in the Starlight Parade. I would, however, like to see the Dragon Boat Races, having already been unknowingly privy to the Dragon Boat Practices.

Also, & this is only because it occurred to me as I sojourned toward the parade, for the record, I am so happy to live in a city this friggin' gorgeous. Clean. Green. Laid-back. Friendly. And flat. Yes, flat is a strong virtue, at least when one abhors city driving (& more precisely, city parking) & adores taking long urban walks. So maybe it rains a little during the winter. But, man, if what you get for that is a nice sunny summer with NO HUMIDITY & NO HORRID THUNDERSTORMS (it's nearly enough to make me bemoan the years I wasted in the weather-hell of the Northeast/Southeast U.S.) & loads of lovely greenness & so many beautiful flowers, well, I will take the winter rain, thank you.