I've taken some time thinking about a blog entry about the passing of Michael Jackson. I really needed to think about what MJ meant to ME and not just what he meant in general, although that meaning is bigger than all of us.
When I was a kid it seemed like I was only really aware of a few musical entities: The Beatles (thanks dad), Madonna, and Michael Jackson. Sure, there were others. I grew up watching MTV. But I knew Michael Jackson. I can remember watching the full length Thriller video on MTV repeatedly in my youth. In fact, this may have been my first exposure to the "dark" things that would shape the rest of my life. I would always hide my eyes when he became a werewolf. And again when he became a zombie. And again when all the zombies came after the girl in that creepy house in the woods.
It was so fucking good I still can't believe how good it was. Come to think of it, I think MJ was my first exposure to African-Americans (before he turned white). A famous story floats around my family, involving me, my grandparents, and a trip to Kenny Kings. One of the cooks came out to give us our food and I told him he looked like Michael Jackson. This simply had to do with the fact that he was black. He had about 100 pounds on MJ and much darker skin. Hey, don't call me racist. I had to have been only about 6 or so.
And then I remember watching the world premier of the video for Black of White. Macaulay Culkin was in it. And it ruled.
Two days ago I was driving in the car, flipping through radio stations, and they were playing Man in the Mirror. And I will not deny that I openly wept. While singing my heart out. I'm sure it was a sight to see.
The bottom line is that a music icon died. Before his time. Forget the criminal activity and weirdness: this man is a legend. And he's dead. And if you're of a certain age, he affected your life in some way or another. And he's dead.
A friend of mine is about to have a baby and that baby will know a world without MJ. This is weird to me only because I have known him my entire life. I knew him at his prime, and his downfall. But I knew him. And Baby Girl Gruden never will. Not the way I did.
I weep for future generations that will never take the time learn. I weep for those that will only hear the subversive things about him. I weep because I am sad that he's gone.
No one will ever sing like him. No one will ever dance like him. No one will ever be like MJ.
And I weep.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Girlfriend Experience
Last week I went to see Steven Soderbergh's The Girlfriend Experience. This is Soderbergh's second recent attempt to take a tiny film with no major stars and make it great. And it was much more successful than 2006's Bubble, which mostly succeeded it making me uncomfortable.
The GF Experience tells the tale of a very high-end escort played by adult film star Sasha Grey. It focuses on her character Christine/Chelsea (real name/work name), but also follows her real boyfriend in a somewhat parallel story line. The story is woven in a very non-linear pattern, jumping around and showing you things that don't necessarily make sense in the order they are presented, by generally make sense by the time the film ends (a mere 77 minutes later).
The parallel story shows both Chelsea and her boyfriend at work (he's a personal trainer), dealing with clients, and trying to be better business people. Chesea spends her days as more than just a woman who gets paid for sex. She dresses up, goes out to dinner or movies, and generally spends time with her clients, sometimes purely listening to them talk about what ails them. Hence the title of the film.
Most of the reviews I read mention that the film is set in the fall of '08 in the middle of our economic downfall and heated presidential race, however none of the reviews discuss that this element is the very crux of the story we are presented with. In fact, I think the "point" of the film can be summed up in a very early scene where Chelsea is visiting with one of her wealthy clients. They're sitting in bed. She is silent as usual, while the client goes on and on about his job and money and the fact that his business is being raped by this horrible economy.
And he's paying her $2000 an hour to have this conversation with her.
So while the film was definitely about her, and mostly about her inability to have a real personality, there's this other major player involved: America. And our fucked up priorities.
Other things that I liked:
Sasha Grey's body. Not being an avid porn watcher, I've never seen her before and was pleasantly surprised to see that she's totally real looking. Her tits aren't huge and her ass is a little big. And she's totally hot.
Sasha Grey's acting. Another pleasant surprise. She pulled it off well. There was only one scene where she truly fell flat, involving an argument she has with her boyfriend.
The filmmaking. Duh. Soderbergh has quite the eye.
And of course the film ended on a total "WTF" moment, as I had suspected it would since I know how Bubble ended. In fact, Bubble ended right when I thought it was actually getting good.
So...I have no snazzy ending for this post.
The GF Experience tells the tale of a very high-end escort played by adult film star Sasha Grey. It focuses on her character Christine/Chelsea (real name/work name), but also follows her real boyfriend in a somewhat parallel story line. The story is woven in a very non-linear pattern, jumping around and showing you things that don't necessarily make sense in the order they are presented, by generally make sense by the time the film ends (a mere 77 minutes later).
The parallel story shows both Chelsea and her boyfriend at work (he's a personal trainer), dealing with clients, and trying to be better business people. Chesea spends her days as more than just a woman who gets paid for sex. She dresses up, goes out to dinner or movies, and generally spends time with her clients, sometimes purely listening to them talk about what ails them. Hence the title of the film.
Most of the reviews I read mention that the film is set in the fall of '08 in the middle of our economic downfall and heated presidential race, however none of the reviews discuss that this element is the very crux of the story we are presented with. In fact, I think the "point" of the film can be summed up in a very early scene where Chelsea is visiting with one of her wealthy clients. They're sitting in bed. She is silent as usual, while the client goes on and on about his job and money and the fact that his business is being raped by this horrible economy.
And he's paying her $2000 an hour to have this conversation with her.
So while the film was definitely about her, and mostly about her inability to have a real personality, there's this other major player involved: America. And our fucked up priorities.
Other things that I liked:
Sasha Grey's body. Not being an avid porn watcher, I've never seen her before and was pleasantly surprised to see that she's totally real looking. Her tits aren't huge and her ass is a little big. And she's totally hot.
Sasha Grey's acting. Another pleasant surprise. She pulled it off well. There was only one scene where she truly fell flat, involving an argument she has with her boyfriend.
The filmmaking. Duh. Soderbergh has quite the eye.
And of course the film ended on a total "WTF" moment, as I had suspected it would since I know how Bubble ended. In fact, Bubble ended right when I thought it was actually getting good.
So...I have no snazzy ending for this post.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Adolescent Fiction As Bonding Agent
So I started a new job. I don' t know about you folks, but starting new jobs gives me an awkward feeling in my tummy and the occasional bout of liquid shit.
This time, however, I was pleasantly surprised to find that everyone in my office is incredibly friendly, casual, and supportive. One one of my first days, the secretary who was training me saw my Harry Potter book and started a lengthy conversation on the ins and outs of the saga. She actually turned the conversation to Twilight, and commented that she hadn't read the fourth book yet. This sort of conversation made me feel at ease because everyone is into this crap. Not that I thought I was special.
Yesterday I arrived early, as usual, and was standing outside of the building smoking and continuing to read HP. The law clerk, Eric, saw me and started ANOTHER conversation about HP. His least favorite book is The Half-Blood Prince for reasons that I did not understand. This time it was I who mentioned Twilight, and he said that he really wanted to like the movie because his cousin was in it.
I expected him to say his cousin was "High School Student #15", however when prompted, he confessed that his cousin played "The blonde bitchy vampire". Rosalie? Yes. Rosalie.
Turns out she's blonde and bitchy in real life, is estranged from the family, and unfortunately, no, she cannot get me Robert Pattinson's autograph.
We then proceeded to discuss our favorite authors and books, and he made me listen to a song on his iPod by some a capella group which was all about books. Then he walked away awkwardly.
Cheers to you, tween fiction, for making it possible for awkward people to have a common ground of conversation.
This time, however, I was pleasantly surprised to find that everyone in my office is incredibly friendly, casual, and supportive. One one of my first days, the secretary who was training me saw my Harry Potter book and started a lengthy conversation on the ins and outs of the saga. She actually turned the conversation to Twilight, and commented that she hadn't read the fourth book yet. This sort of conversation made me feel at ease because everyone is into this crap. Not that I thought I was special.
Yesterday I arrived early, as usual, and was standing outside of the building smoking and continuing to read HP. The law clerk, Eric, saw me and started ANOTHER conversation about HP. His least favorite book is The Half-Blood Prince for reasons that I did not understand. This time it was I who mentioned Twilight, and he said that he really wanted to like the movie because his cousin was in it.
I expected him to say his cousin was "High School Student #15", however when prompted, he confessed that his cousin played "The blonde bitchy vampire". Rosalie? Yes. Rosalie.
Turns out she's blonde and bitchy in real life, is estranged from the family, and unfortunately, no, she cannot get me Robert Pattinson's autograph.
We then proceeded to discuss our favorite authors and books, and he made me listen to a song on his iPod by some a capella group which was all about books. Then he walked away awkwardly.
Cheers to you, tween fiction, for making it possible for awkward people to have a common ground of conversation.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Hello, Cleveland.
Last weekend I had the pleasure of hanging out with a band from Chicago that call themselves Bird Names. They played with my boyfriend's band, Megachurch, at a bar here in Cleveland called Now That's Class.
In the past I have been irritated when my boyfriend invites touring bands to crash at his place (which was at one time OUR place) because having so many strangers in the house throws off my general groove. I understand why he does it: it's a good samaritan thing and a good karma thing. These bands have no money and nowhere to crash. And often, my boyfriend is the band with no money and nowhere to crash. It's a win win situation. Two of the bands that stayed with us when I lived there (that shall go unnamed) were both kind of awful. One group consisting of three guys were kinda cool until we couldn't get rid of them the next day. The loafed around on the couch sucking up our air forever. The other band, consisting of what seemed like very young fellows, were dumb obnoxious pot heads who invited over a lesbian couple that none of us knew. Nothing against lesbians, but one of them peed on our roof (not OFF the roof. ON it).
Bird Names, on the contrary, were a lovely foursome who were polite and incredibly interested in the city of Cleveland. After hitting it off with them during the show, I agreed to hang out with them the next day, as they were only traveling to Columbus and didn't need to leave until late afternoon.
They had already bombared me with questions about how close we were to the lake (mind you, they are from Chicago...which has a lake as well) and other questions about life here. After they ate breakfast, and politely did all of their dishes, we headed off in their van for the mental snapshot of Cleveland that they requested.
It helped that it was a stellar day here, which can come and go especially in spring and early summer. We started off by driving from Lakewood on the shoreway, past Edgewater Park and a perfect view of the lake. I drove them over the Detroit bridge and right into public square, filling them in on any tibits I knew about the Terminal Tower, etc. etc. etc. Al actually requested to see the Free Stamp, and when I located it, he informed me that he was only joking.
There's the Rock Hall. There's Browns stadium. Here is our windmill. '
The ultimate goal was to get to Lakeview Cemetary, which houses John D. Rockefeller, Eliot Ness, Garrett Morgan and the immaculate James Garfield Memorial which was our ultimate goal. The cemetery is also the home of Wade Chapel, which has an interior designed by Louis Tiffany (one of four Tiffany Chapels in the world).
I've been to the cemetery before, but something about seeing it through the eyes of Bird Names gave it new meaning. They loved everything and questioned everything and wanted to know everything about everything. I'm not sure I've ever met a group of people so interested in Cleveland. I get the feeling that these folks are interested in lots of things, however, it was special to me that they seemed so enchanted by a city that is so often the butt of countless jokes.
When it was time for them to take off they thanked me profusely for my time and complimented my skills as a tour guide. I had hoped I wasn't boring them with my factoids.
While I felt adequately thanked, I didn't realize until later that I should have thanked them for allowing me to reopen my eyes to the beautiful and historic city that I have the privilege of living in.
Bird Names, if you ever come across this blog, I thank you for liking my city and rekindling a love affair that I hope never dies out again.
In the past I have been irritated when my boyfriend invites touring bands to crash at his place (which was at one time OUR place) because having so many strangers in the house throws off my general groove. I understand why he does it: it's a good samaritan thing and a good karma thing. These bands have no money and nowhere to crash. And often, my boyfriend is the band with no money and nowhere to crash. It's a win win situation. Two of the bands that stayed with us when I lived there (that shall go unnamed) were both kind of awful. One group consisting of three guys were kinda cool until we couldn't get rid of them the next day. The loafed around on the couch sucking up our air forever. The other band, consisting of what seemed like very young fellows, were dumb obnoxious pot heads who invited over a lesbian couple that none of us knew. Nothing against lesbians, but one of them peed on our roof (not OFF the roof. ON it).
Bird Names, on the contrary, were a lovely foursome who were polite and incredibly interested in the city of Cleveland. After hitting it off with them during the show, I agreed to hang out with them the next day, as they were only traveling to Columbus and didn't need to leave until late afternoon.
They had already bombared me with questions about how close we were to the lake (mind you, they are from Chicago...which has a lake as well) and other questions about life here. After they ate breakfast, and politely did all of their dishes, we headed off in their van for the mental snapshot of Cleveland that they requested.
It helped that it was a stellar day here, which can come and go especially in spring and early summer. We started off by driving from Lakewood on the shoreway, past Edgewater Park and a perfect view of the lake. I drove them over the Detroit bridge and right into public square, filling them in on any tibits I knew about the Terminal Tower, etc. etc. etc. Al actually requested to see the Free Stamp, and when I located it, he informed me that he was only joking.
There's the Rock Hall. There's Browns stadium. Here is our windmill. '
The ultimate goal was to get to Lakeview Cemetary, which houses John D. Rockefeller, Eliot Ness, Garrett Morgan and the immaculate James Garfield Memorial which was our ultimate goal. The cemetery is also the home of Wade Chapel, which has an interior designed by Louis Tiffany (one of four Tiffany Chapels in the world).
I've been to the cemetery before, but something about seeing it through the eyes of Bird Names gave it new meaning. They loved everything and questioned everything and wanted to know everything about everything. I'm not sure I've ever met a group of people so interested in Cleveland. I get the feeling that these folks are interested in lots of things, however, it was special to me that they seemed so enchanted by a city that is so often the butt of countless jokes.
When it was time for them to take off they thanked me profusely for my time and complimented my skills as a tour guide. I had hoped I wasn't boring them with my factoids.
While I felt adequately thanked, I didn't realize until later that I should have thanked them for allowing me to reopen my eyes to the beautiful and historic city that I have the privilege of living in.
Bird Names, if you ever come across this blog, I thank you for liking my city and rekindling a love affair that I hope never dies out again.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Is This The "End of Days"?
I went running. For anyone who knows me well, I am notoriously an "indoor kid" who would rather spend her time shut up inside with a good book than outside, doing anything remotely athletic. One of my "claims to fame" was always being the person to finish running the mile in gym class last. Always. Last. And that was BEFORE I was a smoker.
Lately, however, it seems that everyone around me kicks ass at running. My sister just ran a marathon, which was awesome, but hell, if she can do it I can do it.
Plus...I'm sick of the roll of fat that hovers at my midsection. Damn you, muffin tops!
So I ran. In an AMAZING outfit that consisted of grey running shorts, white socks, red and white tennis shoes, and a brown tee shirt with anthropomorphic teeth dressed in winter clothes that reads "The Cozy Molars".
Here is a problem I had: What do people do with their keys when running? My shorts had no pockets, so I took my house key off the ring with the intention of putting it in my shoe. Then I somehow got really paranoid that it would come out of my shoe as I ran and I wouldn't notice because of the heart pounding and music listening.
So I ran with my iPod in one hand, clutching my house key in the other. This worked out fine, except both things ended up covered in sweat.
I felt good when I was done, in part because I did it and in part because I was able to run more than I had anticipated. Even as a smoker, I found that my legs started giving out before my lungs did. All in all, the route I chose worked out to be 1.5 miles, and I probably ran half of that distance, intermittently. For me, this is an achievement.
So *fingers crossed* I will get my ass up tomorrow morning and try it again. In an equally awesome outfit.
Lately, however, it seems that everyone around me kicks ass at running. My sister just ran a marathon, which was awesome, but hell, if she can do it I can do it.
Plus...I'm sick of the roll of fat that hovers at my midsection. Damn you, muffin tops!
So I ran. In an AMAZING outfit that consisted of grey running shorts, white socks, red and white tennis shoes, and a brown tee shirt with anthropomorphic teeth dressed in winter clothes that reads "The Cozy Molars".
Here is a problem I had: What do people do with their keys when running? My shorts had no pockets, so I took my house key off the ring with the intention of putting it in my shoe. Then I somehow got really paranoid that it would come out of my shoe as I ran and I wouldn't notice because of the heart pounding and music listening.
So I ran with my iPod in one hand, clutching my house key in the other. This worked out fine, except both things ended up covered in sweat.
I felt good when I was done, in part because I did it and in part because I was able to run more than I had anticipated. Even as a smoker, I found that my legs started giving out before my lungs did. All in all, the route I chose worked out to be 1.5 miles, and I probably ran half of that distance, intermittently. For me, this is an achievement.
So *fingers crossed* I will get my ass up tomorrow morning and try it again. In an equally awesome outfit.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Drag Me To Hell
Everyone who remotely likes scary movies should see Sam Raimi's Drag Me To Hell. At first, I wasn't interested, after seeing the initial trailer on TV. Then suddenly people were talking about it, so I did my research. And I'm glad I did because this is one of the best scary movies to come out in a LONG time.
First off, I have to let it be known that I can't stand torture porn. These films have no art, they are just gruesome and painful, with a "clever" twist at the end. The only element of fear it conjures is the horrific images it leaves you with when you're done. If I had to name my favorite scary movies, and therefore the ones that actually scared me, here would be the list (in no particular order):
Nightmare on Elm Street (original)
Halloween (original)
Scream (the first one)
The Blair Witch Project
The Shining (Kubrick)
Scary movies are a dime a dozen any more, so I only go out of my way to see the ones that really intrigue me. The above listed films terrified me at some point in my life, but are also favorites that I revisit from time to time. In order for a film to be truly frightening it must include both psychological as well as physical fear, which is why I think that the Blair Witch Project is easily the scariest movie to come out in the last 20 years. The folks who created that film were flawless in their vision, from doing it rough documentary style to casting no-name actors to NEVER SHOWING US A GOD DAMN THING! The film is perfection for people who actually like to be scared and not grossed out.
Now, I'm not necessarily lumping Drag Me To Hell in a category with Blair Witch. I think Blair Witch stands alone as a cinematic achievement, and there is nothing else I would call its equal.
Drag Me To Hell is a "return to form" (god I hate that term) not just for Sam Raimi, but for the horror genre in general. From the minute it started I wondered if I was watching a Hitchcock. The film opens with an amazing setup, in 1969 where all you see is a family bringing their tormented child to a medium. Evidently, this child has been cursed. The seat jumping starts here.
My ass probably left my seat anywhere from 10-15 times during the course of this film. Because Raimi toyed with you, creating the long lost art of suspense! Quiet scenes would suddenly burst with noise and images so loud and violent that yes, you jump. And maybe even scream. And every time it happens it is a beautiful surprise.
All the reviews I read mentioned how it is both terrifying and hilarious, a sentiment I had a hard time reconciling until I actually watched it myself. Some scenes are so ridiculous and outlandish that you can't help but laugh (blood spraying out of her nose....talking goat...etc.) and then it's right back to making you scream out loud from fright.
In this story there is no evil murderer the heroine is running from. She's trying to avoid an ancient curse that has been placed on her for doing something...not so unrealistic. I won't really give anything away here.
The story itself is a throwback to older scary stories, along with the music and the credits (there are ACTUAL opening credits...no action, just music and names!).
And I can't forget to mention how incredibly gross some of the images are. One scene, which shall not be named, actually made me gag once. But even the grossness can't be overlooked because it is, once again, incredibly ridiculous. It's SO not just people's limbs being hacked off here, people.
I say bravo to this film. Let's watch it again!
First off, I have to let it be known that I can't stand torture porn. These films have no art, they are just gruesome and painful, with a "clever" twist at the end. The only element of fear it conjures is the horrific images it leaves you with when you're done. If I had to name my favorite scary movies, and therefore the ones that actually scared me, here would be the list (in no particular order):
Nightmare on Elm Street (original)
Halloween (original)
Scream (the first one)
The Blair Witch Project
The Shining (Kubrick)
Scary movies are a dime a dozen any more, so I only go out of my way to see the ones that really intrigue me. The above listed films terrified me at some point in my life, but are also favorites that I revisit from time to time. In order for a film to be truly frightening it must include both psychological as well as physical fear, which is why I think that the Blair Witch Project is easily the scariest movie to come out in the last 20 years. The folks who created that film were flawless in their vision, from doing it rough documentary style to casting no-name actors to NEVER SHOWING US A GOD DAMN THING! The film is perfection for people who actually like to be scared and not grossed out.
Now, I'm not necessarily lumping Drag Me To Hell in a category with Blair Witch. I think Blair Witch stands alone as a cinematic achievement, and there is nothing else I would call its equal.
Drag Me To Hell is a "return to form" (god I hate that term) not just for Sam Raimi, but for the horror genre in general. From the minute it started I wondered if I was watching a Hitchcock. The film opens with an amazing setup, in 1969 where all you see is a family bringing their tormented child to a medium. Evidently, this child has been cursed. The seat jumping starts here.
My ass probably left my seat anywhere from 10-15 times during the course of this film. Because Raimi toyed with you, creating the long lost art of suspense! Quiet scenes would suddenly burst with noise and images so loud and violent that yes, you jump. And maybe even scream. And every time it happens it is a beautiful surprise.
All the reviews I read mentioned how it is both terrifying and hilarious, a sentiment I had a hard time reconciling until I actually watched it myself. Some scenes are so ridiculous and outlandish that you can't help but laugh (blood spraying out of her nose....talking goat...etc.) and then it's right back to making you scream out loud from fright.
In this story there is no evil murderer the heroine is running from. She's trying to avoid an ancient curse that has been placed on her for doing something...not so unrealistic. I won't really give anything away here.
The story itself is a throwback to older scary stories, along with the music and the credits (there are ACTUAL opening credits...no action, just music and names!).
And I can't forget to mention how incredibly gross some of the images are. One scene, which shall not be named, actually made me gag once. But even the grossness can't be overlooked because it is, once again, incredibly ridiculous. It's SO not just people's limbs being hacked off here, people.
I say bravo to this film. Let's watch it again!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Smoke Monster, or, The Power To Quit
I need to quit smoking. I smoke entirely too much and force my second hand smoke upon other people. L.P. I apologize for bathing you in my vice last night.
I've been looking up some helpful tips to quit. I can't use the patch this time around because all of the places I can put it are either locations of psoriasis or injection sites. The patches burn to begin with, so putting them on an open sore would be torture. Plus the instructions explicitly tell you not to do this.
I may try these new Liberty Stix thingys (made in Cleveland! AND FDA approved!). Their website is slightly confusing as there is no explanation of how these things work, but yet there is a battery involved. I'm confused.
Other than that, some helpful tips I've encountered: ease yourself off by eliminating certain times or places you can smoke; don't try and quit during a time of stress or change; rid your house of any smoking paraphenalia (sp?) such as ash trays and lighters.
All of these things are fantastic in theory, and some have even worked for me before. At least temporarily.
The bottom line is that I chain smoke and mentally beat myself up for it every time I do it. So something's gotta give. Starting school and a new job at the same time probably isn't the greatest scenario in which to try and quit. I'm not making excuses, I'm trying to be logical. I don't like setting myself up for failure.
So. I'm going to give myself a few weeks of getting settled into my new routine and look further into these Liberty Stix, all while attempting to at least quit smoking in my car. One simple goal that should be attainable.
Wish me luck.
I've been looking up some helpful tips to quit. I can't use the patch this time around because all of the places I can put it are either locations of psoriasis or injection sites. The patches burn to begin with, so putting them on an open sore would be torture. Plus the instructions explicitly tell you not to do this.
I may try these new Liberty Stix thingys (made in Cleveland! AND FDA approved!). Their website is slightly confusing as there is no explanation of how these things work, but yet there is a battery involved. I'm confused.
Other than that, some helpful tips I've encountered: ease yourself off by eliminating certain times or places you can smoke; don't try and quit during a time of stress or change; rid your house of any smoking paraphenalia (sp?) such as ash trays and lighters.
All of these things are fantastic in theory, and some have even worked for me before. At least temporarily.
The bottom line is that I chain smoke and mentally beat myself up for it every time I do it. So something's gotta give. Starting school and a new job at the same time probably isn't the greatest scenario in which to try and quit. I'm not making excuses, I'm trying to be logical. I don't like setting myself up for failure.
So. I'm going to give myself a few weeks of getting settled into my new routine and look further into these Liberty Stix, all while attempting to at least quit smoking in my car. One simple goal that should be attainable.
Wish me luck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
