Indy!

for those of you in the know, it's no secret that I've been awaiting the latest indiana jones film like it was christmas 1988. it all started with indiana jones and the raiders of the lost ark: the adaptation, which I've obsessed over and written about here.

so it was with all this anticipation that I settled myself down in the theatre on friday night, extra-buttered popcorn in hand. and waited for the lights to go down.

it should've been somewhat telling that the theatre was fairly empty on an opening weekend. although to be fair, I went to see it at the bridge on campus. most of these kids weren't even born when the first indiana jones film came out in 82. it probably doesn't even make sense if you didn't fall in love with indy the first time around, why you'd watch a near-geriatric harrison ford gimp along on screen in search of a skull made of quartz? in fact, it made really little sense to me why I was watching it, once the halfway point hit.

what started off as a promising drag race in the desert slowly ground to a halting jerk and shudder of plot advancement. there's something off in the balance of this film, something that takes the charm that carried the first three even through bad dialogue, lame plot twists and embarrassing clichés. somewhere in the 25+ years since the first, indy and his fellow characters have lost their senses of humor. and even worse, their sense of style.

crystal skull is set 20 years after we last left indy, meaning that it's now the 1950s. it was the sleek, snarky tilted-fedora-over-your-eye cheekiness that made it possible to overlook the flaws in the earlier films. that audience-engaging wink at the jokes mixed with just raw run-for-your-life action that kept you on the edge of your seats and laughing, in turn. it just doesn't translate to the landscape of the pre-coldwar 1950s. it's like comparing a pouting, unfocused teenager (e.g., shia labeouf) to the sultry but snide marion ravenwood (e.g., karen allen in Raiders). this labeouf guy, really, just wasn't given the in on the joke. he was by turns marlon brando à la wild ones, pouting and glowering in leather and james dean à la rebel without a cause, pouting and welling up in a tee. but both versions of the 50s teen played as if reading from picture cards without any backstory. the best (looking) character in the film was cate blanchett's soviet agent, à la natasha from rocky & bullwinkle. but really, all she did was give galadriel a kgb-fetish makeover, complete with skintight pantsuit and rapier, and leave her sense of humor at home.

so often, the setups to the jokes you expected fell flat because everyone played their characters so straight. only marion ravenwood still held a reflection of her old self in her eyes as she bickered with indy. indy, on the other hand, was almost aggressively active, as if daring you to suggest he may not be able to make the next leap. yeah, we get it, you can still jump moving trucks. but can you charm us? can you make us root for you and forgive your lame jokes because you let us know you think they're lame too?

the answer can be summed up in this picture:












does it make any sense to you?

yawn

for the last couple of weeks, I've been sitting around, trying to pull myself together. not in a you'd-better-start-worrying sort of way (not yet). but in that way where if you're not focused on something, all the molecules that make you up start to float away. it's like when you're so tired that if you're not actively moving, and moving fast, you start to drift into sleep. even if you're standing up. or talking to someone. you're not all there, and it all makes less and less sense.

I know when this happens that it'll pass. at least in the short term. and here I am. back again. and with tons to write about. because even if it felt like I've been sitting in the dark, staring at the stucco bubblets in my ceiling all day long, it's not all I've been doing. a lot of what I've been doing, but not all.

anyways, so I checked my most recent stats, and take a look at all the places I've had people reading from in the past month:

I think most of them are mistake-hits on their way to the site they actually meant, but still. hellow, hellow. and hellow to me again.

not time to scavenge yet

I'm not dead. thanks for asking, though.

in repose

I've taken to evening walks in the cemetary, which is less than four blocks away. it's small, and bounded by a busy street on one side and the railway on the other, so even at its very core, you can't escape the sounds of the city that surround it.

but just at dusk, in between breaths of traffic, it is quiet and still. you can hear the birds coming back, the sweep of the branches, and the night slowly drift over.

it's right then that everything feels right to me. under the shade of the dogwood tree, shimmering in the evening light, the air is like cool velvet and I can let go. even if just for a moment.

from me to you

in memory of crazon's youth. RIP.

love like this

when I was 5, the great love of my life, cody-from-across-the-street moved away.

for several glorious months, we avouched our love affair by trading pushes on the swings and licks from our handi-snacks cheese and cracker packets. we lived the summer in the sun, swinging our feet over the pool in his back yard and re-enacting that week's episode of SuperFriends, which he had to recap for me since I wasn't allowed to watch it. of course, I was always wonderwoman, and my wonderwoman action figure even had a detachable lasso. and cuffs that lit up. but I was always envious of his plastic man, which had been stretched beyond repair from an episode in which he had been stretched around the earth and tied hand to foot at the north pole. sadly, he didn't quite reach around my globe, and worse yet, he never recovered.

I didn't even know he was moving away until one day he was no longer there. and to mark the end of our summer together, was a shallow grave under the pink rose bush in our front yard.

my dad was weeding when he found the poorly dug hole. he rooted around for a couple of minutes and then came into the house to find me. "I think these must be yours", he said, holding out his hand. and when he uncurled his fingers, lying in his palm, were plasticman and the atom.

a summer in two sun-warmed bits of colored injection-molded plastic.

mom-pom!

today is mother's day, and I miss my moms.

sometimes, she'll come into a room doing this crazy dance, punching her fists into the air and shuffling her feet and wiggling her body. all the while grinning with all her teeth and looking at you all twinkly, because she knows you're thinking, "whoa, that lady is cuh-ray-zee".

once, she tried to persuade me to change up my hair more often, and stop being so conservative with my haircuts. the solution, she tried to convince me, was to cut my hair as short as possible, and wear wigs. that way, I could try new and exciting things. that night, she left me a wig catalogue on my pillow, and offered to buy me my first one.

when I was 12, I asked my mother what "oral sex" was, after hearing jackie edwards talk about who had been doing it at school. she told me it was when you talked about sex and I wondered what all the hoopla had been about in the cafeteria earlier that day, since my mother and I were doing it right then. in fact, it seemed like all anyone ever did at school was engage in oral sex when the teachers weren't around. to this day I don't know whether she didn't know herself or made up something to keep me from asking again.

in college, when I was going through a dress-like-a-60s-stewardess-on-acid phase, my mother sent me a day-glo orange mini-(and I mean mini-)dress. idaho's eyeballs practically popped out when he saw exactly how mini it actually was. and all my friends always shook their heads and looked at me, "your mother sent you this?"

my mother just does things. like, she will say, "I'm going to start making dolls! dolls that are custom-made to look like people who ask me to make dolls for them!" or "I'm going to start painting! and I'm going to be so good people are going to shake their heads and wonder why I haven't been painting for the past 30 years!" or "I'm going to crochet quilts for everyone! pick out your colors now!" and then she will do them.

what does your mother do?

here is the thing

it's getting better. every day. and sometimes, I'm even able to lift my head up and look forward at more than just the next breath, the next step, the next bite. it's not easy, but it's getting easier. and that overwhelming sense of vertigo that swirls around me like everything is going to implode into soft ash can be swallowed back. most of the time.

and I can make it through most of the days now, with a smile that looks genuine enough not to crack the corners of my face into a shattering of crumbles and tears. and sometimes it even feels genuine. and sometimes it actually is.

so I made it. I'm hoping. and I know it's not the end. because all I've done is crawl out of a dark hole enough to see that there's a huge mountain climb ahead of me. and if I actually look at what I've got to do, I know I'll never make it. I won't even be able to try.

but I'm going to put my right foot forward and then follow it with my left, and then the right again, and then the left. and sometimes, I know it'll be on my hands and knees. or on my belly inching forward. but as long as I do something, some day, I'll be able to look up and see that it's all over. I'm hoping.

I also know that it's uncertain. and that tomorrow morning I might wake up, unable to call up the energy to open up an eye, much less both, to face the day. and that every particle of myself will have to concentrate on not evaporating, holding on for yet another moment longer.

so for today, I'm here. and I fully expect it to hold out tomorrow too.

see you then.

sneakahs

another conversational mobius strip:

I said: I think my new goal is to get you
I said: into tennis shoes
he said: I don't wear sneakers
I said: I know. hence the goal.
he said: but I don't want to look like one of
he said: those guys who try to look really
he said: young but end up looking lame
I said: what are you talking about? it's
I said: not like I'm trying to cantilever
I said: your feet into a pair of fluorescent
I said: orange patent-trimmed padded nike
I said: basketballers. yeesh.
he said: you know, I have running shoes
I said: that's not what I mean. I'm talking
I said: casual shoes, that you can wear,
I said: just around, so that they're not all
I said: pointy and fussy. you know, a pair
I said: that you can kick around and not
I said: spend 15 minutes polishing every night.
he said: I don't think my shoes look fussy
I said: ...
he said: and I don't want to look like everyone
he said: else, in a pair of dirty white tennis
he said: shoes
I said: well, they don't have to be dirty.
I said: and it's not like there's only one kind
I said: of tennis shoe. I was thinking a pair
I said: of custom Vans. or a pair of suede etnies.
I said: something you can slip on when you're just
I said: lounging around, all casual.
he said: I think these are pretty casual
I said: really? those stiff, ultra-shiny leather
I said: lace-ups with the ultra-pointy toe and
I said: gloss laces that keep coming undone every
I said: block or so?
he said: ...
I said: I guess I was thinking of a different
I said: kind of casual...
he said: I don't understand why you want to
he said: get me into tennis shoes so much
I said: I don't understand why you resist so
I said: much. I mean, it's just tennis shoes.
I said: not like I'm asking you to grow a
I said: beard. or cut off your hair. shoes.
he said: I guess it's just one of those things
he said: you decide about yourself. at some
he said: point in my life, I decided that I
he said: didn't want to be someone who wore
he said: tennis shoes. it's what defines me
he said: and sets me apart from everyone else
he said: who does. it's about who I am.
I said: o.
I said: I guess I just didn't realize it was a
I said: philosophical thing.

the boy who cried salad

a conversation I had recently:

lui: spring is finally here!
moi: about time. how sick am I of winter?
lui: the flowers are coming up! and the
lui: trees are in bloom!
moi: achoo.
lui: and now the new jersey produce will start
lui: coming in. I can't wait.
moi: for what?
lui: the new jersey produce
moi: what do you mean? what's so great about it?
lui: well, it's so much fresher.
moi: why?
lui: because it's coming in from new jersey.
moi: as opposed to coming in from where? wouldn't
moi: pennsylvania produce be even
moi: fresher? and where is it coming in to?
lui: well, there are farm collectives
lui: and places where you can get
lui: fresh produce. and now the seasonal
lui: produce from new jersey will be coming in.
moi: you mean like the farmer's market down
moi: in clark park?
lui: well, there are also specific farm collectives...
moi: yeah, like down in clark park. or at least
moi: there used to be.
lui: mmm, I don't know. these are things you
lui: sign up with, and then get the produce
lui: delivered on a weekly basis
moi: yeah, I know. I used to be part of a csa
moi: in the city. and every saturday morning,
moi: I'd have to go up to pick up a bag of
moi: organic vegetables, most of which I ended
moi: up donating to the homeless man who
moi: rooted through our garbage cans every morning.
lui: o, so there's one in clark park?
moi: there used to be. across the street.
lui: that's good to know.
moi: what for? to pick up this new jersey produce?
lui: ...yeah..
moi: so, where else does one find this new jersey
moi: produce? will it make it's way into the
moi: grocery stores? and what is "new jersey produce"?
lui: what do you mean?
moi: well, you talk about it like it's a thing. so, what
moi: is it. is it just all kinds of vegetables, just from
moi: new jersey? and if so, why are we waiting for
moi: spring to get at it? or is it a specific crop from
moi: new jersey that we're waiting for, like tomatoes
moi: or something, that now that it's spring, we can
moi: eat? and regardless, why wouldn't it be coming
moi: into the grocery stores too? what's so special
moi: about this new jersey produce? I mean, we're
moi: eating pennsylvania produce every day. and
moi: isn't that even closer?
lui: well, I mean, I have friends who are farmers,
lui: and understand agribusiness and other friends
lui: who are part of these collectives, and they're
lui: all ah...waiting for...ah...new jersey produce...
moi: you don't even know what new jersey produce
moi: is, do you?

what I like about you...

and you..and fine, you.

so all right. hold me to my word. when I said I was going do more of telling my friends what made them so great, I didn't expect it to kick into effect so immediately. but a promise is a promise, so for those of you've who asked (and also for those who haven't, but the former definitely outnumber the latter), here's a (partial, and growing-every-day) list of the reasons I think you're the bee's knees:


1. I love the way you see the world around
1. you through rose-colored glasses, and your
1. unabashedness about it. the world needs
1. more of you and so I do.

2. you let me talk to you during movies, and
2. answer my questions right away, even if
2. something's happening on screen. I know
2. it's annoying but I can't help it and I appreciate
2. that you never make me feel like I'm
2. interrupting you or hold up your hand
2. shush me. this makes you great.

3. you're always up for an adventure, and I
3. can convince you to watson me for just about
3. any escapade. I love you for it.

4. you're not afraid to disagree with the new yorker
4. or the new york fucking times book review.
4. yay.

5. you talk back to runar instead of to me. because
5. duh, it's runar what's asking you a question,
5. not me.

6. you give a really great head squish, and I
6. miss them. advil just doesn't cut it.

7. you always know exactly how to cheer me up
7. or calm me down with your dry sense of
7. humor and wry smile. even though you are
7. so far away, there isn't a day I don't miss you.

8. you know that there's nothing in the world
8. that needs to be taken that seriously, and
8. you're able to remind me of that without
8. being condescending or holier-than-thou.
8. that's a rare and very much appreciated skill
8. and I appreciate it more with every new
8. person I meet.

9. you know what you want and are unafraid
9. to go out into the world in search of it, no
9. matter who or what stands in your way.
9. and even when the obstacles seem huge,
9. you're undeterred. I love watching you
9. attack the universe with your unlimited
9. enthusiasm for how things should be.

10. you're always completely open to the
10. new, even if they come at an expense
10. because you appreciate the cost of
10. learning about the world around you.
10. you reaffirm my belief in the world's
10. ability to learn.

11. I absolutely love and admire your passion
11. for the things that are important to you
11. and your indefatigable enthusiasm
11. for the things you love. you inspire me.

no friend of mine

Lamo Lamerson pulls one of his patented chumpwad moves on a close friend of yours. A very close friend. Your reaction is to consider Lamo your:
	ENEMY! You mess with my friends and you mess with me, m$%@#er! Enemy of my friend makes you my enemy!
	FRIEND. I don't let issues bleed over into other relationships. I mean, he may have been a total wad of fuck, but he didn't do it to me...
	UMMMM...I dunno...I mean, I'd like to be fair...and weigh all the issues...and hear it from everyone's side...I don't want to judge anyone...

9 to 5 is a toughguy

deacs: they just changed our core office hours
deacs: to 9-5!
me: so?
deacs: I'm gonna crap all over it
me: is there an uprising?
deacs: yes!!
deacs: also...!!!
deacs: "those working on Projects A-J or
deacs: with clients K-Z, you must be available
deacs: starting at 8am"
deacs: EIGHT?!!?!?
deacs: I feel nauseous
me: ha ha ha
deacs: I'd have to get to bed at 11!!!

welcome to the adult world, deacs.

details obscured to shelter certain deacsters from corporate retribution and/or spankings

is it so wrong?

so a friend of mine--I'll call her Betty, is seeing someone I'll call Archie. and before they began seeing each other, Archie basically went through his rolodex and asked out just about every girl he knew. Betty just happened to be last on that list.

my thought (yes, completely unsolicited. so what?) was that Archie was more interested in seeing someone than in seeing Betty. and that if any of the stops beforehand had yielded any interest, there'd be no Betty + Archie inside a heart.

so here are the questions:
1. isn't there something lame about that?
2. doesn't Betty deserve to be with someone
2. who wants to be with Betty?
3. was it so wrong of me to tell Betty so?

sick-o-fant

in reference to item 7, it's got to be on my own time, chumps. stop writing and calling and asking me to tell you what's so great about you. it's like the emperor's new clothes. if you have to ask someone else what it looks like, it prolly doesn't exist.

addition #9 to the aforementioned list: tell it like it is.

yes, this makes sense

The Shanghai Sheraton, a 5-star hotel in China, was undergoing a week-long cleaning of their windows. How to minimize the disturbance of their guests during that week?

"Nobody wants to see a person suddenly appear outside their window, so we thought of dressing them as [Spiderman]," said a hotel spokesman. It only makes sense.

charm, mother$#@%ers!

this is what my chicken rice soup and sesame tofu last night yielded:


maybe I haven't been laying on the charm and personality thick enough of late?

more or less

things I want to do more of:

1. take walks for no reason other than
1. the pleasure of taking a walk
2. take photographs of things I might
2. not remember otherwise
3. draw pictures
4. write letters to friends
5. eat salads
6. make things
7. tell people what makes them great
8. sleep


things I want to do less of:

1. eat crap chocolate
2. fall asleep with mascara on
3. not make the bed before leaving
4. stare blankly into the future

bboy pop

if you can do any of the following, or know anyone who can, please contact me asap: