andy

lately, I have been fixated on andy gibb. there must be some vh1 behind the music on him or something.

top five

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

dilemmar

the chiikster has just pointed out to me that def leppard and poison and cheap trick are on tour. hold on while I grab the railing and gasp a bit.

on Sept. 5, I could either be at the Las Vegas MGM, having put away a 19.99 buffet of steak and cheesecake and $25 worth of $5 martini drink vouchers...OR at m & j's wedding, watching two people I love stand in front of each other and vow to love each other for ever and ever blah blah blah, while the all of sit around and surreptitiously look at our watches wondering when someone in a white coat will start coming around with trays of meat sticks and alcohol.

aarrgh, my brain is tearing itself apart.

def leppard! poison! cheap trick!!! I need to lie down.

diet

a little more of less

there's nothing more satisfying than the thrill of getting rid of something. I love having less of something than when I started.

it almost doesn't matter what it is. cans in the cupboard, clothes in the closet, piles of papers, stuff.

I love bareness. the luxury of having less.


I'm packing up boxes and suitcases of things to take down and scatter as far away from me as possible.

it's already getting easier to breathe.

a day in the life

I first picked up a day in the life of ivan denisovich in the 7th grade. there was something about it, that read so foreign and greyish-green compared with the smooth yellows and blues of early-century american literature, that it felt like everyone had been lying to me all those years. why weren't we reading this in english?

the cancer ward was next, and I reread that book until I could quote at length from it, making up reasons to if they didn't come naturally.

his books were the first that reached into some place in me I didn't have a name for, the place that drives me to look around at my world and work to leave an indelible mark in it, no matter how small.

and so, to a man who did leave his mark in it, smaller in some circles than in others. but indelible, definitely.

I love this photograph of him during his exile in vermont, he just looks like a communist:

alexander solzhenitsyn, 1975

ps: deacs, he died, in case you're wondering what this post is about.

the fourth...dimension

all my growing up, I waited in anticipation for the fourth of july to roll around, so I could wake up and park myself in front of the television for a 16-hour stint of the twilight zone marathon.

twice a year, on the fourth and on thanksgiving, channel 5 (ktla! home of the family film festival!) would run an 8am-to-midnight marathon of rod serling-hosted morality tales. be nice to your neighbors, even when under threat of alien control. think happy thoughts lest the neighbor boy turn you into a human jack-in-the-box. be vigilant in checking your walls for rips in the fabric of time and space. you know, the usual.

there were some that you'd see every year: the murderous chatty cathy, darren from bewitched and his day being able to hear people's thoughts, the nerdy book-loving banker at the end of the world, willoughby, "to serve man", all of the ones where you accidentally sell your soul to the devil only to have him cash it in at the worst time possible (pb, beware!)...

but there were always a few that I was never able to catch. my sister told me of one where the humans kill the alien bearing the gift of a cancer cure in a fit of humanness (that on the twilight zone always expresses itself in murder), and I waited around for years trying to catch it. I even doubted its existence, considering that by the time I left my parents' home (and its cable hookup), I'd taken it approximately 350 hours of marathon time. surely, I'd've caught it once?

you would think that, wouldn't you? but it wasn't until I bought myself Twilight Zone: The Complete Definitive Collection last year that it was confirmed--Season 3, Episode 97: The Gift. after all these years, I feel like burgess meredith's henry bemis. all the time in the world to luxuriate in all the piles and piles of episodes I've ever wanted. of course, now that I have it, I haven't even opened most of the DVDs. who has time for 156 segments? how do you choose which ones to watch?

thank god for the sci fi channel. it's 1.25 and I've already gotten in billy talking to his dead grandma, a colony face-off between martians and venutians in a diner, and several planes flying into the future/past. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that there's an alien walking into a mexican village with a notebook under his arm coming up.

Happy Fourth of July

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.

bboy pop

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

Planet *s!

If you haven't already, I really encourage you strongly to check out Planet B-Boy if you're lucky enough to have it playing near you.

In one of the parallel versions of my life, I am a breakdancer. Of course, a great one. A girl one. I would be known for my crazy blowups and over the top footwork. In this version of my life, tho, I have to live it vicariously through real bboys.


I want someone to say of me, "there's nobody that can touch *s! when it comes to _____" and say that without referencing peeps or sugar consumption. I love the idea of loving something so much you can't contain yourself. And I'm envious of the passion and desperation it takes to throw your life into something. Anything. I mean I'm pretty passionate about Reese's Pieces. But I'd give them up rather than put up a fight. I'm just like that.

More from Last For One, who were the undisputed heartbreak champions of the film and the 2005 International Battle of the Year:

I love their intensity, their complete focus, and most of all, their green and white puma tracksuits. Also, ♥ BBoy Joe ♥

And from France, Phase T, who are probably the most poetic of any of the finalists:

Lil Kev, the eeny white boy, is almost too twee to take seriously. Until you see him fly across the stage.

And then of course, Gamblerz, the defending champions coming into the 2005 Battle:

They're like a series of explosions. One of the only crews to build a storyline for this competition, and one that works whether or not you know it. I love that they're a powerhouse team, but knew that they needed to round out to become a more cohesive team. And then did it.

Finally, just for fun, a clip of Gamblerz v. Ichigeki during the Pre-Elim battle:

I love the in-your-faceness of it all. The show and tell structure of a story told in dance.

before there was john

there was julian


Julian Lennon, Too Late for Goodbyes. Valotte

my first obsession. I used to carry around the lyrics of this song in my big google-eyed kitty backpack. and call up michelle vatcher any time either of us heard this song on the radio. it really made the third grade for me.

gummy chummy

here's a riddle for you: what's squishy and red and shaped like a lobster but tastes like cherries and comes in a box and weighs 5 pounds?


answer:

a five pound box of gummi lobsters, that's what!

does it get better than this?

I hope not, I probably couldn't handle it.

on a side note, I didn't include a picture of the included postcard, which read: "blah blah blah, I FORBID you to eat this all in one sitting. do you hear me?"

12345678ahh, a challenge! I love it. you're on, chiik!

mar·gue·rite

I can't remember if I told him, but yes, daisies are my favorite flower.

Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation

As promised, this weekend, I attended the highly anticipated (by me, at any rate) showing of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation at the Backseat Film Festival (to illustrate exactly how highly anticipated it was, I have to digress for a few moments into a story about how when we arrived, the film schedule was backlogged by about an hour. So, at 7.05, five minutes after the film was supposed to begin, the previous showing was still up on the screen. Due to some level of inattention on the part of the event staff, all of us lining up outside were let in to a nearly-empty theatre. And no wonder. For the next excrutiating 45 minutes, we were forced to watch one of the most execrable pieces of developed film I've ever sat through--and let me remind you that for a brief while, I was a film student whose sole purpose in life was to do the same. And for someone who has walked out of more films in theatres than actually sat through them, it goes to show that I was willing to submit myself to the torture, albeit a whiny, tantrumy submission, for the privilege to say I have seen this film. The second moral of this story is to say that if you ever encounter a piece of footage called Jews at Sea, run like hell. And if you meet the guy responsible for it, stone him. A roomful of film lovers will thank you for it).

Anyways, finally. Finally! Chris Srompolis took the microphone to briefly ("Here's our film") introduce The Adaptation:

The opening screenshot:

And then on to the action. Scene opening in the jungles of Peru, shot on location in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Something I wish I'd captured was the sight of Indy being chased through the jungle by a horde of angry, diminuitive and blonde Peruvian Indians in long grass skirts. Ahhh.

Here, my favorite shot of the film--Indy is about to snatch the Peruvian idol, which cheekily has a little potatohead-y face carved into the back of it:

To compare with the scene from the original, in which the Harrison Ford Indy is about to do the same. Somehow, the little gold idol is a little less endearing without that little knife-slash mouth and angry triangular eyes:


At this point, I was so caught up in the drama of the film itself that I actually forgot to take pictures as originally planned. Every time you sat there thinking, "How are these kids going to re-enact _____", they would do it. And better than you could dream of doing it yourself. Indy being chased out of the Peruvian cave by a 12-foot boulder? Check. Flames engulfing Marion's bar in Nepal after a gunfight with Toht and his henchmen? Check. The camera-pan across a vast archaeological camp digging in Tanis? Check. Streetfight in Cairo? Check. The entire climbing-over-and-under-the-truck-as-it's-chasing-Belloq-and-fighting-Nazis sequence? Check check check.

And here, Belloq's (Eric Zala) below-lit face fills up the screen as he is about to lift up the lid to the Ark:

Also uncaptured were the lost spirits as they flew out of the Ark, melting the Toht and burning holes through the Nazis in attendance. All of this and more done without any of the CGI programs or Apple's iMovie available today.

Here, the audience sits, riveted yet, as the credits roll:

Quite seriously, the film really lived up to everything ever mythologized about it. Yes, it is a film for fans of the Indiana Jones adventures. But it's also a film for fans of film-making. And really, a film for fans of film. In the end, a 100-minute tribute film shot by a gang of 12-year olds would not stand up to audiences if it weren't good. And it wouldn't be around, packing theatres, almost 20 years after its 7 years of filming and production were complete if it weren't great.

It was great. If you are within traveling distance of any of the upcoming screenings, you have to go. It's an obligation to everything you wanted to do as a kid and were told/thought was impossible.

happy pi day

what's so great about π?
what's it's a constant--never changing, always vigilant
what's one trillion decimal places calculated and yet not a single
what's what's simple pattern detected
what's it's irrational, transcendental and infinitely (as yet)
what's what's expansive.

when I say π, I mean it as the greatest compliment, a
containment of all that is brilliant, perfect, undefinable
in the universe.

I π you! You are the πest! π to you and you and you!

Henry Walton Jones, Jr., Ph.D.

...but you can call him Indy.


A couple of years ago, I heard a bizarre story about a group of kids who had obsessively recreated and filmed their version of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, scene by scene, taking almost a decade to complete. As someone who has similar obsessive and compulsive tendencies, I immediately appreciated both the ability to love something so much that it would take over your life so completely as well as the need to nurture this love and in turn, let it evolve into something new.

The sheer brilliance of a 12-year old, creating storyboards, detailing each of the 609 scenes they would later shoot is just mind-boggling. I mean, just take a look at the meticulousness of the wardrobe sets:

So, how excited am I that it's showing at the 2008 Backseat Film Festival? And that this weekend, I'll be writing to tell you how awesome it was instead of how excited I am to go see it? Pretty fucking excited.

Doing anything Saturday night? Get tickets and meet me there!

In the meantime, this should convince you that we're not talking about some run-of-the-mill afterschool project here:

Angela R. and Chris S. as Marion and Indy.




Nazis marching the Ark through Indonesia.
One version featuring suspiciously diminuitive Nazis.




Eric Z. and Paul Freeman as Rene Belloq.
"Jooones? Jooooooooo-oonnes!"



Chris and Harrison Ford starring in their respective Cairo streetfights.

semper dolens

it's this melancholy that slips over me every time I leave the city. knowing that it isn't mine any more, and worse yet, that maybe it was never was. like spending time with an old lover at a dinner party and noticing how beautiful she truly is in certain flickers of the candlelight. and all the memories of the fleetingest moments flooding back, inundating you with a sense of love and loss. and at that moment, you would give anything, anything to be back in her arms again.

photograph courtesy of peebs

I ♥ Daniel Day Lewis (yawn)

I know, I know. But did you see how good he looked last night (okay, to be fair, I didn't either, but I caught the recap this morning, on the AP newswire)?

Usually, I'm afraid of catching a DDL sighting, because you never know which one will show up, the beautiful and buttoned up Newland Archer/DDL or the crazyville method Bill Cutting/DDL.

But last night, there he was, all thin-lipped smile and slightly skewy lines. I'm a big fan of naturally straight teeth, hands that look like they can make things, hair that doesn't look like it's constantly being thought about, and yes, a man who loves his wife.

To my brother Ralf, on his birthday

Ralf,

I want to take a moment and tell you how inexplicably gratifying it is to see you having not only survived, but really carved a place of your own in this world.

I remember the very first day moms brought you home from the baby store. I was excited because they told me they were bringing home a baby, and both my fish, sunny and goldie had died the week before as a tragic result of their strict training regimen. I assumed (correctly, as it turns out) that a baby would be much more hardy and able to withstand a rigorous training schedule as we mastered a variety of showtricks to unveil before the unsuspecting world.

I’m sorry for all the biting. In those first several months, I was still honing my ability to show you how much I loved you, and the only way I could think of properly expressing it was with a good chomp to the most available expanse of pink. Aren’t you glad, then, that I was able to whet my proficiencies at emotional and psychological torment? All the work that went into creating your very own twilight zone universe of alternate realities—elaborate practical jokes lasting weeks, months, culminating in a collapse of tears and the faked deaths of Ruff, Mr. Teddy Bear, Dorothy, Santa, you?


And now, here you are, all these years later, with nary a physical or psychological scar on you to show for all that love and attention.

Happy Birthday, and stop twitching.

Love,
Me

inspiration

is this as brilliant as I think it is, at 4 in the morning?

yes.