I was talking to someone I've just met and, for a moment, I felt like I was talking to one of my dearest, longest friends. I was in the driver's seat and I decided to explore why I was feeling so tripped out by this realization until after I had exited the freeway. Maybe, it was the influence of a previous conversation I'd had earlier in the day with my best friend. Maybe it was just that I recognized something familiar in the speech patterns of the interlocutor. I'm betting on the latter.
For the linguistically minded, speech familiarity is a matter of intimacy. Hence, it cannot be taken lightly. I sure know better than to do so. Neglecting it is like neglecting a bad migraine. It won't just go away. Ok, at times it might but I'm not so keen on testing the odds.
So, there I was, surrounded by high peaks, the smell of the ocean, and the speech patterns of a relative stranger who speaks the way I tend to speak with my seasoned friends and close relationships. When the other party asks me if we know some of the same people, I answered with confidence and/or arrogance (I'm open to the possibility that it might have been the latter), "yeah, it's highly unlikely that we do. But I guess we might navigate towards those who speak the way we do and read what we do and watch what we do. Did you ever watch/like Master and Commander, by any chance?"
It was a surprise to me that the answer was 'no.' It's not every day that I experience that kind of affinity. Well, unless I'm speaking to my carefully selected friends and we've been having the same experiences either together or while engaged in separate togetherness.
Subsequently, I did what I tend to do best. I waxed philosophical on the merits of Master and Commander and how it captures and then deconstructs masculinity better than anything I can think of. And I'm still a bit tripped out by the fact that I seemed to have so much in common with someone who, on the surface, is so different from me and comes from such a vastly different way of life. But then again I know better than not to acknowledge the fact that language is indeed one tricky rascal.
This is Denim, aka, my Honda Metro scooter which I rode almost daily from 2004-2006. I miss it terribly. I knew that the day would come when I wouldn't be able to ride it anymore but that thought would only reinforce the pleasure I would feel every time I was on it. Very often, I carried passengers on Denim. Many of my friends would demand that I pick them up on Denim. Many incoming texts would read, 'You picking me up on Denim? Not Daisy, Denim, ok?' And, of course, I complied.
At the time I owned Denim, I also owned a little Volkswagen pick-up. The Volkswagen's name was Daisy and Daisy had orange leather interior and bright yellow exterior. Daisy was happy. It, however, did not get to see much of me as my love affair with Denim didn't diminish in intensity till the last day. And, I suppose, I was a one-vehicle-type-of-person then.
So, I rode Denim and my passengers, usually taller guys and a few taller girls would ride along. It was quite a sight. I loved every second of Denim. I was known as 'scooter girl' and I dug it. Then it was time to move to another state on account of my career and it was time to part ways with Denim. It's been four years and I still miss Denim terribly.
The reason why I'm walking down memory lane at this point is because I experienced another hard toy-related experience this week. It does have a happy ending, however. In the beginning of the week, I thought I'd lost my oh-so-very-special i.e., costly Specialized Hard Rock Pro. As I was telling Camille, one of the worst things about being a hyper person and doing a lot of things in one day is having a bit of a tough time recalling every single activity of one's quotidianity. I suppose that's why I kind of like Twitter. It does sort of journal what one does, in a way. But I digress.
After coming back from the trails, I seemed to have gotten carried away by my other daily tasks and didn't put the Specialized back in the garage. So, I resigned myself to the thought that, well, there goes another thing that I lost of account of my nature. It's a bad feeling having things taken away. It's an even worse feeling to lose things you love a lot. And I've already had another Specialized share the same destiny in the past. When I lose things, I can't help but wonder that I somehow lacked some appreciation of them while I, well, had them. The thing is, I'm truly appreciative of the stuff I own. I'm a minimalist, for the most part, and that which I do own is purchased after some measure of thought. One thing I tend to object to is baggage as I like to be as light as I can when I live and travel.
Below see some footage of me gushing over the awesomeness that was my Specialized. It dawned on me during the beginning of the week that the only time I felt like this was when I had my other Specializes stolen and when I parted ways with Denim. The thing is, losing stuff hurts. It hurts a lot. But what can one do? Granted, everyone takes a loss once in a while, and some perhaps more than others. Losses do also serve a pretty didactic purpose. They teach one, mid-pain, to devour the present more slowly.
For an avid biker, I sure have lousy luck, as my friend Liam says. With bikes, that is. Generally, I'm the type who picks myself up by the bootstrap and doesn't spend time on whining. Actually, another thing I greatly object to is whining. I believe in coming from a place of 'yes' and being dedicated to solutions instead of focusing on problems. Few things manage to get my stomach tied in a knot the way property losses and damages can, though. I love to bike. Biking has always made me feel happy. Plus, it's such a tease to live in an area where you're surrounded by beautiful mountain trails and the beach and they're all saying in unison, 'get on the bike and come see us. We know you want to....'
And thus it was during the first part of the week. Till last night, that is. As I was talking to a friend of mine who's coming to visit me for a bit, I had another call waiting on my other line. They had found my Specialized. A wonderful gentleman saw it and took it to the Lost and Found because it looked too expensive and he thought the owner would suffer much on account of its absence. Boy, was he right! So, I put my visiting friend on hold and told him that the Specialized had to come first. I made arrangements to retrieve it and this morning we got to spend some time together again. All is well with the word.
Biking is truly a way of life. Even though I enjoy driving, granted more so in the West than anywhere, biking is one of those activities that lifts you up right away. And if it's done on a Specialized, then, consider my creativity enhanced. So, tonight, the tip of my Bob Marley hat goes to honest people who see a costly Specialized and turn in it to make the owner's day.
Brandon Flowers' new track "Crossfire" from him soon-to-be-released album Flamingo is another beautiful melange of sensitivity, poetry, Western imagery, and unencumbered aesthetics. Just what do I think about the sound of this track? Well, let's see. I've been listening to the track for days now.
The video is also a good supplement to the track. Where it delivers is in its minimalism. While the video has a few ninjas flying around, a distressed Flowers, and an uber-fit Charlize Theron, it is washed with polite sentimentality. In concrete terms, notice the quick smiles of the main characters' faces. If that is not an example of visual poetry, then I'm letting my liking of the track blur my vision.
I have a hard time liking things that a whole lot of people also like. It's not snobbery, really. Ok, maybe it is. What makes me cautious of things that have much appeal is one thing: fear of mediocrity. Flowers' art, however, was not always mainstream. It was indie long before it entered normativity-landia. And, I reckon, that's what makes it ok for me to keep reacting so positively to his new work. We're all entitled to having favorites. And he happens to remain one of mine.
Knowing what it's like to teach in higher academia is not something one can simply read about. Experiential knowledge obviously trumps cognitive knowledge here. It's a lot like snowboarding, really. You get the hang of it by practicing. Teaching in higher academia is not the same for everyone. There are, however, certain similarities in the experience. Teaching is often the least important aspect of the experience and publishing new research takes precedence more often than not. The phrase 'publish or perish' is not simply a cute little thing someone came up with when pursuing tenure. It's real. At the core of it lies much truth about general progress and the tenure process in higher academia.
Publications don't happen with ease. On the contrary, to get published in a well regarded journal takes time. A whole lot of it. When an article is submitted for publication at a refereed journal, i.e., the only journals worth considering, it takes anywhere between 8 months to well over a year before the work can appear in print. Granted, this presupposes that the article will appear in print. More often than not, it won't. It is customary to get a lot of "Thanks, but no, thanks" before getting the one "Yes." And that is just one kind of stress.
And this also happens to be the premise of the new film Tenure starring Luke Wilson as the protagonist, Assistant Professsor of English, Charlie Thurber. Some of the film is basically conflated emotion and surface scratching. Some, however, is as close to reality as it gets. "Passion isn't enough anyone. That's what messed up." says Professor Hadley, one of the characters in the film. And Prof. Thurber seems to concur towards the end of the film.
Professor Thurber - played better than most would have played him by the often underrated Luke Wilson - seems to do most everything right. The one thing he can't seem to do well is publishing. His article is rejected by every journal worth anything and it's been well over 6 six years since he started the tenure process. Unlike his father who had taught very successfully at an Ivy League school, Thurber finds himself at a small college of liberal arts somewhere in Pennsylvania with very little hope of getting tenure.
"I'm not charmed by you, Thurber" says an older colleague to self-effacing but lovable Prof. Thurber. However, who is charmed by Thurber are his students and that, in the end, seems to provide the only answer that matters to him.
Luke Wilson manages to show with relative ease what it means to enjoy one's chosen profession. Being a teacher is not just about knowing the material well. Granted, that's a necessary and important component. Being a teacher, a good one, is about human relatability. And that is Charlie's forte.
I suppose this film didn't manage to make it to the theaters because it is, as they say in Hollywood, a 'small film.' Small, more often than not, is good, however. And this film is no exception. Do rent or iTune it. You might be charmed by it.
I've been traveling a lot this summer. One of things I miss when I travel during the summer is my chosen cable programming. I don't tend to watch much TV but there are a small number of shows that I do respect and try to follow. I miss some of HBO's summer programming like True Blood as well as Entourage. However, I especially miss AMC's Mad Men. Thanks to AMC's smart marketing, I get to buy the brand-new episodes on iTunes right after they play on Sunday. This is good for me as I think Mad Men is one of the best things TV has had to offer for years. I have liked it since Season One.
On one of my recent trips I got to spend some time with one of my most accomplished and all-around cool and creative friends who works in advertising. On top of knowing what's up business-wise, she really knows what's up in terms of popular culture as well as literary scholarship. During one of our conversations I learned from her that she also likes Mad Men which was no surprise to me as the show's aesthetic is truly worth a smart person's attention.
I truly like the character of Don Draper. I love his weaknesses most of all. They're, I find, more beautiful than the strengths themselves. As a matter of fact, what makes Don truly interesting and appealing is the ease with which he self-embraces. The world of advertising seems really complex, bizarre, covered by secrets, and informed by the appeal of glitz and superficiality. Don Draper, however, has this gravitas about him that says 'I know this might all seem a tad too fickle to y'all, but without advertising how would you know if Lucky Strikes are right for you?!' And content could never ever hold a candle to form! Without the latter, the former could not be worth much, eh? I would agree with what the character of Don seems to say with regards to the power of advertising. It does determine much in modernity. Of course I'd agree with Don. I buy a lot of Apple products mostly due to their clever advertising. Let's just call apples, apples, shall we?
I've liked Mad Men since the very first season. The writing by Matthew Weiner is not only historicity-minded, it's gripping. Weiner can tell a story like few people can. Sopranos, anyone? He worked on that show as well so no surprises regarding his literary skills.
In short, the reason why I like Don Draper is because he's fully aware of his cognitive skills, his charisma, and the charm which he can dispense with the same ease 50-cent machines dispose cheap gum. I like Don Draper because he is self-accepting albeit in a quiet, controlled, and slightly self-effacing way. Don is good at his job and he doesn't resist the fact that his aesthetics and swagger help. He is good at what he does just like he is aesthetically pleasing to men and women. Don is just how he is. Take it or leave it. Lucky for him, it's mostly 'take it' and people are simply under the power of his charm. Like his new partner, British-born Lane, learns on tonight's episode, Don is not to be resisted. He does know best. Not only when it comes to advertising and the art of women and sociality at large but life in general. And like only a real hero can do, he teaches by example not words.
In sum, what makes Don absolutely beautiful is the fact that he embraces his weaknesses with the same charisma and facility that he embraces his strengths. And Season Four of Mad Men continues to be simply smashing. Do watch it!
This might just be the funniest thing I've seen this summer. If you get the culture of language that is German, you'll concur. If you get the text of the Humanities and what it means to get through a PhD Reading List Exam, you'll concur with the premise, too. And if you've ever attempted to read Heidegger in German, this will be a favorite clip.
1) Why is it that going green won't save one money? Interesting bit from the article states:
"University of Toronto behavioral marketing professor Nina Mazar showed in a recent study that people who bought green products were more likely to cheat and steal than those who bought conventional products. One of Mazar's experiments invited participants to shop either at online stores that carry mainly green products or mainly conventional products. Then they played a game that allowed them to cheat to make more money. The shoppers from the green store were more dishonest than those at the conventional store, which brought them higher earnings in the game.
"People do not make decisions in a vacuum; their decisions are embedded in a history of behaviors," Mazar wrote, with co-author Chen-Bo Zhong. "Purchasing green products may license indulgence in self-interested and unethical behaviors."
2) According to new research, the participation of German women in the genocide, as perpetrators, accomplices or passive witnesses, was far greater than previously thought.
I get cold sores. Looking at various pictures of mine from the time I was a child to the present day, I can locate the various lip geographies where these moronic creations land. Now that I'm typing this sentence it dawns on me that the opening line of this post is a tad bizarre even by my standards but I'll see where the thought leads me. I'll own it. It's a truth of mine, after all.
I get cold sores not only when I do have the cold which, come to think of it, I don't really catch. I guess I move too quickly for it to have a chance to land on me. But I digress. Cold sores appear when I travel and find myself in different time zones, when I overexert physically, when I do too much cardio and perspire a whole lot, when I am looking forward to something exciting, when I get too little sleep over extended periods of time, when I allow stress to penetrate more than usual, when I am overexposed to the sun, when it's generally too hot and I'm dehydrated, when it's too cold and humid and I'm not wearing too much which I do tend to do as I'm not really the layering-kind-of-gal even when it's Park City cold and I'm wearing a light weight shirt coupled with a light weight Hurley coat.
Ergo, in nuce, I get cold sores when happy, I get them when not so happy and too stressed, when hot and happy, cold and happy, you get the drill. Life happens, they happen. The adage then, in this case, would say: Cold sores happen.
What cold sores allow me to do however, other than get on the iPhone and find the nearest pharmacy that carries Abreva (Thanks, AroundMe app, for always knowing where everything is!), they force me to slow down. Or, as an uber-favorite person of mine tells me: "look, Kena, look: a rose. Look at it. Isn't it nice?" Granted, subscribing to a generally optimistic outlook does help. But what is the alternative, really? Being crabby won't solve the problem. Throwing a fit won't help.
Incidentally, I know first hand that both scenarios only make the cold sore madder and is stays on longer. It's an obstinate little bugger. What I find helpful generally is the following: pretend like it's not there after you've applied enough Abreva on it, ignore it, and as most people of intelligence do, they will leave eventually when not enough attention is given them.
Granted, sometimes you encounter the kind of cold sore that refuses to leave even though you couldn't loathe it more but all you can do with it is cover it with more Abreva, apply some Chanel red lipstick on top if it and, well, hope for the best. Even the worst of cold sores responds to an indomitable spirit. Or not. Cold sores are much like a series of bad news. They, for lack of a more apropos term, suck.
However, they do allow one to do something rather great with one's day: appreciate more what is not a cold sore. Like the day I discovered that having long eyelashes isn't just something annoying that bothers me when I swim but something of a cool present when you have the right eyeliner and little black dress. Or one might find that one can be more present and enjoy a beautifully simple moment, like picking plumps from a tree that a sweet friend planted especially for one.
In other words, perspective, folks, perspective. And if you do get cold sores or other vexations of that nature, throw them a little bone of appreciation. They were made for something, after all. Or not. One truth about them is that they do keep coming back like lovely Spring flowers or Lady Gaga on the radio.
What I truly like about travel and being in different time zones is how naturally and organically introspection seems to come by. I usually live by giving in to my natural pace as I've come to discover that it is most likely the best one to stick to. Mother Nature knows best and all, right? Well, at least I hope she does. A while back a dear friend of mine from Germany came to visit and one of the books she brought with her was Sten Nadolny's Die Entdeckung der Langsamkeit (The Discovery of Slowness). My friend's an avid reader and I've always made it a point to read all she recommends.
I remember being taken by the title of the book so much so that instead of breaking it open and reading it during the time she was staying over, I just kept staring at the title and the author's name over and over again. To me, that was an exercise in slowness. I'm the type who's been known to devour a new book during the time frame between lunch and dinner. In jest, I refer to this high-frequency reading activity of mine as a 'condition'. I need to read new titles as a way of feeling up to date. Since this is the kind of reading behavior I tend to espouse, staring at a book title for two weeks and having no interest in reading it at that point in time does beg for some attention, nay? Not with Nadolny's title. I went out of my way not to read it, actually. Somehow, it made more sense to me to just stare at the cover at the end of the day and that was quite a soothing and relaxing activity.
For some odd reason I've been been thinking about this experience quite a bit lately as it's always struck me as unlike me, hence worthy of some investigation. And I think I sort of know why I've revisited this title-reading experience. The title, i.e., the 'Discovery of Slowness', was, in and of itself, an exercise in slowness for me. And I've struggled with slowness enough to know that I ought to pay attention to it every time it's mentioned. By nature, I tend to espouse the opposite of slowness in life. I move quickly, speak fast, tend to absorb information and experiences quickly, and move on to the next task with a sense of urgency and past-paced purposed. All I've known is fast pace and quick movements. What tends to vex me in life has, more often than not, something to do with slowness and one of the things I try to gain some experiential knowledge of is exactly that: slowness.
Slowness and I don't run in the same circles. However, some of the experiences that I find the most enjoyable and substantial have been in the company of people who seem to be native speakers of slowness. To this day, my best travel buddy is the same German pal who brought the 'Discovery of Slowness' with her. We have a pace that's somehow congruent and I don't have a need to go at the speed of light. Slowness is hard to learn if the notion and practice is foreign to one. However, I am discovering that it is not impossible. All one needs is the right teachers to guide one along. And I'm lucky enough to have a few of them. Today alone I was in the company of three of them which made it easier to do one of my new meditation activities: stare at my feet against the dewy grass for 5 minutes or 35. I sort out a few things while doing so one of the being that my toes need a new, fresh coat of OPI.
Tonight we saw the Tilda Swinton-produced film Io Sono L'Amore. We loved it and spent the drive to the restaurant, the dinner, and the drive back discussing it. Let me start by first pointing out that this is not a film that may be quickly watched, filed somewhere, and consequently forgotten. It tends to have the kind of effect that a truly rich tiramisu has: it'll unequivocally beg for attention from all of your senses and organs post-consumption. The film is steeped in literary traditions stemming from Sophocles while contemporaneously being bathed in rich visual imagery.
At the core of the film lies the deeply intimate relationship between Emma and her son who adores her completely, Edoardo. To be able to truly decode this beautiful relationship one needs to be able to truly get the relationship between Jocasta and Oedipus. This film offers a kind of visual feast that is truly overpowering to the senses. From the bold colors of Swinton's wardrobe to the gorgeous architecture and arts that the city of Milan has to offer, the list of aesthetic contributions goes on and on.
This film varies from others when it comes to the candid way in which it deals with familial dynamics, sibling rivalry, the discussion of a love lost between two long-term spouses, gender and identity, birthing one's self anew, attaching to new love, marriage, art appropriation and ownership, et al. Ah, and, naturalmente, there is the theme of the importance of the culinary arts and how they epitomize such basic human drives as sensuality, instinct, the pampering of one's taste buds and so forth.
In sum, did I like this film? Absolutely. I felt the way I tend to feel when at the Seattle Art Museum. Well fed. And if you love Europe and linguistic diversity, this film will most certainly not disappoint. Brava, Tilda, brava!
At a few points in time I have been known to sacrifice look and style to comfort. For instance, consider the sunglasses I have on here. We were in Los Angeles and if there's a place on Earth where eyewear is a must, it would have to be La-La land. The sun there is truly strong. Plus, I'm the kind that wears sunglasses all year-round, morning to night, whether it's raining or Los Angeles-sunny. These glasses are Versace and they seem to stand for much of what I do not. I generally tend to 'rock' RayBan aviators as they're more aligned with the school of minimalism to which I tend to subscribe with ever-increasing regularity.
The lenses on these Versace, however, are out-of-this-world fantastic. They especially come in handy when driving or doing outside activity. So, while I would tend to harbor some judgment when seeing other people wearing the same style, I still maintain that these shades are among the best quality lenses I have ever had. Aesthetics is important to me but in this instance I suppose I'm deviating. And that's fine. Every rule has an exception. Or a few.
As I was reading the news this morning I noticed a piece on NPR on Tilda Swinton's new feature I Am Love and it prompted me to think two things: 1) this is exactly the kind of film I would like to see now and 2) Swinton is so fabulously talented, Orlando anyone?
I cannot think of many artists who can transform themselves with as much seeming ease as Swinton. In Virgina Woolf's-informed Orlando, she plays a man who transforms over the course of time into a woman and the audience almost forgets that it's not simply viewing a feature film but that it's absorbing Woolf's lengthy novel, instead. She goes from portraying a working suburban mom in Thumbsucker to a mysterious character in The Limits of Control with a kind of ease that is bound to mesmerize one.
Swinton is the kind of talent that is strong enough to save less-than-mediocre and mediocre films. Films like The Beach, Constantine, and Burn After Reading were a let-down overall but the bits that feature Swinton make one forget the overall disappointment of the piece. And that is what a talented performer can do.
A bit from the recent NPR profile of Swinton reads: "For me," she says, "transformation is inevitable. That's what I find really fascinating about life, and I have since I was really very small. And I'm always interested when people fantasize that they can deny that it exists, or that they can have any control over it, or that change might be a choice. Change is the only thing we have, it seems to me, and it's with us all the time."
If you have not seen many of her features, I recommend that you visit her filmography at some point in time. You won't be disappointed. Below, see some of the many faces of Swinton's characters.
1) Germany's Literary houses and why they're not common elsewhere. Read here.
2) "Are certain kinds of modern art too complex for anybody to understand? Fred Lerdahl thinks so, at least as far as his chosen art form is concerned." More here. A good sentence reads: ""Much contemporary music," he says, "pursues complicatedness as compensation for a lack of complexity."
3) Bad sentences. Some are truly appetite-suppressingly bad! Read here.
The recent lawsuit of Debrahlee Lorenzana, a 33-year-old single mother, against her former employer Citibank branch at the Chrysler Center in New York made me think of a conversation I had with a dear, close friend the other day on the subject of, what I uneconomically call: "the quotidian ramifications of superior aesthetics i.e., beauty." I am told that I frequently observe the following in conversations: "aesthetics is never inconsequential." I believe that high-frequency phrases reveal much about our general attitudes about things. In my case, I pay attention to aesthetics because I see it - not only philosophically - as a reflection of content.
There are many recent studies that state that people tend to remunerate certain employees who are endowed with higher aesthetics much better than those who are not. Some studies say that employees get much better evaluations on their job performance if they are perceived as good-looking or that a better-looking person gets hired over one that is less good-looking and so forth. The moral of the story is that looks do matter and they are, indeed, never inconsequential.
In literature we are also exposed to the high frequency use of 'beauty' and its effect on other things. More specifically and historically, in many medieval narratives, beautiful people are, for most part, privileged of God. Interior beauty was seen as a reflection of divine favor. I could also mention Dante here but instead I'll tip the hat to Virgil, his guide. In pre-Christian literature whether it's Virgil's Ovid or Homer's Illyad and the Odyssey, beauty served as a text that begged for much attention. Think, Helen of Troy and her face that apparently was so beautiful that it "launched a thousands ships."
Usually, we are exposed to the positives of beauty, however. Many maintain that a person reaps more from life if he or she looks a certain way. More attention is given to the better-looking. I am not of this same belief, however as I do think that a generosity of good content is bound to generate more fruit than a well-moisturized face with the right aesthetics, proportions, and feature-to-feature ratio.
However, I also tend to think that even those who say they don't care about how they look, care about it. I'll present one fundamental reason here and that is the playground psychology. I've always been a kind of a jock. I was generally picked first on the playground. I only see romantically those who look a certain way, I have very clearly defined standards of beauty and I only give attention to those who look a certain way, or the way that I consider worthy of my attention.
But while aesthetics and presentation do matter, content matters just as much. The trick is in the balance. One can't privilege one at the expense of the other as, in the long run, this kind of modus operandi tends to lead to some kind of dysfunction. Good presentation and aesthetics take time, work, and resources. I am not sure whether we as a collective are perhaps somehow wired to pay attention to things that take time to prepare. What I do know, however, is that a good visage and get-up do surely take time.
I was surprised the other day when Benjamin, after a four-hour conversation, told me the following, "So, remember that list of indie films you shared with me a while back, like, back in 2004? Well, I just got done with it." Now, I know he's thorough as thoroughness is one of his qualities I appreciate most. This, however, was impressively thorough as well as an exercise in tenacity.
I was surprised that he still remembered something we had discussed plenty of times back when I was in grad school and he in Law School. I guess all the years of reading left little time for indie film-viewing. Then, while talking, he said he'd forwarded the same email I had sent to him years ago. "Wait, you have emails from years ago? You, email hoarder, I say." "No," he says, "but I do keep all recommendations."
It was sort of odd to read an email I'd written years ago. I seemed to have employed little 'economy of speech' then. Folly of youth.
I thought I'd post the same list here in case you'd like to consult it. I am glad to see I had some cinematic sense back then.
1) Alejando Amembar's "Abre los Ojos." 2) Nanni Moretti's "La stanza del figlio" Written and directed by Nanni Moretti. 3) Tom Tykwer's "Lola rennt." 4) "Laurel Canyon" with Frances McDormand 5) Curtis Hanson's "Wonder Boys." With Frances McDormand 6) Darren Aronofsky's "Pi." 7) Pedro Almodovar's "Hable con ella" 8) "Belle Epoque" 9) "Almost Famous" 10) 1998's "Great Expectations" 11)"Sylvia" 12) Jean Pierre Jeunte's "Amelie" 13) "Italian for Beginners" 14) 1992's "Michelangelo"
A few weeks ago, we were sitting in the Real Time with Bill Maher studio out in Los Angeles and saw the show live. Being in the studio added something special to my liking of the show. The studio looks exactly as it looks on TV and being there felt surreal as I try to catch the show on HBO as often as I can.
Many people have asked me how we managed to get tickets so I am taking this chance to narrate the experience. My quick answer to the question is: I called, left a message, they called back and gave us tickets. The longer version is like the following. My good friend and I had already planned a trip out to Los Angeles and among the many things we wanted to accomplish was to see if we could get tickets to Real Time as we're both loyal fans. The thing is, it's difficult to get through the phone lines at the end of the show Friday nights at 11:00pm (ET).
But the show advertised briefly on Facebook that that they had a few tickets available and that people could call and see if it they could get some. Once I was informed of the availability, I called and left a message. That same evening I got a call from Real Time and they informed me that they had tickets for us. I called back and left a message. They returned my call an hour later, got my info and, voila, thus did the tickets come to be.
We got to the CBS studios on Fairfax around 5:30 PT and 90 minutes later, out comes Bill Maher for the monologue and the rest of the show. The one-hour long show felt like a 5-minute bit. To this day, I've never experience anything that moved as quickly as I'd ideally like things to move. In short, if you manage to get tickets to this particular show, do so. It is so worth it.
Last summer, up in Toronto, my friends and I wanted to go to a dance club that played House music. It was a hot summer night and we made a list of a few places to check out. We went to the first place but since the DJ selections were sub-par, we opted for the next spot. We're very picky about music and, of course, we need to be. I'm not one to take music lightly and neither are they. Like goes with like, after all. The second place we checked out was not available as, well, Lady Gaga was in town and she was performing there. A couple of bouncers offered to give us some good tickets but we politely declined. We were in the market for House not Gaga. As we were heading to the next place, another person approached us and, if my memory serves me right, he actually offered us tickets to the Gaga show. I finally turned and said, "Yeah, we don't do Gaga, guy. Sorry!" Lady Gaga's music and overall presentation is not something I care for. However, I don't have to like a performer to check them out. I believe in being as informed as I can about art and I try to do my homework.
A few days ago, many friends of mine asked me what I thought of Gaga's new video, Alejandro. They know that I don't just check out the kind of music that I like but all kinds of music. I can't help it, really, as it's a condition I've long resigned myself to. It could be worse though, I could suffer from a chronic need to watch all the new motion pictures out there and I most certainly don't have a need to do so. Thank heavens. Can you imagine watching Paul Rudd and Ashton Kutcher movies?!
But I digress.
I tweeted about "Alejandro" and how to me it's not only not new, it's actually a clear imitation (note, not adaptation or interpretation) of Madonna's La Isla bonita and Like a Prayer. What I said, in a nutshell, was that I sure hoped Madonna was getting a piece of the Gaga pie since she (the latter) is imitating her so blatantly. Have people forgotten Madonna and what she used to do back in the 80's and 90's? Madonna pre-Confessions on the Dance Floor, is, as far as I'm concerned, a trailblazer. I wasn't a fan of Madonna's when I was a child as my musical sensibilities were more Rock and considerably less Pop. I did, however, appreciate the novelty that was she.
I remember when I was 12 and Madonna gave an uber-elaborate concert in Rome. My best friend, Evis and I watched it together and I remember feeling sensorially overloaded by the many elaborate Marie Antoinette-type costumes and the melange of things that took place on stage. What attracted me to her was her creativity and how original and oddly novel she was. Lady Gaga, on the other hand, seems to me to be an already seen mix of certain haute couture notions, catchy and simple pop choruses (seriously, consider this: "Walk, walk, fashion, baby. Work it, move that bitch crazy"), and, oh, yes, latex.
Madonna tackled issues via her music videos. Granted, much of it was to shock but much raised awareness as well. Madonna celebrated her femininity and womanhood in ways that we had not seen before. She embraced herself in unapologetic ways and she showed the world that she would try to be in charge of her own self and create herself her own way. One does not have to like her or her particular kind of music and presentation to see her for the unique performer that she was when she first entered the pop scene. Gaga does not ooze novelty to me. Not in the least. I've already seen her act and, as it is the case with much else in my own life and experience, if I've seen it once and it doesn't inspire, I'm over it. Next?
Gaga's New video Alejandro is hailed as yet another controversial piece of art. To these bizarre words of praise I say, check out Madonna, folks. Look at what she did at a time when we didn't have iPods and YouTube also known as the late 80's.
I wasn't aware of the ABC show Lost till after my friend Camille (I reviewed her first studio-released album here) told me about it as we were chatting one night circa 1AM my time and who-knows-whatAM/PM her jet setting time. I think Camille was in South Africa then and she would use her iPod to watch some shows as she'd unwind from a long day of travails. At the time I wasn't watching commercial TV with the exception of HBO's Curb Your Enthusiasm. Generally I don't do 'conventional' TV, i.e., the kind where commercials always interject at the most inopportune time. Interruptions tend to vex, or more importantly, they tend to make me lose interest and I give in to digressions. See, they've done it as I'm writing this. Point made! A year after learning about the show from Camille, I got a call from another pal of mine who was asking me what I thought about Jack and Kate and John. I think I said something akin to 'I'm a year behind but will rent the first season soon.' And that I did. I remember finding the pilot interesting mostly out of novelty reasons. There was nothing on TV that resembled the intensity of storytelling of this show. It took me a few days to carve out enough time to catch up on the show. I remember I was teaching a graduate course on Middle High German during the time I got caught up on Lost and I remember a sensing some compatibility between the texts I was using in my course and the content of the show. The first thought I had while watching the show at the beginning was that the creators were either educated in the literature and philosophy of the Middle Ages or they had some interest in medievalism and the rebirth of interest in things medieval back in the 19th century. Esoteric talk aside, the reason why Lost made me think of the Middle Ages is because of one person: Dante. Dante, in his Divine Comedy, details the journey of Dante, the man, as well as Dante, the poet, through Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso. The Divine Comedy is fundamentally about a person's journey to find the ultimate meaning of living with others and, most importantly, with one's self. The in-between seasons of Lost, i.e., what transpired between Season 3 up to the season finale resembled the awkward journey of an adolescent where much doesn't make sense but other stuff oozes potential even though it might not actually get actualized. The season finale, however, was to my liking. It seemed, to me, to be a tip of the hat to Dante's Divine Comedy. The show made me think of Dante's journey through Purgatorio where the damaged souls still have a chance to purge themselves of past foibles of human life and find some redemption. The remaining characters in this unusual show find moments of connectivity and human meaning but for a few moments as they touch one another and memories of a 'past life' or past experiences come to life. It is during these moments that the finale truly delivers. What made this show interesting in the beginning is that it dared to ask questions about the meaning of life and a person's journey through various challenges and crises. Of course, Lost is an unusual TV accomplishment. There was nothing like it on TV when it first premiered back in 2004 and there's not anything at all like it in 2010, a time when commercial TV is full of embarrassing reality TV where so little of it is TV and much of it is only real in the brain of some producer who is convinced that everyone wants to see people make fools of themselves in front of the camera. But I digress, again. Lost is one of those shows where the viewer was still given some dignity and respect, for the most part. The viewers were given the impression that they mattered and that they could enjoy 40+ minutes of modern programing that somehow felt informed, enamored of meaning, and soundly literary.
Another reason to like Mick Jagger and the Stones: the man is smart. Here's a bit from what he observes regarding music sales on an interview with the BBC:
...people only made money out of records for a very, very small time. When The Rolling Stones started out, we didn’t make any money out of records because record companies wouldn’t pay you! They didn’t pay anyone!
Then, there was a small period from 1970 to 1997, where people did get paid, and they got paid very handsomely and everyone made money. But now that period has gone.
So if you look at the history of recorded music from 1900 to now, there was a 25 year period where artists did very well, but the rest of the time they didn’t.
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