Exhibition

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Review: Morvern Callar

Girl (Morvern Callar) works dead end job in supermarket. Girl (played by Samantha Morton) comes home to find that her boyfriend has bled out all over the kitchen floor, wounds self-inflicted, note tapped out prior and beckoning to her from the computer screen.
And then things get weird.
A book has been written. There's some cash left in the bank account. And the hard truths that nobody else knows don't have to be faced, don't have to be dealt with, do they?
"Be brave", says the suicide note. "I wrote the book for you", it says. And so we follow Morvern around, as she erases her past and springboards off of death into a new life that she will create for herself in the colors of sunset and flowers left for the dead, in a haze of cigarette smoke and "e".
It is a dark and beautiful movie, and when it works it is brilliant, and when it doesn't you just want to reach through the screen and give Morvern a good shake. Not sure if it is worth seeing, but it is definitely something different from the usual tripe out there.
Rating: three of a kind.

imagined conversation #3

I asked you once if you were ever engaged.
And I said no.
But I never asked if anyone ever proposed to you.
Well, obviously, if anyone did, I said no.
You're not answering the question.
Nobody ever asked.
Why do you think that is?
What do you mean?
I mean, do you just project a sense that you don't want marriage, or are you afraid of commitment, or what?
Maybe I just don't want to settle.
Ah, yes. You still think perfect exists.
Why shouldn't I think that?
Can you prove it does?
Can you prove it doesn't?
I can make my case more easily than you can.
I suppose. But that doesn't mean I should give up on it.
What if perfect is what you create, not what you find.
You're chastising me now.
Am I?
You're telling me that I date around too much, and that I should just settle on someone and mold him into what I want.
Yes, but not exactly. I'm saying that you should look for quality over quantity.
But I have to look in a lot of places to find quality.
Fair enough. Find it yet?
No.

pictures of you

Pictures of You, by The Cure

i've been looking so long at these pictures of you
that i almost believe that they're real
i've been living so long with my pictures of you
that i almost believe that the pictures are
all i can feel

remembering
you standing quiet in the rain
as i ran to your heart to be near
and we kissed as the sky fell in
holding you close
how i always held close in your fear
remembering
you running soft through the night
you were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
and screamed at the make-believe
screamed at the sky
and you finally found all your courage
to let it all go

remembering
you fallen into my arms
crying for the death of your heart
you were stone white
so delicate
lost in the cold
you were always so lost in the dark
remembering
you how you used to be
slow drowned
you were angels
so much more than everything
hold for the last time then slip away quietly
open my eyes
but i never see anything

if only i'd thought of the right words
i could have held on to your heart
if only i'd thought of the right words
i wouldn't be breaking apart
all my pictures of you

looking so long at these pictures of you
but i never hold on to your heart
looking so long for the words to be true
but always just breaking apart
my pictures of you

there was nothing in the world
that i ever wanted more
than to feel you deep in my heart
there was nothing in the world
that i ever wanted more
than to never feel the breaking apart
all my pictures of you

pictures of me

Pictures of Me, by Elliott Smith

start stop and start
stupid acting smart
flirting with the flicks
you say it's just for kicks
you'll be the victim of your own dirty tricks
you got yourself to tease and displease
doors swinging wide
you walked in to hide
looking at your feet
failure's complete
saw you and me on the coin-op tv
frozen in fear every time we appear
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
completely wrong
totally wrong
go walking by
come another guy
jailer who sells personal hells
who'd like to see me down on my fucking knees
everybody's dying just to get the disease
hey hey hey hey
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
completely wrong
totally wrong
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
oh everybody's dying just to get the disease
everybody's dying just to get the disease
everybody's dying just to get the disease

kodachrome

I am not photogenic.
Thus I am thankful for digital cameras. Now, no money need ever be wasted on having a picture with me in it printed.
There are perhaps two decent pictures of me taken in any given year, since about the age of 7, when I stopped being cute and transitioned into slightly geeky, sort of shaggy, definitely self-conscious.
This isn't a lament or anything. Just one of those simple truths that one must face.
I sort of raise one eyebrow when I try to smile. I don't know why. It gives me this weird half-squint look. Catch me off guard, and maybe it'll come out okay. Or when I am in the midst of a truly happy or content moment. But I can't force my smiles.

Review: Oryx and Crake

"When any civilization is dust and ashes, art is all that's left over. Images, words, music. Imaginative structures. Meaning - human meaning, that is - is defined by them."

Atwood's vision of the future builds on what we know of the world today: science, technology, climate change, geopolitical conflict, class issues, and so on. It is a land of bioterrorism where the elite are hidden away in their protected, germ-free domes, using their skills to build what they hope is a better life, or at least one free from the pain of the outisde world. As is typical of any fictional utopian/dystopian vision, things fall apart.

"How much misery...how much needless despair has been caused by a series of biological mismatches, a misalignment of the hormones and pheromones? Resulting in the fact that the one you love so passionately won't or can't love you. As a species we're pathetic in that way..."

But why do things fall apart? Is it about our excesses, either self-destructive in and of themselves or aided by nature taking a hand in curbing them, or is it a question of how we relate not only to the world but to each other? And in the end, what exactly is human nature, and is it inherently good or evil? There are the questions Atwood raises, and while she doesn't exactly answer them, she makes her point in the midst of a well-told, chilling narrative.

Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood (2003). Rating (using the poker hand scale): four of a kind.

red lobster

Spent the day at the 57th street beach (with J & K and Soren).
Do I ever learn?
The spots where I usually burn: those are okay.
The spots that I perennially forget about? Oh, yeah: burnt.
I've been to Phoenix in the summer a few times, and today felt like that, only more humid.
Needless to say, I won't be doing any limbo dancing or other non-esssential moving about this evening (or the next day or two, most likely).
And yes, cheapskate bry has turned the a/c on, so don't worry, my poor kitty cat will not collapse under her fur coat from heat exhaustion.

red schoolhouse four

Little Red Schoolhouse, series 4.

Review: In America

Watched In America last night. It is about an Irish family that moves to New York in the midst of dealing with the grief of a dead son while trying to eke out an existence in the city that embodies the "american dream". To explain the movie too much would give away the plot, but ultimately it is about family, life and death, and the beauty in little moments that keep us from retreating entirely within ourselves. The cinematography is exceptional, and every character is complete; you get to know everyone in the movie well enough in the first hour to be able to predict what they will do, but rather than make things boring it makes it all the more satisfying to see each of them emerge from the darkness of loss.
Rating (using the poker hand scale): straight flush.

An aside: This is my first experience with Netflix; my initial impression is very positive.

the walls don't speak

Ginger Snaps, Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips (2003)

When the cowboy sings
When the Saturn rings
When the ginger snaps
When the thunder claps

You can cut my hair
You can fill my cup
You can tell me lies
You can make it up
We're gonna make it after all

I don't need to know who's right or wrong
It's not a crime to change your mind

When the kitchen sinks
When the sugar winks
When the doctor calls
When Niagara falls

I'm a wayward Tom
I'm a silver streak
And the walls have ears
But the walls don't speak
We're gonna make it after all

I don't need to know who's right or wrong
It's not a crime to change your mind

Don't need to know
Don't need to know...

Purple Prince

"From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork."

First of all, while I am not a midnight buyer of this book, I did manage to read the whole thing in two days. One nice thing about these books is that they are relatively quick reads, even given their ever-increasing mass (though this volume seems slightly thinner than Order of the Phoenix). Okay, so, no spoilers. You probably already know that someone dies, and the whole book sort of sets you up for it. The underlying theme concerns choices, whether they are the type confronted by typical teens or issues of life and death. A great deal of backstory is filled in, which manages to keep things interesting during intervals of class mishaps and attempts to spy on Malfoy.
The records set for sales of this book so far will be nothing compared to how quickly (magically?) the seventh and final tome flies off of the shelves.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling (2005). Rating (using the poker hand scale): full house.

Review: Speaking with the Angel

"What I reckon is: everyone's a loony. However normal anyone seems, deep down inside they're actually mental, every single person in the world and the whole of your life you have to learn not to seem mental to other people, who are all mental, too." - Colin Firth

A short story collection edited by Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, About a Boy) featuring a number of noted (mostly British) authors. All of the work here is worth reading, and it jumps around a great deal in style and theme, so just about any taste should be satisfied. Best: Colin Firth's The Department of Nothing, about a boy dealing with the death of his grandmother. Last Requests, by Giles Smith, explores the emotional challenges in being the person who cooks the last meal for death row inmates. Decent: Hornby's NippleJesus follows a guard through a few days standing watch over a controversial work of art. The Slave, by Roddy Doyle, centers around a middle-aged man trying to keep up with age and the changes in his life.

Speaking with the Angel, edited by Nick Hornby (2000). Overall Rating (using the poker hand scale): straight.

Part of the proceeds from the book were donated to autism schools in New York and London.

-.-- --- ..- .- .-. . ... --- ...- . .-. -.-- .--. .-. . - - -.-- .-.-.-

You never know when you'll need a morse code translator.

"billowy white pile"

So somehow I missed this story last week about the herd of Turkish sheep who jumped off of a cliff. Apparently sheep don't lecture their young..."if one of your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?"

poker weekend

Friday night with the regular group, as detailed on the poker night page. Played Saturday night as well, for Rick's about-to-be-a-daddy-we-will-never-see-you-again gathering. The Players: Rob, Rick, Jim, Michelle, Brian, Brandon, Mike, Me. The stakes were higher than what my usual group plays, but in the end I didn't mind since my two 5's held up against an A-8. Oddly enough, I played the same final hand Friday night, but it didn't work out that time.

Review: Röyksopp - The Understanding

Röyksopp returns with a thinly veiled pop album. Behind all the synthetic echoes and lyrics nearly swept away in swirling bliss, they puff-paint their way through a series of lost loves and frozen moments. As with their previous, Melody A.M., this album will get cherry-picked for uptempo dance-floor remixes; it's almost as if they hold back a bit on some tracks in anticipation of how they might be reimagined. That's okay, though, this is still a strong set with some decent guest vocals and very little filler. Best tracks: Only This Moment, What Else is There, Circuit Breaker (reminds me of Pet Shop Boys circa Bilingual).
Rating (using the poker hand scale): full house.

!vOrTeX! 07.05

Nightmare Vortex, Inc. is proud to announce the release of the July vortex compilation. In order to properly highlight the magnitude of this event, we have placed various objects under your seat to be employed during the celebratory unveiling. You will find: A rubber hose, 2 quarts of ice cream, a stuffed owl, a vintage pair of knickers, a mouse, an unpublished Tennessee Williams manuscript, and a grenade. Each section of the audience, please watch for your cues and please hold your applause and your nose until the end. Thank you.

Various potentially inconsequential

It looks like this weekend will be a poker extravaganza, with matches already set up for Friday and Saturday. Of course, between buying booze for Tuesday Night Dinner, and the usual weekend poker game, and whatever I manage to consume during the week, the local liquor store should either be giving me frequent drinker discounts or tossing a note with the location of the local AA meetings in my bag.

Last night at dinner I heard about a kid whose middle name is Thor. What is the most unique name, middle or otherwise, that you have come across?

I know I promised some music reviews, and promptly reneged on that statement; I'm trying to finish up the July vortex compilation and then I'll get around to it.

Left Behind

Lyrics by Aqualung (Matthew and Benjamin Hales)

Open the curtain
Let some light in
I feel so grey
The world got smashed to pieces
And put back together
The wrong way

Why you leaving me now?
There must be some doubt in your mind
Can't you open your heart
Don't want to be left behind

You open your mouth and I know what you're going to say

Open the window
Let some air in
I feel so old
There - where we were happy
Long ago
Yesterday

Why you leaving me now?
There must be some doubt in your mind
Can't you open your heart
Don't want to be left behind

You open your mouth and I know what you're going to say

A swimming pool and an ocean

"The individual soul touches upon the world soul like a well reaches for the water table. That which sustains the universe beyond thought and language, and that which is at the core of us and struggles for expression, is the same thing. The finite within the infinite, the infinite within the finite."

The genius of this book is the way in which it makes you identify with a character so far removed from our typical existence. His struggles, with religion, change, survival, and faith are an inherent part of just about everyone's life regardless of whether we consciously choose to confront such issues on a regular basis. Eventually, we have no other recourse, and we must make a choice. This is a story about cause and effect, and the rationale we use to justify our actions. It is a story about how we define our freedom; about the real and self-imposed limits to our life and our actions. In telling a tale of survival, Martel reminds us time and again that the journey is more important than the destination.

Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (2001). Rating (using the poker hand scale): four of a kind.

Sox

Friday: Out to Comiskey for the Sox vs. the A's. No, I won't call it by its' bought and paid for name. Mostly work people etcetera in attendance. We got an odd batch of tickets, spread out over several rows, but that sort of worked for chatting with people. The game itself was not all that exciting; Sox lost 4-2. Some random thoughts: I had never taken the orange line before. How odd. Ran into a bunch of kids from Savannah, Georgia at the Midway stop here to do some sort of social work project; that was kind of neat; they were all polite but obviously excited to be in the city. It was Rat Pack night at the ballpark, which was a nice coincidence; at the end they had a guy out at home plate sing a medley of Sinatra songs; he was decent. (I know, I am on a run-on sentence kick this morning; sorry.) After that was the fireworks show; we had excellent position for that (center-right field bleachers) but our location also afforded us a hail of ash and debris falling down upon us the whole time. Thankfully, nobody caught fire. Also observed: A guy yelling at his buddy: "Hey, get off your cell-phone; this isn't Wrigley!" Ironic in a park presently named for a cell-phone company.

Must love cats

Prediction: For the entire month of August, anyone who meets up on an online dating site will suggest (sheepishly? daringly? tongue in cheek or lolling?) going out to see Must Love Dogs. In theatres July 29, I'll bet you can already guess the premise, punchlines and outcome. Hopefully it has more depth than the shameless cashing-in-on-a-trend You've Got Mail, though the presence of John Cusack guarantees at least a more apropos range of facial expressions than Tom Hanks could manage...

A heartbreaking work

"What am I giving you? I am giving you nothing."
"I give you virtually everything I have. I give you all of the best things I have, and while these things are things that I like, memories that I treasure, good or bad, like the pictures of my family on my walls I can show them to you without diminishing them. I can afford to give you everything."

This has been sitting on my bookshelf for a while now. And now that I have finally gotten around to reading it, I am struck with the following thoughts:
1. Dave Eggers could have saved himself the trouble of writing this book if, at the time of the events in question, he had a blog.
2. San Francisco is best enjoyed with sunblock, a good coat, and a glass of wine.
3. There is always regret and tragedy in death, no matter how we approach it, no matter what sort of resolution we lend to it.
4. Consciously calling attention to the fact of using your characters as voices for yourself is neither brilliant nor creative, it is sheer ego played off as literary device.
5. Read this book. Don't read it. It is interesting, occasionally funny, and tries very hard to be endearing, but at the same time it is unlikely that it will nourish your soul in any way.
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers (2000). Rating (using the poker hand scale): three of a kind.

Disappearing weekend

Friday: We had a big poker night for Jeff's b-day. Good crowd, mumbling, laughing, the sound of chips hitting the table, empty bottles lined up like an art installation in-progress, Andy Goldsworthy's "Rivers and Tides" dvd providing background scenery.
Didn't do much on Saturday; am presently reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (finally) and thus far it is more heartbreaking than genius. I'll review it properly when I'm done.
Sunday, out with R. to Taste of Chicago. Ate: crab cake nuggets (yum), catfish nuggets (okay), Connie's pizza (big!), jerk tofu (and I'm not a big tofu fan, but oh-my-god it was excellent), rainbow cone (of course), enchiladas (decent), pot stickers (quite tasty), and I'm probably forgetting something. Went early enough to catch a lesser propertion of stupid people who do not understand how to walk in a crowd. Took the Metra up there; something I have never done, so it was an interesting ride through the well manicured suburbs through the decaying city stops (Cicero stop especially; looks like it'll fall down any moment now).
Later, watched The Apartment, a Billy Wilder movie from 1960, with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. Classic; excellent movie, some of the dialogue and little comedic touches are brilliant.