Chauteux on Central

My mini story is about Chauteux on Central, a half-built condominium district in downtown Phoenix. During the housing boom, this complex was built in hopes of charging residents between 1.4 million and 4 million dollars to live here. Then the recession hit and the developers, Central PHX Partners, declared bankruptcy.
But that’s not all! The New York Times did a story on Chauteux and hired a photojournalist to take photos of major undeveloped buildings across America, kind of as icons of the recession. However, the photographer photoshopped several of the images in the slideshow, was fired and the slideshow was taken down.
So I took it upon myself to show accurate photos of Chauteux. I shot black and white C-41 film, which, even if the final result can be falsified, the negatives never can be.

The Phoenix New Times has a perfect version of the story.

Here is a link to the original site.

Additional photos:

Ryan McGinley; a school essay thing

NOTE: Part of an essay I wrote that I thought was charming. I just like making indepth bullshit interpretations. I'm not sure I meant any of this, but it makes sense, right?

2. Find a PORTRAIT photographer of national prominence (not a local photographer or someone from a trade magazine). Describe what he or she does best. Apply it to what you have learned in class, or what you hope to learn in the future about photography. Also, discuss how that photographer uses light and composition to make photographs work. Exclude Ansel Adams.

Ryan McGinley has suddenly gotten a lot of attention. He’s barely 32, but when he was 24, he was the youngest photographer to have a solo show at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York City. American Photo Magazine named him photographer of the year in 2003, and world-famous weird rock band Sigur Rós used one of McGinley’s photos as an album cover. The picture features four people running naked across a highway, a theme that is omnipresent in McGinley’s work.

Almost all of his portrait photography is nude. His style evolved from documenting his artsy friends in real-life, everyday situations (for some reason his friends were constantly naked) such as wrestling, playing with fireworks, swimming and whatever else it is that naked people do.

Soon, McGinley was too famous for his own good and had to start constructing his portraits. He said he didn’t have time to wait around for his friends to do interesting things, so he fabricated fantastic, bleak scenery but he kept the naked theme.

Perhaps minimalism is taken to an extreme with McGinley. Maybe not. In his series called Moonmilk, the young New York photographer took hundreds of snapshots of his naked friends in huge, looming caves that were discolored with tinted spotlights. The result is something out of a bad sci-fi movie, but somehow McGinley makes it beautiful.

My favorite portrait by McGinley is called Lily (Black Eye) which features a naked woman (presumably Lily) holding a cigarette to her mouth and a lighter clutched in the other. She is barely, casually covering her breasts. Behind Lily is a couple of flawless white sand dunes. Lily’s hair is blowing in the wind and, while it’s barely noticeable, she has two, huge, black shiners under each eye.

Poor Lily. As she’s about to light her cigarette, she looks incredibly exposed, somehow even more naked than naked. First, the black eyes, glancing timidly off to the side, inferring that she is abused. But unlike some victims of domestic abuse, she isn’t covering it up with makeup. It’s very in your face.

Then, there’s the cigarette, which Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. once called a form of “slow suicide”. It is revealed that Lily is abusing herself, perhaps more than her assailant.

But she’s naked in a hostile desert. And the minimalism almost becomes claustrophobic, drawing the eyes right into Lily’s emaciated, exhausted frame. We can’t look away.

The shadows and the harsh lighting really tie the photo together.

Ryan McGinley’s talent isn’t really in nudie photos; it’s in exposure. Revealing a layer of humanity through his lens so that the viewer can also feel exposed. It’s hard not to feel like you’re the naked one when viewing Lily.

Who wouldn’t want that talent? But that’s not exactly something you can learn in a classroom. You have to be the kind of person who is able to expose that kind of humanity. Some people won’t show it.

The best way to learn it is probably watching masters like McGinley work and continuing to try to understand the layers we hide under.

Sensationalism!

Say it with me: senSATIONalism! Really emphasize it.

[1.]

We live in a period of sensationalism. I don't want to say if that's good or bad, I just want to be in control of it, not the other way around.

But I'm discovering the limits of my mind and my memory, running up against too many walls. I have to write everything down, or I'll forget to do it. Sometimes, I take on a third persona (besides me and I) and almost treat my mind like a child. It's hard to explain, but maybe you know what I mean.

Why am I always so busy? Why have I started fast-forwarding to the best parts of everything? Why do I never have time to watch movies? Why is it, if I'm doing something, I immediately want to be doing something else? And why does nothing bring me happiness like it used to?

I can barely find the time to write these days. I only read on the toilet. I never take little museful walks like I used to. I'm always tired.

I really want to disconnect myself from the world. I guess I'm blaming the internet for my poor time management skills. But what else is there that's causing this? School may be part of it. But I know I will still be forever stuck like this even if I had a 9-5 job.

Whatever it is, I want answers to these questions. Many of my friends are probably going through this, but they don't have the time to even read this. As they say, TLDR. Good for them.

Like most of my solutions to problems, I want to take the drastic way out. I want to smash my cellphone, delete (deactivate) Facebook, Twitter and MySpace and uninstall Firefox. I'd be free! And it would feel excellent!

But I can't. This is possibly the only way I communicate with most of my friends these days -- through a motherfucking screen. As much as I loathe screeangers, I've become one.

It's a choice between mental health and freedom or friendship. I really can't decide. Finding a balance has been difficult and distracting.

I'm being pessimistic, exaggerating a little and it's possible no one cares. But I'm doing that to really put the problem in focus. These are sensationalist times we live in.

I want out.

[2.]

I have 40gbs of music. For some people, that's nothing. They have libraries of music bigger than entire generations created. That's cool. I'm happy with my 40gbs and every week, it increases, little by little.

The problem is, my mind could never, ever contemplate this entire library. I'm always forgetting bands or songs that I used to listen to for weeks. Whenever I go on trips, I try not to bring along an iPod and "fast" from music awhile. During that time, songs play in my head that I never recognize. It's agonizing, yet refreshing.

So what's the point of having all this music? It's not to show some kind of muscle. Most of it was paid for, so I'm not just taking it just to take it. I hate digital downloads because if my computer crashes, I will lose everything. Why am I afraid of losing something I can't fully understand or fully use?

I can never give equal attention to a band or album as I usually do, so when friends tell me a band I haven't heard is good, I usually just agree. Minus the Bear is a perfect example. I have all their albums, I've listened to three songs once and I went to their show two weeks ago. I told everyone how excited I was and talked up the band and when Minus came onstage, I was disappointed. All of Minus's songs sound the same, emo and kind of boring.

Does this make me a poser? I hope not. I can't stand the idea of being inauthentic, which is why I'm being so honest here. I think I'm just overwhelmed.

I would have to listen to my entire library for 22.8 days in order to hear every single song I own. This is (personally) impossible -- I've tried so many times. My computer is not a radio station and I am not a computer. I don't want to be either.

So what's the point?

[3.]

When a Bookman's first opened in my neighborhood, I was 14 and overwhelmed by the size and variety and volume of their used books, music, movies and video games. I actually became depressed for a day, because I was 14 and I became depressed about anything and everything. Moreover, I realized I would never be able to read all the great books in the world, never be able to hear all the great albums and never be able to see all the great movies.

Even if I live to 70, there isn't enough time.

So I immediately resolved to ONLY enjoy quality things. Yes, Bookman's turned me into a hipster. I became volatile about my opinions. They were the best! You can't argue!

If something was wasting my time, I would reject it. Which explains why I have about 25 books on my shelf that are half-read, probably 100 albums I've listened to once (if at all) and dozens of DVD's on a list that I will never, ever see.

Lately, since the spring, I've just been indulging in stupid things on purpose. B-movies and vintage comic books and shit like that. Trying to sabotage myself. I want to break away from this idea I gave myself that being properly entertained was the best way to live.

So, no, I really don't give a fuck anymore what the greatest movie is. Is it Citizen Kane or Citizen I-Have-Better-Things-To-Think-About? I haven't seen it. I won't see it. And so I haven't seen a lot of excellent films. Maybe I wasn't born having already seen every fucking thing Robert Ebert gave two thumbs up.

And are The Beatles the greatest band in history? I don't care. Half of them are dead anyway, so it does them no good. It does no one any good. I don't care if I only own the White Album. As Scroobius Pip said, "Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals, no matter how great they are, or were. The Beatles were just a band. Led Zeppelin, just a band . . ." etc.

I'm over all the hype we give artists. Over it, over it, over it.

Don't even get me started on books.

Anyway, NPR, Spin and hundreds of other publications are riding on the last wave this decade has, really dragging it out and making all kinds of lists. The Best This of the '00s or The Best That of The New Millenium.

I was going to do my own list, but really? Does it matter? Furthermore, isn't it a little early to tell? A best of the '60s TODAY is a hundred times more practical than one that was released in '69. Or maybe it's the other way around, but I think it depends on what people are STILL listening to.

I've noticed something else. Some bands like Radiohead, The Velvet Underground and tons of others market their music by saying (literally or figuratively, it doesn't matter) "If you don't understand this album, you are stupid." But then, almost everyone instantly likes their album (honestly or dishonestly, it doesn't matter). Some people just don't want to seem stupid.

Well, fuck that. It's worse than being pretentious or wrong or whatever. It's inauthentic for an artist to have that kind of attitude. It means your fans don't give a shit about you, they just show up to your shows to look intelligent. But now I still don't understand Minus the Bear and I also don't care.

Unfortunately, nearly every band is inauthentic for one reason or another, isn't it? Besides, that's the point. Music, movies and books give you false hope. And false hope is very, very entertaining.

So unfortunately nothing in section [3.] really changes what I like or how I interpret art.
I know what I like, I don't care if you disagree (but I appreciate it) and I'm not ashamed and so there you go.

[4.]

Have you noticed, that whichever band's album you listen to first tends to be your favorite? This is the case with myself and at least three other people I know, even if it's not technically the band's greatest cut.

For example, I adore The Mars Volta's 2006 release Amputechure way more than Frances the Mute. I know a lot of fans were disappointed with Amputechure and everyone raves about Frances, but that's how I feel and that's how I'll probably always feel. Obviously, I heard them in that order.

Personally, I can't think of any real exceptions to this rule except Nirvana, Muse and Franz Ferdinand. That's not the point.

The point is, this is the power of precedence. That first album sets the precedent for how you think that particular band should act. This is why you will nearly always hate a band's latest album. Or at least be disappointed.

The power of precedence is sensational. It carries over to everything. I hate it.

For your father, it sets the precedence for what a man should be. And most people know what happens to people who don't have fathers.
For your mother, it sets the precedence for what a woman should be.
For the first person you fall in love with, it sets the precedence of love and that's why every single one of your relationships are gonna be the same. Different face, but not a different person, same problems.
Etc.

I feel trapped by these precedents and I want to break free, but I don't know how. I don't even know if I should. I just don't want to seem wrong.

That's it. That's the whole thing. The whole point of this ranting, disorientated, too honest writing.

I feel very, very wrong.

Outside Forces

October 23, 2009
2:10 a.m.

Lately, I feel so many outside forces attempting to disarm me of my dreams.
But now, in this moment, I have one that fights for me -- ironically, insomnia.
Insomnia is what gives me my hope.
All a concoction of too much alcohol and caffeine.
Maybe a few nightmares.
I adore my nightmares, but they're generally stressful dreams that wouldn't transfer to others.
Running from the cops. Trying to solve all my problems in an afternoon. Insects devouring me.
Maybe those would translate, maybe they wouldn't.

I want to write something about a lactose intolerant kid who is hiding from the zombies in a deep freezer. Oh, God, that's got to be the worst zombie scenario ever. Nothing but ice cream to eat, nothing but cold, no light, no windows and no way out. I mean, the poor kid could have picked a latrine to hide in instead. That'd be preferable. And when the power goes out, when all that ice starts to freeze and the meat starts to smell, God, that will be the worst.

Nixon had his coma.
Dracula had his funeral.
I too, must rest once in a while.

My mentality is a beehive that never sleeps.
Awake, my thoughts never find a home.
I can write it down, as Kafka did, and as he said, it loses meaning.
But sometimes it gains a new meaning.

A seaside home sighs for occupation again.
Sheets cover the furniture, boards over the windows.
How the home lies in disrepair, exactly as revisited memories.

Nothing important hasn't been done.
Nothing important won't be done.
When God turns off the light, everything will be in its right place.
I hope that for myself.
Like a cup, taken from the cupboard, drank from, rinsed and replaced.
I would come from the earth and be placed back beneath the ground.
Like a seed.
I too, must rest once in a while.

Law Abiding Citizen / This is It: Two Movie Reviews

I've been trying my muscle at more precise, thoughtful movie reviews. Someone, somewhere, may one day give a fuck.

This Is It starts with tears. It’s the story of Michael Jackson’s months of rehearsal planned for his last world-tour. Unfortunately, as we all know, Jackson died eight days before the tour launched. Here we have a tragic behind-the-scenes glance at what that concert may have looked like.

The final result melts the eyes. Jackson has never looked so bad, almost needing no make-up to play a “Thriller” zombie. Claiming he was doing the whole rehashed shtick “for the fans” (also the intended audience of the movie), Jackson reimagines his classic tunes alongside a line-up of break dancers, a cover band and bikini dancers. This Is It blends between live and rehearsed acts with jarring levity, stopping and going with unending schizophrenia.

Jackson’s new tracks, yelping for world peace and environmental justice are preachy, sappy and overshadowed by the violence, sex and glamour, perhaps as it should be.

But all this asks, is this really a proper tribute to the King of Pop? Will fans really enjoy the surrealist manufactured feel throughout this unending outtake reel? Something always feels missing here and it isn’t just the eerie feeling of watching a dead man prance about again. It plays more like a DVD featurette than a biopic.

This Is It really isn’t it. It comes off as a way to make money on a dead man’s ticket, not a reminder of how great that man was.

-----

Law Abiding Citizen at first bows to America's love of brilliant killers, the typical genius murderer one step ahead of the authorities, but it soon lends to the ridiculous and trite.

Gerald Butler plays Clyde Shelton, a victim of a home invasion that resulted in his family slaughtered by two thugs. When Shelton's power-hungry lawyer, Nick Rice (Jamie Foxx) refuses to take the case to court, our victim turns vigilante not only against his aggressors but the entire court system of Philadelphia.

He's got valid reasons, as the holes he pokes in America's justice system actually exist. Many guilty criminals are let off with lesser sentences through plea bargaining or the like, so the idea of taking law into his own hands is fresh and gripping.

Immediately, Citizen grabs viewers by the balls, playing out like a cross between Se7en and Fracture with the pacing to match, but the treads in the story wear out midway.

The first half is acceptable and there isn't a moment you don't feel caught in the grasp of Shelton's antics yourself. Shelton utilizes Saw-like torture to kill the thugs responsible for his family's death, setting off a cat-and-mouse game with the District Attorney's office. Shelton admits guilt (sort of) in return for some petty favors, but even within prison he's right where he wants to be. With chess-like precision, he manipulates and threatens the D.A.'s office and commits several more gruesome murders remotely from his prison cell.

Plot isn't weakened by pacing but by plausibility. By the second half, it's difficult to believe anyone can procure military grade missiles that can be launched at a carefully chosen cemetery just to threaten one lawyer. Some of Shelton's actions (such as mailing a DVD of a man being chainsawed in half to a ten-year old)

become so bizarre, brazen and out-of-line with his original intent that the concept is almost lost.

Citizen is finally toppled by an anti-climatic, clichéd ending. Justice (or Shelton's view of it) is served to a select few and everyone else gets off with a saturated warning. But it all goes back to Law Abiding Citizen's real intent -- to be a crowd pleaser.

The constant, building tension; the gut-wrenching violence; the ingenious killer whose stand is his downfall -- it all equals a formulaic story-line with few rewarding plot twists or meaningful character development. But if the popcorn is fresh and buttery, it'd be worth a sit through.

De Blob: Anarchy, Art and Video Games

Fun, colorful and maybe it has a deeper message.

I don't really play newer video games, but I got the chance to try out De Blob, a Wii game that feels a bit like Mario Sunshine, Sonic the Hedgehog, Kirby and The Tick. De Blob even looks a bit like Tick, doesn't he?
I'm not saying it's original, but it's delightful. The plot is, an evil corporation called INKT has invaded Chroma City and turned the entire place to a colorless, soulless place. Your job is to maneuver De Blob to paint capsules and soak the entire town in color. You rescue citizens from their lifeless, cultureless existence and everyone cheers and music plays and it's great.
The bad guys, the Inkys, they're like Nazi's. Watching cut scenes of them are like old Nazi propaganda films and a less funny, less violent Happy Tree Friends. But it's an interesting perspective to have on fascism, at least for a video game -- that government is uncreative and soulless and the best way to fight back is ART.
There's even the Church of Inktology (which you destroy and turn into a skatepark), a thin veil for religious commentary or maybe just attacks on Scientology, but I don't see much difference.
Yes, it's a game about Anarchy and graffiti and it's marketed for kids. I think this is spectacular. My brothers and sisters who own it will maybe grow up thinking for themselves. Or maybe not. They don't read into much.
And that's half the reason I don't play newer video games -- there's nothing to read into. There were some bizarre, troubling morals in the games I played as a kid, like Majora's Mask, Link's Awakening, Metroid and Zombies Ate My Neighbors, but at least there was something. There's nothing anymore. Halo? Please. All those stupid WWII games? Yeah right, not even a "don't join the army" warning. Even the newer Zeldas and Marios are vapid.
But De Blob is an exception. A beautiful exception.

If I had a Wii, I'd buy it.

Healthcare and (hopefully) addressing real concerns.

august 30

As you know, I hate both the Left and the Right equally, so this whole healthcare debate has me aghast at both levels of stupidity.
As you know, I am against big government, so obviously, putting my health and life in the hands of a self-minded bureaucracy doesn't seem smart.
But hearing the conservatives argue against it is ludicrous! God, their petty bickering is exactly opposite of what I believe! They aren't arguing for freedom, they aren't arguing for anything but their own agenda. After all, Reagan introduced plenty of bills that made our healthcare more socialist.Bush and Bush haven't helped shit.

And yes folks, by definition this healthcare plan is socialist. Some think that's ok. "Hey, it works for Canada and Sweden." But how certain are we that it will function under OUR government, which is leaps and bounds larger and more disorganized? With the national debt reaching bazillions of dollars we think we can pay for this with 3¢ taxes on Coke? We are funding unstoppable wars that are killing innocent people, now we think we can save ourselves? This isn't about the elderly getting coverage, this is about collapsing the entire infrastructure of Capitol Hill.

I disagree that socialism -- if it works at all -- works in the long run. It may work for Canada now, but who knows? In ten years, thirty, it could fall on them. It didn't work for

I hate the argument that government health care will be run like the Post Office. It'll be way more like the DMV. Hours of waiting, go to one window to get this tag to take to this window ... while the doctors and officials try to weasel you out of coverage. Has the government ever given something away for free that wasn't dripping with reluctance? Even FEMA is haphazard and inefficient to our own "huddled, starving masses," namely, victims of hurricanes, floods and earthquakes. And I know what it's like, I've been on government healthcare before.

Did you know you have to renew it every six months? This may take six to eight weeks to process. So for a maximum of 16 weeks out of the year, don't you dare have a hospital emergency. Just try getting covered then. My sister had a fine time with that when she had appendicitis.

And I'm SO SURE if this access was mandatory to everyone it would magically improve, not deteriorate. Let's up the scale of this unreliable system to a national level!

Well, wait, this isn't about me OR you. This is about the children. They are dying in droves because Obama is not here to hand them a band-aid -- which is about all your kid with leukemia will qualify for.

But it's true. Our healthcare system blows. But isn't that because the Clintons, the Reagans and everyone since FDR have made the problems of a market a problem for the bureaucracy? What I'm saying is, when the problems get worse as the government shoves its pointed nose in deeper, is the real solution MORE of the same?

It was Benjamin Franklin that said, insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Strange Graves

photo by Squared

She calls me after work, carrying an orange juice box full of flowers and she says, let's go to the cemetery.

I'm reluctant. I'm slightly hungover, at the very least tired, not amused by anything. I'm overcast, like the sky.

Trudging through puddles, accumulations of soggy pine needles and dead leaves, fall feels omnipresent. Inescapable drudgery.

We place brilliantly-dyed flowers, the stems hacked off, onto any graves that look lonely. Neon green, canary yellow, periwinkle and opal white. Fake colors.

I'm ignoring any new or military graves, looking for the markers placed in Citizen's Cemetery that are for normal people, people so long dead they never knew what electricity was or chemical warfare or strip malls or nuclear holocaust or ATM's or any of this. Doesn't their pain, centuries old, long buried, seem more justified than this? Even if it's forgotten?

I yearned for causes of death, some kind of excuse, but there were none. My thoughts couldn't connect.

I searched for the graves of children, babies with the same birth and death date. I found pairs, two brothers who died before they were my age. Those tombstones for married couples, the one side already etched deep with dates, the other, empty . . . patiently waiting. Over one such couple's grave, I kissed her, long and hard.

She was crying. It was hard, raw. It could be us soon. But maybe that's just selfish thinking.

And there's a picture of our feet, the box, the tomb.

We gave the remainder of the flowers to a man bringing his kids to the cemetery.

self-loathing self-portrait

My Oscar Picks 2008

I found this in my drafts, finished. I wish I had posted it, but it's kind of funny that I am now, 10 months late, just because I'm a little bored.

MY OSCAR PICKS

I believe the Best Picture Award should go toward a film that brings new cultural understanding, breaks taboos and adds cinematic value to American culture. For example, between There Will Be Blood and No Country for Old Men, No Country deserves the win, no contest, because while Blood was commentary on oil dependency and human corruption, No Country was a unique version of what could be a cliché story, told with metaphor, symbolism and tragedy (it also mused on human corruption; no one in either Blood or No Country were good guys, not really).

But the Oscars suck. They rarely pick movies that do bring cultural significance. For example, 2006 was between The Departed and Children of Men, both incredible movies. Departed won, yet Children was the obvious pick. It was an example of cinematic excellence, with its masterful tracking shots and immersion in a world gone mad. It's story was a commentary on the Bush administration's fearful scare tactics, America's racism and totalitarianism. The best example, is the scene in the prison camps. In the background, you can barely make out a man wearing all black, arms out stretched and attached to electrical wires. Yes, the movie was saying, America, this is you.

That, of course, is why it didn't win. I really don't think there's a point in making "Oscar Picks" because it's a stupid organization that doesn't bring anything to the table, except on accident.

That said, here are my Oscar picks for this year.

FROST / NIXON

Didn't actually see it, but I know the story, a bit. This film acts as a thin veil for the lynching of W. Someone tried to prosecute Nixon for crimes, which should remind people that Bush committed war crimes and he should also be tried. But that's too bad, because anyone knows Bush won't and if he does, they should also execute Obama and any other senators that approved the legislation allowing W. to commit those acts of inhumanity. BUT THAT'LL NEVER HAPPEN. So this movie's entire point is lost and does not deserve an Oscar. Which brings me to . . .

W.
Does the W stand for WASTE, as in "waste of time"? This was the first film I ever snuck into, and I'm glad I didn't pay for it. It's terribly long, irrelevant to actual truth about the bastard elect and comes so late in the administration it's ineffectual. Occasionally, the movie tries to be objective, but it comes across as contrived. There's only one motivation for this film and that is to tarnish the reputation of Bush, only it won't do that. It won't do anything. Speaking of which:

MILK
Yet another blatantly motivated political film. Yay. This one is wedged between Obama, MLK and the gay rights movement up in arms over Prop. 8 and Prop 102.
Great, I agree, give the gays rights, but this movie? Seriously? Melodramatic (like when Milk's boy toy commits suicide), sappy and irresponsible. Historically accurate, yes, but that exposes how Milk was a corrupt, power hungry beast. What he did for gays he only did for himself, and he did it by bending the law, making slimy deals with another crooked politician, the guy who eventually killed him. Ha ha ha. Irony.
But this film doesn't matter, it doesn't impact the gay rights movement and it doesn't make any politician a saint. A film for our time it's not.

CADILLAC RECORDS
Speaking of minorities, here's another of those nearly-all black films. See also: Dreamgirls, and all those Tyler Perry films. The problem with this film is its historical accuracy; it barely has any. It takes too long a period of time, speeds it up and tries to view it too easily. Like a bullet train tour through Chicago, you don't see anything.
The music is great, the acting is great, but the story isn't an impact on society.

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
A smooth mix of cool, exciting and dramatic. It opens a brand new world, the spectacular country of India. It has a tale of hope, desperation and a gentle perspective on a very negative issue, namely poverty. As India rises as a world power, many Americans despise the competition, but this film shows our neighbors are human and just want what we have.

THE WRESTLER
Didn't see it, but damn, I wish I had. I don't think it has a chance, however, but wouldn't mind if it did win something. At least best actor. From what I can decipher from trailers, this is a Rocky of our time. Speaking of Rocky, it won best picture in 1976, pushing out Network, which was another terrible Oscar snub. Fuck Rocky, it's a terrible film, especially the sequels.

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
Clearly the most beautiful, poignant film since Requiem for a Dream in terms of existensial angst. I cried, a lot and I'm not embarassed by that. It's a film that has a message for me: embrace life, embrace it hard and do the best with it. My personal favorite film of the year, but I'm still not sure it's "The Big One".

CHANGELING
I think Angelina Jolie should win something for being the most anorexic housewife of the twenties. But seriously, her acting was something else. The rest of the film, however, just isn't up to standards of significance.


THE DARK KNIGHT
Just kidding. This isn't nominated, although perhaps it should be, so I don't think I should mention anything, except this: one dead actor is not enough to make an entire blockbuster film worthy of social impact. At least, not in this case. If Robert Downey, Jr. dies before the making of Iron Man 2: The Subpar Sequel that won't make the film Oscar gold.

WALL•E
*snort*.
This should have been a silent film. The first several minutes acted that way, but then it turned into this boring, melodramatic moral tale. Soulless machines telling us how to run the planet and condemning consumerism? And then having Disney place Wall•e's ugly mug on every cereal box, dinette set and condom dispenser? That's not irony, kids. That's hypocrisy. All this film teaches is to be blind to actual issues and whine like a bitch.

MAN ON WIRE
An indie documentary about a man who did a trapeze act between the Two Towers, creating the single most incredible art crime in history. The film was inspiring and riveting (I can't think of better words) and it didn't once mention the 9/11 attacks, which was an interesting touch. It doesn't deserve best picture, but best documentary or something.

CONCLUSION
So, I've filtered it down between SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE, BENJAMIN BUTTON and THE WRESTLER. I can't pick one, because I haven't seen the Wrestler and I have a personal bias for Button (If you can guess why, I'll give you a dollar). I actually don't think any of those will win. It'll probably be something lame. Anyone want to place bets?

Basterds

I've been meaning to write a review of Quentin Tarantino's latest, but don't expect a lack of spoilers. Go see the movie and come back. You won't regret it.





It was perfect. It was certainly the best movie in the last ten years (since Fight Club, obviously, exactly). A crowded theater, midnight showing, everyone cheered and groaned perfectly.
But it was awful. Awful in the literal sense, full of awe and full of what's terrible.
There are five chapters, each one built upon a beautiful scene of dialogue ending in revolting violence. Tarantino has a real muscle for language, any language, French, German, Italian, especially English. Every dripping word is spectacular, every verb builds up tension like a game of Jenga using the Sears Tower. And then it explodes. It explodes in the most horrifying, beautiful, awesome, awful way possible.

There is more symbolism than I probably caught, but it spoke deeply of the nature of man. First, the trivial, how Bridget von Hammersmark gave a gift to Wilhelm's son, a napkin, yet it ended up being the death of his father.
How, Shosanna Dreyfus, in the scene of her death, became the "Woman in the Red Dress" quite literally by betraying Fredrick Zoller.
The milk.
The meta-ness of the theater burning (for a moment, I thought Harkins was actually aflame and I should bolt for the nearest exit).
The propaganda film that twists Zoller's facts, likewise Tarantino shamelessly twists the facts of World War II, making himself the propagandist.

This alone, Tarantino has created a film that people will use a yardstick for the future of cinema. That's no small feat.

Yet, there's a moral cavity here. The greatest irony in the film is that the Jews become Nazis. They get revenge and mercilessly destroy human life, as judge, jury, executioner. It doesn't have to be right, I'm not asking for anyone to be kind, but there's something darkly eerie when a room of 300 people are applauding these sickening acts.

Does that mean we are softened? Will we be easier to draft, to be flown across the sea to kill others? What will historians think when they view our film history and discover we never had any true heroes. The protagonists in most popular films of this past decade (too many to list!) have no clean-cut morals. I prefer this, but is it right?

The whole thing, an audience clapping when a head is scalped, seems inhumane, but it instantly reminds one of the scene in Chapter Five of Hitler chuckling as Zoller executes American soldiers. I don't think Tarantino is making any solid moral statements here, but you're not exactly supposed to desire them from the man. But calling out violence in film is like spoiling fun or guilt-tripping people for nothing. Party pooper. But I'm not calling it out. I too, am not making any foundational argument here. Just noting.

On the other hand, the movie doesn't only act as a twisted revenge film; it acts as an anti-grace film. Any character that shows mercy instantly goes to Hell, such as Dreyfus pulling up the bleeding body of Zoller, such as the French dairy farmer, such as Landa who gets his skull carved into. Even Landa's murdering of Hammersmark was unneccessary, since he had already planned to betray his country at that point.

But maybe it's just war, then. Maybe there are no excuses.

In the end, adding this whole thing together, it's either the most sickening reflection of inner humanity, like shining a light down the filthy orifice to see how far it reaches. Or maybe it's the most beautiful image of depravity. I like to think it's both.

Doomed! V. 1

After two months of lazy deliberating, here are all the details from my first comic book, DOOMED!

I was desperate just to create something, publish something, like a little zine, but I had absolutely no direction whatsoever, so I gathered up some humorous sketches and threw them together at Kinko's. For five bucks, I published five issues (I made a lot of mistakes). I'm thinking of selling them (possibly to record stores or whatever) for 2 or 3 bucks, just to cover printing costs. And then I'll print a second edition. And then a volume two, which will have less shit and more point.

(click to enlarge)

I may change the name, details, etc. I may work with other artists, if they are somehow less lazy than me and don't expect a lot of cash. Email me at fireserphent@gmail.com if you're interested (include samples, unless you personally know me.)

(click to enlarge)

I guess that's all I have to say. Lately, I've felt very inspired by Matt Groening's book Love is Hell and Chris Ware's Acme Novelty Date Book. I'm developing characters and violent fantasies and I feel good about this boring comic escapade. I'm writing a children's book, too, which will be just as stupid or worse. The future is exciting!

You can view the whole book, free, here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/menetekel/sets/72157622203013136/

(click to enlarge)

Andy Warhol Eats a Hamburger

So. . .
You just watched Andy Warhol eat a hamburger. Maybe you're wondering what it's all about. It seems simple enough, just Andy in a green room munching his lunch, but he's famous. Maybe in this case, he does something interesting.
So you watch as he opens the bag, pulls out the burger and unwraps it. No fries. The burger could be from anywhere.
He dabs ketchup on the side and dips the burger into the ketchup instead of laying it on top, even though he pulled off the top bun. What?
Now you're curious, is he gonna do anything more? So for the next three minutes as he chews and chews, you're mind is racing. You're wondering, what the hell is Andy Warhol thinking? He stares off into the middle-distance, chomp-chomping away and he doesn't look bored or happy or sad or even hungry. He is the epitome of emotionlessness.
Suspense builds in your head like a pot boiling over. You're still trying to figure this out. He pulls the hamburger apart and doesn't even finish it! What the hell? He wraps the mess back up and stows it back in the sack, sets it aside, then twiddles his thumbs. He looks lost, glancing around, nearly paranoid, and his mouth is half open, like he's gonna say something.
Now the suspense is killing you! Is he gonna explain this all away? Is he? He opens his mouth . . . and closes it. . . and opens it again! He does this for nearly a minute!
And it's the longest minute of your life. Longer than that moment you almost drowned. Longer than that moment you were fired for stealing from your job. Longer than the minute you first inhaled.

Suddenly! It zooms in on Andy's face and he says,

"Um, my name is Andy Warhol and uh, I just finished eating a uh, hamburger."

That's it.
That's it. It's perfect.
It bars no explanation. It needs none. But for those of you confused, or unsatisfied, think of it this way:
It's either the greatest joke ever told or a masterpiece of the simplest things in life. Perhaps it's something sexual.
But I think Andy is mocking his own celebrity status. Of all the artists in history, Andy Warhol is probably the only artist more well-known than his art. And his art is simple, commonplace objects turned upside down. By videotaping an act so simple that no one values, Andy is saying, why does anyone value me?
It's the most self-loathing, despairing video I have probably ever seen. And I hope you understand it like I do, because it truly is great.

Copper - Everyone's Changing

Two years ago when I first read the adventures of Copper and his dog Fred, I hated it. The art was cool, but the preachy, over-bearing optimism annoyed me. Plus, it's an obvious rip-off of Calvin and Hobbes (my all time favorite comic) but without the humor.

I recently reread all of them (there's less than 50) but saw them in a different light. I liked the optimism and joy. It isn't bad.

I guess this means I'm growing as a person or something.

Read the comic here: www.boltcity.com/copper/

Conversation with the Supplicant or Fear and Loathing on Twitter

May 27
Note: this is old (two months almost) and I barely feel this way anymore, but I still find this interesting.

I've been reading a book called FEED which deserves it's own review when I set it down. In the meantime . . .
It's set in the future, where people have computers in their heads and of course, these kids try to break theirs.
God, I hate sci-fi.
A quote on the book says the novel can be interpreted as a promise or a threat.
So, I'm suddenly all freaked out about how lifeless people are becoming since the internet became mainstream and how Twitter is almost exactly like the computer chips in the brain, except not here yet.
To me, the internet is for sharing life, not for having one. Like characters in a novel, we have to exist off the page. We have to, or we sacrifice our humanity and it saddens me and scares me that more and more, people are shelling themselves into screens. A mind chip will only seal the deal.
I was going to spend hours writing a detailed account of how I'm freaking out, but decided to copy and paste a conversation I had with Dave which moderately expresses every sentiment I was going to write anyway. This is faster, more concise and . . . feed-esque.
God, I hate sci-fi.

Dave: You know why I quit twitter?

It's BORING

me: oh yeah, well it's totally changing the way people are perceiving information.

i'm sorry that bored you

it scares me

7:59 PM I've been alive for 19 years and I've had to deal with way too many extreme social changes in the last 9 alone. From blogging to myspace to facebook to twitter, all of it getting more and more compact and destroying the peaceful, thoughtful world I once knew.

8:00 PM I'm reading a book about this disaster and that's fueling my paranoia to unknown lengths, but what am I to do?

I just want people to use payphones again. Read books. Watch movies on VHS.

Dave: Blogging: Never have so many with so little to say said so much to so few.

8:01 PM Twitter: Blogging on crack.

me: Fair enough, but now, no one pays attention to much else.

8:02 PM Dave: Like anyone ever has?

8:03 PM The only difference between the inattentive, dumbasses of today and of yesteryear is now we can gawk at each other's sublime retardation in HD.

8:04 PM me: I don't know why I'm concerned. It's all going to end in nuclear way anyway.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iURO8fOyWVOA0ytFlaAGuC9F7R9wD98EMMPO0

Dave: Don't forget Iran.

8:05 PM me: that's this weekend, isn't it?

Dave: Their President thinks his role in history is to bring the end of the world and cause the second coming of Arab Jesus.

what's this weekend?

me: Iran invasion

Dave: Fuck if I know.

I never pay attention to these things anymore.

me: maybe the weekend after next

8:06 PM Dave: It will always be some big bad foreign person versus the glorious "Christian" USA

Just look at that death toll thing you posted earlier

The war industry is what's made our congressmen wealthy

that or the other aspects of the over-arching death industries

People will always kill each other for reasons that end up being utterly pointless.

8:07 PM It's just the kind of guys we are.

The older you get the less you start to give a shit.

And I started out not giving a shit pretty well.

me: oh boohoo, existentialism.

8:08 PM i just want to live in fear!

at least until 2012 blows over

that's a joke, by the way.

Dave: right

8:09 PM me: but I am getting very nostalgic lately. Especially for discarded novelties of generations I didn't even exist in. Retro, vintage, these words have no meaning to me, I want things to always be relevant

8:10 PM Dave: Just don't get nostalgic for lawn darts. I don't think Bobby's head can take any more abuse.

me: So I've been watching Tim and Eric's Awesome Show because of the crappy videography reminiscent of the '90s, viewing old fashioned pictures on Flickr and collecting shit at thrift stores I don't need.

8:11 PM Dave: Ugh

tim and erics awesome show

><

On second thought, maybe lawn darts wouldn't be such a bad idea...

We were born out of time

we should have been born in the 40's or 50's so we could have come of age in the 60's

8:12 PM

I miss the 90's

in some ways like I miss a hole in my head

8:14 PM me: I hate the '90s. It was incredibly stupid, way worse than the '80s. But I still miss its simplicity, its stupid dialup, Furbies and grunge music.

Dave: omg

furbies

haha

8:15 PM after like 4 months of trying i taught one curse words
me: hahaha, so did we

Dave: at least the chinese know the meaning of community support

http://www.reuters.com/article/newsOne/idUSTRE54O3BW20090525

8:16 PM me: that's amazing

Dave: isnt it thou?

5 minutes

8:22 PM me: i'm going to play GTA and kill pigs

8:23 PM Dave: say wha?

8:28 PM http://last-straw.net/2005/06/the-us-invasion-of-iran-has-already-begun/

That's back in 2005

5 minutes

9:30 PM me: "Stupidity cannot be cured with money, or through education, or by legislation. Stupidity is not a sin, the victim can't help being stupid. But stupidity is the only universal capital crime; the sentence is death, there is no appeal, and execution is carried out automatically and without pity."
--Robert A. Heinlein from The Notebooks of Lazarus Long

9:32 PM "My wife set off the metal detector at the airport the other day. Apparently it was the collar."

Past and Pending

http://www.cnn.com/2009/TECH/space/07/19/man.greatest.achievement/index.html?eref=rss_mostpopular

This article that asks "What is Mankind's Greatest Achievement?" has got my head turning.

It's that I can't choose just one. The suggestions, written word (possibly my favorite), music (internationally understood regardless of language. Hmm.) cup noodles (pretty ingenious) and peace (yeah, when it lasts.)

I guess I'm just reminded of the good of man instead of the bad. Life feels special again, somehow.

Maybe the greatest achievement will be immortality or time travel or something great in the future. Who knows.

Debbie Family History - A Nostalgic Requiem

debbie family history from Kyle Anderson on Vimeo.

Squared and I were lost and strayed into random back alleys until we came upon a pile of discarded VHS tapes and old SNES games. We took as many as we could carry, found our way home and later in the year, would drink and watch whatever we popped in.

One video, "Debbie Family History" was especially intriguing but only when the gears started turning did we realize what we discovered.

8mm home videos, mutely filmed decades ago, memories transferred from negatives to positive to VHS to digital, dissolved a hundred times over until the spaces where the light hit the film barely remains.

This lone tape, now sitting on a bookshelf in my room, is possibly the only remnant of these things that happened.

So we had the brilliant idea of melding the six-hour video together with music and some of my words. We tried to keep the nostalgia as intact as possible.

The writing was inspired by an even older VHS tape I once watched as a kid. The BFG, a cartoon adaption of the Roald Dahl classic that terrified me but left poignant imagery in my head for years.
The story goes, a giant lives in a cave in the sky and captures floating dream things in jars and releases them into little kids minds. I took that concept and reversed it, an unknown being that takes memories and dreams that are no longer being used. As discarded as the cassette we found.

We Hate Love - Bitter Rantings of Mayhem Festival in Phoenix

This past weekend, after going to the Mayhem Festival at Cricket Pavilion, I am certain I have a brain tumor.

Apparently, KUPD, the "Big Red Radio" and Rockstar put on this little show to glorify their biggest and baddest "loud rock" bands they glorify. The fest could have done with more planning (the concert was so disorganized they forgot an entire stage in L.A.) and less sponsors, because the breeds of music tended to contradict and clash worse than thrash metal chords.

Slayer and Manson? Please. Those go together like The veteran metal heads drummed up their drunken, hardcore fans (constantly screaming the band's name) while the cross-dressing weirdo Manson only attracted more of the like. This only scattered and weakened the crowd resulting in a bunch of people standing around, too bored to mosh or even move.

As you can expect, the audience was a mix of skinheads, long-haired bikers and emo highschoolers. In short, everyone there was an absolute tool, including myself, who wore a plaid-green button up shirt. Hipster, some may say, but I'd say "easy target". I stood out like Manson's nipple's in a sea of black t-shirts and choker necklaces.

I'm still not sure how I ended up there with my friends Luke, Corey and Bryce. We (them, really) only went for Marilyn Manson, I went because I had a free ticket. We rolled up as a killer dust storm rolled in and as Killswitch Engage killed their set.

Getting inside was a chore, because they banned lighters and matches, apparently to stifle the fires random assholes started on the field last year. Still, the rent-a-cops didn't bar cigarettes, and people got in lighters somehow. Then they looted toilet paper from the bathrooms and started little bonfires all over. Since the paper burned quickly some people set t-shirts aflame or threw in empty beer cups. Believe me, it smelled great.

Luckily for them, Cricket came prepared and mounted a water cannon above the field. Whenever a fire got too big, firefighters and security would aim the cannon from across the pavilion and sprinkle it out. This barely worked (distance, wind and pyromaniacs shielding the fires with their bodies were factors) and really only created mud. People danced and slid downhill in the mud til it was black.

So then, to get new fires out, teams of security officers rushed into the crowd, threw everyone aside and extinguished the flame. Then they left, leaving the smoldering plastic bottles and paper towels and the cancerous smoke that blew in everyone's face. Minutes later a new fire would start.

The whole blaze thing was amusing and as insane as concerts should be, but it's about as interesting as the fest got. Like I said, the hundreds of fans that screamed for Slayer stood around, arms crossed when the band actually came on. Most of the fans were too drunk or busy burning shit to care, I suppose, but you'd think that the intensity in which they screamed would have started a riot or two. No such luck.

Which is probably why earlier, Killswitch Engage screamed "Fuck You!" to their audience for being too tame (they made up for it at the end by rambling about love or something and seeing Phoenix again soon). Who knows why this concert was such a disaster, maybe it was the 116º heat or the general Hot Topic crowd or something. According to Bryce, Ozzfest was actually intense, so it's not necessarily the city's fault.

Most of the Slayer tools left when Manson came on. The freak said something about how glad he is about going to Hell because it'll be cooler than Phoenix and all these cool Phoenix people will be there and whatever. Then he played a few songs from his terrible new album, undressed and dressed up a dozen times in a row and made some incessant staticky sounds. Along with the burning plastic fumes, I'm positive Manson gave me brain tumors the size of ostrich eggs.

I'm sure if you've read through this far you think I'm a whiny bitch that doesn't have any fun. That's not true, I had a blast and it was totally worth the free price. I just feel entitled to criticize musicians (and the fans thereof) that I dislike, especially when their only gimmick is hate. Yawn.

It seems to me that bands like Led Zeppelin and others were criticized of being Satan-worshipers, which they denied, but then new bands sprung up emphasizing zealous devil-worship to sell more records. Sooner or later, Manson became the king of such marketing. Whether or not any of these bands burn crosses or carve swastikas into their foreheads or whatever is besides the point. To me, even if Manson is faking it or not, it's just a gimmick.

I can agree with Manson on a few things, such as American foreign and domestic policy, but screaming such diseased lyrics isn't encouraging social change at all (not that it's important) nor is the creep shouting anything entirely unique. It's just kind of . . . pointless. If it does something, it does something, but as far as I can see it's a stagnant message lost on his disinterested public.

The majority of the audience I was cast upon may not agree, but they sure had less enthusiasm than I had jeering at the whole debacle. Manson screams into this boring, listless group of people and they're his FOLLOWERS? As they say (not really), if you scream in the abyss, the abyss screams back at you.

On religion, Manson has a lot more pitfalls. Even if the Christian Right (ironically, it's neither) is a hive of morons that ruthlessly judge others and value war, Manson hasn't said anything that's less hateful than the vehement anti-gay, pro-carpet-bombing, anti-abortion demonstrators. As Christ once said, "You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."

The only blot of purity that Manson has claim to is not having directly hurt anyone. Big fuckin' deal. A lot of worthless people have that claim.

But I don't think that Manson should be shut up. As a follower of Christ, I'm against censorship of all kinds. Let Manson, Slayer and all the rest sing their petty little songs and incoherent lyrics. It amuses me more than anything. And at least they're good at what they're doing, in a way (but it's not hard to be hateful or join the Church of Satan).

Above all else, I wonder what Mayhem will be like next year and how they'll handle banning lighters or maybe the general lineup won't suck. If nothing changes and I somehow wind up there again, I'll be bringing a backpack full of kerosene soaked rags and I'll torch the whole place.

The Audacity of Humanity!

It is never a good thing to think anthropologically, which is something I constantly do, which means I am stuck living in the future, but the way, way distant future. I'm constantly considering who will discover my civilization when it crumbles.

As Chuck Palahniuk once said "Everything you ever create will be thrown away. Everything you’re proud of will end up as trash."

Because of this, I'm always careful of everything I throw away. If I don't want some garbologist to find my dirtiest of dirtys in the year 3021, I burn it.

On the other hand (and this is the point) I also find some things in humanity I want to destroy for the benefit of future generations. Sometimes I go into thrift stores and "drop" fragile pieces of absolute shit and I don't feel guilty. Why should I? I have purged the Earth of another fuckin' Anna Nicole Smith snowglobe or High School Musical porcelain dildo.

And I realize with certainty that I have no authority to decide what is worthwhile and what is not. I'm also glad that this same ideal hasn't been applied to things of relevance today or even my own works. That would be quite depressing and disgusting. Rest assured, I hate censorship with a passion.

But perhaps this is different. Separate somehow. Anyway, no one else is fuckin' doin' it!

It is an understatement to say that Americans need a lot less shit. From Furby cake decorations to Yu-Gi-Oh! adult diapers to Hannah Montana diet supplements, it's all shit that doesn't even deserve to dent a landfill.

This is the Audacity of Humanity.

Last night on Hulu, I watched "Giant Spider Invasion" a 1975 b-movie about trans-dimensional blackhole-traveling tarantulas. Confused as to why their meteor landed in Wisconsin, the spiders decide to eat everyone. The film was so worthless, no one even bothered to save a decent copy and the Hulu version is full of bad cuts, scratches and distorted sound, like a grindhouse film sans sex and violence. It goes without saying, it was fucking terrible. Here are the most intelligent quotes from the whole film:

"Sometimes the only time i know you're still alive is when I hear you flush the toilet."

"You're so dumb you wouldn't know rabbit turds from rice crispies."

I kinda of wanted to pick apart the plot a lot, like how the spider was emitting so much radiation that even if it was squashed, everyone would die of cancer. But what's the point?

I put "Invasion" on in the background and lazily got some work done and occasionally glanced up to see a bunch of Disco-era nobodies scream and violently get ripped apart at the hands of their radioactive arachnid tormentors.

The best part was the 50ft. spider which roamed the countryside and ate helpless cattle and douchebags that tried to shoot it. The tarantula was made using hunks of polyester and sherbet-tinted headlight eyes. And apparently, giving it too much radiation makes it explode orange, green and purple like a Willy Wonka wetdream. And someone actually took the time to design and construct this thing?? Such audacity!

But there's so much of this crap, it's unbelievable. Do you really think Transformers 2 is going to last another ten years? Yeah, that's what I thought about Pokémon: The Movie. (Note: generally, nothing called "the movie" is ever going to worth shit)

Now that poor, worthless spider is going to lie buried next to your collection of pogs and my mother's favorite John Cusack DVD's for centuries until Xeta anthropologists excavate it and ponder how stupid we were.

Announcing: FiLTHfiLLER.COM!

I am proud to announce the launch of my new website, filthfiller.com

It's going to act as a little portfolio for my work, much better than flickr or a blog can provide. Right now, it sucks, but it will grow and look nice and stuff. It has the potential to do a lot more than just show myself off, but I have little to no web skill, so I guess this is enough for now.

The name means nothing. It's just like Nine Inch Nails or Häagen-Dazs, a catchy, pithy title.

Anyway, bookmark that bastard!

Michael Jackson is NOT Dead

I've been hearing a lot of rumors that Michael Jackson died. I know, according to some negligible sources, that Michael was found in a coma and later, died. This is as much a hoax as Jeff Goldblum dying (but not as funny).

Let me give you proof.

Elvis: King of Rock & Roll.

Jackson: King of Pop

Since Elvis went to join the aliens and he was a king, obviously Michael went, too. I'm not even talking about the fact Mikey looked like an alien before his death. This is all about "king-dom". When Sting dies, he will be in outer space, living immortal among the stars. After all, he was the King of Pain.

So please, deny these rumors of Jackson's "death". He is very much alive and always will be.

song idea

OK so here's my idea:

A record that's got 60-300 tracks, each one 1-3 seconds long.
The idea is, they play together so well, you can put the album on shuffle and listen to a new song almost every single time.
I'm not a musician and we could figure out the technical stuff some other time, but it's totally possible.
Any music friends with me?
Fuck, I'm wasted.

A Thought for the Day

If I were a logging company, I would threaten to cut down large, ancient trees in the hopes of forcing environmentalists to live in them for a couple of months.
I'd have no actual intention of hurting big trees, there are plenty of smaller ones to go after, but it would be funny to me to see hippies clinging to the branches in the rain.

Existentialism Diaries: Part One: There is Still Time ... Brother

When I was 12, I had this strange habit of watching ancient black and white films just to make fun of them. Until, I saw On The Beach and it completely changed my life.

I was young, so maybe I didn't understand the deeper meanings, but at the time it was one of the most beautiful films I'd ever seen. To say the least, I was surprised there was so much meaning packed inside.

On The Beach is a 1959 film set in 1964, right after World War III, right after all the bombs fall, atom bombs blossoming in the sunset. Gregory Peck, Anthony Perkins, Ava Gardner and Fred Astaire are four people living in Austrailia, awaiting huge clouds of radiation to float down and suffocate the world's only survivors. The film focuses on the last scraps of humanity, slowly being eaten away, the extreme existential emotions of expecting the inevitable.

A lone submarine journeys to America to investigate a strange Morse code signal and find survivors, but upon arrival in San Francisco the crew realizes their worst fears. The end really came.

And so they submarine returns to Austrailia and the characters wait. They go to the pharmacy and the government gives them suicide pills if they wish, and everyone waits.

A few people fulfill their lifetime dreams in quiet desperation. Fred Astaire races a vintage Ferrari. Ava Gardner and Gregory Peck have a romantic fling. Old men sit in their country clubs and complain about the wine. A waiter plays pool. Everyone goes fishing and they sing, "Waltzing Matilda".

They do meaningless, stupid things because they want to. Because they can. They want to add some last-minute purpose to their doomed, pathetic existences. And then the power flickers out.

For years, the poignant imagery in the film has been stuck in my mind. The empty streets of San Francisco, the empty Golden Gate Bridge. The S.O.S. Coke bottle in the window. The banner, waving in the wind, proclaiming, "THERE IS STILL TIME. . . BROTHER." Few plot lines fascinate me as much as the inevitable.

I realize that my introduction to On The Beach was my first experience with existentialism. And I am an existentialist as well as a follower of Christ. They don't always contradict. My existentialist views can be good because of the retarded anxiety they produce. I am constantly trying to accomplish the goals and dreams I have, as if I'm already a decapitated chicken.

To the rest of the world, On The Beach was a warning to the world, a promise more poignant than The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951) (another film I saw merely to make fun of and ended up loving). And perhaps the message of OTB was not entirely a don't-blow-yourself-up plea. Maybe it was a reflection of humanity. At this moment in time, we humans aren't facing imminent extinction, at least that we know of (global warming aside), but we all have the same anxieties. We all have these dreams and awkward motivations to somehow make our eating, sleeping, shitting, breathing MEAN something.

Only, because, since we don't fear death as much as the Australians watching the skyline from the Beach, we suppress our desires. Procrastinate. We never worry about that next breath.

I always come back to this, because I believe life has the meaning we give it: life means nothing unless we recognize our Creator and more so, realize brokenness is the only way to survive. In that sense, On The Beach completely changed the way I look at life and got me closer to God. At least, in an "eat, drink and be merry" sorta way.

It's kind of terrifying to be so open about that belief, but I'm not trying to belittle anyone who doesn't agree with me, only it can come across that way.

Still, I hope to live life with the helpless anxiety portrayed in the doomed eyes of Anthony Perkins as he serves his wife and child cyanide laced tea. Or maybe without that gaze. I can't decide.

I leave off with what Yeoman Swain said in the film, right before he jumped ashore in San Francisco, essentially committing suicide, "I have a date on Market Street, Captain. I'm going home."

Five Fotos: Week Uno

I want to integrate my photography a lot more with my writing, starting with a five foto's of the week (that will likely happen once a month). The point is to showcase my favorite shots of the week, no matter what comes out. Anyway, here's the start.

To A New Place

Canon AE-1 35mm Kodak Plus-x Pan Film - Arizona

• Onward, to adventure and self-discovery.
• Self-developed, under-developed and turned all the film red.

--

Unloading Bay

Canon AE-1 35mm film - Arizona

• Trash dumped behind abandoned Wal-Mart. Returning shit to whence it came.

--

Crushed

Kodak Disposable Camera, 35mm film - Flagstaff

• Bored ice cream parlor with lazily stocked shelves, products designed to catch the eye, begging to be picked up. Muting the colors and downplaying that gimmick, as if the slogan is now "Empty Feelings Inside!®"

--

Borrowed Gift

Pentax K-1000 35mm film, green filter - Flagstaff

•Such a grand tree, borrowed camera and filter.

--

Story of the Eye

Pentax K-1000 35mm film, zero flash - Bathroom

• Eggs in a toilet. Recreated scene from "The Story of the Eye" by Georges Bataille, but definitely NOT for the same reasons as the author.
• Eggs were hard to flush and I had to crush them with a plunger to get them down. In retrospect, not a good idea at all. They probably started to smell, but luckily I moved out the next day.





[Insert something conclusive]

'Valkyrie' is a Joke

I rented 'Valkyrie' because 'Synecdoche, New York' wasn't in stock. Forgive me.

The history behind the whole event interested me enough, but the story didn't make up for the terrible filmmaking. It was kind of like 'The Fellowship of the Rings' as directed by Michael Bay. Yech. How can you take such a beautiful, poignant thriller and dissolve it into such trash?

In fact, the whole movie was presented almost as a joke, a joke without a punchline. Since most people going into this film have an idea that this isn't how Hitler actually dies, they know how the film ends. Just like how everyone knew Obi-Wan couldn't fuck up too much in the Star Wars prequels; no matter what, he'll end up as a hermit on Tatooine. Which is to say, it's boring. With this type of movie, don't focus on plot tension, don't focus on the history so much as the drama, the paranoia and the general emotion of the characters.

Well, maybe that's what you get for hiring Bryan Singer to do the job stiff, dry story-telling and unmemorable dialogue. And placing Tom Cruise in the role of Germany's greatest hero wasn't the wisest choice either.

Despite being generally accurate historically, Valkyrie is an insult to the true conspirators.

Bad Design for Bland Bands

Anyone got an explanation why bands are now doing this boring, simplistic shit? I'll bet there's a dozen more albums just like this that came out recently.

Senescent Lost Cat / GarbageBand

I like to make music using GarbageBand, a simple Mac program that allows anyone to think they are talented, myself included. I know adding a few loops and strange sound effects doesn't make music good, but it's as good as I can do. Or maybe as good as I'm willing to put forth effort.

Anyway, I made a song with my sister in less than an hour, recording chipmunk voices and quoting lines from a lost cat poster. The poster looked like a really bad '80s rave dance party, so I made a really bad '80s rave dance song.

I have better songs I could talk about, but this is my most recent (and most inspired, probably).

You can download the song here and listen to more boring music at my MySpace.

http://www.gigasize.com/get.php?d=9t5nlktg9mc