Why do people like the over stretched, worn out, used up romance movie? This has been bugging me for awhile, because it seems like everyone without exception likes at least one of these. They may call it their "dirty little secret" but that doesn't excuse the fact that they do, in fact, love to watch the lonely yet caring man who always seems to be ready to give out love but hasn't found the right receptor meet the quirky, yet oh so slightly troubled 30-something woman (she probably owns a bookstore or writes, or something slightly elitist yet still accessible) who has always been the bridesmaid but never the bride. We don't see the rest of their relationship, but we know we know that they really have found "true love"--which in our book means two souls so perfectly complementing that as long as they are together life will never come between them. Why do we like this? I'm not criticizing those who do--I watch When Harry Met Sally as much as the next guy (which is a lot, even if they don't admit it. They at least watch something very similar.). I've just been trying to find out what attracts us to that particular scenario.
I wish I had an answer, but I do not know the universal soul of the western human to understand well enough why we have an instinct to respond to fantasy masquerading as reality. I do know, however, that it truly is fantasy.
Perhaps one reason is that we do always identify with one of the characters. If you don't think this is so, watch one of these movies with a group of women who have had a few glasses of wine each. You won't be able to hear the movie, but that's fine. Just listen to the cries of "That's just like me/you/her/your mother/your mother-in-law/Margaret Thatcher." The problem is, even if we do identify with the characters, and the universal problems they find themselves in, the solutions presented are never valid except in the world where responses are scripted, and the two lovers have no real interest in each other once the celluloid ends.
The dialogue is always perfect. The witticisms are just biting enough to be funny, but just tender enough to know there is love behind the words. The timing is always at a zenith--just after there has been enough strain to make us feel that the scenario represents true life, but not long enough to make us feel uncomfortable that perhaps it won't be resolved. And the words chosen are always heart melting, adorable, honest (yes), and completely and utterly useless.
In real life ideas like courage, uncertainty, self-doubt, cowardice get in the way. You know, you know, what you want to say. That every person in the last 3 years has been a lie, and a way to forget. That nothing has changed but geography, and really how important is that? That the weight of your decisions has been so unbearable as to make you morally and spiritually broken. That you are sorry and always have been. But the fear that saying the right words won't fix your problems is enough to mute you. You know you can continue to operate how you have been. To take the chance and fail would mean more than one person could handle. Instead it is much safer to swallow harder, and feel that unfortunately familiar drop of molten lead hit your stomach, where it will burn for at least a week despite your best efforts to quite literally extinguish it. Eventually it will cool, and that particular weight will pass. These circumstances, these internal struggles, those never enter into the celluloid world. All the quirky details a director includes to bring two characters to life never include their abject trappings. That would turn the happiest movie into a drama that too closely resembles life. While artistically it would be of great merit, who would want to watch that?
Amazing song:
Avett Brothers - Shame
Blech, everyone's allowed an emo post once in awhile, right?
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Pick a category, any category
As it turns out, Bristol Palin may be having her baby on Christmas. Can you taste it? That's palpable excitement my friend. It tastes like parmesan and broccoli. Even more exciting? What the hell is she naming the baby. My guesses:
Transport
-Auto
-Train
-Trolley
-Bike
-Shoe
-GPS
Food
-Soda
-Carrot
-Chestnut
Entertainment
-Film
-Rugby
Other:
-Futon
-Mantle
-Sofa
-Lamp
Numbers:
-Seven
-Eight
-Twelve
-Thirty
Drugs:
-Claritin
-Dayquill
Other:
-Tide
-Lanolin
Transport
-Auto
-Train
-Trolley
-Bike
-Shoe
-GPS
Food
-Soda
-Carrot
-Chestnut
Entertainment
-Film
-Rugby
Other:
-Futon
-Mantle
-Sofa
-Lamp
Numbers:
-Seven
-Eight
-Twelve
-Thirty
Drugs:
-Claritin
-Dayquill
Other:
-Tide
-Lanolin
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
New Idea, Same as the Old Idea
From NBC's Mark Murray
"Saul Anuzis, the Michigan GOP chair who's running for chairman of the Republican National Committee, has issued a 24-page "Blueprint for a GOP Comeback" to RNC members that details his agenda and vision for returning the party to political power.
In the document, Anuzis envisions the party being a "grassroots-up relationship of equals," not a DC-down "paternalistic relationship; advocates for a "50-state strategy" to appeal to voters in the Northeast, Midwest, and West as well it does in the South; stresses that the party do a better job of reaching out to Latino and black voters; contends that the GOP begin harnessing the latest advancements in technology to advance its message; and argues that it search for ways to better compete against the Democrats financially."
So just to be clear, your new plan is "Let's do what Obama did" right? I don't blame you on this, because obviously it worked, but couldn't you at least come up with something original to add? I don't know, like "disenfranchise the gays" or "invade Iran" or whatever it is you guys like to do. If you are going to say you created a plan for victory, include something that is of your own invention, please.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
So, apparently...
So there I was, knee deep.
It was 1 am on a Saturday morning, and I had just gotten in from a graduation dinner. I was going through my box-o-junk, you know that box that you have under your bed containing all those knick knacks that you only need once a year, looking for I-don't-what. What I found, however, was my creme brulee torch (don't judge me, I don't judge you). Sitting next to that was an aerosol bottle of body spray, because sometimes you like smelling like you are 14. If you are a woman reading this post, I'm guessing you haven't connected the two yet. If you are a guy, you've automatically thought "Flame thrower!!" Yes, that's what went through my head too.
The thing about this particular aerosol, is that it's sprayer was a bit defective, so instead of a fast single stream, it would sputter, creating flame clouds! It was awesome! And it scared the hell out of my roommates yappy dog! So why would I stop, right?
So, apparently, my smoke alarm responds to flames as well as smoke. Five minutes into feeling like a mighty God of hell and fire, this annoying, persistent beep killed off all of my fun, and the damn thing wouldn't stop despite the fact I had quit creating clouds of flame (or at least took it to the bathroom).
So, apparently, my smoke detector is wired to all the other detectors in my house, as I discovered when I moved my fire abilities to the lavatoire.
So, apparently, all the smoke detectors in my apartment are connected to all the other smoke detectors in the duplex. Something about collective safety or something like that. I figured this out when I hear people evacuating outside.
What do I do? Well, as many of you know, I'm sly like a fox. I take off my pants and shirt, throw on a bathrobe, mess up my hair, and walk outside rubbing my eyes, joining in with the chorus of "Who the hell is setting off smoke detectors at 1 am!?"
It was 1 am on a Saturday morning, and I had just gotten in from a graduation dinner. I was going through my box-o-junk, you know that box that you have under your bed containing all those knick knacks that you only need once a year, looking for I-don't-what. What I found, however, was my creme brulee torch (don't judge me, I don't judge you). Sitting next to that was an aerosol bottle of body spray, because sometimes you like smelling like you are 14. If you are a woman reading this post, I'm guessing you haven't connected the two yet. If you are a guy, you've automatically thought "Flame thrower!!" Yes, that's what went through my head too.
The thing about this particular aerosol, is that it's sprayer was a bit defective, so instead of a fast single stream, it would sputter, creating flame clouds! It was awesome! And it scared the hell out of my roommates yappy dog! So why would I stop, right?
So, apparently, my smoke alarm responds to flames as well as smoke. Five minutes into feeling like a mighty God of hell and fire, this annoying, persistent beep killed off all of my fun, and the damn thing wouldn't stop despite the fact I had quit creating clouds of flame (or at least took it to the bathroom).
So, apparently, my smoke detector is wired to all the other detectors in my house, as I discovered when I moved my fire abilities to the lavatoire.
So, apparently, all the smoke detectors in my apartment are connected to all the other smoke detectors in the duplex. Something about collective safety or something like that. I figured this out when I hear people evacuating outside.
What do I do? Well, as many of you know, I'm sly like a fox. I take off my pants and shirt, throw on a bathrobe, mess up my hair, and walk outside rubbing my eyes, joining in with the chorus of "Who the hell is setting off smoke detectors at 1 am!?"
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Prop. 8 Update
The Classy Quote of the Day:
...there is a real, unbroken line between the jihadist savagery in Mumbai and the hedonistic, irresponsible, blindly selfish goals and tactics of our homegrown sexual jihadists.
-- Pat Boone, December 6, 2008
Wait. Hold on.
Ok, I'm used to some pretty outrageous claims, especially from theRepublican Homophobic crowd. Whether its claiming cartoon characters are mascots for gays, to asserting that 9/11 happened because of gays (and feminists, liberals, etcetera--the Commie Pinko Fags or CPFs), but this quote...really?
Groups of concerned citizens who have created entirely peaceful demonstrations against a law they consider unjust, and have tried to lobby--mostly ineffectually--their democratically elected representatives are equivalent to people who indiscriminately kill men, women, and children.
And I realize the vast, vast majority of Americans, both liberal and conservative, do not believe the agents of intolerance like Pat Boone, but the fact that he has somehow become a political force (campaigning heavily for John McCain), and does have ardent followers means that there are more than a few people out there who are so terrified of two men or women making love, that in their mind it is the equivalent to butchering children. And these people believe they are morally correct! That's the worst part! You know at least the racists and drug dealers and other lowlifes generally know that what they do is probably not right--they embrace it, but they know. These assholes believe their view is the morally correct one, one that every citizen should embrace, and generally one that is not just moral, but righteous.
40 more days of this shit and these people and their leaders are out of office.
...there is a real, unbroken line between the jihadist savagery in Mumbai and the hedonistic, irresponsible, blindly selfish goals and tactics of our homegrown sexual jihadists.
-- Pat Boone, December 6, 2008
Wait. Hold on.
Ok, I'm used to some pretty outrageous claims, especially from the
Groups of concerned citizens who have created entirely peaceful demonstrations against a law they consider unjust, and have tried to lobby--mostly ineffectually--their democratically elected representatives are equivalent to people who indiscriminately kill men, women, and children.
And I realize the vast, vast majority of Americans, both liberal and conservative, do not believe the agents of intolerance like Pat Boone, but the fact that he has somehow become a political force (campaigning heavily for John McCain), and does have ardent followers means that there are more than a few people out there who are so terrified of two men or women making love, that in their mind it is the equivalent to butchering children. And these people believe they are morally correct! That's the worst part! You know at least the racists and drug dealers and other lowlifes generally know that what they do is probably not right--they embrace it, but they know. These assholes believe their view is the morally correct one, one that every citizen should embrace, and generally one that is not just moral, but righteous.
40 more days of this shit and these people and their leaders are out of office.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I'm going to have the hap hap happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby danced with Danny Fucking Kaye!
Ok. It's been almost a month since I've written in this. Maybe more than a month. I don't know. It's time for an update in 5...4...3...2...1
Swish! Buzzer! Let's Go!
Item #1. Why I haven't been writing:
Depression. Yup, that's pretty much it. I wrote a long blog post over Thanksgiving as to, well everything, but I don't think the Internets is the place to bare your soul. You do that at a bar over 2 bottles of scotch. It's something I've been dealing with for 2, pushing 3 years now, so it's nothing to be alarmed about. I'm just stating that to explain why, with a lot to talk about, I haven't. Lethargy and apathy my friends.
Item #2. The Protest.
I went to my first protest in the Charleston community. I was apprehensive for 2 reasons: This isn't my town yet, so I'm not connected to the political community, and federal laws prohibit me to engage in political activity if that activity can be linked back to my position in anyway. I can do it in my spare time, which I did, but I had to make sure I was no way identifiable as to what my employment was, whatsoever. With media there and whatnot, I was afraid I would be treading a fine line. Coincidentally, I was in the local paper, but my face was obscured by a sign. I only knew b/c I recognized the people around me, and my shirt.
The protest was against proposition 8 (the ban on Gay Marriage). I really wanted to write a long article about what it meant, both good and bad, and some curious factors about Charleston. I composed it in my head, but never got it onto paper. This is why I need a voice recorder. Items in my essay which will not be nearly poetic in list form:
-It rained before and after, but not during the event. Quite fortuitous.
-There was a cruise ship unloading during the protest, which means all the police were tied up.
-The leader of the protest was a straight woman with no clear ties to the gay community. She just saw an injustice and was compassionate.
-The protest, which ended at City Hall, was across from a church...Where a wedding was in progress. The protestors were quite courteous to the wedding goers, and even ended a bit early so that the bride and groom could enjoy a privilege that many of the protestors could not.
-In the cemetery at the church across from city hall was buried John Rutledge, the second Chief Justice of the United States. Since this issue will probably not be resolved until the Supreme Court rules on it, I thought it very cool that it was in front of the grave of one of the founding members of the Supreme Court. Pictures after the fold.
---------
Item 3. My Forthcoming Trip to D.C.
One of my big projects for the year, perhaps the biggest, was our annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day of Service. It has a $30,000 budget, and involves almost 200 individuals. I don't know if you've been paying attention to the economy as of late, but it's not doing so hot. That particular budget was slashed to about $3,000. Due to this, a bit of restructuring had to happen.
The new plan:
We take 50 students, 10 high school students, and an assortment of chaperones to Washington D.C. We stay at a KOA campground in Harpers Ferry, VA, participate in DC's Day of Service feeding the homeless, and then see Obama's inauguration the next day. We then travel home.
Why this sucks:
Those in charge I believe don't truly understand the crowd situation. They have travel times of 1 to 2 hours alloted. We will need 5.
Why it's awesome:
I get to go to DC for incredibly cheap, be there on one of the most historic days in the existence of our country, and certainly in my lifetime thus far, and--get this--I'll get comp time for the weekend I'm doing this.
To tie the last two items together, and simply because it's funny,
Proposition 8, the Musical:
Item 4. Christmas.
I fucking love Christmas. I don't think people realize I love it, but I assure you, it's to the extreme. I love it like rye toast. Or shaving. Unfortunately I'm living in a subtropic state whose coldest temperature is maybe, maybe, 45 degrees. So I've had to be creative. Nay, I've had to force it outright. I've had to force it so hard that it's now it's own verb. I've been Christmasing night and day. Every morning I have a playlist of Christmas music queued up and ready to go while I shower, shave, the works. Pandora's holiday mix (I've made it myself--does anyone know if they already have one?) keeps me going at work. At night, Netflix has been delivering a constant stream of Christmas movies to my doorstep. Tonight is Home Alone. I've also been keeping a fan by my open window to blow in some decently cold air, in hopes that I can at least use a few blankets.
This past week Charleston finally decided to kick it up a notch and get in the spirit. First I received a free (FREE!) ticket to the Vienna Boys Choir. It was fantastic. More than fantastic. It was scrumtralescent.
Then that weekend was the city tree lighting and--get this--Boat Parade. Yeah, you read that right. Boat parade. Living by the ocean is odd sometimes. Pictures below the fold.
So that's pretty much it. This post lacked any attempt at a creative narrative, or even a poetic line, but it felt good to write again. I can't wait to see my friends again in 10 days.
Peace, Love, Happiness.
-Neil
-----------
Swish! Buzzer! Let's Go!
Item #1. Why I haven't been writing:
Depression. Yup, that's pretty much it. I wrote a long blog post over Thanksgiving as to, well everything, but I don't think the Internets is the place to bare your soul. You do that at a bar over 2 bottles of scotch. It's something I've been dealing with for 2, pushing 3 years now, so it's nothing to be alarmed about. I'm just stating that to explain why, with a lot to talk about, I haven't. Lethargy and apathy my friends.
Item #2. The Protest.
I went to my first protest in the Charleston community. I was apprehensive for 2 reasons: This isn't my town yet, so I'm not connected to the political community, and federal laws prohibit me to engage in political activity if that activity can be linked back to my position in anyway. I can do it in my spare time, which I did, but I had to make sure I was no way identifiable as to what my employment was, whatsoever. With media there and whatnot, I was afraid I would be treading a fine line. Coincidentally, I was in the local paper, but my face was obscured by a sign. I only knew b/c I recognized the people around me, and my shirt.
The protest was against proposition 8 (the ban on Gay Marriage). I really wanted to write a long article about what it meant, both good and bad, and some curious factors about Charleston. I composed it in my head, but never got it onto paper. This is why I need a voice recorder. Items in my essay which will not be nearly poetic in list form:
-It rained before and after, but not during the event. Quite fortuitous.
-There was a cruise ship unloading during the protest, which means all the police were tied up.
-The leader of the protest was a straight woman with no clear ties to the gay community. She just saw an injustice and was compassionate.
-The protest, which ended at City Hall, was across from a church...Where a wedding was in progress. The protestors were quite courteous to the wedding goers, and even ended a bit early so that the bride and groom could enjoy a privilege that many of the protestors could not.
-In the cemetery at the church across from city hall was buried John Rutledge, the second Chief Justice of the United States. Since this issue will probably not be resolved until the Supreme Court rules on it, I thought it very cool that it was in front of the grave of one of the founding members of the Supreme Court. Pictures after the fold.
---------
Item 3. My Forthcoming Trip to D.C.
One of my big projects for the year, perhaps the biggest, was our annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day of Service. It has a $30,000 budget, and involves almost 200 individuals. I don't know if you've been paying attention to the economy as of late, but it's not doing so hot. That particular budget was slashed to about $3,000. Due to this, a bit of restructuring had to happen.
The new plan:
We take 50 students, 10 high school students, and an assortment of chaperones to Washington D.C. We stay at a KOA campground in Harpers Ferry, VA, participate in DC's Day of Service feeding the homeless, and then see Obama's inauguration the next day. We then travel home.
Why this sucks:
Those in charge I believe don't truly understand the crowd situation. They have travel times of 1 to 2 hours alloted. We will need 5.
Why it's awesome:
I get to go to DC for incredibly cheap, be there on one of the most historic days in the existence of our country, and certainly in my lifetime thus far, and--get this--I'll get comp time for the weekend I'm doing this.
To tie the last two items together, and simply because it's funny,
Proposition 8, the Musical:
Item 4. Christmas.
I fucking love Christmas. I don't think people realize I love it, but I assure you, it's to the extreme. I love it like rye toast. Or shaving. Unfortunately I'm living in a subtropic state whose coldest temperature is maybe, maybe, 45 degrees. So I've had to be creative. Nay, I've had to force it outright. I've had to force it so hard that it's now it's own verb. I've been Christmasing night and day. Every morning I have a playlist of Christmas music queued up and ready to go while I shower, shave, the works. Pandora's holiday mix (I've made it myself--does anyone know if they already have one?) keeps me going at work. At night, Netflix has been delivering a constant stream of Christmas movies to my doorstep. Tonight is Home Alone. I've also been keeping a fan by my open window to blow in some decently cold air, in hopes that I can at least use a few blankets.
This past week Charleston finally decided to kick it up a notch and get in the spirit. First I received a free (FREE!) ticket to the Vienna Boys Choir. It was fantastic. More than fantastic. It was scrumtralescent.
Then that weekend was the city tree lighting and--get this--Boat Parade. Yeah, you read that right. Boat parade. Living by the ocean is odd sometimes. Pictures below the fold.
So that's pretty much it. This post lacked any attempt at a creative narrative, or even a poetic line, but it felt good to write again. I can't wait to see my friends again in 10 days.
Peace, Love, Happiness.
-Neil
-----------
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