I saw WarGames last night on the big screen, and it was a treat. A solitary one, too, since I couldn't find anyone to go with. Hell, it was hard to find someone at work who had heard of the damn movie(which is celebrating it's 25th anniversary, making me old).
When I arrived at the theater, the audience was mostly mid-thirty-somethings with wedding rings, beer bellies, bald spots and - sigh - children. Though the kids were a little endearing; like watching a geek-torch passing.
There was a small technical hiccup in about three-quarters through(which prompted the expected Joshua jokes), but I didn't mind since that gave me an unexpected bathroom break.
Seeing the old-school computer hardware -- floppy disks, modems, green terminal text -- was interesting. I can only imagine how fantastic this all seemed in 1983.
In a behind-the-scenes feature that aired before the movie, Mathew Broderick revealed that for the two small scenes where he plays Galaga in a *gasp* arcade(a true relic of the times), the producers of the movie bought him a Galaga machine and put it in his trailer. He also had to learn how to type(no one had computers then). Galaga got a lot more of his attention then typing.
In an official act of singlehood, I finally signed up for a NetFlix account. I know I'm very, very late to the party. Technically, I had one when I was married - but it was really my ex-wife's account. I had little input on the movies arriving in those neat red envelopes.
Now, though, I'm in total control. Already my queue has hit triple digits, filled with movies I've missed the last couple of years, classics I've neglected to see, and favorites I want to see again(but for some reason do not own).
My first arrivals came Saturday: 3:10 to Yuma, Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny, and Season One, Disc One of LOST. Yes, LOST. I never boarded the LOST train(or in this case, plane) when it first aired, but now I'm all aboard. Those first four episodes hooked me.
NetFlix should definitely help with my goal of staying single the entire summer, keeping me locked away in my apartment, basking in the glow of the TV while manipulating my queue and rating movies in hopes of getting some good suggestions from the NetFlix robots. I already can't wait for the rest of the first season of LOST(though I'm told after this, it gets really weird until picking up again in the fourth season).
I also watched American Psycho for the first time over the weekend, and I have to say, now I understand why some people just couldn't see Christian Bale as Batman. After all, Patrick Bateman is pure evil. Not exactly superhero material. Like Bruce Wayne, though, Bateman is a mentally disturbed member of the upper class, alienated from everything around him. Though he doesn't imagine demonic cat-eating ATMs or daydream about dismembering hookers with chainsaws, Wayne is still very unhinged. And for some reason, I can imagine Wayne going on at length about his favorite artists and albums(though I doubt Huey Lewis and the News is in big rotation in the Batmobile; more likely he rocks out to something dark and elegant - like Led Zeppelin1).
As a child I wanted to be many, many things. My first choice of career, that I can remember, was Jesus Christ. More accurately, I wanted to be the first guy to never sin since Jesus. Sadly, I realized I had ruined that, already, while still stuck in the single digits. I briefly considered being a missionary, but shortly after being told my best friend was going to hell for being Jewish, I stopped being Catholic. So that was out.
After my religious falling out, I wanted to be a video game counselor. It seemed reasonable: I loved video games, I was good at video games, and according to The Wizard1, you could sit in a cubicle and assist autistic kids over the phone. What kid doesn't want to do that? Then, I wanted to be a comic book artist. Then a lawyer. Environmental Lawyer. Movie Critic. Journalist. Screenwriter. Sports Journalist. Then when I realized I would need money(and what was wrong with having lots of it), corporate lawyer.
As it turns out, I am none of those things; I am a web monkey. Which isn't a bad thing, really. Do video game counselors even exist anymore? Did they ever? Not that it wouldn't be cool to be a comic book artist, movie critic or ESPN talking head. Or a professional basketball player. But I strayed. What I should have done was get the lead in a romantic comedy or sitcom. I should have been an actor. Then I could be anything I wanted.
I keep seeing previews for The Bill Engvall Show, where Engvall gets to be a therapist. Alan Thicke played a psychiatrist, Bill Cosby an MD(he did serve at a Navy Hospital, though); in fact, doctor seems to be a very popular fake career. Lawyer is well represented, though it's hard to find too many that look like Calista Flockhart or Laura Flynn Boyle. Or Dylan McDermott, for that matter. Sarah Jessica Parker was a journalist. Cirroc Lofton(Jake Sisko) was a basketball player.
I think "Ms. Robinson" is the best example, that I can think of right now, of a song so intimately connected to a movie that you can't hear it and not think of a certain scene. Or at least it was. We are generations past "The Graduate", and I'll bet a fair number of people -- all younger than me, thank you -- associate the song with Stifler's mom and "American Pie". Some probably just think "Simon and Garfunkel sure were great", or possibly "My high school algebra teacher sure taught me a lot about...the quadratic equation".
Anyway, here are some more songs that, to me(and that part is important, because I'm sure some of these will make you question my taste and memory), can never be separated from their celluloid companions.
"What A Wonderful World", Louis Armstrong, from Good Morning Vietnam. DJ Adrian Cronauer, played perfectly by Robin Williams(perfectly meaning absolutely nothing like the actual Cronauer), dedicates this song to a bunch of GIs that inspire him to get back on the air after a bureaucratic shit-storm. It plays over scenes of a chaotic, war-torn country -- rice fields being napalmed, suspected VCs being rounded up and executed -- and ends with Williams echoing Armstrong's wonderful "ohhhhhh yeahhhhhhh...". Other memorable songs from Vietnam in include "Sugar and Spice" by the Searchers and "I Got You (I Feel Good)" by James Brown(the first song Williams plays).
"Something In The Air", Thunderclap Newman - from Kingpin. This song plays during the bowling competition in Reno. Woody Harrelson, in possibly his best performance ever(and I'm being serious), plays Roy Munson, a down on his luck, one-handed bowler. He gradually gets his stride back to a song that most people as old as my parents probably remember from "Easy Rider". Before the final match, Urge Overkill does a great rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner". Other good songs from this movie include "A Beautiful Morning" by The Young Rascals and "The Sound Of Silence", played after Harrelson succumbs to a really indecent proposal from his landlady, played by Lin Shaye("What is it about great sex that always make me have to take a crap. You really jarred something loose there tiger!"). And of course, who could forget the final duel between Munson and Ernie 'Big Ern' McCracken (Bill Murray), set to ELO's "Showdown":
"You Can't Always Get What You Want", The Rolling stones, from The Big Chill. You knew this was coming. Even though it was immediately disqualified from the Top 5 Songs About Death in High Fidelity for it's association with this movie, "You Can't Always Get What You Want" is still great, in my opinion. Another song that the crew from Championship Vinyl may disregard in future discussions is "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" by The Temptations, for its use in the whitest dance scene in music history.
"One More Night", Phil Collins, from The Color Of Money. This can only be me. I was am a pool nut, so of course I watched The Hustlerand it's sequel obsessively as a teenager. Paul Newman, in his thanks-for-everything-here's-an-Oscar reprisal as "Fast" Eddie Feslon, first notices Vincent(in, and I'm serious, Tom Cruise's finest performance) as Collins softly plays from the bar jukebox. The other winner is, of course, Warren Zevon's "Werewolves Of London", the soundtrack to Vincent's manic, cue-as-a-sword escapades, complete with Karate yells. Also memorable is "It's In The Way That You Use It", by Eric Clapton.
"Where Is My Mind", The Pixies, from Fight Club. The never-named narrator tells Marla "Trust me, everythings gonna be fine. You've met me at a very strange time in my life", the explosives go off, the buildings come down, and in comes the unforgettable screeching guitar notes that start this song. Perfect.
"Rebel-'Rouse", Duane Eddy, from Forrest Gump. There are lot of songs from this nugget of Americana -- "Everybody's Talking At Me", "Blowing In The Wind" (performed by the luscious Bobbi Dylan), "Fortunate Sun"(playing alongside the chop-chop-chop of an army helicopter), "All Along The Watchtower", "For What It's Worth (Stop, Hey What's That Sound)", "Break On Through (To The Other Side)", "Volunteers", "Love Her Madly", "Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head", "Free Bird"(played during Jenny's almost-suicide) -- but it's the lonely twang that begins "Rebel-'Rouse" and the speedy, energetic instrumental that follows that gets us and Gump's football career started.
"New Slang", The Shins, from Garden State. Zach Braff really, really owes Natalie Portman for this one(and The Shins too, for that matter). Face it, even the most ironic hipster melted in his vintage t-shirt and Chuck all-stars when Portman flashes that incredible smile as this song comes in strong("Gold teeth and a curse for this town/ were all in my mouth/ Only, i don't know how they got out, dear.").
"Good Enough", Cyndi Lauper, The Goonies. This video for this song, as seen in the film, plays right before Sean Astin and company tie Astin's older brother to a chair with his own exercise band. In the real video, producer Steven Spielberg makes a cameo. God bless DVD extras. And God bless the Truffle Shuffle:
"Cruel Summer", Bananarama, from The Karate Kid. A perfect fit for Daniel LaRusso's first day of school in sunny California, exiled from his native New Jersey. And of course, who could forget the classic fighting montage song, "You're The Best (Around!)" by Joe Esposito. A true 80s piece of art.
"Mandy", by Barry Manilow, from Can't Hardly Wait. For most people Can't Hardly Wait is a very forgettable late 90s teen-comedy, but it met me at the perfect time: heartbroken and barely out of high school. My heart was broken by a girl named Amanda, the same name of Jennifer Love Hewitt's character, who pulls Ethan Embry's heart strings. It doesn't hurt that it's named after a Replacements song either(which of course appears on the soundtrack as well). But it's this Barry Manilow song, that convinces Embry that destiny is going to bring him and Amanda(Mandy) together, that stands out. His best friend dissuades him, telling him it's about Manilow's dog. Later, crestfallen about his failure to win Amanda, Embry wonders: "Wasn't that song Mandy a sign? What if it was about a dog...was I supposed to buy a dog? No, no, it had to be a sign! How often do you hear Mandy on the radio? I haven't heard that song in years!" before learning it's Manilow's birthday and the radio station is playing "Mandy" every hour on the hour. Another interesting thing about this movie, besides a pre-fame appearance by Seth Green, is how many people from it went on to star in the series "Six Feet Under": Lauren Ambrose, Peter Facinelli, Freddy Rodriguez, and Eric Balfour.
The best part, though, was the impromptu performance of "Paradise City" by Hook's Charlie Korsmo(an MIT alumni):
"Dry The Rain", The Beta Band, from High Fidelity. Rob Gordon(John Cusack) plays this song at his record store after boasting "I will now sell five copies of the The Three EPs by The Beta Band". Sure enough, it gets his weekend crowd hooked. A patron asks who it is, then tells Rob that the song is good. And Rob replies with every music snob's favorite line: "I know,".
"Bad Days", The Flaming Lips, from Batman Forever. Sure, there's "Kiss From A Rose" and the U2 song "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me", but this song became seared into my brain when I heard the lyrics "And you hate your boss at your job/Well in your dreams you can blow his head off/in your dreams/show no mercy". A perfect introduction to the just fired, about to become the Riddler Edward Nygma, played by Jim Carrey.
"Summer In The City", The Lovin' Spoonful, from Die Hard 3. As it stands, I think me, my brother, and my father are the only people who believe the third Die Hard movie is brilliant. Maybe this is because we first watched it at four in the morning. Either way, this song opens the movie, and "Die" and "Hard" come together right in sync with the opening drum line and keyboards, as does the subtitle "With A Vengeance". I just really like that, because I'm a dork.
SPECIAL QUENTIN TARANTINO SECTION
"Stuck In The Middle With You", by Stealer's Wheel, from Reservoir Dogs.
"Let's Stay Together", Al Green, "Son Of A Preacher Man", Dusty Springfield, "You Never Can Tell", Chuck Berry, "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon", Neil Diamond(performed by Urge Overkill), and of course "Misirlou" by Dick Dale and his Deftones(it's the surf-sounding title theme).
"I'm Shipping Up To Boston", the Dropkick Murphys, from The Departed. This is my new Irish Pride song. A great song to get pumped up for a night of drinking. Which is really what an Irish Pride song should be.
"It's The End Of The World A We Know It (And I Feel Fine)", by REM, from Tommy Boy. Face it, you can't sing along any better than David Spade and Chris Farely could.
So I'm reading this article about fanboys a friendtwittered(typing that made me feel dirty) about fanboys, when I come to this quote from Matt Damon:
...[Fanboy's] tastes can be obscure. "You know the movie they quote me most often?" says Matt Damon. "Not the Bourne movies. Not Oceans. But Rounders. I can't figure it out."
I'll tell you why Matt: because Rounders is fucking awesome.
Mike McDermott: "I feel like Buckner walking back into Shea. "
Worm: "Hey! If you want to see this seventh card you're gonna stop speakin' fuckin' Sputnick. "
Worm: "I guess the sayings' true. In the poker game of life, women are the rake man. They are the fuckin' rake." Mike McDermott: "What the fuck are you talkin' about. What saying?" Worm: "I-I don't know. There ought to be one though. "
Mike McDermott: "I want him to think that I am pondering a call, but all I'm really thinkin about it Vegas and the fuckin' Mirage. "
Taki: "What did you think he had? Does he look like a man beaten by jacks?"
Teddy KGB: "In my club, I will splash the pot whenever the fuck I please. "
Teddy KGB: "Nyet! Nyet! No More! No! Not tonight! This son of bitch, all night he, 'Check. Check. Check.' He trap me! "
Worm: "Now, what did I ever do to that guy?" Mike McDermott: "You fucked his mother."
and my personal favorite:
Mike McDermott: "You comin' up? " Lester 'Worm' Murphy: "No, I've been standin' out here all this time just to say hi." Mike McDermott: "All right, listen, things haven't been that smooth on the homefront so, you know, tone it down a little, all right?" Lester 'Worm' Murphy: "Tone done what, motherfucker?"
So I'm sitting here, tweaking a design at work, while surfing the web at the same time(it's called multitasking) when I came across this story about the Beatles' part in the "first live trans-Atlantic satellite transmission". Apparently, it was widely panned in Britain at the time:
"Have we nothing better to offer? Surely this isn't the image of what we are like. What a dreadful impression they must have given the rest of the world," one comment read, the newspaper reported.
Another viewer, impressed by contributions from elsewhere, said "after all the culture ... shown by the other countries, the Beatles were the absolute dregs," the newspaper claimed.
"We did not do ourselves justice," another viewer commented.
I wonder, what would these British adults of the 1960s preferred? Shakespeare? I just wish Monty Python had existed, they could have beamed the entire world the Dead Parrot Sketch.
The best part of this is, as I was reading that the song "All You Need Is Love" was written for the performance, it starts playing on my iPod. Awesome.
I'm trying something new today. I'm going to post a weekend re-cap on a Friday. Why? It's the kind of outside-the-box thinking that I've been doing lately. That, and I haven't made the time to write it until now.
Anyway, last weekend was great. It didn't get off to a great start. I had to work late Friday, and I barely made the ten o'clock bus to DC. The cut-off was about two people behind me. Those unfortunates had to wait until 12:30 am for the next DC bus. I was lucky. I had a psychic in front of me.
Of course it wasn't his amazing extra-ordinary mind powers that helped(after all, he didn't anticipate Port Authority, of all places, being crowded). No, what helped was he was going to Baltimore to "unhaunt" (I assume that was a technical tearm) an old motel. So when a separate bus to Baltimore became available, off he went, and up the DC line I went. Before he left, he did give me a nugget of paranormal knowledge I feel I should pass on: usually (but not always, mind you), if there is a ghost doing some haunting, it's because that person died possessed. Before you ridicule, keep in mind this man was financed by the Sci-Fi channel and wore a t-shirt from his TV show. That's credibility, folks.
So I got into DC around three in the morning. Luckily, my father and my youngest brother(who is 19, wow) were waiting for me. I was all prepared to get my geek on the next day. Considering the festivities started at noon, I went to bed right away.
Hahaha, I'm just kidding. I hardly ever do the reasonable thing when it comes to sleep. So, after getting lit up with two of my brothers, we went outside and I spent a good half hour watching them attempting to hit one their cars with a football. It's not as dumb as it sounds. The car was parked in the street, across the yard, underneath one huge tree with another standing between them and the car. So bullet passes were out; they had to launch the ball like an artillery shell so it would clear the first tree and arc through the branches of the second. In the dark.
OK, it is as stupid as it sounds, but after ten or twelve misses(we decided halfway in that 'off a bounce' didn't count) I was really invested. Someone had to hit it. Sadly, neither one did. Oh, and during this entire spectacle, a hot waitress from the restaurant all of my brothers work at watched the entire thing. That just made it more surreal.
Eventually, I made it to bed and somehow, I manage to get up in time.
The Magic festivities were fun. My father did the best in the tournament, finishing in the money, with the rest of us scrubbing out by round five. In fact, everything was going pretty smoothly until I unleashed the "six degrees" monster.
You see, Friday night, while I was working late, my co-workers and I started playing "six degrees" with various actors. For example:
Elvis Presley to Naomi Watts Elvis > It Happened at the World's Fair < Kurt Russell > Bird on a Wire < Goldie Hawn > Everyone Say I Love You < Julia Roberts > Closer < Jude Law > I Heart Huckabees < Naomi Watts
So we start playing this game Saturday, and everything else took a back seat. All we did was name actors and movies while our bodies kept doing other activities like eating, driving, and playing other games. At one point, in attempting to like Robin Williams to Jack Black, we kept circling back to Robin Williams. The game can get confusing.
So Sunday, I'm on my way to my brothers' baseball game, when I bring the game up. Everything is going great until my youngest brother suggests Meg Ryan to Drew Barrymore, which we don't solve before arriving at the ball field. Long story short, I place all the blame for my brother's error on a fly ball to left field on "six degrees" and his mind wondering: so wait, Meg Ryan was in...with whats her name, who was in...oh fuck the ball! They won, despite Meg Ryan.
The game was like no other I've ever been to. This was my first time at a non-high school, non-college game that didn't involve being at Camden Yards or RFK. You see, my brothers are playing in a semi-semi-pro league that has existed since 1886. There are teams in cities throughout Maryland, and these people take their baseball seriously. Lining the chain-link fences along the base-paths were throngs of old men talking trash. Serious trash:
"What the hell is wrong with you boys? You're bunch of sissy girls, the bunch of you! I'll fuck you up if you don't play some god-damned ball! I'm fifty years old and I ain't afraid of any one of ya!"
Yikes. A far cry from the -- relatively -- quiet stands of a Little League game. These guys would grind on you, and they wouldn't let up. One error, and they'd be on you the entire game. And it wasn't limited to players; umpires, coaches, opposing fans, and even the damned PA guy.
"That guy says 'last-call for lottery tickets' one more time I'll go over there and stab him! It's fixed anyway - someone from Charles County always wins! I was born on a farm, you can't put that shit over on me!"
The other weird interesting part of the league was that it was all ages. I saw a 46 year old hit a home run off of a twenty-something, and it didn't involve Julio Franco.
I was sad when the weekend had to end, and I had to get on another damn bus back to NYC. I need to find another way to travel.
I can't claim any real innocence; after all, I asked for this job, and I really want to do well. I've been staying late of my own volition.
Still, it's kind of striking. I haven't been to the gym in over a week; I haven't seen my girlfriend in almost two weeks; I've been putting in ten and twelve hour days(or more) - it gives pause, to say the least.
After dinner with a close friend -- who warned me of his similar experiences at his last job -- I've decided I need to set some better boundaries at work. There has to be a balance. If I learned anything from The Karate Kid, it's the need for balance. If you have no balance, you end up in a freezing lake. A very important lesson, second only to "if you do Karate 'I guess so', squish! - just like grape!".
I do love my new work. It's stimulating, creative, and for the most part, fun. I'm still getting used to this new, strange city - and it's success-driven work culture.
"If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere". That's what they say about New York. Maybe, just maybe, if I get the balance right, I will make it. Then this will be me:
That was a two day weekend, right? It felt like three. Come Sunday, it felt like I had been away from work for a long time. I guess that means I had a good weekend. It didn't start out good, it started out with over-priced, over-cooked fillet mignon.
My girlfriend and I had dinner in Little Italy Friday night. We stopped at the first place that served bread and appeared air conditioned. After being seated, the waiter asked us if we needed to see the wine list. I said no, since I wasn't in the mood and my girlfriend doesn't drink...usually. Looking down at the menu, I didn't see his reaction, but my girlfriend said he seemed pissed. Great, it's going to be one of those nights, I thought.
Don't get me wrong, I mean, I get it. Wine, appetizers - they all add up, which to a waiter usually means a bigger tip. Don't be visibly pissed though. It's not my duty to order over-priced wine. Okay, mister waiter? No hard feelings, right?
So, naturally, we received no bread. Other tables, that were seated after us? Oh they got bread. I, however, had to ask for it. So that's how it is, mister waiter? Mister happy fun? Got it.
My fillet mignon -- which I had never actually had before, I just enjoyed saying fillet mignon -- was decent. I may be a complete philistine, but I prefer steaks at Outback to what this restaurant was serving. And whoever fixed my girlfriend's spaghettia alla carbonara went nuts with the garlic and salt, pushing the limits of edible. We will not be going back there, despite the ringing endorsement from Time Out, circa 1999, quoted on their website.
After having missed one showing of "Mr. Brooks" downtown, we opted for a late showing at the 86th street Loews. The show was at 12:15, and they let us in the theater at...12:15. We waited in a, albeit short, line for about a half hour. For the first twenty minutes of that wait, the line was three people deep: me, my girlfriend, and a baseball-cap wearing, sweaty loner. "Mr. Brooks" was surprisingly good; Costner and Hurt had moments together that were very creepy. They should patent that joint laughter act and go on the road, creeping people out. Dane Cook was serviceable, and Demi Moore can now say she owns the most realistic portrayal of a millionaire cop ever filmed. Wil Smith in Bad Boys has nothing on her. So, a good ending that salvaged an otherwise horrible Friday night.
Saturday, things were much better. We went to Ooki, a Sushi/Japanese restaurant on the Upper East Side. Easily the best Japanese place I've been to in New York. The service was friendly and quick. The atmosphere was chill; the open-air dining room felt fantastic on a warm summer night. The drinks, especially the plum wine, were delicious. Ooki earns special praise for pacing the salads, appetizers, and entrees so we never felt rushed or neglected. The duck spring rolls, the shrimp tempura, and the best chicken teriyaki I've ever had make Ooki my new favorite dining spot. My girlfriend, not one to hand out praise, said the sushi was the best she'd ever had.
We went to see "Knocked Up", which -- thought not has laugh out loud hilarious as "The 40 Year-Old Virgin" -- was still hilarious and heartfelt. If you haven't seen it yet, well, too bad. People applauded at the end of the film, though these days I find that happening a lot more than I remember it. I mean, people applauded at the end of the third Pirates movie as well. And while, yes, I can appreciate some of the non-blockbuster sequences Verbinski sneaked into the movie -- the sand crabs, multiple Jack Sparrows were very surreal and effective -- I don't think the overloaded, under-plotted film deserved applause. A thoughtful "hmmm"? Sure.
Sunday was spent moving the rest of my stuff over to my new apartment, shopping, and then finally, relaxing.
Which is good, because it looks to be a long week.
Romantic comedies, unless they are based on Nick Hornsby novels and star John Cusack, don't usually inspire me to buy music. Throw in Jennifer Aniston, and the chances go from slim to Ritchie.
So it's with some surprise that I sit here listening to Wreck Your Life by The Old 97's after watching The Break-Up. The movie was hilarious. I never tire of Vince Vaughn, and Aniston is always great as the girl who is just a little too hot for you(so maybe your hilarious personality can make up for it). Justin Long makes a disturbing cameo, however, that will make your stomach churn and your brow bunch up in revulsion. And I like Justin Long.
Wreck Your Life is a great mix of rock and country. "Victoria" is a great, sad story-telling opener. "W-I-F-E", an ode to leaving your better-half rather than just cheating, is as pure country as you can get. The fact that the song insists on spelling "wife", talking in code, is fantastic. "Dressing Room Walls" paints a vivid picture of dying on the road, and the album ends -- appropriately -- with "Goin', Goin', Gone" which is surprisingly not an ode to the long ball. Check this band out. None of the songs performed in the movie appear on Wreck Your Life; the album(from 1995 and their second album) just seemed to be a good starting point. There is a best of from Rhino that looks pretty good.
Dumbest Thing I Did Last Weekend: I saw A Perfect Stranger.
Dumbest Thing I Said Last Weekend: (after putting on a baseball cap) "Wow, I look like Matt Damon in that movie were he wore a hat."
Dumbest Thing My Girlfriend Asked Me To Do Last Weekend: She wanted me to wait outside while she was doing some midnight shopping at the 125th St. PathMark grocery store. For anyone who doesn't now, 125th is main street Harlem, and being whiter than Woolite, I stand out. Imagine the possible conversations, had I waited outside:
Amused Passerby: Hey honky1, what are you doing here?
Me: Er, waiting.
Passerby: For what?
Me: ...Gentrification?
Dumbest Thing I Saw: The last fifteen minutes of RV, the Robin Williams comedy, also starring Larry David's fake wife -- playing William's fake wife -- JoJo, Jeff Daniels, and some forgettable people. On the bus ride home, the driver started the movie with only the aforementioned fifteen minutes left to go; surprisingly, no one asked for him to rewind it, and I had no problem following the plot.
All things considered, a pleasant weekend. The torrent of rain in NYC delayed my return a day, meaning an extra day with my girlfriend, which is always good.
Back at the office, things are...normal. For the most part. Still, job security does not exist for a government contractor. Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.
1True Story: One my first DC apartments was on S street near North Capitol; I went exploring shortly after moving in, and after rounding a street corner around the Shaw/Howard University Metro stop, I heard "What up, HONKY!" shouted from a passing car. I thought that was hilarious.
I'm troubled by the film Maverick. I haven't found hidden anti-semitism(unless the James Coburn character is intended to be a Jewish stereotype, which given recent events, seems strangely plausible) which is what everyone looks for now in Mel Gibson movies(it's much easier to find latent racism in old Seinfeld episodes; Kramer "accidentally" dons blackface through overtanning in one them for Christ's sake1). In fact, what's troubling me has nothing to do with Gibson, the over-abundance of country music, or suspending the disbelief that Alfred Molina is capable of being scary without six murderous mechanical arms. No, what troubles me is Jodie Foster.
Maverick is the only movie in which I find Foster attractive. As Annabelle Bransford, she is a conniving, seducing thief. She has long curly blond hair, wears low cut dresses, and breathes hard when excited. And like most men, I do enjoy her Southern. In no other role does Foster make me enthusiastic to see her naked. Why is that?
I know Foster's Clarice Starling was supposed to be a virginal, sexual foil to Anthony Hopkins' demented Hannibal Lecter in that movie with a dead moth on the poster, but whose title mentions silent lambs. She is porcelain, pure, and her legs are probably joined at the knee2. Which is why I never went for her; kissing her would be like kissing your sister. She's practically a nun with a gun. The relationship with Lecter just screams closet goth, plus he would probably rip your face off for looking at her twice. Or once, even.
In Sommersby, she lets Richard Gere aka Arman Tanzarian hang even after she knows he is an impostor(not her real husband), and therefore innocent. Why? For that final, Oscar grubbing final scene by his grave. Another strike against the film is it's another "noble white man helps black people" movie, which I think we've all had enough of(now "noble white woman teacher helps black students"...apparently that's not played out yet).
It's impossible to think about her character in Nell in any sexual way, because you will go to hell. She plays a couple of annoying single mothers in Panic Room and Flightplan. In the former she's completely neurotic, and in the latter she's still grieving her recently deceased husband -- no real shot there. In fact, Contact is the only other movie where I find her even remotely attractive, and that's mainly because she is a)brilliant, b) passionate, and c) puts out on the first date with Matthew McConaughey. Which brings me to why I think I find her irresistible in Maverick.
Annabelle Bransford is a slutty bad girl. She uses her looks and her charms in tandem with ruthless cunning to be an exceptional thief. She won't pester you to marry, but she will fuck your dad when you're not around. She's all for hour-long trysts in hotel rooms, but then she'll rob you while you're soaking in the tub. She's the girl mom warned you about, yet still can't resist; she's the Queen of Hearts, always your best bet3. Especially if you think half the fun is in the chase, because you will be chasing her -- usually to get back your wallet.
I'm not sure what it says about me that I find all of these things irresistible; I guess -- like many immature twenty-somethings -- I find the allure of the exciting, damaged, and sexually aggressive members of the opposite sex too strong to break free from their siren call. It would help, though, if Clarice ever let anyone get to second base.
1The episode is "The Wife"; Kramer's black girlfriend is horrified when he shows up "over-tanned" and her father/grandfather, I can't remember which, says "I thought you said you were bringing a white boy home! I don't see a white boy! I see a damn fool!"
3You may think bashing Maverick's abundance of country music while quoting Eagles' songs makes me a somewhat of a hypocrite. You're wrong, but duly noted.
Never underestimate the power of music. Sniffling, feeling sick to my stomach, I was going to skip my workout yesterday. I tried one last thing: a quick spin of my ":Mix(Energy)" playlist on my iPod. Several energetic songs later, and I was ready to go.
I hate it when a metal song(or any rock song) is very mediocre, but has a kick-ass solo in it. What do I do? Do I listen to it again just to hear the solo? I could manipulate the start/stop times in iTunes to just play the solo, and have dozens of twenty-second guitar solo tracks floating around my playlists...yeah, I'll do that. Still, it bugs me.
One thing I find amusing about blues music(or old Bill Cosby albums), is how nonchalantly the subject of wife beating comes up.
Top 5 Drifters Songs: 5. Money Honey, 4. Spanish Harlem, 3. White Christmas, 2. On Broadway, 1. There Goes My Baby
The other day I realized I almost never listen to a proper album while commuting; it's always a shuffled playlist. Why do you think that is? It's such a rare occurrence, the last two times are distinct memories: listening to the Drive-By-Trucker's Southern Rock Opera sometime last summer and The Replacement's Let It Be the winter before that.
This is a very boring week. I dreamed last night that I replaced the light bulb in my closet. I was disappointed to discover this morning I hadn't actually done it.
"Life is a school for angels. Love is the Teacher, so do your homework without fear. Death is merely graduation." - Jeffrey Kuehl, Starbucks customer from Wilmette, Illinois. (The Way I See It #187)
If there's one thing I like with my morning hot chocolate, it's a reminder of my inevitable death. If Jeffrey Kuehl is correct, my death will also be pointless, since I don't believe in angels; something that would surely land me in the back of a class of the recently deceased, angels to be. What kind of homework would Love assign? I hope it's fucking. And I hope Love would grade on a curve. Anyway, this has to be one of the weirdest answers to the meaning-of-life question I've ever heard. And is it weird that this quote mentions death, and it's number is 187?
I totally forgot this weekend was Easter(something else that will land me in the back of angel class). Someone asked me if my girlfriend was coming down for Easter weekend, and I just stared at him and blinked. I mumbled something about her coming in late April, hoping that would help. Hey, that means today is Good Friday, which makes me think of the Black Crowes' song "Good Friday", which makes me think of Chris Robinson's now ex-wife Kate Hudson, who I saw on cable the other night in 200 Cigarettes, which also had Dave Chappelle, Christin Ricci, Paul Rudd, Courtney fucking Love, Martha Plimpton, Jay Mohr, Janeane Garofalo, Casey Affleck, and his big brother Ben Affleck...which after watching led me to conclude that the elder Affleck is a pretty good actor, especially in comedic roles. This line of thought is also why I am destined for Hell.
Surfing the internet, I came across this gem from Dave Barry:
The badness of a movie is directly proportional to the number of helicopters in it.
Reflecting on movies I've seen recently, I think he is on to something:
Ghost Rider. Horrible movie, I'll admit(as much as I don't want to). At least five, maybe six, gigantic helicopters in one scene. Ghost Rider briefly battles a Police helicopter. Horrible.
Breach. Not one helicopter. Excellent flick.
Seraphim Falls. It's a western. Excellent flick.
Primeval. At least one helicopter in the beginning. Bad movie, though not as bad as Ghost Rider. I'd rather watch Nicolas Cage and Eva Mendes in a horrible movie than Dominic "Prison Break" Purcell and Brooke Langton in anything. Orland Jones is a wild card.
Apocalypto. The setting is the ancient Mayan civilization. Good movie.
Rocky. No helicopters that I can recall. Great movie.
Blood Diamond. This movie had numerous rides in helicopters. The exception to the rule; a great movie.
Night At The Museum. No helicopters that I can remember. Bland, boring movie.
Casino Royale. This must have had at least one helicopter, right? It is a James Bond movie. Great movie.
So it's not a hard rule, but it sure is fun. Maybe the real rule should be Nicolas Cage + Helicopters = Horrible Movie. You know, like Firebirds. Top Gun With Helicopters also stars Tommy Lee Jones and the chick who played a dude posing as a chick in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.
As I left for my weekend in the city Friday, I listened to Block Party's new album A Weekend In The City, because aside from loving things that connect, I'm capable of astounding acts of unoriginality. Darker in tone(both musically and lyrically), Weekend is the perfect Empire Strikes Back to Silent Alarm's Star Wars. BigYawn covered it in detail already so I won't rehash, but if you enjoyed Alarm you will love the follow up. The first two tracks, "Song For Clay (Disappear Here)" and the post-9/11 society commentary "Hunting For Witches", are ripping tunes.
I also took in Menomena's Friend Or Foe, a stunning piece of indie rock with everything from power chords to saxophones. I loved the opening track "Muscle N Flo", as well as "Air Raid", "Weird?", and "Rotten Hell". Again, over at BigYawn Chris Daly does a better job exhorting the albums merits than I ever could.
I had some interesting times during the long weekend, which I'll get into later. I saw Ghost Rider.
To make up for that, I saw Breach. A gripping yet understated thriller. Chris Cooper was excellent as the walking paradox Robert Hanssen, who appears to be sincere about serving God and Country while betraying both that and his family, friends and colleagues. His final scene in the movie is chilling. Ryan Phillippe was equally excellent as Eric O'Neill, the young agent-in-training the FBI planted as Hanssen's clerk during the last two months of their investigation. Phillippe still suffers barbs from critics who hate the genetically blessed; every review I read took pains to point out his supposed shortcomings that Cooper and the script made up for. Which is a bunch of shit. I'm not saying Phillippe is an excellent actor, but he is certainly -- at the very least -- competent. Phillippe, like Keanu Reeves, could turn in a performance worthy of Peter O'Toole and it would still be shat upon by critics from the east coast to the west. Beautiful actors, when they miss, are ostracized for only having their faces and bodies to offer us. By that reasoning, if Steve Buscemi ever turned in a sub-par performance, he would have to be labeled as one of the worst actors ever.
It was fun to hear New Yorker's gasp in amazement when Laura Linney's character uses her cellphone on the Metro, something you can't do in NYC yet. The movie was almost ruined, however, by the banal commentary of a man who thought of himself as some sort of spy buff. Sitting next to me, this smelly know-it-all laughingly intoned "Welcome to the agency!" after O'Neill's first verbal thrashing from Hanssen. Too bad both Hanssen and O'Neill work for the FBI, which -- unless my grasp of the alphabet has atrophied considerably since Kindergarten -- has no word in it that begins with an "A". It's the BUREAU, jackass.
A common fixture of movie theaters today are the "First Look" shorts that run before the previews. Extended looks(ads) of upcoming movies and television shows, I find them a little more entertaining than the slide-show of ads and repeated trivia that used to play until the lights dimmed. They are at the very least just as easy to ignore...most of the time. One preview, which aired before Ghost Rider and Breach, froze me in my cushioned seat, though not exactly in a positive way.
The preview was for the Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs. The host runs around with a water snake expert chasing water snakes, which I gather are non-poisonous, since one bites the host in the arm and he doesn't die. As the snake digs in deeper the host growls about how he hates his job, he cries out and the snake lets go and flayed flesh falls from it's fangs. Red strips of skin clearly fall to the ground. The camera then treats us to a close up of the hosts bloodied forearm, the wounds matching the discarded skins scraps like puzzle pieces.
This wasn't the worse part.
After that, in the safety of a lab the host forces a water snake to throw up. And, on a fifty foot screen, I and everyone else who arrived early so we wouldn't miss the previews(one of the best parts of going to the theater) were treated to watching a water snake vomit up a slimy, still recognizable fish.
"...That's just weird," the host says, looking at the glistening, half-digested carcass.
No. No, it's not just weird...it's fucking disgusting. I was trying to eat nachos, now I can barely sip my coke without my gut reeling. If I wanted to see that, I would be at home watching the goddamned Discovery Channel. Who thought this was a good idea to show a few dozen potential concession stand patrons? I haven't seen a more disturbing display of puking at a movie theater since The Exorcist was re-released, but at least that was in the movie. Shit.
I'll still arrive early, but damn, I may take an early trip to the bathroom.
"Hey, it's that guy!" - a declaration heard around countless television and movie screens and often followed with "You know, from [insert movie title here], he played the [insert memorable character actor role here]. You know, that guy. From that movie. Don't you remember? We talked about how great he was the entire car ride home!"
That guys get just as many blank stares as they do snaps of recognition. They deserve more recognition. That guys make movies more entertaining, believable, and memorable. Sometimes they carve out niche roles, and seeing that guy immediately centers you in a universe full of miscast superstars(like R. Lee Ermey, who started a very long that guy career with his role as a Marine Drill Sergeant in Full Metal Jacket), or they frequently steal the show from their more celebrated cast mates(like Henry Czerny, the that guy from Mission Impossible, Clear And Present Danger, and The Ice Storm).
Today, we recognize Michael Wincott. Please, hold your applause.
Wincott had completely slipped from my memory until I saw Seraphim Falls a month ago. He plays the same role I always remember him playing: a sinister henchman. The one that will surely die, but not until the third act.
I knew it was him before I saw him. Distracted -- situating the popcorn and the Reese's Pieces for maximum convenience -- he snapped me to attention with barely one and half syllables of his calling-card voice: deep, raspy, and deliberate. A voice with immediate character; an actor's dream. It stands every hair on your body, forcing you to swallow whatever you were about to say. And that's a hard swallow too; a lump that really fucking hurts going down. I'm a real son of a bitch, don't fuck with me his voice says.
He played Guy of Gisborne(a that guy literally playing a Guy, how poetic) in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, holding his own against Alan Rickman's wonderfully depraved Sheriff of Nottingham*. He reprised the role, for all intents and purposes, as the evil enforcer for Tim Curry's villainous Cardinal in The Three Musketeers, an otherwise forgettable film.Curry was entertaining, but Wincott's fellow that guy Oliver Platt(who is arguably no longer a that guy) was the only other source of entertainment with his boisterous Porthos. The movie helped catapult Chris O'Donnellto fame, making it indirectly responsible for the Batman franchise's temporary demise years later, and other cinematic crimes(In Love And War, The Bachelor).
Wincott's best performance was one of his only stints, to my knowledge, as a flick's top villian in The Crow. He played Top Dollar, the head of the film's eerie Gothic crime syndicate, and for the first time was given ample screen time to lay forth sadistic lines in his gravelled, yet smooth voice, the stones in his throat having been worn flat and polished by the Jack he no doubt used to wash down his six-pack-a-day habit**.
I'm not a huge fan of serial killer movies, but I'll have to see Along Came A Spider, since Wincott plays the main villain, Gary Soneji.
Today, aside from Seraphim Falls, Wincott does a lot of voice over work in video games like Halo and NARC. A perfect fit I'll admit, though I pray for the day I can watch him bedevil some poor superstar on the silver screen, and maybe if he's blessed with a cynical maverick for a director, he'll win.
A victory for that guys everywhere.
Michael Wincott, I salute you.
*One of my favorite lines of all time is from this movie, between Wincott and Rickman. After one of Robin Hood's many escapes, Rickman yells he'll cut out Robin Hood's heart with a spoon. Later:
Sheriff of Nottingham: Wait a minute. Robin Hood steals money from my pocket, forcing me to hurt the public, and they love him for it? [Scribe nods] Sheriff of Nottingham: That's it then. Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans, no more merciful beheadings, and call off Christmas.
Sheriff of Nottingham: What a beautiful child. So young, so alive, so unaware of how precarious life can be. I had a very sad childhood, I'll tell you about it sometime. I never knew my parents; it's amazing I'm sane.
----
Azeem: Is there no sun in this cursed country? Which way is East?
---- Robin of Locksley: And you. You travel ten thousand miles to save my life and leave me to be butchered. Azeem: I fulfill my vows when I choose to. Robin of Locksley: Which does not include prayer time, meal time, or any time I'm outnumbered six to one. Azeem: You whine like a mule. You are still alive. ----
[after Robin Hood and Azeem are catapulted over a castle wall] Will Scarlett: Fuck me! He cleared it.
**I have no idea if Wincott smokes or drinks. Here are some great lines from The Crow(though you have to hear them to really appreciate Wincott):
T-Bird: I got trouble. One of my crew got himself perished. Top Dollar: Yeah, and who might that be? T-Bird: Tin Tin, somebody stuck his blades in all his major organs in alphabetical order. Top Dollar: Gentlemen, by all means, I think we ought to have an introspective moment of silence for poor ol' Tin Tin. [sniffs]
----
Top Dollar: Ya know, my daddy used to say every man's got a devil. And you can't rest 'til you find him... but if it's any consolation to you, you have put a smile on my face.
----
Top Dollar: Our friend T-bird won't be joining us this evening on account of a slight case of death.
----
[gazing at falling-snow crystal ball containing a mini-cemetery] Top Dollar: Dad gave me this. Fifth birthday. He said, "Childhood's over the moment you know you're gonna die."
----
Eric Draven: I see you have made your decision, now let's see you enforce it. Top Dollar: Aw, this is already boring the shit out of me. Kill 'im!
----
Grange: I saw him too. He had a guitar. He winked at me right before he jumped out a fourth floor window like he had wings. Top Dollar: He winked at you? [sighs] Top Dollar: Musicians. ---- [after shooting the crow] Top Dollar: Quick impression for you: Caw! Caw! Bang! Fuck, I'm dead!
I love a good insult. It's not often you find that in advertising, at least since the Cola Wars(the Apple Switch ads being the exception). This, however, is hilarious:
An ad from one of Geico's rival insurance agencies in New York, taking aim at that annoying, inexplicably British gecko. A literal shot below the belt(the flaccid tail is priceless).
Speaking of lizards in New York, my girlfriend and I saw Primeval over the weekend.
All I can say about this movie is, at some point, the following phone call must have taken place:
A disheveled man, pockets inside out, pay phone receiver between his shoulder and ear as he ruffles through his blazer, makes a call from a deserted city street
PRODUCER: Hello? Fuck, Mike! For the love of God tell them you'll accept the charges! Yes, yes this is Mitch! Your producer Mitch! Look, we've....we've got sort of a problem with Primeval...well, um....what do you think about having a subplot about a man eating crocodile? Oh, then I guess you wouldn't want the entire plot to be that either...
pulls phone away with a wince(manic shouting coming from the receiver), slowly returns it to his ear
PRODUCER: OK Mike, here's the thing...I went drinking last night, I met some guy who used to do animation for Beast Wars, we had some shots, one thing lead to another, and I gave him over three quarters of our budget to animate a fucking crocodile...well I don't know what we are going to do with all the civil war footage we shot! Look, all isn't lost, this thing's based on a real crocodile that's killed over three hundred people over there....What's that? Hmm, three hundred thousand? Really? That's a hell of a civil war...guess that's why we were making the movie! Hahaha...ummm...yes I know this isn't funny....
poorly lit city bus drives by, drowning out the conversation for a few seconds
PRODUCER: I SAID YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT JENNIFER CONNELLY OR FUCKING DEREK LUKE ANYMORE! What? I'm shouting because you couldn't hear me! What? Yes, they are both off the project! Well, why do you think? I don't know, some movie about diamonds with Leo and the black guy from Gladiator...something with Tim Robbins...yes because of the croc....well he worked on fucking Beast Wars Mike, how do you think it fucking looks? Yeah....yeah....well also...I might have drunk dialed Jennifer last night...look what does it matter what I said? We can't afford any of them anyway anymore with all the croc money gone...something nasty about that albino husband of hers...not a real albino? You sure? Wow...well, don't worry, I have already have some replacements lined up...
poorly lit city bus drives by, drowning out the conversation for a few seconds
PRODUCER:...yes Mike, Orlando fucking Jones. Well I don't know what he's been doing since the Seven Up commercials, but he was pretty damn funny in them, wasn't he? What? He was in the same bar. Yeah, what are the chances....oh, for Tim I got that guy from Prison Break...yeah I know it's a good show...no not that one, the dumb one....the one who needs to be fucking broken out of prison...yes, I'll tell him to keep his shirt buttoned...no that's not a fucking promise...look, I've got to go, I'm not even sure where the hell I am...oh real mature Mike...yeah...yeah...see you tomorrow.
I hope all of you had some good old fashioned holiday fun. My family managed to avoid the emergency room this year, so I think we are ahead in making 2007 a good year(last Christmas Eve, my youngest brother James was stricken with horrible stomach pain at the Redskins/Giants game - it turned out to be appendicitis - and we all took turns at the hospital until he returned on the 27th).
My girlfriend stayed with me up until this morning, when she left to go back to New York. It seemed we spent most of our time either at my parent's house, her mom's house, or travelling to one of those places. We did manage to get in some quality alone time somewhere in there, but the holidays sure can drain away from that.
We saw so many movies: Apocalypto, Rocky, Blood Diamond and Night At The Museum. Apocalypto was a very good adventure movie, though it has noted historical inaccuracies. It was still very well made and visually stunning. A lot has been made of the blood and gore, but it's really not that bad. Maybe people are more affected because this depicts things that have actually happened in human history, but I think that's giving people too much credit. It's because of Mel Gibson, and despite that Apocalypto isn't nearly as gruesome as Passion Of The Christ(Side Note: I first saw the trailer for this movie at a theater near 86th street on the east side of Manhattan, when I saw The Departed with my girlfriend; the audience hissed it incessantly and then booed when Mel Gibson's name appeared).
Rocky is the feel-good movie of the season. Don't listen to the naysayers, they are all cynics who still hate the Academy for giving Rocky I the Best Picture Oscar in 1975(despite the fact that the sequels did diminish the franchise, that movie deserved the Oscar - yes, even considering the other nominated movies like All The President's Men, Network, etc.) Stallone is excellent, the supporting cast is excellent, and the entire movie just feels right. People cheered when I was there. I can't remember the last time that happened at a movie I was at.
Blood Diamond is exhibit B in Leonardo DiCaprio's case for the Best Actor Oscar, with The Departed being exhibit A. In both movies, you forget that DiCaprio is playing a character. Diamond's other leading man, Djimon Hounsou, is also excellent. Maybe it was residual enthusiasm from Rocky, but when Hounsou's character finally gets some measure of revenge, I was pumping my fist.
Night At The Museum was really, really forgettable. Fun, but...eh. Everyone else seemed to really like it.
I haven't been writing much about music lately, but you can see more of my reviews at BigYawn. Specifically, my reviews of Don't You Know Who I Think I Was? the best of The Replacements, Food & Liquor by Lupe Fiasco, and Shine On by Jet. Two more reviews, of Mastodon's Blood Mountain and The Coup's Pick A Bigger Weapon, should be posted soon.
I hastily put together my official Top 10 of 2006 for BY, but I wish I could have devoted more time to it. Holiday related activities and work(which had a late holiday push) and took up most of my time the last few weeks, so the Top 10 I'll write here before the end of the year may be different than my "official" BY one. Really, there are just a few albums I wished I could have listened to more(or at all) so I could have made a better list: Once Again by John Legend, Let My People Go by Darondo, The Information by Beck, Return To Cookie Mountain by TV On The Radio, and The Greatest by Cat Power. Some of these I've had and just neglected, some were delivered to my desk just a few minutes ago. Now that I write for an established website, I should be able to get some free copies of new releases, and staying timely won't be so hard(on me and my wallet).
I spent a lot of time the last two weeks scanning old family photos, mostly Christmas related. My mother wanted a slide-show of them on a CD to show the family. I one-upped her and put it together on my MacBook and made it into a DVD instead, along with a bonus slide-show of non-Christmas family photos showing how much we have all changed(to the tune of John Legend's "It Don't Have To Change"). It was fun, and I'll admit a little tear-jerking, to spend time with all of those old photos. A lot has changed, but our love hasn't. I also put together a slide-show with photos of my late grandmother, on my mother's side, for my mom and aunt.
My family loved all of them, especially the bonus show. That felt real good after putting a lot of time and effort into picking out photos, ordering them, and finding good music to go with them.
I need a digital camera. That's my one New Year's resolution, buy a digital camera.
Boy, did you ever try Greenline. I applaud your efforts to keep me from having sex Saturday night.
If there is anything Casino Royaleshould have been good for, it's being the kind of movie to get men and women in the mood. Scary movies are good for that too, but Bond movies have exotic locales and eye candy for every sex and taste(The movie was very good even if you don't count it's potential to facilitate fucking, incidentally).
Exiting the Regal theater that night, all seemed to be going well. Kisses before, during, and after the movie. Light touches, heavy touches, and just the right amount of anticipation. Then you stepped in.
The wait at the Chinatown stop for a train going back to Columbia Heights was 17 minutes due to track work. A long time to wait. Now, I'm not saying I can't keep anticipation building for seventeen plus minutes - I'm not a teenager anymore - but this was compounded by the fact that we had seen a late show, and some dreaded yawns were slowly escaping both of our mouths. Plus, she hates waiting any longer than eight minutes for a train(that's the New Yorker in her). Fatigue and irritation, twin mood killers staring me right in the face.
I persevered though. Tender embraces on a stone Metro bench; kisses on the forehead. Chemistry that comes from great physical and mental compatibility is a powerful ally. You weren't finished, though, where you? You played your strongest card, Greenline.
Vomit.
I can play around a lot of things to preserve the mood, but a drunk man puking in the phone booth - right in front of us - is not one of them. There isn't much romantic about vomit, or slurred words of apology to no one in particular. You weren't finished with that, though, were you Greenline?
A bar playa sat his very drunk conquest right next to us, and her odor finished off any thoughts we had other than for the love of God please let the next train be ours, before we start running down the tunnel just to escape the smell of puke and bile!
Finally, our salvation arrived, and I'll bet you thought your work was done, didn't you Greenline? I'll grant you, sex was the last thing on either of our minds as we finally exited Columbia Heights and made the cold walk back to my apartment. But that's what John Legend, Al Green, Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye are for. That's what a warm bed and a back massage are for. You failed that night, Greenline, and I succeeded.
Ben Folds is going to get me into trouble. Maybe killed.
His very merry, very catchy cover of Dr. Dre's Bitches Ain't Shit is in heavy rotation on my iPod. Folds has turned it into a real sing along; which is what I have found myself unconsciously doing while walking, at a Subway Restaurant, and even on the Metro. Happily bobbing my head side to side, singing "Bitches ain't shit but ho's and tricks, lick on these nuts and suck the dick, just get the fuck out after yer done, and I hops in my ride to make a quick run!"
I have a very low sing-along voice, so luckily no one has heard me yet(that I know of). I really have to work on controlling myself when that song comes on. If I get caught, it won't be cute like the scene in About A Boy where Marcus is caught singing along to Mystikal's "Shake Yo Ass". It will be ugly, like the scene where Marcus sings Killing Me Softly at the high school talent show. Except with more violence.
Ben Fold's interpretation of a gangsta-rap classic is part of my recent pursuit of cover songs, both obvious and obscure. It had led me to purchase the sound track to High Fidelity, just to get Jack Black's rendition of Let's Get It On(which is good, and if you didn't know that, I've just ruined the movie for you. You're welcome). Actually, I'm a bit surprised I didn't already own it since a) I loved High Fidelity and b) John Cusack and Nick Hornsby have great taste in music.
Incidentally, after High Fidelity Nick Hornsby said he wanted John Cusack to play the lead in every film based on one of his books. Sadly this hasn't come true - though in the case of the Jimmy Fallon vehicle Fever Pitch, that's probably good for Cusack - but I don't blame Hornsby for wanting Cusack in all of his movies. In the aforementioned About A Boy, the role is played by Hugh Grant(and he was great), but I could easily picture Cusack in the role. Hornsby writes about the everyman, and Cusack has made a career out of playing the everyman. Cusack also has something extra, though.
I think Chuck Klosterman, in his excellent book Sex, Drugs, And Coco Puffs, summed up Cusack's appeal best:
It appears that countless women born between the years of 1965 and 1978 are in love with John Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn't the number-one box-office star in America, because every straight girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherfucker. For upwardly mobile women in their twenties and thirties, John Cusack is the neo-Elvis. But here's what none of these upwardly mobile women seem to realize: They don't love John Cusack. They love Lloyd Dobler.
Lloyd Dobler, of course, is the hero from the 80s flick Say Anything. A charming, lovable and sometimes goofy teenager, Dobler uttered one of my favorite movie quotes of all time, in a scene in which he tries to explain his future plans to his potential girlfriend's father:
I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.
You really have to see the movie to get the full effect.
But anyway, I love John Cusack - not because of Lloyd Dobler - but because he always seems like an effortlessly cool, charming guy who somehow falls half-assed into attractive women by virtue of being himself all the time. Not too attractive to be other-worldly, but attractive enough that his movie relationships/hook-ups are always believable: Lisa Bonet in High Fidelity, Julia Roberts in American Sweethearts, Minnie Driver in GrossePointe Blank, Annette Benning in The Grifters, Kate Beckinsale in Serendipity,and even Angelina Jolie in Pushing Tin. In none of these movies does the attraction ever seemed forced(incidentally, Lisa Bonet is my favorite; she was so beautiful in High Fidelity that it hurts me now as I write this to think about it).
Once, an ex compared me to Cusack and Lloyd Dobler. It certainly wasn't based on appearance, I might be as pale as Cuscak, but my hair is dirty blond and my eyes are blue, plus he is at least an inch taller. I think it was simply because she fell in love with me for the same reasons Diane Court fell for Lloyd(or at least that's what she told herself at the time).
This has the potential to ruin my love life. Thankfully, I have a girlfriend. For argument's sake, though, let's say I didn't. Now I have a concrete notion of what made one woman fall in love with me. I might try and emulate this niche character as much as I can, banking on this behavior to get another woman to fall for me. In fact, I already often find myself wondering what I could do to act more like many of Cusack's movie characters. It seems to work for him, and with a range of women from the really cute(Driver, Roberts) to the incredibly beautiful(Bonet, Beckinsale and Jolie), the upside would be incredible.
Doing this would also be incredibly stupid. Movies are fake. I know this seems obvious, but most of us forget this routinely. How often have you compared your life to a movie, or a TV show? And I don't mean wishing your life was like that of Carrie Bradshaw, Tony Soprano, Chandler Bing, or Rory Gilmore(or Dexter Morgan, for the really sick people out there). I mean you actually think your life is remarkably like that of a fictional character.
This means you are ignoring all the warts of real life: morning breath, bed-head, grocery shopping, work, dullness and well, no drama. It's impossible for fiction to show us everything that would happen in real life. If it did, we wouldn't watch it. Which means we are essentially living a life we wouldn't watch on TV(the Navy plays on this fear quite well in their commercials). Not, at least, without some goddamn good editing. The night spent watching re-runs of The Fresh Prince? Out. The night you drank too much, punched a guy, but sang karaoke(at a non-karaoke bar) with him later that night, witnessed a taxi cab crashing into a storefront during your drunken walk home, and woke up with the local weather girl? That's in, baby.
Unlike our movie and TV doppelgangers, however, we can't skip the uninteresting parts. They are always several worlds removed from the one we live in. And conducting yourself in this world as you would in the movie world can only lead to disaster and disappointment.
Though, on the outside chance you could land Lisa Bonet, maybe it's worth a shot.
