The New World

The New World is a very quiet film, which is appropriate because, in the end, it doesn't say very much. I'm probably going against popular (by which I mean critically) opinion here as most critics seem to think Malick shits gold and roses, but I found the New World to be bad.

And not just bad, but pointlessly bad. We're not talking the "good" bad, like R. Kelly's Trapped in the Closet here.

(Quick note: I just checked Rotten Tomatoes and it's only getting a 55%, so apparently I'm not going against the popular opinion here. Anyway...)

The problem with this film is that, although visually stunning, it goes nowhere, and takes a long thime to get there. A film that had the potential to be an epic retelling of the John Smith/Pocahontas story, set nicely in the backdrop of the first colonization of Virginia, flounders in the weight of Malick's pretenstions. It's almost as if he asked himself how he could take a story and turn it into pretty yet meaningless pictures. This is an indulgent film; unfortunatley it indulges only the filmmaker.

Did I believe the relationship of Smith and Pocahontas? No, because it was almost entirely presented in montages that showed no depth or development. Each scene, taken indivdually, had some resonance, but as a whole they failed. And note, a montage is still a montage, even if set to gentle orchestral music and oblique interior monologues instead of the theme from Rocky. And more than one in a film...well that's too much.

Did I care about the English settlers and their struggles? No, because there was no cohesive narrative to describe them.

What about battles between the Indians and the settlers? That must have been cool, right? There was one major one and it was staged with all the awkwardness of a CYO dance.

Certainly there was some intruiging dialogue? EHH! Wrong. In fact, there was probably actually more interior monolgue throught the film than actual dialogue. And not just from one narrator, but from three. The multiple narrator interior dialogue trick was one he also used in The Thin Red Line, however it worked well in that film, as there was no real main character. It this film, where the focus should be....well, more focused, the technique leaves the film with no ground on which to build, and smacks of pretenstion for it's own sake.

The one aspect of Malick's frustrating film-making that worked on this film, was when he portrayed the indians, and the settler's reactions in trying to communicate with them. The obvious language barriers, and the differences between their worlds, make what the indians are trying to say, and their culture, hard to understand, for both the settlers, and us the audience. This makes sense, in the contect of the film, and oddly enough parllels my experience with the film very well. Maybe Malick is trying to communicate something to the audience, but I certainly didn't understand it.

The question in question

"How many books do you read in a week?"

Every now and then, someone at my work will ask me this. I know why they do, it's understandable. More than in any other facet of my life, these coworkers see me go through book after book after book. Almost every break and lunch, I'm in the cafeteria, nose in something, while eating my breakfast or lunch. No one else in my life sees me with enough different titles in hand to realize I go through a good amount. Probably the last person to see it was my last long-term girlfriend, someone who saw me often enough to notice when there was a new title in hand.

But the question is bogus, and one that I always hate answering. I hate it, becuase I'm at a loss at how to answer it. "Well, Dave, I read 1.7 books a week. Except in the summer when my production goes up to 2.3. Thanks for asking." It'd be like me going around to people and asking how many miles they drive in a week.

The question is really only valid if everything you read is the exact same length with the same writing style. I go through a 700 page science fiction epic at a different rate than a 250 page book of essays on pop culture. (My last finished book and current read.) An author's style and vocabulary make a difference. The complexity of the story makes a difference. Fiction vs. non-fiction makes a difference. Hell, the type face makes a difference.

But you have to give some kind of answer. Not to would be rude. I usually go with the, "I don't know. 1 or 2, I guess." As much as the question does bother me I don't want to be rude, because the people asking are just making small talk and, for the most part, are nice enough folk.

Of course, the question is often followed by some sort of question about what I'm reading, which sometimes opens a whole new bag of worms. It's probably no surprise that I talked to a lot of people here about it when I had the new Harry Potter on my tray in the cafeteria line. When my dad bought those few popular Dan Brown novels and I read them, they got plenty of questions as well. (For a good few months last year, just having a Dan Brown novel was the best way to meet new people. For some reason, despite that he was a subpar thriller writer, The Davinci Code swept boldly into the public consciousness, dragging along some of his other novels, Angels and Demons and Digital Fortress, on its coattails.) One of the cooks is a Stephen King fan, so if I'm reading some King, we'll talk it out. But when I'm reading Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs," how do I explain the premise of that to the people I work with. You have to understand that at 31 years old, I'm still on the younger end of the spectrum of the employees here. I'd say within the youngest 5, at least. And even once you get past the book's eye-catching title, will anyone that asks me about it at the 'B appreciate a bunch of analysis on a pop-culture that they likely don't feel an affinity for? Probably not.
...
More and more often I find myself selecting what I'm going to read at work carefully. I usually tend to something with an easily salebale premise, in case anyone asks. "A Marine protects the president when the air base they're at is taken over by terrorists."

The Klosterman is an exception, simply because I'm enjoying too much and don't want to read anything else until I'm done. But if I try to explain to someone I work with the essay about how people are becoming more and more like Real World archtype characters, I'm fairly certain I'm going to get that look like I just farted on an elevator and they're wondering if they should say something.
...
What it comes down to, it seems, it not what you're reading, but the perception of others of what you're reading.

At work, a Harry Potter or Dan Brown feels like it'd be more acceptable to those around me. It provokes a sense of camraderie. A: :Hey, I read that! We have something in common," good feeling vibe. Whereas if I have to explain that I'm currently in the chapter of "The Dirt" where Ozzy Osbourne drinks his own pee, I'm wondering what people are thinking of me at that point and will it affect my ability to work with these people. Much like when I'm listening to Twisted Sister in my cubicle and someone comes in to ask me a question.

When did reading get so complicated? Anyway, back to my book. The next essay's entitled "Porn". I have high hopes for it.

Stuff N' Things

I'm not a morning person. Anyone who knows me knows that. Late morning person, maybe, if it came down to it.

I do wish, however, I was one of those people that could wake right up and get out of bed with no problems when the alarm goes off. It would make my life so much easier, considering that out of a 7 day week I only get to sleep in for two of those days typically, and the other 5 I'm up much earlier than I'd prefer.

And when that alarm goes off at 6:32....and then again at 6:41....and again at 6:50....then once more at 6:58 and I finally can't ignore it anymore or, in good conscience hit the snooze bar any more, it's just hard. Damn hard. You know those heavy lead aprons they put on you at the dentist when they're taking X-rays? It feels like my blankets are made of those. I can't get them off without a fight. And fighting is probably the last thing you want to do when you wake up.
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You know it's an interesting day when you get to use the "Diplomatic immunity!" line from Lethal Weapon 2 to illustrate a point to your boss.
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Why do some girls wear perfume to the gym? Do they think it smells great when mixed with sweat? It really doesn't.
...
So, now that my passport is in the works, I have to decide where to go. And when. I probably shouldn't even be thinking about this until after my Austin trip, but whatever. Not surprisingly it will probably come down to what I can afford. Given a choice, I'd like to take three months, the entire summer, and just bum around Europe. But that's not feasible of course. Not unless lottery winnings are in my future.

My short list of places I'm interested in going currently reads: Italy (all over), Madrid, Barcelona, Paris, Amsterdam, London, Greece, and Prague. What I'm thinking right now, if I can make it work, is maybe taking two weeks later in the year and visit a couple of places. Try out that European rail system that's all the rage, or perhaps the cheapo European airlines that shuttle you from country to country. Hell, though I could spend the entire two weeks in Italy and still probably not see everything I want to.

But we'll see. I'll just keep monitoring airfares and such and see what is affordable, or becomes affordable. If I do shoot for maybe a September or October vacation, it will be the longest in advance I've planned one, and hopefully I can certain aspects of it paid off before I even go.

Of course if you know me, you know I change potential vacation plans like underwear. So here's to hoping this actually happens.

Hostel

I'm not entirely sure what to make of Eli Roth. He seems to sincerely like his horror films, but as a writer/director of such, I'm just not sure. I definitely think he has promise, and I find myself wondering if a few years down the road will I look at his films and think of Hostel (and Cabin Fever) as noble first attempts and stepping stones to bigger and better things. Or will I see films that are leading down a decidely B movie path.

Now don't get me wrong. I enjoyed the hell out of Cabin Fever, and thought Hostel was a lot of fun as well. But for me they lacked some sort of punch as horror movies, and I believe it comes down to tone.

When Hostel starts out, it could be Eurotrip. For the first half hour or so, the three main characters are primarily concerned with getting women all over Europe. While in Amsterdam they learn of of a Hostel in Slovakia where the women are gorgeous and willing to do anything. So without further ado they hop a train to eastern Europe, this wonderful land of promise.

Indeed things go well initially. The first night they arrive, everything goes as well as they could have hoped, ending up in crowded beds. Things start to go downhill from there, however, as we soon learn that these femmes have a bit of the fatale in their nature. They apparently work for a Russian gang (as evidenced by their business cards with email addresses that end in the @gang.rus domain) who kidnap tourists and allow them to be tortured for a price. (We Americans command the highest price at $25,000 a pop.) Of course this fate befalls our three protagonists, to differing results. Needless to say, not everyone makes it out OK.

The problem here is that the film starts out almost as a comedy/buddy/sex movie, then goes on to horror, then goes off almost into an action film. I have nothing against a film that crosses these lines, or bucks expectations, if done well. The problem with Hostel, however, is that it feels somewhat incinsistent in these changes. I like Roth's sense of humor, (both in this and in Cabin Fever), and his eye for horror visuals seems solid, but in some indefineable way they just didn't meld well for me.

A few smaller notes: This film is being advertised as being not for the faint of heart. Even in early reviews, the word was it was over the top. Don't believe all the hype. There is some gruesome stuff, but I think most horror fans won't find it to be too extreme.

Good nods to some Asian horror as well. The riff on Suicide Club near the end (which I missed initially, but my cousin caught). And of course Takeshi Miike's cameo.

At this point, I'd like to turn this review over to my penis.

Penis: Barbara Nedeljakova and Jana Kaderabkova? Wow! More, please. Damn! I might almost be willing to be tortured to death for one night with either of those two.

Chris: Uhhh....penis? Let's not push it.

Anyway, like I said before, enjoyable enough film. Roth might not be the new auteur of horror yet, but he appears to have the love for the genre, and more than any other genre, I think that is necessary for making great, standout films. And Roth could definitely have some of those in his future.

What is it you've done?

I've mentioned before that one of the factors that always seems to weigh heavily aginst my moving anywhere away from Boston is the fear I'd have in trying to find a new job. And I think where that comes from is the fact that I haven't really held down that many jobs. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average American between the age of 18 and 38 has held down 10 jobs. I'm pretty far below average in that respect. I've had five. So without furter ado, my employment history:

1) Paper boy. I had this job for three years, solely for the fact that the Boston Globe offered a $5,000 scholarship for high school if you delivered papers for three years. It was pretty much what you'd expect. I had that big paper bag that you carried the papers in. When it was nicer out I would ride my bike on my route. When winter came, my mom or dad would drive me. This was a 365 day a year job, (which really sucked on Christmas), and unfortunately coincided with the time in my life that I realized that I was not a morning person. My daily routine consisted of: waking up ungodly early and getting the papers. Luckily the Globe drivers would deliver them right to your house. Throw them all in my bag. Thursdays were the worst, because that was the day the circulars came out, and you had to add them to every paper. Hop on my bike (or in the car) and ride off to my route. My route was not the closest to my house. Stephanie Hilbert lived the next street over and had that route. Even before I had my route, I covered hers a couple of times when her family would go away. My route would probably have been considered the next one over. So I'd ride over, deliver the first half of my papers. Then I'd ride to Curtis, the convienent store, and get my breakfast of ginger ale and either coffee or crumb cakes, depending on what I was in the mood for. (The taste difference was slight, but noticeable.) Perhaps I'd also buy (or steal, as those were also my clepto days) a book, or browse the small section of video rentals for anything interesting. Then I'd ride off and do the second half of my route. Wednesdays I'd drop off the weekly payment envelope. The next few days, I'd pick them back up. Sunday papers were big affairs, and winter or summer I always got a ride for those. By the end of the third necessary year, I was pretty tired of being pretty tired, so that was it for me.

2) I forget what made me apply at Thayer Pharmacy. But I remember getting the call that I got the job. It was in the middle of a band rehearsal. This was after Thayer Pharmacy had moved from it's location at the corner of Bridge and Sea street, down Bridge a few blocks because the new location had better parking. Well, "any" parking, to be more precise. It was too bad, though. The old location had very much a small town pharmacy feel to it. Almost to the point that you'd expect to see a soda fountain against the wall. I have memories of just being in total awe of Thayer Pharmacy when I was a child, simply because of the sheer awesome breadth of the items they carried. Coloring books, soda, and Flintstones vitamins...four color pens and Doritos...all in the same place? What kid wouldn't love it. There was plenty to discover in those aisles while waiting for my mother to have a prescription filled.

Years later, when one of your jobs every Friday was stocking those aisles, they lose a lot of their luster. Friday was definitely the most annoying day to work there. The truck would come and leave pallet after pallet of boxes full of goods that needed to be shelved. The make-up aisle was universally accepted as the worst, and it became somewhat of a game for whoever was on shift on Friday afternoons/nights to do their best to avoid the comsetics box.

Aside from that, the rest of my duties pretty much included just running the register. Not so daunting a task once you learn it, but there are mistakes that are going to be made in the process. Like the time I entered something incorrectly, didn't void it, and ended up with a register discrepancy in the millions of dollars.

The funny thing about Thayer Pharmacy is that they had "spies". People that would come in and pretend to be customers. They would make sure the register was always staffed, that you always made sure to give them their receipt, that you weren't slacking off, etc. And these spies were my downfall, the cause for the only job (to date) I was fired from. When you're working the register, and there are no customers, and you don't have to "block" the shelves (make everything look neat), there's not really a lot to do. So, I would read. It's often what I do when I have nothing to do. Yes, read that sentence again if you must. I'd go over to the bookshelf, pick out something, and read it. Well, one of the spies came in when I was doing that and I got reported. Funny thing is they didn't even know I was reading one of their books, that didn't matter. Just that I was reading at all. Because pretending to look constantly busy is apparently the best way to run a business.

So that was the end of my Thayer Pharmacy career.

Also, it's the reason I enver finished reading Jurassic Park.

3) Burger King. Yeah, I worked there. For a few months. Aside from stealing plenty of free chicken tenders, fried, and onion rings throughout my shifts, it pretty much sucked as much as you might imagine.

Obviously, you're weren't supposed to steal their food and eat it while working. Not that it stopped anyone. Small things, like the aforementioned fries, tenders, and rings were easy. Grab one here and there when the manager wasn't looking. Some people were moer ambituous, however. One guy had a nice little hiding alcove where he'd hide Jr. Whoppers, taking a bite at a time. And of course, there was Stu, who placed an entire filet of fish, which were pretty big, in his pocket and went and ate it in the bathroom.

However, no matter how pointless that job was, to this day, whenever I need to wrap a sandwhich in foil I still do it Burger King style. Yes, they had their own method for wrapping the burgers. And I still do it.

4) The main benefit of Northeastern university is their work study program. It's a five year plan there usually, as you take semesters off to work and put into practice whatever you're there to learn. So, my one intern opportunity from Northeastern was at Kurzweil, a keyboard company. I worked on the K2000 keyboard, mostly. There was a small room in a small office in Waltham, and in that room I edited sound samples for the keyboard and generally just played around with it looking for bugs. That was my job description. You might think: "Cool. Working with instruments. Putting together something that people are actually going to use." But it was really rather boring. Scrolling through dozens or hundreds of options and sub options looking for things that might be wrong gets tedious. And editing samples was done more by rote than any artistic decision making on my part. Basically you copied a sound wave from a DAT and when the wave reached a certain level of degredation, you cut it off. That was it.

If nothing else, I did learn a couple of things. I did pick up a little bit of how to play piano. I also discovered that when a company doesn't take out taxes for you, get ready to bend over when tax time comes around. This was also where I discovered Shanghai, which I still love playing to this day. So, that's something.

5) MIB. To be fair, I've held more than one position here, but then again, I've been here a long time. Part time back from high school, through college, and full time after that. Both the Burger King and Kurzweil fell either in between or concurrently with MIB stints.

I started here getting paid under the table from my dad to remove staples. I've manned microfilm machines older than God and louder than a train. I've stored, filed, and shredded documents. I've worked in the mailroom, the Disclosure office, and for the past few years at the Help Desk. I've administered all kinds of customer service. At least, if nothing else, I've been moving upward the entire time I've been here. It almost feels slightly like, if not exactly, a career. In fact, I seriously hope it's not a career, because if 65 rolls around and I'm getting a gold pen from the 'B, I'm going to be pretty depressed, I think.

So there it is, I've been employed 5 places in my wy working life. Knock off the paper route, as I don't think you can really count that as a position you really have to assemble a resume for. Burger King and Thayer Pharmacy? You walk in the door and fill out an application. If they need someone for the turnover machine they call you. Kurzweil? Northeastern provided that one for me. MIB? Nepotism opened the door. Job searching is a job in and of itself, and not one I have much, if any, experience in. You can probably see why I find the thought daunting.

Is it time to go back to sleep yet?

I had a weekend that went like this:

Friday, I went to Reel Bar with Krista and a bunch of her homies to see a band. I really wasn't going for the band because seeing a local metal band holds about as much interest for me as waking up early and going to church. I was mainly going for the homie hang. But I have to say, I was actually pretty impressed with the band. Think Soundgarden at their Badmotofinger heaviest, and then make them a little heavier with vocals that are more Layne Staley than they are Chris Cornell. It was surprisingly pretty good, and very, very loud.

Cast of characters included: Krista, Joe, Benny, Rachel, Brian, Kenny, Rob, Laura (who thankfully explained why I had black-eyed peas in my wallet), Sada (visitng from Portland), Becki, Danielle, and later at the Model Linley, Dave (who I didn't recognize until after he paid for my beer, so technically I was not taking a free beer from a strange man), Ellie, and Joe. I mention this only for the fact that this must have been the largest group of people I actually know that I've ever hung out with at one time (that wasn't at a party or somesuch.) It was really quite impressive actually.

Saturday, I took a break from my usual weekend regiment of doing absolutely nothing. With some help from Matt, I moved a TV from my uncle's house to my nana's apartment. The same TV that a few months before we had moved from my uncle's former apartment (two doors down from my nana) to his then new house. In all this moving it occured to me that television manufacturers should really rethink their TV design. Something that heavy should really not have a hard plastic lattice work on the bottom, because it's not the weight that makes the TV hard to carry but that lattice work underneath biting into your fingers. It's that factor that leads to dropage, I'm convinced.

After moving the TV, we (myself and the aforementioned Matt) did some rehearsing of the making of the rock. And after that, I went over to Fil's for some poker and beer (and scotch, and pizza, and cookies, and Cool Ranch Doritos if you want to be precise). Lost $30 because I suck at gambling. But the silver lining was that the patriots finally lost a playoff game. Thank god.

Sunday, if it's good enough for the Lord to rest, it's good enough for me. More football. Indy lost, cementing themselves as one of the biggest playoff choke teams of this era. And of course, now there's not really anyone left that I really care to root for that much. Maybe the Panthers, I guess. And although I DO like Peyton Manning, way to throw your offensive line under the bus with your post game remarks there, chief!

Later was more rehearsing (we're a machine), and recording of the songs to give to Dan, finally. Then I went home, had a glass of warm milk, went to bed and woke up bright eyed and bushy-tailed for work this morning, with a smile on my face and gladness in my heart.

Or not.

After rehearsal, we went over to Wally's Honestly, I only planned to stay for about an hour. Have a beer or two, head home around midnight, and be only slightly extra tired this morning. However, the best laid plans, etc. I blame the band. They were HOT last night! So I stuck around until about one, had extra beers. I also blame the women. They also were HOT last night! My, my, the clientele at Wally's was impressive last night. I also blame Wally's. It's a small little jazz and blues club on Mass Ave. I've only been there a few times, but those few times have been cool and if Sunday nights are like this, then I may have a new Sunday night hang. It's small ("intimate" would be the lingo), and getting to the bathroom is an honest to God challenge when the club is full, as it was last night. People there have seemed above average on the Boston friendliness curve. There's no cover (at least the few times I've been), and the music has been loud enough to enjoy, but not so loud that you have to scream to be heard over it. Yeah, I think I'll be back.

One thing that wasn't hot last night? The weather. We're talking negative digits wind chill factor. Which prompted this thought: "Why do I live here again?" Followed immediately by this thought: "I can't feel my legs."

What'cha eatin'?

Now that Howard Stern has made the jump to satelite radio, the unenviable job of replacing him, at least in the Boston market, has fallen to David Lee Roth. I've listened to bits and pieces of his show the past week or so, usually when I'm driving into work. It's not terrible. It's a little boring after Stern, but most things would be. It's like trying to follow up a seven course meal with a salad. It's just a little unsatisfying. But Roth seems to be a relatively smart guy, and a lot less scattered than I was expecting from what I know of his public persona. (As well as the fact that I read his autobiography, which was all over the place.)

Anyway, he was talking at one point today about food, eating, health, etc. I don't know if he was serious but at one point he said his diet consisted of: plain oatmeal with water and a piece of fruit, plus some egg whites in the morning, and then chicken, rice, and water the rest of the day. He was talking to a female caller, and said he does this so he can look good for her (and "her" being the general female population in actual meaning) naked.

He followed it up by saying he thought that's why a lot of people go to the gym. Not because they care overly about their health, but so they could look good naked.

I thought about this a while, and I can see some merit in this. After all we live in a society very much concerned with image. What you wear, how you look, do you have tatoos?, long hair or short hair?, how you wear your hat...these things color people's impression of you. Apparently clothes really do make the man. Who are our heroes, our royalty (in general)? Movie stars, TV stars, rock stars, athletes. People who, by the nature of their profession, are naturally fit and trim, or go to great lengths to appear that way. Personal trainers, strict diets, surgery. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to look good. And whether consciously or not, that philosphy trickles down to us here on the "regular Joe" level.

Myself included, I'm no exception. And while I at least realize it, realizing it alone doesn't absolve me from the desire to "be more perfect." Hell, I want to look good naked, too.

So I go to the gym, although not nearly as much or as dilligently as I should. It's fairly easy to convince myself that there's a reason why I can skip today. But the food thing? I thought about Roth's purported daily diet and I cringed. Because, and let me say this loud: I LIKE FOOD! If that indeed is his daily diet, hell I think I sometimes have more calories for breakfast than he has in a day.

Now, I do make a bit of an effort to eat better than I used to. I don't have that lightning fast metabolism of my younger days. I've stopped eating the biggies of fast food (McDonalds, Burger King, Wendys, Taco Bell, etc.) It's been over a year. My diet doesn't consist entirely of cookies and ice cream, although I do like me some of both. I do like fruit and the occasional vegetable. But at the same time, I think the perfect food is pizza. Depending on what type you get, you could concievably cover a number of the food groups all at once. If I could have steak with a side of ribs, I probably would. And although they're currently being decried as the worst thing you could have, carbs are my best friend. I could probably live quite happily on a diet of bread, potatoes, and pasta.

Wanting to look good naked is a vanity. I think, left to our own devices, most people probably wouldn't put in all that effort just to stand around staring at themselves in the mirror and saying, "Damn, I look awesome!" No, it's a vanity because they want to look good for someone else. They want people to notice. And I don't say that in a derogatory way. In fact I think there's nothing wrong with that at all. We all want to make someone swoon. But here's the thing: my previous 31 years have borne out the fact that I'm going to be eating far more than I'm going to be naked with others. So you know what, I'm going to enjoy my food. a plain oatmeal and egg white breakfast is cruel and unusual punishment as far as I'm concerned.

Now will someone pass the French Onion Sun Chips please?

What does it take to leave this country anyway?

I'd been waiting to write this, because I wanted to do it after I'd submitted my application for a passport. Then I could be all excited about my impending ability to legally travel the world. However, the best laid plans...

You need a few things to submit a passport application, and that info is pretty easy to find. Hell, just type "Passport" into a Yahoo or Google search, and the first or second thing that comes up is the State Department site for acquiring a passport. You need the completed application, which you can download from the site. You need two identical pictures of a specific size, which I had gotten for free from AAA, a nice perk of membership. You need $97 for the fees and charges. Check, I had that. You need a drivers license to prove identity, and a birth certificate to prove citizenship. (There are alternatives for these last two, but they were the easiest and most logical choices for me.)

I had all this stuff, or so I thought. So yesterday at lunch, I drive over to the Dedham post office with my folder full of everything I'll need. Wait in the post office line. When it's finally my turn, I'm then informed that my birth certificate is no good. Apparently it's a copy, (which I did know), and didn't have the embossed and raised seal of the City Clerk. Well, crap. Way to waste my lunch hour. So, after work, I drive over to the Quincy City Clerk's office and get a new copy of my birth certificate, all legit and legal, at a cost of $8. I should be good to go now, right?

Well, apparently not, as you also need impeccable timing. I walk over to the Quincy post office after getting my new birth certificate, and wait in a longer post office line. Finally comes my turn, I walk to the window. "I'd like to submit an application for a passport please," I say.

"Sorry, passports close at four," she tells me.

I ignore this anarcharism of the English language and check my phone (clock). Yep, almost five. It appears that someone, some higher power perhaps, doesn't want me leaving the country. But I'm stubborn and fully intend to thwart such complications. And, if and when I ever make it abroad, and on the off chance get blown up by some terrorist bomb or somesuch, I'll just have to shrug it off and laugh at myself when God says, "Dude, I tried to tell you."

Stuff

While you're not paying attention, you can often inadvertantly accumulate a lot of stuff. I always seem to find this out for myself whenever I move somewhere. Nothing is a better indication of how much stuff you actually have then when you have to pack it up, move it somewhere, unpack it, and then find places for it.

This is also a good time to get rid of stuff you've been hoarding or keeping for no particular reason. It's the time when you can ask yourself: Do I really need a bullet lamp? or Am I keeping these rolled up posters from my teen years for some particular reason?

So, of course, I moved in July and went through this whole procedure. However, this time it was not only a one time moving experience. A couple of months later, at the end of November to be exact, my parents sold their house. So I discovered more stuff that I had, that I never really thought about moving, because it was easily stored in their attic, or in various places around the house.

In particular my books, comic books, and tapes. Stuff that I never really thought about much, but still had, and never really planned of getting rid of. But now that I don't really have room for them abymore, and am not really willing to pay for a storage space for nostalgia's sake, I've come to terms with the fact that these things need to go.

That has been a project of mine in the works for the past few months. One that will take me a lot more months to actually complete, because I'm not just throwing these things out. Nope, they're all going to be read or listened to one more time.

My old tapes are in three boxes in the trunk of my car. So while I'm driving around, or when I'm at work, I'm listening to them all one more time. In fact, right now I'm listening to Notorious by Duran Duran. Some of the cassettes I've decided to keep, but they're relatively few. Everything else gets one last listen then thrown away.

My comic books, which are largely X-Men titles from the 90's, with some Spawn, X-Files, and a few other things thrown in, are all being read once more and then depending on what kind of market I'm seeing on Ebay, will be attempted to be sold or just thrown out. The X-Files books didn't have much of a market, so trashed. Same with the couple of Kiss Psycho Circus comics, and handful of Alien vs. Predator titles I had. Spawn, depsite the fact that they're not very well written, have a small market. I did post them on Ebay, and got $35 for them. Or I would have if the buyer had ever responded to my emails. Currently I'm in the dispute process, which I'm just doing to cover my bases before I relist the comics. I'm working my way through the X titles now, which is a huge pain, as there were about 8 separate titles in the 90's, not to mention mini-series and one offs. As well as numerous crossovers. Doesn't make for easy reading. But I'm working on it so that I can get those 4 boxes out of from in front of my closet.

My books are the toughest to let go of. But unfortunately I just don't have any place to put them. The apartment is pretty full. I had to cut down my book shelf to make it fit in my room, so I can't fit as many books in it. I have three boxes of books also sitting in my room. And while I'd like to keep them, it's just not feasible. But I came to this realization. I can read them once more and then donate them to the library, where they'll be whenever I want them. The library, which has much more room than me for these things, can hold my books for me! I haven't really started that part of the project yet, though, as I also have a nother half-full box of books in my closet which I haven't read at all yet and I'm trying to get through them first.

So, while it would be great to hold on to all this stuff, like I said before, it's just not feasible. I need to get rid of it so that I have space...for new stuff!

The value of a spin cycle.

One of the things I miss most about my parents' house, aside from the never-ending free food, is the ability to do laundry for free in machines that work.

Let me tell you about my laundromat routine. Once every week and a half or so, my laundry basket gets so full I can't possibly stuff anything more into it. Then it's time to go to the laundromat. I grab a bunch of quarters, load up on dirty clothes, laundry detergent, Bounce, and whatever I'm reading at the time, throw it all in my car, and drive over to the laundromat by the Powderhouse rotary. because it's the closest and parking is easy. I then throw my clothes into three separate machines: One for whites, one for colors (because I believe in segregation), and the third for towels, which are technically colors, but of a lower caste and not worthy of mingling with my clothes. When finished, I throw the clothes into a couple of dryers, yell: "Burn, bitches!" and start them tumbling for 50 minutes. While drying, I walk down two blocks to the Powderhouse Pub and have a beer or two, reading my book, and hoping no one Marla Singers my clothes.

(Quick note about the Powderhouse: That place is weird. The few times I've been there it appears that the clientele is largely townie---the type that are all older and probably all work either for a union or the phone company, and all know each other---but they usually play music that I'd expect for more of a younger and "hipper" crowd. It's a weird juxtaposition.)

After my beer or two, I go back to the laundromat and fold my clothes and go home, congratulating myself on a job well done.

Sometimes, however, there are deviations from the plan. Like yesterday. After washing my clothes, I go to remove them and am wondering to myself: Why are these socks and underwear, usually so light and easy to carry, so heavy? Well, the answer would be because they're soaked; the spin cycle apparently didn't work. And that would explain the pitiful groaning sound the washing machine was making a few minutes ago.

This, I think, is going to be a pain in the ass. And I was right.

I throw them into the dryer for an hour, go drink my two beers, come back, and they're about as dry as they would be if I had just removed them from a washer where the spin cycle did work.
ARGH!!, I think, followed quickly by, Hey, that girl over there is REALLY cute. Thank god for good old TV-born, American ADD.

I fold the rest of my clothes and throw the whites back in the dryer for another 40 minutes, which I know deep down isn't going to be enough, but it's all I have the quarters for. I then jump in my car and go home, because I want to take a shower and have a sandwhich, and because I have a rehearsal also that night that I have to get ready for. I figure I can pick up my wash on the way back out for that. So, about an hour, one shower, a half dozen VH1 Classic videos, and one cajun turkey and cheese sandwhich with French Onion Sun Chips and a beer later, I head back out to the laundromat. Once again I thwarted fate and Marla Singer, and my clothes were still there. (Although, I was annoyed enough that if they were gone, I would have probably felt better just driving over to Target and replacing them.) And, as predicted, they're still not dry. So, I stuff them into a bag and leave.

I didn't have to work until noon today, so when I woke up, I left a little early and went BACK to the laundromat for round three of drying. Another half hour. If you're keeping track, that's now two hours and ten minutes of dring for some tighty whiteys and socks. Luckily that pretty much did it. There are about 3-4 socks that are still a little damp, but that's about par for the course anyway.

So, a scorecard:

Minutes dried for white wash: 130
Quarters used: 13
Number of still moist socks: 3-4
Annoyance factor: 7 out of 10
Beers consumed during this span of time: 2 Sam Adams and 1 Bud Light
Number of cute girls at laundromat during this span: 3. The aforementioned really cute one, who also smiled at me when she walked by to get a cart. She must have been farsighted. Or blind. The short brunette that was listening to metal on her iPod. Maybe Metallica, I couldn't tell, but at one point it did sound like Wherever I May Roam. And the girl sitting on the folding table reading when I went back to pick up my stuff for the second time.
Pages of book read during this ordeal: Approximately 70-75

Brokeback Mountain

I got to see it last night.

First a word on expectations. I mentioned expectations in the post below, when talking about Wolf Creek. If you're even a slightly avid movie-goer there is a wealth of information you can access about most movies long before they even hit the theater. Trailers, TV shows, TV networks (E!), interviews, dozens of movie sites, script reviews and sites...you can find out virtually anything and everything about a film before you ever get into a theater to see it. That's the information age for you. And that's me. I like movies a lot. So I enjoy finding out things behind the scenes. I like these tidbits. However, they create expectations. You get a picture, (usually false), in your head of what you think a film's going to be.

I had just such a picture for Brokeback Mountain. And the film I saw was not what I was expecting. It definitely wasn't as depressing as I was expecting. It wasn't as poignant as I was expecting. Actually, let me rephrase that: It wasn't as immediately poignant. The trailer for this film gave me the sense of something self contained: a film about two men---Jake Gyllenhaal as jack Twist and Heath Ledger as Ennis Del Mar---who have a homosexual affair while working together, and how this affair goes on to affect their lives.

And in a sense that's what it was about. But not in a cinematic way. By that, I mean not in a "Here's the set-up, here's the action, here are consequences of that action and challenges to overcome, and here's a resolution...all wrapped up nicely in a two hour package."

Moreso this was a film about life. Specifically approxiamtely 20 years in the life of two men (although slightly more about Ennis). It's about how the choices you make affect your life. It's about having the chance to have what you want and not taking it. Both of these men, despite their original encounter, go on to marry and have "normal" home lives. Or are they? Ennis can't amnage to keep his relationship secret from his wife, (a spectacular, if underused, Michelle Williams), and a divorce ultimately ensues. His relationship with his two daughters is rocky. He sabotages a later relationship with another woman. Jack fares a little better, but not much. His marriage lasts until the end of the film, but as he says at one point: "We could do it over the phone". His wife's parent's don't like him. And he's the one that's instigating the encounters between himslef and Ennis throughout their relationship several times a year. And when Ennis is unavailable, he's taking his comfort elsewhere. The only time these two men seem totally comfortable and at peace is when they're together on one of their "fishing trips" to Brokeback Mountain. Jack suggests more than once that they could have this life forever---he seems to realize what Ennis does not (or will not allow himself to): that they're happier when they're together---but Ennis because of fear (of reprisals) and perhaps confliction never takes him up on it.

In what I've seen of his work, I consider Ang Lee to be a graceful director. Even in the train wreck that was The Hulk, the problems did not seem, (to me, at least) to lie within the pacing or flow of the film. However, I thought that Brokeback Mountain stumbled a bit out of the gate. The beginning of the relationship of Ennis and Jack seemed a bit unclear. They start working together, work a full summer, grow closer sure, but spend one night together in a tent to ward off the cold and BAM!...fucking? It kind of left me saying "Uhh...." But after that the film settles in and moves along a lot more smoothly.

One thing that did meet my expectations however was Heath Ledger as Ennis. I had heard he did a great job, and I agree 100%. I'm going to be pretty disappointed if he doesn't garner an Oscar nod for this performance. This is made all the more surprising as it's coming from someone I've considered to be only so-so as an actor. All of the acting, in fact, was solid, but his stood out.

To go back to my point about the immediacy of any poignancy in this film, and a bit about expectations, I was a bit disappointed when I left the theater. The film wasn't what I expected, it didn't leave me feeling like I thought it would. However, the more I thought about it on the ride home, and while I was trying to go to sleep, and this morning, while writing this review...well, the point is, this film sticks with you. It's not like searing a steak, more like slow-cooking some ribs. The taste is different, but just as good.

Expectations and my current reality

I had my yearly work review a couple of weeks back. Time once again for my meager, albeit still appreciated, raise and a couple of minute chat with my supervisor about the review, how I did last year, and what's expected of me for the next year.

My supervisor said that I was right at the cusp of being a top performer, that I would need only to take a few steps to get there. A bit more initiative and ownership, especially of the one product that I'm sort of the point person for in my dpeartment. And, as such, he would be expecting more of me in the next year. All in all, somewhat flattering and I believe somewhat accurate in some of the effort that I did put in during the year. But basically, if I wanted to achieve the same marks next year as this then I would have to do more.

I must progress, in short.

Not a bad thing on paper, but there's arather large stumbling block when it comes to my current reality.

That's because my current reality has me feeling very apathetic about my job. It's something I've noticed over the past month or so. It's very much that I could care less about it right now. "It" being: help-desking anyone, answering calls, logging information, any of the many administrative dutites, upgrading my skills and knowledge. Basically anything that my job entails. I just don't care.

Sometimes the phone rings, and I just look at it and think: "Someone else will get it."

Sometimes I finish a call and wonder if I should even bother logging it.

Sometimes I need to call someone back, or research a problem, and would much rather surf the internet.

I should probably be working now, but I'm writing a blog.

You get the picture.

When I'm sitting here staring blankly at the computer screen when i could probably be updating our contacts database I sometimes think about why. And there are a couple of reasons, that I've become aware of.

1) I've been dissatisfied about other aspects of the job, including possible favortism, other's roles in the department (or lack thereof), and the percieved notion that some of the initiative I try to show is met with lackluster enthusiasm on the other side. Some of this I did address during my review, and could possibly be recitified. Jury's still out on that one.

2) It's no secret that I'm not a fan of the cold. I've said it many times, and probably many times even just here on the blog. So when winter rolls around, my mind automatically starts thinking about getting the hell out of Dodge and all that encompasses. Which includes obviously leaving this job. Expending a lot of mental energy thinking about being somewhere else, physically and career-wise, sometimes doesn't leave much left over for actually doing what you're supposed to be doing.

3) A mild case of depression currently also is a factor. I mean in the clinical sense, symptoms of which include the lack of desire to do anything. Except sleep. Not that I ever have a problem with sleeping. This is likely brought on by the oncoming winter as well (I believe I'm at least slightly prone to S.A.D.), as well as the fact that it's just part of my personality. Sometimes it happens, then it goes away. Pretty normal, you just have to work through it.

But all of these factors add up to a whole that leaves me not particularly caring about the expectations of me here at the 'B. Which is never a good attitude to have if you want to enjoy the benefits of continued employment: ability to pay rent and not live on the street, affording food and heat, having beer and occasional good time money on hand.

So what's the resolution? I don't know. It's a lot easier to work through something like this when it's something you care more about. My job is not exactly in that category. But what else is there. Gotta keep on truckin' through. Maybe the sun comes out tomorrow, but even if not it's still up there in the sky and clouds can't keep it away forever.

My movie adventure and a New Years resolution of sorts...

In reverse order.

I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions. If you have to wait for a certain time of year, a certain day, to start changing your life, then you're already far down the road to failure, in my opinion. So I never make them, unless my resolutions are to go to the gym less, sit on the couch more, and continue my drinking ways, all of which I feel I would actually have a good possibilty of achieving.

However, this year, I'm not so much making a resolution as trying to strengthen one I already made. Which is to write in this blog more. But for a particular reason. Every now and then I get the inkling that I'd like to write something. A short story, a screenplay, a novel if I'm feeling particularly inspired. It's something I used to feel a lot more when I was younger, and still do to some, albeit a lesser, extent. That's one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place: to keep up what meager writing "chops" I may have, and hopefully get better, learn, make the process easier. Because the daunting part of writing, for me, is actually sitting down and doing it. I can come up with a story idea or hook I like pretty easily most of the time, but the process of sitting down and actually fleshing it out, making it happens, often stumps me. That's where I hope this blog can help. Even if I'm not writing about anything, which is usually the case. (Although I can see you saying: "For someone that doesn't write about anything, you sure use a lot of words to do it.") It's just the actual act of doing it, the practice. Much like those times when I'm sitting in front of the TV with a guitar in hand. I'm not doing any serious playing, but I'm noodling nonetheless, just to keep my hands doing it.

So, I'm going to try and write more in here. Lucky you.
...
After work today, I headed straight to the Randolph movie theater. I wanted to see Brokeback Mountain, supposedly the best damned saddest movie about gay cowboys this year. I know, "gay cowboys"? How can that NOT be funny? Well, apparently not so. In fact, it looks like it has the potential to be the saddest movie I'll see in a long time. When I get to see it. For when I got to Randolph there were people. Lot's of them. A line of cars waiting to get into the movie theater lot. It's a holiday today, so apparently everyone was going to the movies. I finally make it into the lot, get one of the last half-dozen free spaces (no joke), walk over to the theater and...SOLD OUT!

To be honest, this surprised me. Despite rave reviews I had felt that the concept of a gay cowboy movie was going to fly like a penguin with the general public. I just don't see our culture nowadays as being tolerant enough in general to embrace it. But it was sold out, and not at a rinky-dink little theater. Randolph theaters seat a good many people. So, unfortunatley my gay cowboy experience will have to wait...unless I put an ad up on Craigslist or something.

I headed home with vague ideas of checking out Moviefone.com and finding out what time the film would be playing at Harvard and going later. But no sooner was I through the door than Matt called. He and his girl, Stephanie, were going to see Wolf Creek and wanted to know if I wanted to go. Well, that one was also on the list, so I turned right around and drove over to meet them at the Fenway Theater.

I had high hopes for Wolf Creek. It seemed very well reviewed. I liked the trailer. It had a lot of promise. Classic recipe for a letdown.

Thankfully it wasn't.

Billed as being based upon true events---although according to my sister, who did some research because she was writing a review for it, it was based upon three separate incidents---it's a story of a guy and two girls driving across Australia, when they are abducted and tortured by one sick outback puppy. The shooting style of the film lent itself very well to the "true events" nature of the film, feeling very gritty and real. The build up might be considered slow by a lot of people, and to some extent it is, but I felt that this only enhanced the film. Because you know bad stuff is coming, that much is apparent if you've only just seen the commercials. It serves the dual purpose or ratcheting up the suspense and disquiet and making us care more about the characters enough so that when things start going bad for them, we care all the more.
The violence, when it comes, is shocking. It's gory enough to feel real, and leave you feeling uncomfortable, but not overly so as to come across as cartoonish. There are a couple of horror cliches---for example: when trying to get a car to escape, don't take a few minutes to look through the garage at other things, get in the car and leave. Or, when the killer is unconscious and you're holding a rifle, I don't care if it's out of bullets, reload and shoot him a couple of times. You'll save youself a lot more grief in the long run---but even they couldn't detract from the film as a whole, as they were obviously being used as a means to advance the plot.

Make no mistake: This is a sadistic movie. Seemingly a re-emerging trend in horror films, what with the Devil's Rejects and the upcoming Hostel. In much of the genre, we as fans delight in characters getting killed off. You know it's going to happen. You expect it and you're afraid and you jump a little when the knife comes. Or the axe. Weed-whacker. Etc. But the character is dead, the end, move on. In Wolf Creek it's differnet. I wasn't afraid that he was going to kill these people. I was afraid he wasn't. I was afraid for what he was going to do to them, what I was going to have to watch. Because this killer was brutal and evil. Killing was not his aim, torture was. Death was just the end result, and at such a time he would just go kidnap someone else and start all over again. And that's a kind of evil that's not as much fun to think about when the movie's over. That's not a guy with knives for fingers that kills you in your dreams. It's some mystical bad guy that even when you kill him, comes back for the sequel. That's pure human, "based on true events" evil, the kind that makes you want to doublecheck your locks before you go to sleep at night.

And in this case, that was a horror movie that made me felt something more than: "I just wasted 9 dollars and 90 minutes of my life."