Sometimes I need a break from the scary world so I go through these periods where I don't watch or read the news and really don't want to talk about it. Having one of those lately. Also, I fell down the stairs today and didn't spill a drop of coffee, got this
from Steph and couldn't agree more and am listening to this in my car while thinking that yes, Mrs. Bielli, this should be the next cover band show. I have a big decision to make people...Should I drive in this nasty weather to Atlanta to partake of beer and fellowship at a pub or just wait till the morning when I'm less rushed and, ya know, can see? Tough one.
UPDATE: After years of searching, I have finally remembered the name of and found a book from my childhood that has haunted me for years. It wasn't my book; my friend Wendy across the street had it and I read it every time I went to her house to play. I have always remembered it for the illustrations -- they were fantastic and dark and freaky and weird. But I could never remember the name. Thank you Google. You make me mad sometimes but then you redeem yourself nicely...Did I mention I collect children's books? Anyway, here's a nice post on the book. It's like I've finally realized a dream...
When people ask me a question I give them the answer
Let's talk briefly about Danny Boyle, the director of last night's Best Picture winner Slumdog Millionaire. I saw Slumdog this weekend so I could legitimately celebrate should it win Best Picture. I knew when it came out I wanted to see it because I've been a fan of Boyle's since I saw Trainspotting in the mid 90s and he co-wrote and directed another of my all-time favorite films A Life Less Ordinary. His collaboration with Ewan McGregor is really enough in my book but then of course there's 28 Days Later and I hear Shallow Grave is great although I've never seen it. Boyle has a knack for visually arresting an audience. There are a few movies I've seen once and refuse to ever see again -- Silence of the Lambs, Schindler's List, The Accused -- because they were so good that I'm incapable of separating myself from the film. I willingly suspend disbelief to a dangerous degree and when some of the subject matter is disturbing (at best) I have a hard time letting go of it. Trainspotting is among that list. Anyone who's seen it knows the "baby scene." Once was enough thank you. Because it was genius. Horrible, terrible genius.
Slumdog did not disappoint. It was a quieter, prettier genius, something I hope we'll see more of from Boyle (and for those of you shocked by this statement because of some of the harsh subject matter, see Trainspotting. Seriously.) And also because of the AWESOME Bollywood sequence at the end. It also brought the Indian culture into the consciousness of a great many people in the way that Boyle does things: with a straight forward, gritty realistic approach painted over with a sheen of wonder and hope and truth and beauty and the power of love in a jacked up hellhole of a world. I hope this recognition doesn't change Mr. Boyle and that he doesn't become "all Hollywood," although I doubt it will because he seems to get it in a way not very many people do: that the beauty of a thing like destiny is only really relevant and powerful when placed in sharp relief to all the cynicism and disbelief that most of the world insists is the only intelligent way to live. But Boyle believes in miracles. And so do I. Because it is written.
Sigh.
And Jamal was the perfect anti-hero and was very easy on the eyes so thanks for that, too.
(And Momma, sorry for the grump. I'm a little sick. But I love you and know you mean well. Just trying not to lose my grip. But you really are the best. I'm just bad at saying it...)
When I was a kid, between the ages of 9 and 13 (I can't remember the exact year), I was traveling with my family in our van to Maryland, a trip we made every summer. This particular year I was in the last seat of the van, staring at the trees and the blacktop shooting past the window, when the song "Piano Man" by Billy Joel came on the radio. My siblings (all 6 of them) must have been sleeping because I remember the few blissful moments without distraction it took for the song to play through. I had recently become quite the fan of Mr. Joel so I knew every word of that song by heart (still do in fact) and, as I stared out the window, occasionally adjusting my eyes to look at my own reflection, I mouthed those words and, what's more, I understood them. I got the poignancy and sadness of those people and I recognized then that sometimes life leaves you empty and all you have going for you is the miracle that there are people willing to sing about it. Right about the last stanza I happened to look toward the front of the van and I saw my father's eyes in the rearview mirror, watching me feel this song. As he looked me in the eye he told me he was both pleased and impressed. But mostly proud. He was proud of his daughter for recognizing the bittersweet even if she hadn't yet had to really negotiate it. And I felt like a good person, a good soul, for getting it because he said it in that look, something he's not always able to do verbally (I inherited this trait from him). I've never forgotten that moment. I thought of it today driving to work. I always cry.
I associate a lot of music with my father -- anything by George Jones or Johnny Cash, The entire Brothers in Arms album by Dire Straits and, more recently, the soundtrack to O Brother Where Art Thou. But, for me, "Piano Man" is our song. Happy Birthday Pop. I love you so much. You told me recently that I was clearly smart because I didn't have to just be a work horse like you had been. Here's the thing Pop: if I manage to make something of myself in this life it has little to do with being smart. Trust me there. People could care less. But you being a workhorse, that gave me the opportunity to not have to be. So thank you. I doubt anyone will ever do as much for me again in life. I'm one of the lucky ones to have had you.
This is just for fun. HaHa!!! Good times...And I just had the weirdest thing happen -- I sometimes like to create a pressure vacuum in my sinus cavities by holding my nose and mouth shut and, well I guess, pushing pressure into the little caverns in my head. Don't ask why I do this because I can't answer. I think it's for the same reason that I used to hold my breath under water for as long as I could or jump off the railing of our deck onto the trampoline -- just to test the body, see what it could do. This particular test has just stuck with me into adulthood. And yes, I know it's weird...
Anyway, one of my tear ducts -- just one -- opened up and starting releasing the air and then started crying. I made one of my eyes cry. I'm so mean. Even to myself.
I'm in love. I saw this last night on the Travel Channel. Oh Chicago Red Hot, where have you been all my life? I need you, at a ball field, with a beer and a 75 degree day. (And Nate, yes, I still have Kitchen Confidential. You'll get it back. I promise...)
I really, really, really, really, really would like Anthony Bourdain's job.
The Red Hot magic starts around the 2:28 mark but you know, the whole thing's good.
I simply had to post this article, written by George Soros and posted on HuffPo. Not really in the interest of examining both sides; rather because (1) it scared me and (2) my sister is convinced that Soros nurtured young Sen. Obama from a promising young pup into the Executive Office (mainly by bankrolling some pretty solid political influence) because Mr. Soros, a VERY wealthy man who hails from Eastern Europe, has some ideas of his own on the way America should function. Soros has a plan it seems. He outlines it in this piece. Pay close attention to all the esoteric but not too esoteric language, and contradictions hidden as lies of omissions. For example, the Danish mortgage system operates without government guarantees and yet, a few paragraphs later, the mortgage originators are said to be strictly regulated. Who regulates them George if not the government? If someone knows, shoot me an email.
He also talks about how he proposed to Mexico -- yes, this is a man who can make a proposal to a country -- the following:
"a grand scheme in which all mortgages that are under water (i.e., whose principal amount exceeds the current market value of the house) would be replaced by a new mortgage, incorporating the Danish principle of balance but being insured by a government agency."
A those who insure can decide who ends up owning that new mortgage. The banking industry will, by the way, "in the future ... have to shrink and remain within the control of the authorities." The authorities get control over your dough. Think about that for a minute.
Just read it, although I'm certain many of you won't. But really, you should. You really, really should. And I mean READ it. Digest it, understand it as much as that's possible with all the subterfuge. You may, against your will, find yourself disgusted. And hopefully a little scared. Then we can talk.
Anyway, VH-1 said it was the best song of the 90s and I have to agree there (In Bloom was pretty righteous, too however). It's also how I've been feeling. So rock it out this weekend.
Saving the best (read = worst) for last: you know, I try really hard not to curse too much. My parents don't like it and I have to hear about it later. But this, this right here, is some seriously fucked up shit. Yes, I think that pretty much conveys the appropriate sentiment. Be sure to read Frank's brilliant statement about how the voter population because they vote these people into office (and I have to assume he includes himself in there) are partially to blame. How's that for some jacked up logic? "Uh, listen voters, I know I subverted truth and led you to believe you could trust me but, hey, ya know, you were the idiots that couldn't tell I was a total douche so, your bad!"
Can we survive four years of this kind of madness? I don't know man. I just don't know.
If you "hire" a*%holes -- in your place of business or as a friend/lover/spouse/acquaintance -- they may one day be in a position to do the hiring for your business or in your home/any other place you work hard to make a safe haven. They will hire a*%holes. Because that is what a*%holes do. And you will find yourself surrounded -- and, seriously, I have years of knowing from whence I speak -- by a*%holes.
And if you find yourself "hiring" an a*%hole because you tell yourself the job requires it, you just haven't looked hard enough. For the most part, jobs that "require" an a*%hole just mean that there are some duties associated that are distasteful to the ethical. So make it financially worth their while and expect turnover. Or else you're an a*%hole.
That is all for today children.
Here's what I'm listening to at work while I determine what kind of budget my little communications plan is gonna need (cross your fingers we get what we ask for). I grew up listening to this music (as well as every other kind. Big family. Lots of different personalities. As one of the youngest I was exposed to it all. That's why my little brother and I are kinda crazy. And wicked cool) -- my Mom is a huge fan and had several box sets of cassettes of various 50s and 60s music. This particular amalgamation has Stagger Lee, House of the Rising Sun and Smoke Gets in Your Eyes on it. Brilliant.
Fiendish Dr. Wu, I shoulda known you'd be behind this Kung-fu treachery
Someone please go see this with me! Pleeeeeeeeze. I mean, I'm Gonna Git You Sucka was good for its time, but this looks dead-pan awesome.
Also, because when I heard this on a Scrubs rerun last night I got up and started dancing, here's this. I will be 80 and I will hear this song and I will feel 16 again. And I will get up, grab my walker, and dance. Bet on it.
Ever feel like you're moving through water? Yeah, me too. Here's the thing -- I've only been looking at the things I really want, forgoing even applying to places or positions that are unlikely to accept me idealogically, or that I'm unlikely to agreeably accept because I've been working a long time, even during the advanced degree, and I just don't know if I'd be a happy employee "starting out" in an entry-level position in a bureaucratic labyrinth of cubicles. I have that job now. That's why I went back to school. Sigh. I always make things so hard on myself. Sometimes I wish I would've just gone the traditional route -- less people would regard me as odd I think -- and settled down early, had the family, worked a job and just developed a life I liked. Alas, that wasn't in the cards for this kid. Far too unsure of who I was and what I wanted. It's one of the things they don't tell you: knowing what you want doesn't make things any easier. You still have to work to get it. I almost prefer the years of just taking the things that fell into my lap -- as flawed and miserable-making as they were -- because I didn't have to deal with this painful swim, lungs burning, strength fading, all layered with the melancholy potential of "what if I fail? what if I never get there and I drown 12 feet from shore? Then people will pity me and I absolutely cannot have that!"
Is it true that if you keep trying you never fail? Damn I hope so. I so fear becoming Rilke's Panther:
The Panther Translated by D.C. Barranco, echt mench
From seeing only bars, his seeing is exhausted. It holds nothing, nothing more.
To him, the world is bars, 100,000 bars, and behind the bars, nothing.
The lithe swinging of his rhythmic, easy stride circles an inner hub a dance of energy, round a central point.
Inside, a gigantic Will stands stunned and numb.
Only, at times, the curtains rise.
Silently, a vision enters, slips though the focused silence of his shoulders, reaches his heart, and dies.
Here's something I came across today that I found interesting while researching whether or not there are privacy controls on groups in Facebook (not for fun, for work. Despite what you think, I do actually work during the day). Sly predatory behavior toward sly marketing end is alive and well in the social networking world. I predict this kind of thing starts to become a real issue -- i.e. makes it to the mainstream media -- within the year. Or has it already?
And thank you Brother D and Em for recommending this book. I bought it and thought, okay, this goes behind the other 4 I've promised to read first, until I read the first chapter and really, seriously, can't put it down. I spend half my evenings applying for jobs and the other half engrossed in this book. Good news? I'll be done with it in a week.
For you Buddy. The original nerdy/cool, and still somehow all Texan. "Words of Love" still resonates as one of the greatest love songs ever written. I'm just a smitten kitten.
This was my favorite ad for several reasons: It's hilarious in a discomforting way because I'm pretty sure they're not kidding and they may be unaware of that fact, confusing as that is. This is a great ad for those who understand that advertising is, by its nature, condescending. Ad execs think you're stupid man. And this is a great example. If you know that you're being talked down to, this commercial is hilarious in a different way. Also, I used to really love Alec Baldwin (just as fine as they come in Beetlejuice) and I still think he's a great actor and has, in recent years, revealed some pretty hefty comedic chops (awesome in Along Came Polly). Of course, politically he's whack (as the kids say) and his personal life is a mess, but I don't judge the latter because I'd hate to be judged for mine. Not too much a fan of hypocrisy. I have no patience for the way he spoke to his daughter, even if his ex-wife is kooky, and I really see mainly just a very vain man who's doing everything he can to just keep his confidence and he's succeeding. Because he is funny. The maniacal laughter in this is edgy and dark and weird and hilarious. I wish he wouldn't take himself so seriously.
listening to this in my car while thinking that yes, Mrs. Bielli, this should be the next cover band show. I have a big decision to make people...Should I drive in this nasty weather to Atlanta to partake of beer and fellowship at a pub or just wait till the morning when I'm less rushed and, ya know, can see? Tough one.
