a film review(ed)

As the characters prepare for the final showdown in the (brilliant) "Big Trouble in Little China," Kurt Russell, in his white tank top tucked into his white-washed jeans (see above photo for details), very seriously (because the film is very serious) exclaims: "May the wings of liberty never lose a feather." The line preceding Russell's exquisite gem involves words like "these," "colors," "don't," and "run." Top-notch material to drive the audience into the final adventure of an already adventure-filled film.

Rewind an hour and 15 minutes. Me, at Terence and Sabrina's. Despite Sabrina's hesitation, they'd invited me over to watch one of T's favorite films (it's okay, Terence. I still like you and respect [sorta] your tastes!). Sabrina read scholarly material in the corner; Terence and I sat with a bowl of d*ritos between us (the bag says they are now "better tasting" and I'm glad they decided to make this change. This is clearly a company that looks out for their customers.)

Fast forward an hour and 15 minutes and pause. Now, what exactly makes this one of the worst films I've ever seen? Well, again, one must recall Kurt Russell's outfit. This isn't your run-of-the-mill Richard Simmon's tanktop; it has authentic Chinese decorations! Neat-o! (but racialist and offensive, thus damaging this film's quest for title of "not-quite-horrible" film). Terence tells me you can buy an exact replica online. And this, my friends, is what is troubling. While it still causes certain amounts of duress to see this tank on screen, it's a whole new beast to see it live(!) on laypeople(!). They certainly would not know how to tame its magic, and this is the danger. Kurt Russell's tanktop on average people, I believe, could be as big a risk to national security as, say, French cheese.

Also, there is magic. And Yeti-like beasts. And men in large straw hats (that use said magic--more like blue laser light that looks kinda dangerous). These hats should be outlawed because they may cause traffic accidents. It's just not fair that these guys have to wear them, because they probably can't see as much of the world as those of us that aren't forced to wear them. They have rights, too.

I don't really know what else to say. This is a lame review. But the film was lame, too!, she cried to her mother defensively, slightly pouty. Terence, come to the film's defense.

a revival (with tambourines) is in order

Jodi and Justin and I went to the zoo today. The prior responded poorly to beavers in the basement of the desert (THE BASEMENT OF THE DESERT!), while the latter commented on the conversational fluidity of Midwesterners (and strangers at that). Yours truly flirted with the gorillas--who responded in kind in that bestial splaying-out-of-the-body (so exhibitionist! and in front of the children!!)--and reflected on friendship and blogs, and how a revival (oh-so-Pentacostal in inspiration ) is due. this sabbatical from writing represents disorder, which in church speak amounts to something like "blasphemy" or "falling astray." consider this a proverbial goat slaughter, the subsequent spreading of the beast's lifeblood above the doorway, and a commitment to renewing the hallowed contract between not only myself and my readers, but my quotidian travels and the framing of those voyages in bite-size musings on the interweb. the blog as a writing accountability partner.

i am in an old room. the room that used to have pinkish wallpaper, embossed with tiny vases of mortuary(like) flowers, raised ever so slightly to provide a texture when one would run their hand up and down, and across in a fan-like motion. now the walls are Packers green, trimmed awkwardly at the point where wall meets ceiling. my own photographs grace the walls, including a prized capture of a bike and a menu du jour in an alsatian town. remnants of my sports-crazed years still line the eastern wall and ceiling, the residue reminding me that childhood is never too far off, despite changed tastes. i know i will not stay in this room for long, and perhaps i leave the contradiction of high art and base culture as a means of framing my adolescence when I return older and wiser. these are phases that I ought remember.

a friend of mine invited me today to make a kamikaze soup. his last adventure involved chocolate, beer, and pineapple (if i remember correctly)--those hodgepodge "throw in whatever you got and see if your brother will eat it" kind of concoctions. I like the fact that he still does this, and that it's he that plans to eat it, and not some unsuspecting fraternal victim. i like, too, that I've been invited to partake. these are regressions of the highest order. and they are backslides that keep creepy adulthood in checkmate.

sing allelujia, kiddies, i've been redeemed.

blankets on the green and other outdated posts

my mind has been drifting back to montreal as of late, piercing the fog of interviews and heat advisories and run-of-the-mill midwest living. i've learned something in the transition, and in the month or so that i've been back: low expectations make all the difference. premeditated depression, misery, anglophone deterrioration--these were all my fears. and instead i've found i can thrive in this town, and people do, and it's not a horrible stopover waiting for the next leg of life's journey.

some updates on the ol' life. i've been working at the R*ss Media Arts Center, working on the T*llur*de Film Festival, collecting all of the student entries, putting them in the hands of sometimes incompetent local philistines, and sending on a small program to the festival headquarters. one of the perks is, of course, attending the festival over Labor Day weekend. i look forward to a few days of concentrated cinephilia in the high mountains of southwest colorado. one wonders if life can get any better in a context like that. another perk, i might add, is the t.v. in the theatre library where i work, which enabled me to follow Wimbledon religiously and compulsively. viva nadal!

in other news, i'm walking, and riding my racer bike (with the goat horn handlebars--oh so satanic! [trying to navigate those crazy new bike lanes cutting down the MIDDLE of 14th street headed downtown]), and meeting people i knew and meeting people i didn't know and seeing people i love and avoiding people i love. fresh salsa making, cooking often, and always with cilantro. not doing sit-ups.

a slew of interviews, the gamut of corporate sell-out jobs to senator assistants to door security in the school system. for the moment though, i'm content filing film stills, rejecting student films, and selling the occasional bag of popcorn on the weekends (and getting tips!! for such a lazy task).