The Pistons have just lost the Championship, and I’m feeling just a tad low over it. I’ve just returned home from the watering hole after downing a few next to the angel of my unrequited affections. After a little Ella sings Gershwins, I feel a strange mix of melancholy and bliss.
It’s time to reflect on what exactly happiness is.
Here’s what some other people think about the topic.
If you’ve never heard about the Taco Bell boycott, which recently ended successfully for the tomoto pickers in Florida, here’s a link to a story which aired yesterday on NPR’s “All Things Considered.”
The farm workers of Immokalee, Florida have undergone work strikes and hunger strikes in an effort to improve working conditions. The recent boycott lasted nearly 4 years.
I was sitting around this evening after watching the premier episode of “30 days” a new show on FX created by Morgan Sperlock, the man behind “SuperSize Me. The first episode was Morgan and his fiance living for 30 days on Minimum Wage. Sad but true, people.
With a lot on my mind, I got online and saw the latest headlines. in the news today, new evidence from English memos that the Iraq war was basically a foregone conclusion shortly after 9/11. All that needed to be found was a reason that made sense. In other words, we decided to go to war, and then tried to come up with a reason for it. But this isn’t really anything new. It just stings to see more and more evidence of it, especially after G.W. got reelected.
And yes, things are going so well over there aren’t they? Today, another 50 people dead in suicide bombings. I try to picture what that would mean if it was happening here in the States, because at this point we seem to be ignoring it so well. I can hear the arguements already, “better there than here,” and what not. Bullshit. Better nowhere.
Today on NPR it was reported that US officials, Don Rumsfeld included, don’t even know how many people are imprisoned at Guantanamo Bay. It’s a virtual black hole, and whoever knows what’s going on in there ain’t talking. And why is that? Hm. We are left to our imagination. What a lovely example for the rest of the world.
And the Patriot Act is back in the headlines. The House voted to block the part of the Patriot Act that lets the feds peek at your library records and bookstore reciepts. But Bush promises to use the veto if he doesn’t get his way.
Then I recalled a joke from the beginning of the war. So I went to Google, and typed “worst president ever” and hit the “i feel lucky” button. You’ll never believe who popped up.
I started shopping at a new grocery store recently. It’s a locally owned gourmet kinda joint. They have lots of organic stuff so I’m happy shopping there. I usually just shop for eggs, milk, juice and bread anyway. I’m a 12 grain Brownberry guy lately, but they don’t carry that at Kingma’s. Instead I found the closest thing. But I was surprised when I opened my Natural Ovens Bakery Multi Grain to discover some paper inside.
It was a pamphet neatly folded to the shape of the loaf. It’s called the “All Natural News Weekly.” It is Volume 3, Issue 21, and contains short articles with titles like “A Healthy Lifestyle Improves Longevity,” “Why Exercise Feels Good,” and “How Can Exercise Keep My Mind Sharp.” This makes me happy.
Belated Happy Birthday to Nat Hentoff, 80 years old and still going strong.
I sit here listening to CJAM’s stream of the Fuse-In. Mos Def. What a fantastic thing. Thanks to all the people in and outside of Detroit who made this happen. To everyone in the crowd at Hart Plaza, my heart is with y’all. Who cares if it ain’t free anymore, right? Ten bucks a day is no question. On Saturday, the only day I was down (get the shit together earlier next year Kev!), I couldn’t deny the reality that way too many people care about this thing to let it die now.
What this thing is about for so many people is the chance to see old friends in great circumstances. Summer in Detroit is a lovely time to dance downtown. I hope I see all of you next year.
Aril Brika was the sh*t on Saturday.
The Decemberists last visited Grand Rapids back in September. How they chose our humble burg for a stop when they had skipped Detroit that time around I’ll never know. The venue then was a tiny basement theatre on the campus of Calvin College and the stage was barely big enough to contain them. But we must have made a good impression, because they’re back again, thanks in part to the lovely people at Vertigo Records. This time around, it’s the Intersection, once referred to as “the humungodome” by a self-concious singer of a band (Sloan) unfortunate enough to draw a very small crowd. Colin Meloy and company had much better luck, and the place seemed at near capacity. Grand Rapids isn’t exactly on the cutting edge of culture, but if there’s one thing we got, it’s throngs of white indie kids, and this show was the talk of the coffee shop set. But The Decemberists’ appeal is by no means narrowly focused, and a quite a few aging hipsters (myself included) and even a few professorial types were in attendance.
The opening act served its purpose of giving everyone something to look at while I ordered drinks, and were off the stage shortly after my arrival. From what I heard at the bar, I hadn’t missed much. After a pleasantly brief interval, the main act was ready to perform.
Then began the whale sounds. A drummer who is not Rachel Blumberg (who I guess is concentrating now on her other band, Norfolk and Western) took to the unlit stage and unleashed on the toms as the rest of the band came out. Begin The Infanta.
It is my opinion that The Decemberists are first a studio band, with a specialty for the sad sap stuff that doesn’t really translate to a rockin’ live experience, but tonight they’re keeping the tempo up, and they manage to recreate the arrangements from their records quite adequately. The stage set up looks something akin to the band room in high school and this is a good thing. You like accordian? check. Standup bass? check. Violin? Check. Steel guitar? Check. Xylophone? Check. Banjo? Check. Mandolin? Yup. That cool little blowy-keyboardy-thingy? That’s here too. Oh yeah, and tamborines. One of which flew into the audience for some lucky fan to cherish forever.
The focus tonight is the new record, Picaresque (look it up), and nearly every song on the album gets its due. Of course highlights would be the bouncing “The Sporting Life,” and “16 Military Wives.” Songs from “Her Majesty. . .” included “Los Angeles, I’m Yours,” “Myla Goldberg,” “The Soldiering Life,” and “The Chimbley Sweep.” A pleasant surprise was hearing newly added(?) violinist and vocalist Petra Haden take center stage for a beautiful vocal number I thought I half recognized, providing a poignant pallette cleanser in between cheeky servings of dramatic flair courtesy of Colin and the rest of the band. One such example was a laughable guitar duel between Colin and Chris Funk, which subsequently broke into “Hava Nagila,” to which we danced, of course. At one point, the entire audience, the hundreds of us, were all squatting. Later, we were called on to make the sound of people being eaten by a whale when we saw the super secret Decemberists signal. Mr. Meloy was very specific on this point, and wanted not only screams, but moans, and cries for mothers, and whatnot. He seemed to be quite pleased with the audience’s performance.
On record, the Decemberists bring an earnestness to the most fantastic of tales, but on stage, it’s clear that the band is enjoying sharing them.
Set in the late 60’s/early 70’s slums just outside Rio De
Janeiro, it’s a brilliantly shot work that delivers on multiple
levels. The first time I saw this film was at the East Lansing Film
Festival. It’s a lovely little fest, held every spring, in the
extremely uncomfortable venue of Wells Hall on the campus of Michigan
State. I remember really starting to like this film, but at a certain
point, my aching ass and the heavy duty gun violence reacted to one
another and I walked out grumpy. Luckily, the charisma of the film
outlasted the pain of the hard plastic lecture hall seating, and I soon wanted to see it again.
In the comfort of my own
home tonight, I was able to fully appreciate the beauty and punch of this film.
Befitting a story of a young photographer, the cinematography is
absolutely top notch. In use of color, it compares with the recent
work of Jean-Pierre Jeunet. But instead of Jeunet’s migical realism, directors Fernando Meirelles and KÃtia Lund
deliver a realism more gritty, grimy, often exileratingly fast-paced
with plenty of stylish fun (think Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels)
to balance a LOT of shooting and dying. The film strikes hard in one
scene in which a child is ordered by a young crime boss to shoot his
choice of two of his friends, but you’re not given much time to reflect on the stomache churning brutality before the next turn. The use of flashbacks to
give backstory and provide character development works perfectly and
suit the brisk tempo of the script wonderfully.
City of God brings a Quentin Tarantino approach to a real life story and finds a humanism that Mr. Pulp Fiction has yet to achieve.
Sadly, in some
ways, this story is based on facts; the City of God was not a good
place to be. But Meirelles and Lund deliver an electifyingly
entertaining work which will thrill. Fantastic perfomances
throughout.
I went to Blockbuster yesterday. It was the first time I had been there in some time. I had a late fee from 228 days ago. It was 80 cents and I paid it.
I was there for one movie, I Heart Huckabees. I had seen it in the theatre and I loved it. I had visited this Blockbuster twice a number of weeks ago for the movie, but it was out on both occasions.
I watched it last night for the fist time since it’s theatrical release. I find that a lot of people don’t like the movie. Maybe it’s a cult film for philosophical wankers, which I admit to being, without the wanking. Anyway, I quite enjoyed it.
The film is set up around Jason Schwartzman’s strange coincidence. He is an environmentalist looking for answers to the questions of the universe. That sounds familiar.
It’s been raining all day today, and I have the day off. I watched the Director’s commentary this morning. Right now I’m watching the other director w/cast commentary. Here’s the neat part. David O. Russell in the commentary mentions a character with a very small role, who in real life is an environmental leader, the actually man who started Earth Day.
Guess what. Today is Earth Day. I even said to my roommate this morning, "happy Earth Day." (I’m lame like that) But isn’t it odd that the man who started Earth Day, who not otherwise an actor, is in the movie that I am watching right now, on Earth Day?
I’m watching a movie about coincidences, which has become part of a coincidence itself. It can become fantastically dizzying. Intellectual vertigo.
Jung said something about coicidences, didn’t he? Synchronicity I think he called it. He said that synchronicity is like an intuitive signal. I Heart Coincidences.
Tonight I went to see the movie Millions, directed by Danny Boyle of Trainspotting fame. It’s about a little boy who talks to saints and who wants to be good. Two thumbs up. As I left the theatre, I found it ironic that I had made a choice between this movie, about being good, and a different movie called "Sin City."
On the way home, I stopped for a six pack. A beer or two is an indulgence that I’ve gotten used to, for better or worse. I believe it harmless, but I detect a hint of defensiveness in my own thinking. Tonight it’s "The Poet," a stout from New Holland Brewing Company, based in Holland, Michigan, about 30 minutes away. I find their product to be of high quality. Anyway, on the way out of the party store, I encountered a scraggly looking middle aged gentleman of possibly, well, it was hard to tell what his background was. Hispanic? Middle Eastern? I didn’t pay much mind, but I said hello to him as he scrounged through his trunk. He had a mildly desperate expression when he looked up at me, like a lost child, perhaps.
As I opened my car door, he asked me for some money, because he was going to see his mother in Caledonia (about 20 miles away) and he had run out of gas. "And you stopped at the party store?" I thought. It seemed relatively obvious what the situation was. Every good wino has a story about bus fare, or hospital visits, or something. I’ve heard some good ones. I assumed he just wanted a 40.
I didn’t have any cash. I scrounged through my pockets, and even opened my wallet, even though I was nearly positive (didn’t I spend that dollar?) there was nothing in there. I had no change from the beer or movie because I usually pay with just about everything with a credit card. Cash burns holes in my pockets. But if I’d had any change, I would have given it to him. It’s a rule I made a few years back for myself.
I decided that after some time thinking about it. I assume that every bum that asks me for money is going to try to get drunk off of it. I think, "fine, here you go." For goodness sake, I was on my way out of the party store with a six pack in my hand, and I’m doing okay! I think if I was begging for spare change, I’d probably want a beer even more. I assume the bum wants to get drunk, and I hope to myself that maybe he’ll prove me wrong. I’ll never know, but I feel better giving the guy the benefit of the doubt.
But, like I said, I had absolutely no cash on me. So I apologized to the guy and got in my car. A second later, he asked for a smoke. I gave him one, and then he drove away. I hope he had enough gas to get to wherever his next spot was.
As I drove off, I though of the movie. The little boy who talks to saints and tries to be good is asked for money at one point. Instead of questioning the asking man’s motives (which were quite obviously dishonest), he asked him, honestly, "are you poor?" And he ran off to get some money for the poor man, quite pleased with the prospect of helping him out. But the little boy was not stupid. He was young and naive, surely, but not stupid.
As I grow older, I feel more cynical towards mankind. I view man as generally corruptable. I know of instances in my own life where I have let my morals and ethics fall by the wayside for a small gain. And corruption is the story of the day in business and government (as it has always been). But I don’t view man as inherently corrupt. I’d say that we’re born basically good, but that the possibilities for corruption start the day we get out of the womb.
Good parents shield their children from as much of that bad stuff as possible, by lesson and by example. But the influences and pressures, for good or. . .less good, continue as long as we live. This is empowering because this understanding carries the awareness that my actions matter, not only to me, but to those around me. My actions will have some influence, however slight, on any person who chooses to focus even the slightest amount of attention toward me. So I try to be a good influence.
Just such an awareness combined with the right effort, makes me a little bit happier to be here, and I think, a better person.
Eyes, smile, hair, skirt. Voice, laugh. Intelligence, demeanor. Innocence, goodness.
Smile. Laugh.
You pay me visits and make silly faces.
You avert your gaze. . .most of the time.
Eyes.
You walk away. Body.
Sometimes, you catch me looking.
You know.
I have a crush on you.
