A circus. A travelling salesman. Something Wicked This Way Comes.
I don't think John McCain's aryan wife had a hand in the creation of that scary film, but she could have.
I just saw her on the TV. On The Larry King Show.
No one but Larry King could better embody the definition of the word "sycophant". If you didnt know who he was, that muppet body wouldnt point to sycophantic tendencies, but there you have it.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Monday, January 24, 2005
O My Meaty Palms
When your body feels as if you've been beaten with a lumpy piece of wood after spending two days painting and scraping an old room in an old grey jail in Venice into the shape of something resembling a bosom for the verbal development and tutoring of youth (the meat of your palms bruised somehow, upper right chest wall spasming) it means you need to maintain a regular exercise regimen, and it means you should have done it several years previously.
But it is all done with great sincerity and effort, Lo! for 826LA, even when it pertains to waiting with great patience in a Cost Plus (that microcosm of English-style customer service, wicker and foreign chocolates) for your car to be loaded with tables and for the employees to inform you that they cannot supply you with anything to tie your trunk down in spite of the fact (and you point this out) that Cost Plus itself was born from the notion that millions could be made from the sale of twine, jute, ribbon and raffia.
I want to tell you a great little story taken from Sunday afternoon, but I'm not going to because I dont know how to do it appropriately. I can give you an analogy instead and you can just use those deductive reasoning skills you honed long ago:
Doretta: On Sunday, through a series of circumstances, you commence to eating vegetarian papaya dogs with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Karen, for you, you go shopping for Aerobeds at Target with D. F. Wallace....
Ok. Ok fine. No.. Wait.. I retract!
Today while hiding in my patient's room from absolutely nothing at all, my patient and I watched Elmo's World together. On Elmo's World, children were having their training wheels removed and they were riding bikes unaided for the first time. The boy and I exchanged brief stories of when we learned to do the same thing. Me, I went hurdling into the holly bushes. My patient fell into a ditch in his backyard.
But it is all done with great sincerity and effort, Lo! for 826LA, even when it pertains to waiting with great patience in a Cost Plus (that microcosm of English-style customer service, wicker and foreign chocolates) for your car to be loaded with tables and for the employees to inform you that they cannot supply you with anything to tie your trunk down in spite of the fact (and you point this out) that Cost Plus itself was born from the notion that millions could be made from the sale of twine, jute, ribbon and raffia.
I want to tell you a great little story taken from Sunday afternoon, but I'm not going to because I dont know how to do it appropriately. I can give you an analogy instead and you can just use those deductive reasoning skills you honed long ago:
Doretta: On Sunday, through a series of circumstances, you commence to eating vegetarian papaya dogs with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Karen, for you, you go shopping for Aerobeds at Target with D. F. Wallace....
Ok. Ok fine. No.. Wait.. I retract!
Today while hiding in my patient's room from absolutely nothing at all, my patient and I watched Elmo's World together. On Elmo's World, children were having their training wheels removed and they were riding bikes unaided for the first time. The boy and I exchanged brief stories of when we learned to do the same thing. Me, I went hurdling into the holly bushes. My patient fell into a ditch in his backyard.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
My brain broke up with me.
Tomorrow? I write the GRE.
See, on Wednesday the math was enjoyable and I was able to really focus. But yesterday, while practicing on the computer,
my brain said: Enough, this isn't working for me, I need some space. And thereafter, my mortal coil walked out of the house and left me there, a shell of a person, staring at a PC (which in itself can raise my blood pressure: see Job's new genius) and doing all the problems in the most difficult manner possible. Today I will buy earplugs and drink decaf. Someone told me they saw my brain having souvlaki at Burger Continental with a CalTech grad student in khaki shorts and Tevas, and I think to myself, Jealousy has got to be one of the major flaws in human design.
Then I just gave up for the evening and watched Sexy Beast with Libby and then the Secret Lives of Dentist by myself. Campbell Scott looks a tad like H-to-the-itler with that moustache. I've seen Sexy Beast before, me gusta mucho, but the movie made me think back to last spring when I was in the land of overbaked, plump English people on holiday in Spain with no taste in food or music or beach clothing, and it made me shake my head at the world. Dentists, also, I liked it a lot, especially the bits with Denis Leary, and it made me teary but that's no surprise as the other day as I discovered 50 First Dates did the same.
I can no longer be trusted with simple things.
And I don't know if you watch Lost, but last night the theory I expounded during the very first episode was confirmed: two of the very worst actors and the most useless characters (Shannon and Boone) have had sex with each other in the past. They are stepbrother and sister you see, the token rich white kids, champions of flawless skin and piercing blue eyes.
See, on Wednesday the math was enjoyable and I was able to really focus. But yesterday, while practicing on the computer,
my brain said: Enough, this isn't working for me, I need some space. And thereafter, my mortal coil walked out of the house and left me there, a shell of a person, staring at a PC (which in itself can raise my blood pressure: see Job's new genius) and doing all the problems in the most difficult manner possible. Today I will buy earplugs and drink decaf. Someone told me they saw my brain having souvlaki at Burger Continental with a CalTech grad student in khaki shorts and Tevas, and I think to myself, Jealousy has got to be one of the major flaws in human design.
Then I just gave up for the evening and watched Sexy Beast with Libby and then the Secret Lives of Dentist by myself. Campbell Scott looks a tad like H-to-the-itler with that moustache. I've seen Sexy Beast before, me gusta mucho, but the movie made me think back to last spring when I was in the land of overbaked, plump English people on holiday in Spain with no taste in food or music or beach clothing, and it made me shake my head at the world. Dentists, also, I liked it a lot, especially the bits with Denis Leary, and it made me teary but that's no surprise as the other day as I discovered 50 First Dates did the same.
I can no longer be trusted with simple things.
And I don't know if you watch Lost, but last night the theory I expounded during the very first episode was confirmed: two of the very worst actors and the most useless characters (Shannon and Boone) have had sex with each other in the past. They are stepbrother and sister you see, the token rich white kids, champions of flawless skin and piercing blue eyes.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
The End of All Things: Dark Coast
This picture, though dark, should be squinted at.
I just witnessed three disconcerting observations in a row:
Blockbuster using Roy Orbison in TV ads.
The video game with the title "Call of Duty: Finest Hour".
Ethan Hawke and Cowboy Curtis in the trailer for their new movie which happens to be the kind whose entire color palette consists of black, midnight blue, grey and orange. I can see the VHS cover art now.
Here's a good thing: I recorded Dogfight (Lili "Never never ever ever! Don't you even think about it!" Taylor, River Phoenix) on TiVo. This was my favorite movie of the year 1991. I found a frightening webpage "documenting River Phoenix's role" in the film by following a link on IMDB.
Today I graduated from my residency program, which means I am now by myself, with my own patients.
First thing I saw when I came into the auditorium was a large sized Casio keyboard, then two bunches of brightly colored balloons taped to the wall. The nurse next to me said it looked like the set-up for her kindergarten graduation. I had fear in me. I called Robyn and told her not to come, please, it's too tacky. But it wasn't so bad. The president and CEO of the hospital spoke, and when he started, he got all choked up, which was uncomfortable but also touching, because he is one of those men stuffed into a suit about a size too small who usually talks in lingo that is shiny and corporate. He was saying that we could all do what he does every day, but he couldnt do what we do.
Then there was Creed. Oh, defunct Creed. [NB: I know my cynicism is tiresome]. Arms Wide Open, that song, over a montage of nurses and kids and families. Then we had a musical performance. Thank lord this was not someone singing that Whitney Houston song about how children are our future, but a group of wee people, 4 year olds from the childhood development center next door. They sang it's a small world. Well, more like they shouted it's a small world.
The managers of our unit gave me and the two other nurse residents: 1) a hydrangea and 2) ....it had to come sooner or later..
Chicken Soup for the Nurses' Soul.
It's hard to make fun of it because it is all so well intentioned but there are certain cultural attributes frequently found in this population of professionals that doesnt coincide with my particular personal style.
I suppose I would like to recommend a few things:
1) If you can, listen to the song "Silver Dagger", as done by Joan Baez. I never got into her like I got into Bob Dylan, but this song is sad and beautiful. I have been told I should stop listening to music of such description, but to that I scream a resounding No. This is the kind of music that makes me feel human. I don't need to go to Goa for that.
2) If you can, look at my mom's blog . I think she's brilliant but she isn't so sure. You can tell her what you think in your own words.
3) Dustin Hoffman's capoeira, etc in Meet the Fockers. Yes.
4) The streetcar in Lisbon as well as the north and eastern coasts of Sicily.
5)The trailer for Malick's The New World.
I just witnessed three disconcerting observations in a row:
Blockbuster using Roy Orbison in TV ads.
The video game with the title "Call of Duty: Finest Hour".
Ethan Hawke and Cowboy Curtis in the trailer for their new movie which happens to be the kind whose entire color palette consists of black, midnight blue, grey and orange. I can see the VHS cover art now.
Here's a good thing: I recorded Dogfight (Lili "Never never ever ever! Don't you even think about it!" Taylor, River Phoenix) on TiVo. This was my favorite movie of the year 1991. I found a frightening webpage "documenting River Phoenix's role" in the film by following a link on IMDB.
Today I graduated from my residency program, which means I am now by myself, with my own patients.
First thing I saw when I came into the auditorium was a large sized Casio keyboard, then two bunches of brightly colored balloons taped to the wall. The nurse next to me said it looked like the set-up for her kindergarten graduation. I had fear in me. I called Robyn and told her not to come, please, it's too tacky. But it wasn't so bad. The president and CEO of the hospital spoke, and when he started, he got all choked up, which was uncomfortable but also touching, because he is one of those men stuffed into a suit about a size too small who usually talks in lingo that is shiny and corporate. He was saying that we could all do what he does every day, but he couldnt do what we do.
Then there was Creed. Oh, defunct Creed. [NB: I know my cynicism is tiresome]. Arms Wide Open, that song, over a montage of nurses and kids and families. Then we had a musical performance. Thank lord this was not someone singing that Whitney Houston song about how children are our future, but a group of wee people, 4 year olds from the childhood development center next door. They sang it's a small world. Well, more like they shouted it's a small world.
The managers of our unit gave me and the two other nurse residents: 1) a hydrangea and 2) ....it had to come sooner or later..
Chicken Soup for the Nurses' Soul.
It's hard to make fun of it because it is all so well intentioned but there are certain cultural attributes frequently found in this population of professionals that doesnt coincide with my particular personal style.
I suppose I would like to recommend a few things:
1) If you can, listen to the song "Silver Dagger", as done by Joan Baez. I never got into her like I got into Bob Dylan, but this song is sad and beautiful. I have been told I should stop listening to music of such description, but to that I scream a resounding No. This is the kind of music that makes me feel human. I don't need to go to Goa for that.
2) If you can, look at my mom's blog . I think she's brilliant but she isn't so sure. You can tell her what you think in your own words.
3) Dustin Hoffman's capoeira, etc in Meet the Fockers. Yes.
4) The streetcar in Lisbon as well as the north and eastern coasts of Sicily.
5)The trailer for Malick's The New World.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Status Rose Paradus; Annus Nevus
I live and breathe.
Via Friendster (which, I know, is SO 2002) I have been able to confirm that one
tall young man from West Vancouver also lives and breathes in Thailand.
According to his pal, he has internet access, is in Koh Samui, and has yet to decide to respond to my "Are you alive" email, I guess.
This is somewhat typical of his aloof nature, so I should not be surprised.
For New Year's, I celebrated 1991. I did this by being slouched under a sleeping bag while sipping Pelligrino, eating those damn Trader Joe's pita chips while watching The Commitments. I think one of my favorite lines is when Jimmy Rabitte Sr says "That's fuckin blasphemy. Elvis wasn't a Cajun" with great rage during an audition by someone with an accordion. That, or when Joey The Lips says "I get snotty with no man".
When that was over I closed the night out with some Twilight Zone marathon and the last of the docs on the Return of the King Extended Edition. In which Philippa Boyens says that if you look closely, at Mozart of Rembrandt (or what have you), the Elves are still with us. That poor brilliant woman gets larger and larger with each extended edition (if you haven't treated yourself yet to the easter eggs on this DVD, do so now).
While in Vancouver over Christmas for a sleepover, we saw Life Aquatic. No me gusta Life Aquatic. The very end tip of the movie made me teary, but all else was flat, and Owen Wilson was bad, and his subplot was pointless. If it had just been about Steve mourning his dead friend, it would have been so much more bittersweet, which we all know is the money shot of these films. My sister made me awesome underwear that say "I Own It" on the behind. If any of you have iSight, lemme know because one now perches on my iBook. There was rain and I went to the gym with my parents and ate dumplings and cold shredded tofu salad at Shao Lin Noodle House and kicked it over two nights with some Frodo and Aragorn.
Now I will drive down to the OC for a sleepover with Nana. She will reinflate me where I have been deflated, I think.
A parade of roses is ambling down the road nearby.
Via Friendster (which, I know, is SO 2002) I have been able to confirm that one
tall young man from West Vancouver also lives and breathes in Thailand.
According to his pal, he has internet access, is in Koh Samui, and has yet to decide to respond to my "Are you alive" email, I guess.
This is somewhat typical of his aloof nature, so I should not be surprised.
For New Year's, I celebrated 1991. I did this by being slouched under a sleeping bag while sipping Pelligrino, eating those damn Trader Joe's pita chips while watching The Commitments. I think one of my favorite lines is when Jimmy Rabitte Sr says "That's fuckin blasphemy. Elvis wasn't a Cajun" with great rage during an audition by someone with an accordion. That, or when Joey The Lips says "I get snotty with no man".
When that was over I closed the night out with some Twilight Zone marathon and the last of the docs on the Return of the King Extended Edition. In which Philippa Boyens says that if you look closely, at Mozart of Rembrandt (or what have you), the Elves are still with us. That poor brilliant woman gets larger and larger with each extended edition (if you haven't treated yourself yet to the easter eggs on this DVD, do so now).
While in Vancouver over Christmas for a sleepover, we saw Life Aquatic. No me gusta Life Aquatic. The very end tip of the movie made me teary, but all else was flat, and Owen Wilson was bad, and his subplot was pointless. If it had just been about Steve mourning his dead friend, it would have been so much more bittersweet, which we all know is the money shot of these films. My sister made me awesome underwear that say "I Own It" on the behind. If any of you have iSight, lemme know because one now perches on my iBook. There was rain and I went to the gym with my parents and ate dumplings and cold shredded tofu salad at Shao Lin Noodle House and kicked it over two nights with some Frodo and Aragorn.
Now I will drive down to the OC for a sleepover with Nana. She will reinflate me where I have been deflated, I think.
A parade of roses is ambling down the road nearby.
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