And now, after some conversion struggles with GarageBand by your humble author which you wouldn't want to hear about, number 8 is up as well - hurray! A slight breeze from the past, carrying tunes new and old... Hope you enjoy it.
Listen here, or get it straight into your iTunes (or whatever) by subscribing at the right here.
Indeed, it has. I've just been smelling a few too many flowers on the way so I'm only telling you about it now. Mixtape # 8 is almost done, too, and will be posted in due time. Let me know what you think! Click here to hear, or if you like, download it directly into your iTunes or your program of choice here.
The universe is snapping back into sync! Nope, not about to get all new age-y on you, dearests. Just liking the fact that pieces are falling into place again. Notice: receive a call from friend to see a movie on Friday, which I already was going to see at the same showtime, we meet up. Notice again, another movie on Sunday: seconds after I shoot my rakish smile to the guy who’s drawing out of a bag for a dvd raffle, he pulls my ticket out, I get the last dvd. Notice once more, I get into the office building, oblivious to everything in my iPod affair, and some girl holds the elevator even though she could’ve snuck up and I wouldn’t have heard a thing. Notice yet again: Awesome things coming up this weekend, Melville and such; me, I just sit back and watch it all come together and all is well with the world.
Minor? Sure. Nice? F’sure. Yeah? Yeah. Awesomeness.
P.S. The synchritude seems to come around each year around these days, although it brings with it the swamp heat as I call it.
Another friend just had a creative yet icky way to describe the desert heat in Dubai, while overseeing the construction of some building:
“47 deg celcius - 80% humidity - is like breathing mayonnaise.”
Told you it wasn’t pretty.
I went to see Broken English last night. I didn't have any plans to see it; in fact, I didn't know anything about it. I didn't even realize the film involved, heck, starred Parker Posey- I probably wouldn't have agreed to it if I had known. "NooOOoO!' I said, covering my eyes, when I found out at dinner. (She just rubs me the wrong way, with her "ooo look I'm such a f*cked up American Indie Chick, the kind all American Indie Dudes fall for but then get majorly f*cked up by yet can't get over" shtick and whatnot.)
However, after seeing her almost human, I might have to see Posey in Fay Grim, that new Hartley movie, even though I didn't like Henry Fool, even though she stars in it too.
Let's just say that I much prefer the filmmaking skills of Cassavetes Jr to those of Coppola Jr whose skills I am eager to dismiss. (My sister and I rented Marie Antoinette while she was here. While it flowed along fine, we were both like "um, okay, like, whatever" at the end.)
Too bad the New York Times hired themselves some whippersnapper*** who declares "oh but Broken English totally swoons back into the arms Hollywood cliché right after pretending to reject it." No, asshole, were you watching the same film? The ending is not a happy ending. The ending is just an ending (of a movie, not life). Just 'cause [spoiler alert] she agrees to stay for another drink doesn't mean these two will work out. All there is: a possibility of a possibility. No contract. She's just saying "yes!" to life, isall. (Life being a series of possibilities and forked roads (see JLB the master), and "if you engage in travel you will arrive" (-Ibn Arabi) as I just read in some introduction in a book today. Other appropriate allusions being one by Martin Amis* and another by -of all people- Chuck Palahniuk.**)
In conclusion, the NYT should totally hire some more insightful film critics, if not -ahem-me, then at least someone who can actually see what is in front of their eyes. Seeing what's right in front of your eyes, now that's a skill, that.
M
* Rachel Papers, I paraphrase: In Shakespeare's time the boy and the girl fell in love, and lived happily ever after; that's where the story ends. In modern times we all have to live with the aftermath. [I like this book, although not him, or his later work (same thing, no?)]
** Fight Club: On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. [Like the film, not the author, strange that I'm quoting these people.]
*** He's probably not an asshole in real life; I just wrote that ;)
Recommended:
A Lover's Discource. Roland Barthes.
Many moons ago today, a baby was born and was brought home soon after. My initial reaction, aged 20 months, upon seeing this squirmy creature, this bald creature, was one of unconcealed disappointment: “But this is so tiny, so teeny, so miniscule!” *
She hasn’t disappointed me much thereafter, though. Sure, we almost clawed each other’s eyes out (or rather, she almost clawed my eyes out and I almost gouged her soul with my evil evil words) but these days, we’re all good (although we do have a lot of blackmail material in our arsenals).
She won’t see this as she doesn’t do blogs or myspace (like I say, cool kid), but those of you who know her will agree with her general awesomeness (those who don’t know her, well, thanks for reading along). Thanks to years of in-jokes accumulated over childhood and adolescence and the couple of weeks we see each other every year, she’s the sole creature who can get me laughing by uttering a single word. Or better, shooting a single look. So: a) I start laughing like a hyena b) she points out I’m laughing like a hyena c) I point out she’s laughing at me like a hyena too d) we laugh like hyenas pointing fingers at each other until we stop e) then we start laughing about two idiots laughing like hyenas.
Happy birthday my favorite sister,**
M, the way wiser, far superior one
*original: “Ama bu ufacik, kucucuk, minnacik!” Don’t know what my parents had been telling me, seriously.
** in-joke. I have one sister, and that’s it.
