sincerely, alexander

2006-09-09T20:35:00.000-05:00

Without a shovel a man is stuck in his ditch. Ray LaMontagne’s new record Till the Sun Turns Black is a ditch I don’t want to get out of. A dark opening to a dark record LaMontagne laments to his listener’s heart in Be Here Now preaching; “Don’t Let Your Heart Get Heavy” and he admits “I Always Feel This Way So Empty So Estranged” in the second track; Empty.

Its an evident struggle, a journey without shoes on a dirty path through LaMontagne’s mind, to barely understanding a man of utter depth. I asked him about Burn at a Double Door show in Chicago’s Bucktown/Wicker Park area, he responded with a simple; “oh, I can’t man, I just can’t.”

With an evident lack of utter brilliance in our cultural pool of songwriting, LaMontagne is a fresh sip and if you give it enough time, the whole package will satisfy, enjoy.

2006-02-06T16:12:00.000-06:00

I hate it.

The block.

The block.

The block.

The mind thinks but cant talk.

The fingers sit locked.

I’m sitting here on the set of prison break, an extra in white uniform, an ‘orderly,’ with writers block.

Surrounded by lights, the camera, but nothing to say.

Immobile, unable to finish a sentence, writing in aphorisms, barely.

A sorry excuse for a writer. A waiter.

Take out the ‘r,’ replace it with an ‘a,’ and you get someone who lives scared. The money makes it worthwhile, the interactions with people are enough, you don’t need the page, the page will ride itself of its whiteness, the letters will find their ways into their homes, and those homes will find sentences to call villages, and the villages will find their own way to cities called articles, and the articles will make cities, the cities become countries, books, libraries.

Don’t worry though. Keep waiting tables, keep stiffing yourself.

Create situations so you have to ‘make ends meet,’ don’t blame yourself, blame the situation. It takes the blame now.

Keep writing aphorisms, keep piecing together disjointed logic like an out of work magician, running, hoping.

But hope seems to stick out there, it seems to find a place on its own, possessing a special resonation.

“you’re gonna make it” they say, the fire keeps burning, “you can do it” you rant, the page is losing its white. Believing becomes fuel for the mind. Gatorade seems to act more as a motivator than a true replenisher, a policeman of thought, releasing the cuffs.

Block

Clock

Rock.

Socks are white.

The thoughts are gone, they have no life anymore, the fingers are typing, but where is meaning? How far has it gone?

Today I sit in a cell, listening for the bell every otgher few moments; “Rolling” they yell, “cut!” is echoed through the set. Prison Break.

art culture.

2006-01-18T12:16:00.000-06:00

art culture.

art is imitating culture imitating art.

paint this. sculpt this. write this. think this. fear this?

Good morning friends, I write to you from my apartment in West Belmont Avenue on the north side of the biggest Midwestern city and third largest city in America, Chicago. I tell you about my apartment because I think its cool. I grew up in Chicago, I was born downtown and raised in a suburb just 15 miles north called Winnetka. It’s a suburb I find myself thankful to be a part of yet regretful of the veil it’s lifted from my once pre-toddling eyes. I say regretful lightly, I say it because I see responsibility, I say it because I sometimes wish I didn’t know what I knew about wealth, empowerment, responsibility, drive, entitlement, education, morality, and others that come with living in any society but specifically how these related to living in the society I grew up in.

We grew up learning in school that we had more than enough and could get more if we wanted it, “snap your fingers and it’s yours,” a teacher would preach from a sterile classroom. “Your dreams are yours, take them.” Lessons about being a good sport were just taught for curricula sake, we were competitors. Being the best was best, and still is as I struggle today with whether or not I should dismantle this mentality. It’s in me, and it wasn’t in a lot of the friends I went to school with in Kentucky, theres something about growing up in a highly competitive setting that brews in it’s residents not only a ‘we vs. them’ mindset but also a questionably healthy “I can” way of thinking. Why deny this gift I ask myself? Why question a potentially powerful upbringing.

America raises power.

Despite whether you were from the south or the north, the west or the east, we all grew up learning that we can get more. Some areas emphasize this ‘I can’ mentality more than others, I notice people having to overcome their upbringing in any setting, but more clearly when they haven’t grown up in a ‘big’ city. We are faced with this kind of pseudo-detrimental notion that if we are not around a big city, namely New York, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Dallas, Chicago, we need to be in order to be ‘successful.’ Even if a father repeats to his child growing up, ‘we’re fine here’ hes still implying some sort of justification for not being in ‘the city.’ Why?

What is success? Success is getting up in the morning, success is finishing the undone. And how has art influenced this notion?

suc·cess n
1. The achievement of something planned or attempted.
2. Impressive achievement, especially the attainment of fame, wealth, or power,
3. Something that turns out as planned or intended.
4. Somebody who has a record of achievement, especially in gaining wealth, fame, or power.

To America, success is not sipping espresso and discussing human nature, or social, political or critical theory, to America, success is the dollar billions of them.

But I get distracted from writing.

The phone hasn’t rung, its 11am and I’m still sitting here on this couch. Success is far. But its near, its whispering from the bottom of the page.

I started this with the statement:

art is imitating culture imitating art.

Despite the fact that we are looking at a very business driven, profit oriented and seemingly very un-artistic, quantified culture, its highly artistic, our ‘art’ is our lives. We are living in the painting of post-modernity. A business man goes to work because it is how he makes money, but a business man is no longer a man in a suit with a briefcase, she’s your local artist begging at the front door of a gallery or coffee shop to hang her piece, he’s the web-designer settling for any job to make a few bucks. This isn’t new people, this isn’t post-modern, dating back to before Michelangelo who painted the Sistine Chapel for a couple extra bucks; to Toulouse-Lautrec’s lithographs supporting his Absinthe addiction and fascination with self-indulgence at the Moulin Rouge.

But I have been pondering about this idea lately, I watched the news about Katrina and although legitimately catastrophic, we have newscasters performing a puppet show; like movie-stars from a box-office smash, or are the movie-stars performing like and imitating newscasters? Human emotion is a performance and somewhere in between art and culture reality lies.

A friend of mine Blake (Blake's Second Thoughts) recently discussed the James Frey controversy concerning his book; A Million Little Pieces. I urge you to go read these thoughts. He writes about the death of objectivity and the birth of a hyper-subjective culture who’s point of view is has lost a single author, relying on what everyone else thinks, good story is what matters not true story.

I wrestle with this though, I want to embrace true story yet I am amazed and won over from good story, I want to love but would rather ponder, when faced with a relationship we often seize up scared of the desolate road leading out of romance-town and into beautiful, boring fields of work, labor and sustenance. Like the lonely business man slaving away over graphs and reports, sterile, he finds himself making ways to avoid fruitful yet maintenance-entailing family life, golf on Saturdays with clients must take precedence over his sons baseball game. Because in art, in movies, he has seen this model, in life he has seen this model, his father was never around therefore he wont be.

Make your excuses now. Stuff your pockets full of cards ready to play.

Art is your excuse.

I laugh at how dramatic my writing tends to be, in my eyes at least, and also how this statement could be ‘ruining the moment.’ But its what I like to write, its what I’ve drawn from other writing, its my own interpretation of my world and the art I’ve experienced.

But, like a good post-modernist I sit, writing, but asking; what do you think? And I pretend not to care. So do you believe that you have more than enough? Because if you grew up here, you do, if you’re reading this, you do. A statement is made, a truth told.

follow up; 'from behind the espresso machine'

2006-01-07T10:25:00.000-06:00

in a comment concerning my last blog; Pete Gall the writer of “GALL” (available at Amazon.com) responded:
“If my mind has my heart on a bungee cord, what would it look like if my heart and my mind were working as they should be.”

Well Pete, and fellow readers, peers,

What does it look like for the mind and heart to be cohesive? For them to be one, working together as a well-oiled steam engine? Or better, a healthy complex God constructed mystery, a cycle, with no seemingly apparent origin.

The heart beats. It BEATS, by itself, sure once the first beat happened, the cycle of blood and its flow seem to help the beating along, however, I dont know much about this system, I just know that when I shut the fuck up, when I quiet my racing mind and body down, I listen for a moment before I get distracted again, I can hear this soft pounding muscle inside of me, begging for attention. Humbly, without our undivided attention, without the need for honor, or a ribbon, or a myspace comment, the heart continues its job. It loves to do this, it loves to beat, it runs our bodies. The intricate workings of our body's blood work and vein grid, are all taken care of physically, by our 'self'-beating heart. It beats though, it continues, the system seems to contribute to the continuum, but we have to be FLUMMOXED by the fact that the continuum, continues. Like time.

I would say ‘like energy,’ or an engine, but these, unfortunately, in the end, have no comparison, for these are man-made. A light is working because the local generator is powered by a regional generator, which is powered by fuel, which is powered by oil which is...it continues. And it goes back to some natural source, but, like ‘nature versus nurture,’ ‘the chicken and the egg,’ we'll just disregard with a silly phrase, a wave of the hand and a 99¢ cheeseburger at McDonalds.

After doing a small amount of research; I found that the heart beats 100,000 times in one day, 35 million times a year, and in one life time the heart will beat just about 2.5 billion times. If you give a tennis ball a hard squeeze, this is about as much force that your heart uses each time it beats! So, iPod listener (myself), when you stop what you are doing, and place your hand on the center of your chest (not the left side), you’ll find this mysterious muscle not just puttering along, but beating really well and hard, AND efficiently.

The mind thinks. It moves, it sends signals, it synapses, it supplies, it needs, it needs the heart. Another un-man-made mystery we just kind of mull over with a gameboy, an ipod and a pack of fritos. Using it for all we can like a tourist a street vendor, getting a hot-dog hes been slaving over since 6 in the morning and leaving to go check out Ground-Zero. This system has better memory than any Rol-A-Dex or Palm, or Blackberry, better running speed than the fastest computer on the market, it’s the most complex system, we can think of.

Weighing just about 1400 grams and containing over 100 BILLION neurons, the brain will slip into unconsciousness after just about 8-10 seconds without blood-flow. That does not mean it has lost all of its blood, this means that without the heart pumping blood up there, we’re going unconscious.

Is this noteworthy? Is this something to really consider? Does this change things? With a small amount of factual evidence, the heart seems to have some say. We rely on our mind like a scientist masturbating over an experiment. Its everything, if the numbers don’t add up, if the rent is not paid, we’re doomed. I mention rent, because we seem to be so factual, we need facts, I even said at the beginning of this paragraph that because of a few facts, the heart seems to have a convincing case, and it didn’t even try to convince me, it just kept beating!

So to get to Pete’s response, what does it look like for the mind and heart to be working actively together in our lives? I’ve been saying things about the mind having the [my] heart on a bungee cord, bouncing it up and down, trusting and not-trusting, wondering why I feel a certain way about something but so quickly rationalize away feelings.

Feelings about what? Im sure you can relate: feelings about a girl, feelings about moving, feelings about my job, feelings about education, feelings about music, feelings about art, feelings about this culture, feelings about Africa or other cultures, feelings about therapy, feelings about natural versus medicinal healing or treatment, feelings about eating meat, feelings about how long this list is going, how much I feel that I need to cover a bunch of different categories, you get the point.

For example; you want to move, your heart says go to London, or Jamaica, or New York, or LA, or Chicago, but your mind says (and this can cover the job feelings); “I cant move to the place I dream about because my job (which I don’t like) is keeping me here, I make rent every month and I have a few dollars extra to have fun here, how can I move elsewhere and make it. The mind kicks in like Santa Clause tilting his head from that lofty chair and says, “sorry Sally” or “sorry Jimmy, you weren’t good enough this year, you don’t have enough to make in those places, so just stay here unhappy, you’re making enough money to live here, moving just isn’t practical.”

“Well, I am a lawyer, or I am making good money as a waiter at this restaurant” you might say to yourself, so this justifies your decision to stick those ‘heart-dreams’ away under the bed or in the closet for some other day, a more reasonable day.

So what do you do? Not “what do we do?” like the cheesey ending to Garden State where two aimless twenty-somethings try to collaborate their indeciveness to form some sort of coherent idea. But what do you do, how do you balance what your heart wants and what you know to be true?

I think it looks like taking some risks, not doing what you know to be the safe thing to do, but stepping out on a true ledge of uncertainty and seeing what happens when you jump off. Its amazing how I’ve seen God reward risk-taking in my life.

a note about the bean.

2006-01-04T15:51:00.000-06:00

This is what I have to say to people like you. You come and go, you come and go, you don’t stay here, this place is your minds paradise, an escape, a home. You’re real home is not with your kids and co-workers but right here ordering your latte and mixing in a small amount of Jack Daniels. It does what you want it to. Numbing isn’t it? Your life? Scared, dangerous, this is safe, here, here is where the bean is, and empty minds you have limited interaction with. Here there is just the bean and milk. Your veins scream for espresso, a desire you fostered when you found it. Pay no attention to the kids at home or your husbands or wives, your peers, the bean matters now. The desire is making you, it has you, locked in its grip. Here you discuss politics and culture, and God, you argue their affect on you. Their lack of affect on you, avoid your home and the kids, they don’t affect you at work, they are a refuge from the storm, helping them is last. Making capital wins the war in your heart, it must, it has to be first, it has to support the family you ‘love.’ You’re what truly affects you, and what you truly affect. The baby sitter has them, shes got the rising and setting sun [kids] under control, you’ve got to generate, you got to provide.

The bean provides, the bean makes this happen, it amps your soul, it readys the soil for profit making, more. Income.

The schools will do the teaching, the teachers will influence.

Generate, that’s your job.

The television has its job. You’ve designated it to raise the little minds. It will mold them into who they ‘need’ to be.

Parenthood is lost, you're a victim, blame someone. Accuse them of why you have to generate, you see its positive effects. The bean, the boat, the bmw.

Lost in innocence, you’re a victim to your childhood. Drink more, buy another latte, forget your home, forget your kids, work needs you, the bean, needs you.

You walk out of here confident in the deal you made or are about to make, you’ll see who you need to tend to in the office, the office needs you.

But.
Inside, your heart is scared, scared of health, scared if you don’t make another deal, another sell, another buy, another trade, it could be over, the silence scar[e]s you.

Keep asking the answerless questions. Keep jogging, keep working on your abs, keep looking good naked, keep trying. Your superhero is not far off, your celebrity, your father, your mother, avoid you. Blame them, try to be them.

Water is killing you. The bean needs you, the distraction is health.

Keep your veins happy, your needs aren’t met yet.

Your
Mind
Has
Your
Heart
On
A
Bungee
Cord.

Happy New Year.

2006-01-01T11:16:00.000-06:00

thanks for a good '05 lets make 2006 a big win.

may this be the year that you decide to move forward, to move on, to make your dreams realities. may it be a year in which you become a little more you, a lot more you, where the path you've been on starts winding a bit and shakes you up. maybe you find your way out of the woods, the mountains, the valleys, into some clarity.

clarity.

change your mind, its got your heart on a bungee cord.

blessings.

ab

A Tribute to Pryor.

2005-12-15T15:04:00.000-06:00

Larry King asked Richard Pryor; “Are you more of a comedy actor?”
Pryor responded; “I’m just me.”

This seems to summarize the recent living legend that died of a heart attack after suffering for years with multiple sclerosis. Richard Pryor was original, he outweighed and challenged the standard for not only comedians at his time, but comedy, he impacted the timeless art for the better.

And I knew little about him.

For being a student right now at Chicago’s world famous institution The Second City, its unfortunate to have to admit that Richard Pryor although one of the most influential comedians of our time, seemed to have little influence on me. Or I may think. Without realizing it, Pryor is the kind of man who through changing the face of comedy imprinted a style and composition upon the way people deliver in performance. Like many legends, Pryor has influenced all of us more than we would think.

Born December 1, 1940, Richard Franklin Lennox Thomas Pryor III to a prostitute Gertrude nee Thomas, and father LeRoy Pryor Jr. (a.k.a. Buck Carter) a boxer and a WWII vet, he was raised by his grandmother as one of four children in her Peoria Illinois home. He experienced rape at age six and molestation by a local priest during catechism (a series of questions asked used to test religious knowledge in advance of Christian baptism or confirmation), followed by watching his mother perform sexual acts with Peoria’s mayor. Pryor found little escape from these traumatic moments then to go to the local theater and gain influence from greats like John Ford (The Grapes of Wrath) and Howard Hawks (Rio Bravo, El Dorado). From the screen through the eyes of a small affected boy came an aspiration to become great.

Following in the footsteps of Bill Cosby, Pryor moved to New York in 1963 to pursue his dreams. Performing stand-up comedy in clubs he soon found a mentorship with none other than Woody Allen.

He played roles in many films on and off the screen that have influenced the genre of modern comedy; like his cohesive effort writing the 1974 western comedy Blazing Saddles with Mel Brooks. Having over forty years of experience in the spotlight, he appeared in over 35 films including: The Wiz (1978), The Muppet Movie (1979), The Toy (1982), and Superman 3 (1983).

There is not enough to say about a man who seemed to break all kinds of barriers from racial to political through a medium like comedy. He influenced generations of people, especially comedians and entertainers. Bernie Mac was quoted in a recent article announcing; “without Richard, there would be no me.”

Its easy to say “I love Eddie Murphy,” or talk about Jim Carrey as if he is the originator of all comedy, but if Murphy or Carrey were asked about their influences, Pryor’s would be in the first few names.

Through hardship comes learning, through learning comes growth and when looking at the life of someone like Richard Pryor, someone many would call the funniest comedian of all time, we see a hard life. Robin Williams spoke of his ability to relate hard situations to an audience through comedy; "Richard Pryor is an alchemist who can turn the darkest pain into the deepest comedy. [He] doesn't go for the jugular — he goes straight for the aorta.”

This is something I have been noticing in our culture, a love for honesty and authenticity but a lack of tolerance for it when it is seen or heard. We’re getting all the scraps left over from such wonderful comedians like Pryor, I see something hysterical and forget to look to the root of why that joke is funny or why that comedian is making thousands of youth laugh. This is not to say that someone who is influenced shouldn’t take what he or she have learned and apply it. No. If this were the case, teachers would be teaching dead lessons to dead pupils claiming no responsibility to take what they have learned on to the next person, or next step in their life or career. It is funny to see a new comedian using age-old methods because each person has their own style; some styles are just funnier than others.

Pryor’s was funny.

But like Williams said, he took “dark pain,” the darkest of experiences, from drug use to sex, and transformed them into “deep comedy.” This is where true comedy comes from, this must be what some comedians, actors, performers understand and others find themselves too busy trying to imitate others. Maybe we need influencers, teachers, and mentors like Pryor because from their teaching of the blueprints, we can then build our own house around the basics.

I am funny. My life is funny. You are funny. Your life is funny.

Jim Carrey said; "Some people are born wearing an iron shoe. They're the ones who kick doors down and enter the places that before them have been untouched even by light. Theirs is always a mission filled with loneliness and broken bones. Richard Pryor is one of the bravest of them."

Embarking on the entertainment-career road seems to be less about imitation and more about authenticity, coming to a place like Pryor, who came from situations like his prostitute mother and janitor work at strip clubs and made those experiences his comedy.

the ship

2005-12-13T15:17:00.000-06:00

the ship of divorce has sailed in and past my house today.

im watching this:

narnia

2005-12-12T01:30:00.000-06:00

Note: I have not read the novel "The Chronicles of Narnia; The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe" by C.S. Lewis. This is my assessment of the film "Narnia."

Although much more should have stuck out for me by an hour and a half into the film, the first thought that really came to me was; a filmmaker (a crew) has roughly two hours to present a believable world to its viewer. Did you hear that, did you read that? A BELIEVABLE world. Even if the story is taking place in an imaginary setting called NARNIA, or a record store called Champion Vinyl in High Fidelity, the filmmaker a package time of roughly two hours but more like a few minutes to present a believable world to its audience.

Before I refer specifically to our ($67.1 million first weekend box office smash) friendly but dangerous lion story about four children experiencing a new world inside of a wardrobe, I want to define what exactly 'believability' means. As assumed, I'm sure most of you are saying 'Alex, I know what it means for something to be believable' but I want everyone to get back on the same page; when we're talking about story, the world of the story has elements that need to be carefully placed in order to maintain the integrity of its believability, if one of the elements is off, inappropriately (within the context of the rules of the story), the story loses its essential power and ability to keep its audiences attention and convey its intended message (arguably, the creator of a story, a piece of art, a song, (all are 'art') wants to send some message whether it be 'I'm depressed' or 'you're depressed' or 'change this about yourself' etc).

You can’t make a movie for an audience that has already read the book it’s based on. This film should have all the appropriate elements of film so that all of the potential audience members, whether C.S. Lewis readers or not, can feel included into a new medium through which this story is being told. In other words, if you want to tell the story originally written by Lewis again, through the medium of film, the whole story of 'Narnia' should be told. The WHOLE story. 'Well Alex, you cant include everything in a two hour movie!' the description of Lewis? No. But the groundwork laid in the elements of Lewis' story, yes. Also, this is a tough area because Lewis didn’t write the story to someday be seen in the movies; he was an English, left wing, scotch drinker, theologian, and writer/teacher.

Here’s my thought: I wrote; 'a filmmaker has two hours to present to his audience a believable environment perpetuating a good story.' I found the film entertaining, I loved the performances of each actor respectively, I thought the casting was great, however, and this is tough, and this has to do with a lot of focus on 'ENSEMBLE' that The Second City finds paramount, the acting among the other actors in the film was hard to believe. The relationships seemed stale and hard to believe. Other than the dialogue, I had no reason to be sad when we found out that Timothy had been kidnapped, the relationship was long enough, and not 'long enough' in a sense that 'I didn’t have 20 more minutes spent with him' no, more so, I didn’t have presented to me a thoroughly believable relationship between the characters and our donkey-man friend.

When Aslan dies for everyone? Were the stakes high enough? From a perspective of story, sure, but to see the girls crying over his dead body, it was hard for me to believe how invested in that relationship they really were.

As much as I want to, I know I could go on for a while about who important it is to make not only the world of the story believable, but also the relationships making up the story must be seasoned (if they are long) or realistic interactive relationships. There is no reason you end a work-day on the set with unbelievable performances between your actors.

The point is made; overall, I liked Narnia, I though it was interesting, great underlying themes (although not nearly as underlying and well-woven as the themes in Lord of the Rings), great CGI, and of course their version of the huge fight scene at the end was well executed (and remember I haven’t read the book so I don’t know if this actually happens in the book, but I hope it does, and we aren’t victim of another Hollywood capital generating device) but I was sad to see some very essential elements overlooked for other necessary elements (like believable computer generated beavers, who I loved).

2005-12-10T16:12:00.000-06:00

for some of you who believe most of my random ramblings are random and rambly, its not true, i mean, this post has a lot of meaning.

im here to write about the last couple of days; nothing significant has really happened.

i finished my improv and writing class at second city.
chicago had a horrendous snow storm.
a plane skidded off the runway. a plane. off the runway. into peoples cars. planes and cars.
a day later i flew to nashville, where i write these words before you.

i love how no matter how much i think about ways to not talk to people on the plane im about to board, i still end up in an extensive conversation usually pertaining to God, business, the city we are flying to, the city we flew from, or unimaginable problems about this respective person's life.

this photo was taken after attempting to capture the brightness of the snow on the ground at one in the morning; i found the marriage between the flash and snowflakes a lot more interesting.

listening.

2005-12-07T15:49:00.000-06:00

Im plagued with indecsion right now, lying still in my bed wondering what a ‘good’ move might be. Do you go the west-coast route? Where sun and film join together in a marriage, providing million=dollar pieces of art for the world. Do you go east coast where culture and commerce engage to fluctuate the enconomy, where artist battle for their creative integrity, preferring fashion to comfort or calling their fashion their ‘comfort.’ Or middle-america where the chill of the air contains a nip so strong, one can lose feeling in moments of exposure to an ungloved hand. A place without accent, where ‘normal’ seems to summarize quite a few things. Pickett fences, family, walking dogs, and strip malls monopolize minds, goals, and achievements. All of it involves money; making money, saving money, giving money, spending-- but drive supercedes money, passion engages the stars to align in your favor, love conquers fear, giving one any ability they so desire.

Fuck the norm.
Fuck the culture.
Fuck money.
Fuck fear.

Engage, drive,
Love.

These words resonate in my head right now, my heart beats with desire to make, to create, to engage, to drive, to love.

Who is he that calls himself strong among us.
Who is he that makes himself known.
Who is he who thinks himself to be something he is not.

Many. Many are that man. That woman.

Who is he who believes he is something that he doesn’t know he is?
Who is he that believes in himself?

Ive conquered these coffee shops, I come in, find a spot and write the hell out of the keyboard on my computer. I take fear and I pin it to the wall, screaming about the way I no longer listen to its beautiful words. Im am the owner of my thoughts right now, and they tell me to look left, to look right I walk wherever I want.

This latte is running me. The only truth I know is its warmth on my throat. All other realities ive known, are gone, the only path I know is the path of each finger on the keys. Writing each word is leading to a sentence, to a paragraph, personifying my mind.

Shes sleeping to dreams, shes learning her thoughts.
Shes killing my ego.

My ego dies to unfettered freedom.

more thoughts about story

2005-12-02T09:32:00.000-06:00

note: this started as a reply to someone posting on my blog, and turned into more about some thoughts on storytelling.

hey man...good thoughts...i dissagree about the music and storytelling though...it has to be about story, and the elements that make up story in filmmaking are arguably; structure, description, dialogue, and character development. involved in there could be something about a song that might move a scene, sure, no doubt, there are plenty of scenes i love that have some good music involved, but i love the scene because of the emotion, or the dialogue, or the lack of dialogue, or the subtle score in the background complimenting (COMPLIMENTING) what is happening to develop the story in this particular scene.

music should be in movies to compliment the already well developed story, not support the story, in a sense of the concrete and steel beams laying the grouundwork for why this film gets written/pickedup/completed. does that make sense?

because music and films dominate our culture there is going to be a tendency for us to want to incoporate both art forms, or marry them together, just like all of marketing. we want to use any attention getting form of device to attract the audience to our product. this works, for a limited time, but, however leaves the audience member molested and empty. we are innundated with things that want our attention, therefore we want to use these things rather than trust age old arts like telling story, to tell our story.

ironically, there are a few developments/pieces of art i would like to take the time to mention, while i (alex) have your attention; a) a book by pete gall called "Gall" (www.petegall.com). this is a book that has no frills, or cute little song and dances to get you to read it, its a story about a mans life, and in his life is a struggle to figure God out. he tells the story of how he goes from relationship to relationship, from job to job, getting a grip on his reality. Petes book, (being self-published currently) and one could argue most books (except for ones with free cds or telletubbies) do not have things attatched to them, this could be why a lot of youth seem to not be reading a lot of books, but reading a lot of myspace pages, or playing video games, they dont grab ENOUGH of your attention.

the other thing i wanted to mention (b)); was a new film by Noah Baumbach (produced by Wes Anderson) called The Squid and the Whale. This film tells the story of a family being dissassembled by a divorce and how each of the family members struggle through this unnaturally natural phenomenon plummeting through our culture. Jeff Daniels has a brilliant performance as a quirky jealous writer/father unable to save his marriage.

however, one could argue that a story like this doesnt need song and dance to propel it, to move it forward, because the divorce and the instability of the family does the telling. well, then great, then im biased toward films that tell story rather than having music tell their story.

what i want to say, is that GOOD story, grabs your attention. we've got to trust this notion, and you do, people know when they are watching a good film, or reading a great story, or looking at beautiful art. theres something about the nature of the telling, (the brush strokes, the dialogue, the description) that draws us to a story's canvas.

i keep learning and re-learning about this in my acting classes and in writing in general, 'show dont tell.'

sometimes i like to TELL! you, you, you, you "like good story, like this band, like this movie!!" but you can like what you want, im just opinionated.

a

the weather man.

2005-11-08T15:48:00.000-06:00

11/7/05
the weather man.

“Is it going to rain today?”
“Who knows.”

Who ever knows if its going to rain today, does the weatherman? We all think he does, or more appropriately; should, we all think he should. He fucking should know if its going to rain or not today, he should know if I’m going to get the job, or if I’m going to get this part, or make this thing I’ve always dreamed of. I’d venture to say that we all want someone to tell us something, we want someone to tell our fortune, we all want a golden ring and the truth is, no one is going to give it to you, not even the weatherman. I want someone to write my script for me, I want someone to tell me I’m good at that. The truth about that is; with energy and confidence, I will write my script, I am good at that. Jesus talked about moving mountains, what about the mountains of FEAR in our lives.
A man at the end of his rope, throughout the whole film, Lost in Translation meets a dark John Hughes film. Regardless of its Chicago setting, and minimal acting problems I have such a hard time not paying attention to; The Weatherman is intriguing. Nicolas Cage plays the role of a weatherman, frustrated and divorced, Dave Spritz who cant seem to find delight; in his relationship with his wife, in his $240,000 salary, or in his therapy ridden and overweight kids.
A good story is told in every word. This story is told in every shot. From a barely iced-over Lake Michigan to his subtle frown laying the foundation of his character, to his desperate attempt to shoot his wife’s fiancé with an outstretched bow and arrow yet inability to release. He’s immobile, half-frozen, barely frowning, unexcited by things and people all with potential to excite. Its somewhat of a story about money being a source of happiness seeing to it that his happiness eventually comes, but its more of a story about him choosing it.
He doesn’t repair his irreparable relationship, his daughter doesn’t lose weight, she chooses to be happy with herself; the theme seems to speak about more than just a simple story of someone miserable finding contentment. But more about a story speaking to the viewer who wants to make obstacles a reason to forget the race.

“in this shit life we must chuck some things, we must chuck them in this shit life.”
-Michael Caine’s character.

We want things to be repaired, we like seeing resolution, and any story without some sort resolution lacks something, and this film lacks very little. It’s resolution;

“its just wind, it blows all over the place.”

The wind blows all over the place; it lacks true predictability, nor can it be told what to do, our job is to open up an umbrella and deal with it, so what, its just rain.

a

On Better Off Dead

2005-11-04T10:47:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I know I've been ripping apart various films lately, but this early Cusak film demands a bit of criticism. And I've got some other things I need to talk about.

Sure, its tongue and cheek to the max; rockets flying out of garages, a hyper persistent paperboy overly concerned about a two dollar paper subscription, playing saxophone on a '67 Cameron at home plate in Dodger Stadium, a French girl, two Asian guys who want to race at every stoplight, and the list goes on.

Despite the great reviews on imdb.com and its obviously humorous tone, I can’t help but question this film. I love Cusak, I love how cheesy and so appropriate the eighties attire appears, I love that its a story about a kid dealing with family issues, the awkward growing struggles of high school, a rival skier jock, and of course a breakup with the girl he loves. This movie has a great setting, and its execution is understood; cartoons, illustrative clay hamburgers, and again rocket ships flying out of garages?

The film almost doesn’t deserve a rough review; it was made twenty years ago! I like how they go with the theme from the get go; a really fun cartoon; and it’s a COMEDY, right? I mean comedies are different than 'real' films, they don’t get to be critiqued, you cant critique Monty Python's Holy Grail, you cant say Dumb and Dumber was bad because well, (that movie was great, story was believable, you liked the characters because they were hysterically complex), you cant say Seinfeld was a bad show, but there were bad Seinfeld shows, and there are BAD comedies; Liar Liar was hysterical, or better off, Bruce Almighty, was funny, but there was something about it that was just too serious to make it unfunny and somewhat poor in its execution as a Comedy or a Drama, it kind of played both sides of the fence. Better Off Dead was good in the sense that it stuck with hysterical tongue and cheek and knew that it was making fun of high school problems, girl issues, etc.; it committed to its genre. Of all people, I know I wouldn’t be one to accuse for being over the top, because I'm over the top a lot of the time, but I had to fast forward chapters, sometimes it was just plain ridiculous and made me question why I put it in my Netflix Queue.

I wouldn’t recommend it, there are far better films to watch if you want to see a boy dealing with adolescent problems, like Home Alone. However, if you want to watch a film and have a really fun time laughing at its self-referential humor, Better Off Dead is perfect.

For my next post, I will be talking about Film distribution, and where its headed, and my feelings about upholding the theatrical integrity of filmmaking.

Peace

ab

flavin

2005-11-01T16:44:00.000-06:00

movement without motion. the light doesnt 'move,' its not going from one stop sign to another, like a car, but it moves you. you see it and you cant help but go somewhere in your mind.

i went to the Museum of Contemporary Art the other day to see the Dan Flavin exhibit for the third time. third. time. here are some pictures.

on elizabethtown

2005-10-18T01:27:00.000-05:00

10//18//05
Elizabethtown.

What the hell has happened to our filmmaking? Better stated; what the hell has happened to our culture?

I sifted between asking; ‘what the hell has happened to art?’ and ‘what the hell has happened to our culture?’ both very vague questions, perhaps in a list of most vague questions, these would occupy the first couple of slots. I went to go see Cameron Crowes’ new autography ‘Elizabethtown’ tonight with my mom and I have to say I was dumbfounded by this helpless collage. Not dumbfounded in the sense that I was really impressed (even that has such a positive connotation), or surprised, but dumbfounded, impressed, and surprised that a film like this makes it onto screens across America. That I paid money to go sit down at a theater designated for its screening. A film like this impressed me with delusion. Its likeable. Does likeable make great films?

I like the setting. I want to like the characters. Twenty-somethings finding their own way, a family torn by the loss of their friend, husband and father. A girl and a guy meeting on a plane, she gives him first class because she makes a cute comment about not wanting to walk all the way to the back of coach for the whole night. Shes cute, hes handsome, they have cell phones; he goes to the bathroom while she takes a bath while they talk on the phone all night. All of it is very likeable, hes got to get back to his fathers home town and deal with his sudden death before his mother and sister get out there. ‘Before his mother and sister get out there’? What? Is this real? This is actually a selling point to the execs at Paramount?

Okay, so move past the contrived plot momentum and unbelievable chemistry between Orlando (should-have-been-ashton-kutcher-but-didn’t-have-chemistry-with-kirsten) Bloom, and Kirsten Dunst, and look at what we have here as a film from 2005. There are others, there is hope, but this one made it, soon it will have its packaging and its price tag at Best Buy right next to its soundtrack that is readily available now. But, like I said, move past those things, move on, lets really look at the architectural blueprint of this film and see if it moves you without five Ryan Adams songs, or a well played Elton John song. Sure these things are great, I love these artists, I would love to include them in my movies someday, but I wonder if those artists’ art might be better off standing alone. I wonder if the integrity of this film was scratched, or damaged by the accompaniment of other great art? Would an Elizabethtown score have been better? What started as a lonely solution to a need in Crowe’s world one night at a blank page, drifted into a lake that is a billboard for other artists, resume building for actors, ‘film’makers, musicians and the like.

Movies reach an ungodly amount of people through the expanse of their shelf life and companies know this. A logical conclusion might be to expose a brand name here and there, or a song, or a few songs, or many songs that might be able to placed on a soundtrack that could include some of those aforementioned brand names. A logical question could be; ‘Why Not?’

But why?

Creativity attracts.

A blank page becoming something other than blank can be attractive. If the existential blankness of the page is filled correctly.

Its up to you to find out what ‘correct’ means. However, why is it that we think in this culture, we have to attach unnecessarily to art? Why cant it just be appreciated, why cant a story be propelled without the use of cheap emotional ploys? Like I said, all respect to Ryan Adams and Elton John, please, ALL respect to their creative docket. But I’m wondering, after seeing another movie propelled by great marketing, (Crowe’s extensive rolodex), and good song choices, why is there something missing?

Sure I think about Garden State, in fact, I only think about that movie, coupled with this one. Aimless story, only thought to have an aim because we were duped by an emotional ploy; (ie. boy needs to find himself in his fathers death, this happens on a road trip planned out by his alleged soul-mate (that would have taken months), through shots of him crying, laughing, having flashbacks to hanging with his dad, and spreading his ashes.) why wouldn’t we be drawn in to that. You have to like it.

I liked Say Anything a lot, I like Vanilla Sky, I like what he wants to do in this film, I see it, but I wonder, in reference to this genre of films: What makes When Harry Met Sally great, and Elizabethtown questionable?

a

living mundanely

2005-10-13T19:31:00.000-05:00

10/13/05
dempster&chicago. evanston.

‘Im gonna start by saying, it helps for me to give you advice about not touching the hot stove, but you probably wont believe it until you touch it yourself, so why 'learn from other people.’ This is some paraphrased advice I just recently received indirectly.

Today, I got home, read some of my new issue of Esquire, sifting through ‘the hottest girls of the year’ articles, high end fashion ads, and found an article about creationism not affecting science but Christianity, what a box of worms, I’m surprised I have left unopened. I then checked my email and within minutes of beloved peace, my father [Roy] came home. Oh boy did we have fun taking those ready-for-storage (the garage) air conditioning units out of the windows they occupied for the latter half of the summer. Roy usually gets around to the task somewhere in late June after the family has lost a fair amount of weight from sweating and refraining from oven usage. After a sufficient amount of hot weather has struck our poorly insolated house (early October), Roy likes to take the units out before its too cold for him to do it. If they stay in, well, cold air seeps through, and Chris gets mad around 2am every night realizing once again that Roy still hasn’t changed and continues to turn the heat off before he goes to bed during the winter months. Comforters are warm. One doesn’t need heat at night if they have a comforter.

You know, it was a simple task, taking out the air-conditioning units, one of those things you just have to do while you live at home with your parents. Cleaning the dishes, taking out the trash, taking the dogs out (none of which I actually do) and other fun activities involved with good house-keeping. Usually you don’t have to mention them later, they just kind of happen, but I find humor in these things, I see my dad doing mundane tasks like taking air-conditioning units out of the windows and I think, the way he does these things is so him. Of course he would use a wheel-barrel to wheel three air conditioning units out to the garage. I might not have seen a funnier thing than that in a while. The King of Quirkiness would do this. It makes sense for the man who is known for walking backwards into movie theaters to avoid those expensive six-dollar ticket prices.

I guess the only things we have to learn from are the things we learn from. The experiences I go through shape who I am and what I learn is up to me.

On another note, I love that I am reading a book called ‘The War of Art,’ its all about fighting a notion called ‘resistance.’ The idea that there is this force out there that wants not artist to complete any art, the force wants nothing from you but utter failure, and you’ll fail if you let resistance get the best of you. The book, lying facedown on the desk, is unfinished.

Perhaps I like mundane tasks more than I do creative endeavors.

a

a name.

2005-10-07T00:38:00.000-05:00

a
name.

So a friend and I have been talking about names. Not so much about what they mean, but more about living up to them. How does one live up to a name? Phrases like ‘of course my moms name is Deb,’ or ‘of course his name is Roy’ have come up. It just seems fitting sometimes that someones name would be exactly that name. It makes sense a quirky dad who says things like; “so far they still haven’t figured out how to grow animals that don’t go to the bathroom” regarding the dogs not being taken out and finding [stuff] on the floor when he gets home. ‘Ole Roy!’ one might say and never take something like seriously. What if someone told you; ‘you have it, I know I’m right.’ What would one do after hearing something like this? This is a lofty exclamation to live up to.

Do huge musicians hear this when they are younger and start riding the train toward success intentionally or unintentionally? Do actors get told ‘wow, you are great, you’re gonna make it’ and at that moment is instilled in them a virus of success in their playing field? What about the William’s and the Christopher’s and the Elizabeth’s and the Walter’s? are the Walter’s going to be these old acting older men who get really grumpy immediately after waking every morning?

I ask a lot of questions because these are some questions I have been asking. I read a friends (god in ruins) blog about poverty and wondered about this more. Does Jamal become a basketball player or a gang-member because there are other Jamals who have done the same? I realize what stark generalizations are getting expelled by this name-game but we all know what we think when we hear Paul, Ruby-Sue, or Malcom, it may be different among different people groups, but I think we have generally similar thoughts when we hear certain names. You know Tina graduated high school in 1987 and got involved with Guns and Roses shortly after that only to find 15 years later she was an assistant to a huge record exec at some label in Los Angeles. You know Robert grew up in a really wealthy neighborhood and is now working for his dad just waiting to inherit the company only to repeat the cycle 20 years from now with his son Robert III. Just the other night, one of the most rude things occurred right before my eyes. I was waiting on a table and I came out with two waters only to realize that Pedro (the Mexican bus-boy) had already achieved the task. Well, our boy Bernard Lakemaker (young urban professional maybe 35) said in response to my; ‘oh you already have waters.’ “yeah Hernando did a great job, can she get a menu?” Now hold up Bernard, Hernando? What makes you think his name is Hernando? ‘Well’ Bernard might say, ‘hes Mexican, he has a restaurant t-shirt on, and he brought me waters after clearing the table for us.’ Good point, sure, but really what makes it a good point, why is his first assumption that his name would be Hernando? ‘Because all Mexicans are named this,’ he might say. I hope he wouldn’t.

I realize I’m walking on thin ice, talking about these kinds of things. But living up to a name seems to be a theme in civilization for thousands of years. Moses, Abraham, Jesus, Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr?! Marilyn, James, B.B. King. I mean these are huge names to live up to. On the other side of the coin it makes sense that these names would ring a certain note in our minds; Lee Harvey Oswald, Adolf, Napoleon (never overcome by a box-office smash), Capone. Our culture has a certain immuring attraction to these people, to their names.

Sidenote: can we talk about the horrible smooth jazz remake of the Great Stevie Wonder’s I Just Called to Say I Love You. WHAT A DISGRACE. I decided to put on the real version. I cant handle that horrible rendition of such a great song, a song that make any heart swoon despite the cheesy synth loop in the background. A hit of monstrous proportions defecated on like my dog on the floors of our house.

Think about Fiona. Im listening to her (“whos ‘her’ alex? ‘her’ is Fiona Apple, you know this, just by her name) new record, and it is ridiculously powerful. Full of new and unused old sounds recreated to give that voice of hers a warm and lonely tone in our ears. Of course she is a ‘Fiona.’

Whats your name? And how are you living up to it? Begs a couple questions.

i gave her my heart, she gave me a pen.

2005-10-04T11:17:00.000-05:00

A good love story, is a story about love. Regardless of the bad post-80's clothes, weird hair and cassette players, Cameron Crowes 'Say Anything...' is a great coming of age story about a guy becoming a man in love with an untouchable girl. What continues to draw you in about Cusak's quirky overcoat-wearing character is just how abnormally normal he is. Hes not the jock, or the really intelligent nerd in the hallways who everybody makes fun of, or the jerk who you just love to hate. Lloyd Dobler is a good guy who people like, he believes in kickboxing while no one has heard of it, he takes on the role of 'the keyholder' even though he doesnt really want to miss out on the party. He doesnt want to settle for the 'easy' girl, he doesnt want the obvious girl, just right in his league, he shoots for the top. He shoots for Diane Court. Of course her name is Diane, isnt it a great early nineties high-school romance name? But she is Diane, shes not the popular Kimberly, or Samantha, shes sophisticated, smart, a little unpopular but okay with not knowing everyone, yet so intriguing to Lloyd.
What a great recipe for a love story though right? Amidst all the pressures in high school to settle and like the 'hot' girls, or just 'play in your league,' a normal guy who this audience will all relate to, falls in love with the classless beauty. This film is underrated to say the least, getting lost among all those other popular Hughes films. In this Crowe gem, we see summer love develop into something mature, forming a bond that people can relate to. A normal bookworm with a marked up dictionary, finding love with a geeky Clash fan.
A good love story makes love real, real people finding eachother in their differences. Crowe does such a great doing this and we see him struggling through finding his voice as a writer/director, we see him trying different things. He wades through conventionally timeless themes, and shot angles to uniquely dark, and animated story telling techniques. A business man in a bath tub fearing the consequences for his secret money laundering. The shot starts off revealing him cold and scared in a bathtub. One may as 'why' but I ask Why Not? I like this eb and flo, it draws you in, too much fantasy in a realistic story can take one away from its message or its tale. Too little extravagance can create utter boredom and a trip back to the rental store a few minutes in, or in some cases, a drive to the mailbox to await the next movie in the queue.
Good, great. 'Say Anything...' does it for me because I relate to John Cusak riding the current wave of his life. Hes not really sure what is next. This story really shows without telling, we see the characters struggling without heavy dialogue and over dramitization, and this is what makes us fall in love with this story.

fear and the art of message sending

2005-09-30T10:53:00.000-05:00

9/29/05
thursday.
belmont ave.

Sitting in one of the most romanticized parts of Chicago can do nothing but great things for ones creative energy or energy’s. After I felt that, one, not even me could find escape from the ‘cage’ that is Winnetka where I live. I took off from a long lunch at work and rode the EL to one of my favorite parts of Chicago. Belmont avenue. A typically hip and trendy gem located on the north side of this very diverse my-kind-of-town city. I could not have found a better location; I walked off the train to a bookstore and bought Ways of Seeing by John Berger, an artist-writer concerned about the way influences outside, or in, affect how one sees particular pieces of ‘art’ in culture. Why is the Mona Lisa such a “great piece of art?” Moreover how pieces of art like this have gained the entitlement to capitalizing the very title of the work. What do you capitalize in your world? ‘Mom,’ ‘Dad,’ ‘Car,’ ‘Bank Account,’ ‘Art,’ ‘Movie,’ ‘Film,’ (you love capitalizing film, you filmmaker you) ‘Clothes’? The list has no end. Regardless of simple capitalization, these works of art he talks about have been given value with no contention because of the meaning we have placed upon them, and the history they are derived from. And history; lived up to or down, therefore gives the work validation. In some ways, as I write, I feel that I am stepping into territory through which I have no business walking, however, I do know about how I give things validation and meaning.
Ok, but the point is that Van Gogh, Picasso, Monet, Pollack, Elliott Smith, were all saying something, some message, when they were creating their work. What that message was, is highly arguable, considering all of them are dead and I don’t have any articles about them or them commenting about their work next to me.
I have so many thoughts right now, and I realize yet again, that this may be somewhat disjointed but I have thoughts right now about Cat Stevens, one of my favorite writers/poets of the twentieth century. On the front page of his website are the words; “I never wanted to be a star.” Now, I know this sounds a bit off base regarding what I am talking about, I go from Art and the philosophy behind how we view it and now I am talking about the legendary songwriter from the sixties and seventies who now holds group burnings of his records.

“I never wanted to be a star.”

My only response is this, and it is easy and quick, and most are probably thinking it; but why the hell did you ever go into the studio? Why, Cat did you ever sign a management deal, or a record deal when all along, you knew full well these peoples jobs are to make your music heard around the country and hopefully the world. But can you ask those questions? Because you cant ask him why he ever even wrote a word down, or why he picked up a guitar. That would be unfair. You cant ask Van Gogh why he even picked up a paint brush if it was eventually going to lead to his suicide. No. These people did art because it was what made them who they were. I have a hard time believing that Stevens or Van Gogh, or Smith, had an easier time expressing through some other fashion. This was what worked for them and it proved true time and time again. It is said that JD Salinger still writes, but never publishes. How could he not do what his soul needs to do.

This was how these people send messages that could not be withheld, for some reason, the artist paints or writes, or plays, because there is no other means by which he or she is satisfied expressing. So what happens? A gift of God is quickly distorted by popularity and absurd fame, is made an idol upheld upon its bullet-proof platter, rather than a means by which a potential life-changing message is expressed. Its beauty becomes its own deterrent, distraction from its essence, its message.

Berger writes; “[any ‘famous’ work] is no longer what its image shows that strikes one as unique; its first meaning is no longer to be found in what it says, but in what it is.”

For many, an artist no longer is seen as a communicator, but a dictator, who is feared for his fame, wealth, ‘influence’ and respected because the masses respect him.

This is a long, book-worthy topic, Berger thought so. But it is very interesting to think about why things are popular, why we like certain pieces of art. Do you like the Mona Lisa because an obscure man named DaVinci painted it? Or do you like it because of the expression on her face? Neither is a better reason, some may think its more honest to like it for its message, but we must never discount DaVinci, can you paint like that?

Sure, Cat, you never wanted fame, but your messages had to be sent, and they are sent, how they are interpreted is sadly, not up to you.

Those are some thoughts.

ab

good evening nashville

2005-09-22T22:00:00.000-05:00

i arrived in the small town of Nashville today and was picked up by my good friend j. cowart. we had fun at lunch and discussed the potential names of his soon-to-be-birthed son. the pollen still resides in the south, and my northerly adapted system is not a fan. (i dont think 'northerly' is a word, however, 'north' is its root). not a lot of thoughts right now but im a fan of this picture. j took it.

more.

a

muddy pigs

2005-09-19T23:49:00.000-05:00

I don’t know what is worse; your parents getting a divorce, or living at home with them through the whole thing. And, to add to that, why not have them sell the house you grew up in. I think it most certainly is worse living with them through the process. Divorce is a strange phenomenon in our culture. We’ve somehow gotten to a place of reckoning where we frequent the topic often. A popular view of divorce, a most simple quick head-nodding statement, is; divorce is okay in our culture. We are supposed to have no qualms about a friend’s recent decision to break his or her long-standing union apart from their relational counterpart, but inside, we still do. For most, divorce serves as a logical way out. (I’ll check my email now, it avoids having to actually write something thoughtful). (My attention span is so short, I don’t know how I can realistically claim to be a writer, or one who desires to write professionally.) It is normal to include ‘divorce’ as one of options on the problem-solver solution list, because why wouldn’t it be in a communicatively distraught, media inundated, “have it your way,” “my way or the highway,” self-empowering culture? If it is not adding to or benefiting ones career path, wardrobe, or proximity toward a new car, then fuck it; get it out of your life.

But people want to be happy. People are supposed to be happy right? Our lives are supposed to be utterly satisfying. If your waiter didn’t get the appetizers out in time, it is clearly diminishing the level of happiness or satisfaction at the table, so you should complain. “Get off your ass, strike while the iron [you] is [are] hot” and complain about that son-of-a-bitch waiter who cant get ‘anything’ right. Because if the people around you aren’t getting things right, at least like you are, then get rid of them, lose the losers, win the winners. If the hubby, or wifey just isn’t doing it for you like they used to, it must mean that its time to lose them.

We love the phrase; “people change,” but we seem to live by this: “people don’t change.” We believe one, and say the other. There are those youthful years where I thought, ‘this girl is great, but if she were just a little different here, and maybe here, then…’ but most of the time you date this person and find yourself lonely and frustrated because they are not becoming who you wanted them to become, or they aren’t ‘changing.’ Where is this frustration stemming from though? Why do we have these expectations of people? Is it because we expect to be changed? Or believe we will ‘do that when I am are older’? Most likely, that person you are with, will get some more wrinkles, and through some life experience will learn some new things. But for the most part, it seems like people have pretty similar personalities throughout their life.

I’ve been back home as I mentioned earlier, and I am working with all these guys and girls I went to high school with. It is hysterical to see how little all of them have changed, and I look at myself and ask; ‘have I changed?’ I think I have. I think I don’t believe anymore that money is everything, and I think I stopped believing that working in a cubicle or a glorified one overlooking Lake Michigan is worth compromising your dreams for ‘because you can live those after you retire, by golfing or joining a country club.’ I hope I never believe that again, I hope this is not just some phase every Winnetka-reject goes through when they move back here before they slowly find themselves succumbing to the lies they thought they stopped believing. However, it’s easy to get pulled in a bunch of directions. I found myself relating to a dog I saw today being literally tugged forward by its ‘owner,’ yet probably unsure of where it really wanted to go. I think most dogs want to go home, but need to go pee, yet really don’t have the organized thought process to really do that in a way that matches up with the norm set by human beings which entails something called a toilet. This is kind of how it feels in this post-college ‘no-direction’ direction’ stage, being tugged toward a nice porcelain toilet in a mansion overlooking Lake Michigan immured in ‘success,’ yet not sure what home to look for, you know its in ‘that’ direction, and it smells kind of like ‘this’ but, where to find it, not sure.

Just like a young college grad being tugged around, so are the old divorcees, aimless and checking their pulse. The only change comes through a true traveling to the depths of ourselves, and asking for it. Think about a muddy pig. How can it clean itself without the farmer coming over and taking it out of its trough and spraying its ass with a hose. Sometimes, in situations like these ones, I feel like a pig, just getting more and more muddy. Get on the highway, look for a farm, and find a farmer. He’ll clean you.

I love cheesy word pictures. Youth pastors use those a lot.

I think the summary is finding out that life sucks sometimes, and so do the people around us, but the easy way out is not always the easiest in the long run. :)

Ok, im tired.

a

a sufjan night

2005-09-17T02:33:00.000-05:00

tonight i witnessed something great, sufjan stevens and the illinoisemakers entertained the quaint 1000+ metro crowd, complete with noisemaker garb and those uniquely sufjanesque heavenly voices.

i have been finding a lot of things i love around chicago lately, things that i havent really explored for a long time, almost since grade school probably. i found myself at the art institute twice this week, venturing into the depths of its aged, priceless work-filled quarters, and finding its eerily quiet walls, loud with varied personality.

heres to my first post. i love that being an excuse for its brevity. lame.