Voter Rights?!!!!?!?!?!

Every time I have voted in this city, I have felt disabled and disempowered. I don't require a lot of assistance or aids to cast my vote, but what I do need is a large-print, legible ballot, and a clear source of light. How hard is that? How difficult is that to provide to New Yorkers? In a city that prides itself on accessibility and equal access, the voting procedure (at least in my district) is a glaring red FAILURE.

I walk in to the church that is my polling place. It's pretty empty, which is somewhat surprising. I except something between the two hour wait of the presidential election, and the pin drop silence of the primaries.

Anyway, I walk in and show my registration card and ask, "hi there, is there a large print ballot?". I am pointed to my district table, and I ask the same question. I am greeted woh utter grace by the woman at the table, who sits there and gruffly asks, "Ehat? You can't see?" I'm so appalled by her lack of sensitivity and awareness that I choose not to dignify her question with an answer. Instead, I'm told, no, there are no large print ballots, but two people can come in to the booth to read the ballot to me. No thank you. I choose to use my own reading glasses, but am again flabbergasted when I see that the ballot has you bubble the candidates in. A scantron form. Like the one on the SATs. At this point, I am livid. I look around. There other constituents voting are all easily septuagenarians---at least. Many of them are also having trouble.

I don't typically find myself in a position where I'm asking for help. Indeed, I try to avoid these situations. But when I do find myself in these instances, I would really appreciate it if people refrained from being condescending and judgemental assholes. Sure, I didn't like these old crones' attitudes, but it cuts deeper than that: I fiercely and passionately believe in the right to suffrage. It is a privilege and civil duty. Yet, by making it such a challenge, the government is providing a disincentive to vote. It shouldn't be this hard or upsetting. I know I am not the only one who has faced challenges this Tuesday, and I want to do something about it.

Selfcare

I slipped up.

Over the summer, I had been going to the gym all the time, and I introduced yoga to my repertoire this fall. Both of these pursuits were to relieve stress and tension, as well as being healthier in general. I felt great! Any anxiety or nerves I was feeling melted away once I worked up a sweat and felt that endorphin rush.

Well, I've been busy writing midterm papers and working on a research project. I've lagged behind in my exercise routine. It's probably been 2 or 3 weeks since I've been to the gym, and longer since yoga.

I was feeling tense and moody last night and this morning (hello, lovely lady hormones!) and decided to go to yoga. I go to Yoga to the People on st. Marks. I love it! They offer Power Vinyasa Flow yoga. While it still focuses on the breath as all yoga does, it is quite a WORKOUT. When I leave, I am shaking and sweating all over. But I still feel peaceful and centered.

I went today and was reminded of the importance of self care. Even though I have been much less stressed than I was think summer (thank God), it's still important to take the time for oneself. My other ritual is going to Trivia with Nathan at Full Circle Bar. But that's our couples time. What makes yoga and going to the gym so powerful for me (aside from the endorphin kick!) us that I can be wholeheartedly selfish and narcissistic and focus on myself. But not focus on any of my issues--these are times I can take to relax and release. I realize how important it is to keep up with these routines--even at the best of times. Otherwise, it is all too easy to let the stress creep up and consume you.

Lou Reed

So I've been really torn-up about Lou Reed.

The death of public figures usually doesn't upset me. Their lives haven't affected mine, not personally at least, merely in the way they shape
culture. Typically, I reserve grieving only for people I know. That changed when I heard of Christopher Hitchens' death. I knew he was very ill, but the news gig like a thunderbolt as I sat in a taxi to Paris CDG--the worst airport in the world. I immediately began sobbing. He seemed like such a genuine and earnest human being, and I was shocked he was gone.

Anyway, back to Lou Reed. On Sunday afternoon, I was sitting in Nathan's family childhood home in New Jersey, talking to his grandparents. Nathan casually and silently passes me his phone: a text from Pete: LOU REED IS DEAD. OMG. I immediately Google on my phone, and it's true. I can't believe it. He was only 71. All of this happens without breaking conversation with the grandparents, so my shock is silent.

But it doesn't really hit me until later, when we start listening to Velvet Underground and solo Lou Reed songs. It's then that I realize how far back I go with Lou.

Listening to something off of Velvet Underground, I think Pale Blue Eyes, I suddenly remember being seventeen and listening to the same song as we toured college campuses. I think it was either Haverford or Swarthmore. I don't remember much else from the trip, but I recall pulling up a verdant drive and passing some school's arboretum as the Velvet Underground played.

My initial exposure to Lou Reed is via the Velvet Underground, when I'm 16 or so, and initially discovering rock music. This discovery came alongside that of (oddly enough) Belle as Sebastian, Joy Division, and the Smiths.

Later I got into his solo work, specifically Transformer and his most cracked-out album, Street Hassle.

When I graduated high school, a close family friend pulled some strings and got us tickets to the sold-out lecture Lou Reed was giving at the Warhol museum. It was incredible. Sure, he looked more like the principal from the Breakfast Club than the Rock n Roll Animal, but it was incredible nonetheless. I did ask a question during Q&A. About poetry. And I had some books signed. It is a really special memory, and certainly the coolest graduation present I have ever received.


When I first met Nathan and we exchanged mix cd's (as couples do early in their relationship), the CD he made for me included the Velvet Underground b-side "She's my Best Friend" which previously I had not heard.

The list goes on, ad nauseum. Beyond the personal connection I feel, I think New York has lost someone special. Rarely has an artist identified so strongly with the aesthetic and ethos of a city, as Lou Reed did New York. Maybe one day Laurie Anderson will pull a Yoko and commission a Lou Reed "Strawberry fields". It's highly unlikely, and I honestly wonder what a formal memorial to him would look like, given that his works are marked by beyond innovative, anti-establishment, and against the grain. I'll conclude my ramblings on the topic to note that the world has lost a thoroughly unique soul.

The Sounds of Spring

As I convalesce at home with a sprained ankle, (and get some end-of-semester work done), I find myself reflecting upon the music I return to in spring. When I was in Paris last year, once the weather got really nice, I'd take long perambulations with no particular direction or endpoint. My iPhone (really a glorified iPod while in Europe due to lack of function as a phone) was my constant companion. The music I listened to imbued an emotional depth of my surroundings--often jubilant, sometimes pensive. I think that's one of the reasons we have such a profound connection to music, as a society--there is an emotive quality there. "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars" was the first David Bowie album that really clicked with me. I discovered it in junior or senior year of high school, I' certain when exactly. I had always appreciated glam aesthetics--the makeup, outfits, androgyney, and theatrics--but I had never really listened to the music. The album, track for track, resonated with me. I have since gone on to love many other Bowie albums--pretty much everything until "China Girl"--as well as his stage presence, use of persona and performativity to constantly reinvent himself. As great as the other albums are, I always come back to "Ziggy Stardust", and usually in the spring or summer. I'm not certain why I have a seasonal attachment to it, but I just feel it's a perfect summer album. "Ziggy Stardust" is not the only album I think is perfectly matched to warmer weather. what else? Of The Rolling Stone's catalogue, I'd select Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street. I also tend to come back to my two favorite Pulp albums as the weather warms--"His'n'Hers" and "Different Class". The Electric Light Orchestra (specifically "A New World Record", but really any album) is well-suited to relaxing outside, but honestly, I love some ELO during any time of the year. As there is music appropriate for the warmer months, there are also choice tunes for the cold. I always retreat to Dylan, the Smiths, and Simon and Garfunkel in the colder months ("Hazy Shade of Winter", anyone?). When I lived in Paris, portability of music was key. When I'm at home, however, I prefer to enjoy my music on vinyl. It's not just an affectation--I truly believe the format improves the quality of music--especially music recorded specifically for release on vinyl. When I first listened to Bowie, the Stones, and the Beatles (among many others), I first heard them on digital transfer. Some are better than others, but with the worst of the bunch (I'm looking at you, downloaded copy of "Exile on Main Street"), the music sounded tinny and shallow. The other thing I really love about vinyl is that the format compels you to listen to an album straight through, without skipping around. There's a purity of form in listening to a piece as the artists intended. Contemporary society is so hung up on instant gratification (I admit I'm quite the guilty party myself!), that often we just want to skip to our favorite songs. Listening to the whole album enables us to engage with the artist, and to participate in the cultural experience.

Megabus misadventures part deux

I've written before about a VERY funny trip courtesy of Megabus before. Well, I'm back on one of their coaches, and I have an amusing story to tell. This time, instead of a misogynistic control freak driver, we have a rather jolly older fellow who has a flair for drama.

So, on our bus the latch to the bathroom is stuck. If you are in the
restroom and try to lock the door, it may just get stuck that way and you could end up stuck in the bathroom! Our driver recommended not locking the door, and simply knocking to see if it is in use. The doors on the restrooms have a tendency to swing around, so I could definitely see someone getting an unwelcome and haunting visual in this situation.

Our driver just embellished this news with a personal anecdote. About a year ago, the same issue with the bathroom door occurred. However this time, he locked himself in! He managed to get help from a passenger, who asked "where's the driver?". The voice from the interior of the bathroom replied "I AM THE DRIVER" à la Star Wars, and the subsequent silence was deafening. He instructed the passenger where the key was, and managed to extricate himself from the locked lavatory.

To quote the immortal Gilda Radner, "It's always something!"--I don't think she had Megabus in mind when she coined the phrase, but it certainly is applicable.

Duck Soup

Yesterday, we decided last-minute (VERY last minute) to see the Marx Brother's Duck Soup playing on the big screen. I had watched many Marx Brothers films as a child on vacation (we had several on VHS-- A Night At The Opera and Animal Crackers are two favorites), but had never seen this particular title.

It had been approximately 15 years since i'd seen a Marx Brothers film. As a kid, I relished the slapstick physical humor, especially Groucho's dances and everything Harpo. The finer points of some of the dialogue were lost upon me.

Duck Soup struck me as utterly refreshing. I couldn't believe how well the dialogue and material held up. It remains funny--SO funny, in fact. I also couldn't believe how daring it was. For 1933 there were a lot of overt sex jokes! Perhaps my favorite scenes were Harpo showing off his tattoos as a case of mistaken identity with Groucho, Harpo, and Chico all dressed as Groucho. Seeing it has prompted me to want to rewatch my old favorites (nothing can top the "Hello, I Must Be Going" song and dance from Animal Crackers) and discover new features I haven't seen. Also, I need to check out "You Bet Your Life" Groucho's TV show.

Perhaps what struck me the most about Duck Soup is that I really noticed the profound influence that Groucho had on one of my other favorites, Woody Allen. Although Allen makes this overt my name-checking their films several times (and by ning one of his films "Everyone Says I Love You", this is most evident to me in the dialogue and slapstick. While watching the film, I kept having déjà vu of "Love and Death". Some of the physical humor is also a clear influence on another great, Mel Brooks. Therefore, I think a double, if not triple, feature is in order!

Amazing building

On our way to brunch on Bond St, where i'd never been before, we passed the most exquisite building. It looks like it's either offices or apartments. It's like something out of Mucha and Klimt's art nouveau fever dreams!

Cultural spelunking

If I don't do something culturally relevant once a week or so (okay, since grad school hit, once every two weeks), I feel under-stimulated. By this, I mean going to a museum, gallery; local festival or celebration, or seeing an independent/artsy film. I'm talking about getting out in my community and engaging with the pop cultural artistic output.

The weekend before last, I took a long-awaited trip to MoMa, the museum of modern art. There is currently a Japanese art and design show that finishes up late in february, and I'd been eager to see it since i first heard about it in October. I only have pictures of the exterior, as photography wasn't permitted inside. The show dealt with art emerging from Tokyo between 1950 and 1970. Fascinating! Asian art is an area where my knowledge is lacking, so I entered the museum with a mind to get schooled. I was familiar with only two of the artists-- Yayoi Kusama (whose retrospective I have incidentally and accidentally seen in three countries, but that's another story) and Terayama, an avant garde film director. The show was a treat! A lot of the pieces dealt with the direct aftermath of the war: Hiroshima, cultural trauma, and a rapidly changing society. A lot of the works featured fantastical, amorphous forms that you just don't see a lot in western art, apart from the likes of Hieronymous Bosch. If you're in NYC, definitely check this show out! MoMa Is also doing a corresponding film series.

An unexpected surprise while at MoMa was their show about abstraction, running until April I believe. Lots of Kandinsky, Mondrian; and a painter named Kupka. The latter is truly a great painter, utilizing bright kaleidoscopic colors and geometric rays. However, his name is hilarious. See, in Polish "Kupka" (pronounced just like the artists name) means poop. So there you have it!

Another VERY special treat at MoMA is the copy of Edvard Munch's The Scream on view. It's not the best or most iconic copy of the work, but hey, it's The Scream, i'll take what I can get--it pretty much never leaves Norway. The real treat of this was that when I looked at the exhibition site, I was expecting to see JUST The Scream. Oh, no. There were prints of Madonna and Child, and The Vampire, and about ten other works. It was just TOO COOL! So, if you're in NYC or planning to come in soon and are a spectator of the arts, do take a visitor MoMA!

Reflections upon high school

I have had two experiences this year of working in the New York City public school system, and last year I taught English in a high school in the Parisian suburbs. All of these experiences have led me to reflect critically upon my own high school experience, especially upon the varying rates of "social problems" seen in all these schools, specifically teen pregnancy and violence within the schools.

When I refer to "my" high school, I'm actually talking about where I completed my junior and senior year of high school. I had transferred from a very small, sheltered private school to a large public school that served many diverse populations in Pittsburgh. I quickly normalized to my new environment. Walking through metal detectors every day was annoying, but bearable. I understood it was for my own safety, and indeed, I did feel safer. I even became friendly with the security guards. I became used to seeing heavily pregnant girls walk the halls, and hear of fights that broke out daily. Although this happened in my school environment, I was rather removed from all this. There were three tracks in my school: gifted, college prep, and mainstream. Nearly all my classes were in the gifted program. All the pregnancies and fighting occurred among the mainstream kids. Furthermore, the three separate tracks unfortunately divided along racial lines. Fired students were all white, college prep was a mix of black and white, and mainstream was pretty much all black. Additionally, all of the bathrooms smelled like smoke. None of the locks on the stalls worked, and the staff took to locking the bathrooms during class so students couldn't sneak off and cut class there.

Despite all this, I never felt like I went to a particularly troubled school. I had wonderful teachers whom I forged strong bonds with, and with whom I communicate to this day (hi there JMS!)

Neither of the two schools in New York have metal detectors. Indeed, the principals at both schools consider the use of metal detectors as barbarous and akin to a police state within the school. In my first school, there was an upsurge of teen pregnancy in the freshman and sophomore classes. Although I absolutely promote sexual health advocacy, it was hard for me to be shocked at this news. Certainly, there was a much higher rate of teen pregnancy in my own high school. In Pittsburgh. Enough to necessitate a child rearing class (called Human Development, which initially I thought was a psychology class, but really it taught how to bottle feed and change diapers). Then I think about how we received no comprehensive sex education whatsoever at my school. In my health class, we discussed cardiovascular health and exercise, but nary a mention of healthy sexuality. It could have been because the teacher's wife was pregnant at the time, and perhaps it was a touchy subject. Still, there is no excuse. At my first school this year, we kept asking whether we could distribute condoms to student. However, we were told we had to go through a special training to be able to do so, one which my supervisor never arranged. Why can't they just do what they did in France and have condom dispensers (like vending machines) in the hallways?

I was shocked when I got to my new school. Even though students hail from the same low income areas as my former school, there is a paucity of teen pregnancy. Fights don't erupt daily as they did both in my own high school and in my first school this year. I don't know what the difference is. Perhaps because this school has a higher ranking by the Board of Ed, students are more motivated to complete work and more engaged with academics.

I reflect on these differences often these days. I find myself thinking "was my own high school really that bad?" I think no, given that I still had a positive experience there and I firmly believe any academic opportunity is shaped by what the individual puts into it. However, what I do find troubling is that all these issues (pregnancy, violence, race division) were out in the open, and yet nobody was having an engaged dialogue about them. Who knows, maybe the faculty and staff were. I have a friend who would reiterate "this school makes you racist!" I certainly don't agree with that. No such power should be given to a social context. People make themselves racist, not their environment. However, what a refreshing surprise it is to see how integrated all the high schools I have worked in have been. Fighting and pregnancy are no longer "the black students problem"; they are EVERYONE's problem, as they should rightfully be. Furthermore,I was very happy that in my new school we've had professional development meetings to discuss academic disparities between the white community and African American and Latino counterparts. These types of issues (and the cultural differences inherent in these communities) need to be actively addressed by the school. School environments have the unique opportunity to combat prejudice, discrimination, and fighting from within.

Epic Megabus Time

I find myself, as I often do, on a Megabus. If you've ever had the distinct pleasure of riding on one of these carriages, you will know that there are good drivers and bad drivers. Nice drivers and stern ones. Drivers that play wonderful wake-up music (like this song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9Lf6n1sTPM) at each destination, and drivers who say nothing at all as you disembark.

Well, today, ladies and gentlemen, I have had a truly unique transportation experience. Even before we started moving, our driver tells us, "if you have a connecting bus, call and cancel now. Weather is bad, and I am not on a schedule. I am paid by the hour. I will not be killing all of you and myself to get you there on time!" I understand the sentiment, but wasn't that rather brusque? Just the tip of the iceberg!


Then, he informs us that it is utterly prohibited to remove our shoes on the bus. If he catches us without our shoes, he will pull over, eject us from the vehicle, and call the nearest state trooper to arrest us. The rationale of the shoe rule is that on other busses, passengers have been injured by flying shoes. Would that not be just as much the onus of the driver? If shoes are FLYING, I think the issue is less that people have removed then, and more how the driver is manning his vehicle.

I digress.
As one awaits departure upon a Megabus, the driver either shows a video or gives a speech containing safety information, much like the preflight message on an airplane.

This driver showed the video and decided to add a little somethin' special.

On the PA system, he tells us "DO NOT LEAVE URINE ALL OVER THE TOILET SEAT. NOBODY WANTS TO SIT DOWN ON A STRANGER's URINE" reasonable enough, I guess?, but doesn't that go without saying? He also gave us this gem: "LADIES: IF YOUR MONTHLY FRIEND IS VISITING, CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES AND DO NOT LEAVE BLOOD ON THE FLOOR OF MY BATHROOM".
At this point, a passenger cries out and says what we're all thinking: "Enough! I don't need to hear this. I want to enjoy my ride"
Now it gets interesting.
The driver: "YOU ARE BEING RUDE. YOU DO NOT TELL ME HOW TO DO MY JOB. I HAVE BEEN WORKING THIS JOB LONGER THAN ANY OF YOU HAVE BEEN WORKING YOUR JOBS. I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DISRESPECT ME. IF YOU ARE RUDE TO ME AGAIN, I WILL PULL OVER, LEAVE YOU ON THE HIGHWAY, AND CALL THE POLICE"

My imagination does wonder what kind of legal clout this driver has. Not that I'm going to test it!

Life Lessons from Joe Strummer

Today, my mantra is the song "I'm Not Down" by The Clash from their seminal album London Calling. I've been singing the chorus and humming the melody in my head all day. The song is a fast-paced, peppy ode to perseverance in the face of adversity from the original punk troublemakers.


The succinct and catchy chorus goes like this:
"I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out
But I'm not down, No I'm not down
I've been shown up, but I've grown up
And I'm not down, No I'm not down!"

I'm sure The Clash were probably writing this about class warfare, battling police brutality and the Thatcher regime. Nevertheless, I think he lyrics are vague enough that one can apply them to many situations.

These are the most moving, and to me, the most identifiable set of lyrics:

So I have lived, that kind of day
When none of your sorrows will go away
Go down and down and hit the floor
Down and down and down some more
Depression
But I know, there'll be some way
When I can swing everything back my way
Like skyscrapers, rising up
Floor by floor, I'm not giving up


It's probably also the most personal stanza for the group, because if I'm not mistaken, Joe Strummer (the lead singer and lyricist) struggled tremendously with depression throughput his life.

Sometimes disco cheers me up after a tough day. Sometimes The Smiths do. Today, it's the fierce (yet hopeful) indignation and perseverance of The Clash!


Hopefully this link will work. Currently typing this post on my phone, so who knows.
Take a listen and enjoy!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyUsJWO-7jM

Clearly this is the BEST TEXTBOOK EVER

I typically don't talk about school here, but this was too good not to share. So, I switched out of my Practice in Alcoholism and Chemical Dependency class and into a class called Human Sexuality, mainly for scheduling reasons. And the sexuality class had been full when I first registered, but alas! there was one opening.
ANYWAY, one of the textbooks for this class is AMAZING. It has a very sexy cover, therefor I will not be carrying it around with me. The pictures inside though, are the real treat. Typically, standard textbooks are full of silly stock images. Not this one! A scene from American Pie is used to illustrate "the talk". Margaret Cho is used to illustrate...something. Seriously I have no idea why there's a photo of her. Multiculturalism? Sure. There's also a photo of a young Barry Obama with his Caucasian grandparents that illustrated biracialism. Whatever the reason, the photos speak for themselves!

Trainspotting Revisited

I found myself re-watching Danny Boyle's 1996 film Trainspotting last night. I had first seen it about seven or eight years ago, and had not revisited it since. Upon my first viewing, my impressions were that although I liked the visual style, I didn't find it funny and felt very conflicted by the way it presented heroin use. My initial impression was that it made heroin use seem not only cool, but that it presented kicking the habit as not such a big deal. Well, now I'm older and (presumably) wiser, and my feelings about the film have changed. First of all, the cinematography. It is shot SO WELL, as evidenced by several choice screen captures I present here. There are some really unique camera angles and points of view-perhaps best evidenced by the scene in which Mark overdoses. Second of all, the film is indeed very funny. Let me clarify--the heroin use itself is not funny, not at all, but the dialogue is razor-sharp. The juxtaposition of these characters shooting up in a decrepit shooting gallery while engaging in a high-brow discussion of the merits of various James Bond actors and films is indeed, very funny. There's a dissonence that occurs between what the characters are saying--how they engage with one another--, and what their are doing, i.e. perhaps the single most self-destructive pastime. Furthermore, I realize now just how ballsy the premise and style of the film is in the first place: a comedy....about heroin addicts....created in the midst of the AIDS epidemic!?!?! What's even more surprising is that it works. And like so much comedy (and black comedy especially) I think the tone of the film acts as relief to the utter bleakness and despondency of addiction. The humor makes the film palpable. Without it, the narrative of addicts in mid-90's Edinburgh could be any other cliché moralizing piece. The lack of moralizing whatsoever is one thing which makes this film so refreshing (I know, the irony is not lost on me that I'm referring to a 17-year old film as 'refreshing', but it is a testament to how well the picture has held up over time). Nevertheless, are the film's ethics shaky? Absolutely. Although I can now wholeheartedly call it a great film (and increase my Netflix rating from two to five stars), I am nevertheless still somewhat uneasy about the tone of the work with regards to heroin and addiction. I slightly worry what impressionable minds would think when seeing this film. Yes, it does present the horrors of addiction (most notably in the dead baby and Tommy's death), however, it does so with tongue firmly planted in cheek. I want to believe that audiences will be able to recognize the cynical tone of the film, and realize that it's not advocating drug use, just as I hope audiences would register the cynicism in Natural Born Killers. But I know that unfortunately, that isn't the case. The problem arises because the characters are very funny. Some might say hip. Yet, they're also addicts. I think it's challenging for the viewer to mitigate between these different aspects of the characters. Despite the complicated attitude towards addiction, Trainspotting is a great film. It's hard to believe it's 17 years old, because it is still relevant and fresh to this day. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it If you have seen it, I recommend a re-viewing!

Portrait of a film's (in)completion

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/13/magazine/here-is-what-happens-when-you-cast-lindsay-lohan-in-your-movie.html?pagewanted=all


This article is, hands down, one of the best pieces of journalism I have read in quite a while. Echoing the New Journalism of Tom Wolfe, Rodrick deftly illustrates the chaos that surrounds a film set. This is not just any film set either; it is the set of The Canyons, the Paul Schrader directed piece about sexual disillusionment and depravity in California--written by Bret Easton Ellis, no less, who himself is quite the authority on such subjects. The article centers around the director and crew's struggles with the film's star--Lindsay Lohan. More than this, though, the article illustrates what happens when several highly opinionated, uncompromising individuals, each with their own artistic vision, collide.

Even before I'd read this article, i'd heard about this film, and was in awe of it. It could either turn out great or awful. Schrader is known for pushing envelopes and exploring the dark side of the human psyche (he did write Taxi Driver, after all) and his choice to cast Lohan could be a stroke of genius. Her story is truly a modern-day tragedy--here is someone who had so much early promise and talent, and suddenly fell from grace in a very public fashion. That's why I think she was the perfect choice to play Linda Lovelace (at point point there were two Lovelace biopics in production--one which took a very Andrea Dworkin victimizing spin of the story, and the other which showed Lovelace as not only victim, but also active player in her own demise. The latter film was the one set to star Lohan, and that's the one that was pulled.

Anyway, I can't wait for this film to come out! Moreover, this Times piece is simply riveting. If there were enough material for a book, I would read it in a heartbeat. This shows, without a hint of glamour, the bedlam and dysfunction behind the screen.

On a final note, if you haven't seen any Paul Schrader films, I can't recommend his work enough. To be honest, I haven't seen a tremendous number of his films, but what I have seen has left quite an impression upon me. 1979's Hardcore is such a film. Starring George C. Scott, Hardcore is Schrader's semi-autobiographical tale of a staunch Calvinist father from the Midwest in search of his runaway daughter in the seedy underbelly of the Valley during the height of the pornography boom. It's a beautiful, nuanced portrait of a man in crisis, whose core values are out of pace in the modern world.

Hot diiggity dog!

As you probably know if you either know me or read this blog, I'm a huge animal lover. Especially a dog lover. So when I saw these two dogs in front of my local bodega, I couldn't help but smile and snap a picture or two. One dog was on a leash (the little Pomeranian who faces the camer) and the other dog was tied up in front of the bodega. The Pom desperately wanted to meet and greet the tied up canine, so it would stand on its' hind legs and make treading water motions with its front paws. TOO CUTE.


Although people in New York truly love their dogs (and show their affection by putting sweaters, coats, and booties on them) it's a very different cultural approach than the French take to their canine companions. In France, dogs are truly treated as members of the family, and they accompany their owners to the supermarket, on mass transit, and to restaurants and bars. I miss seeing little dogs on the train! I'm sure one of the reasons we don't see this kind of thing in America is a sanitary issue; dogs have been known to roll around in their own filth, attract parasites, and potentially spread disease, so it makes sense why restaurant proprietors (and the health department) would want to keep this element out of an area where food is prepared and consumed. Nevertheless, I still miss seeing little buddies everywhere! Despite what you may have heard about a reputation for aloofness, in my experience, when you approach a French person with their dog (and as I always do, ask to pet it!) they couldn't be warmer or more gracious!

Is the Limelight a Yuppie parable of the American Dream?

I was in Chelsea running an errand for someone and I passed the Limelight. In case you don't know, the Limelight is an old deconsecrated church which was an infamous nightclub in the early 1990's; home of the "club kid" movement (as portrayed in the film Party Monster) and temple to hedonism unbound--given the allegedly limitless flow of cocaine and Ecstasy. And pray tell, what now is the Linelight? A high-end mini mall. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. I view this as a progression of degradations and perversions. I am no moralist (perish the thought!) and yet, I find the transformation of this building twisted. I find the shopping mall even more base than the nightclub. I am certain that the transformation of a once-holy space into a paradise of pleasure (in both of its modern iterations) was fully deliberate. Yet I feel a certain malaise about this. The gorgeous churchyard lays bare--it looks like what the French would call a bosquet, or small grove, is now a stomping ground for the homeless. I feel this building curiously functions as a parable for the American Dream-- perhaps the American dream of the yuppie generation. Of course the American dream as we know it is pure mythology, yet it informs so much of our literature and our cultural signifiers. Perhaps this structure is a testament to transformation, reconstruction, and ultimately, narcissism--all themes present in perhaps the greatest work centered around this concept-- The Great Gatsby. Yet the American dream is ultimately a myth in Gatsby'a world--his grandiosity cannot save him in the end--and I see an odd, bittersweet parallel in the strange odyssey of this building. Then again, maybe a building is just a building. ;-)



UPDATE: I actually went inside when I was walking back (okay, I'm still inside now) and boy, is it worse than I could have ever thought. Pumping dubatep music, this place is a furious sea of pleather and sequins. Bandage dresses galore! Moisturizer made with tiny bits of gold! And it's pretty much completely EMPTY. Also, the interior design is a mess, with staircases jutting around everywhere (but not in a cool MC Escher kind of way) which leads to complete disorientation. And instead of working with the great vaulted arches already here, they are clashed with stark black and white staircases at odd angles and multiple mezzanines. Is this the apotheosis of our culture, America? I sure hope not! This place is, in many ways, such a symbol of conspicuous consumption. I feel like you'd never see this kind of thing (in a former church, anyway) on any other continent. Is this ingenuity and innovation or a signifier of corruption and capitalism?

Lincoln, Lincoln, I've been thinkin'....

Well, hello hello to the blogosphere! It's been quite a long time since my last post. I've moved back across the pond, back across several time zones, and back to school. This space, however, will not be filled with the drivel and woes of my academic experiences. No one wants to read that, not even I do. Instead, I'm going to keep doing what I do best: discuss and analyze pop culture from the heights of high-brow to the gutters of low-brow. Today I present to you: my musings upon Lincoln I had been anticipating this film for quite a few years, from before DDL had signed on, and Spielberg's first choice for the role was Liam Neeson. I love Liam Neeson, and I was sad to see him leave the project, but I also have great admiration for DDL and thought he'd do a great job. There was a lot of hype surrounding the film, but I waited to see it until it had been out for about a month, never really feeling quite in the mood for it, and deferring to see comedies instead. Nevertheless, I really wanted to love it. I entered the theater with high hopes, and left in a manner I have seldom done before--early. I found it hard to believe that a piece by an auteur like Spielberg could be simultaneously skull-numbingly boring, and nausea-inducing schmaltzy. The opening scene shows Lincoln speaking to some soldiers on a battlefield, one black and one white. One of the soldiers mentions that he had been present during the delivery of the Gettysburg Address, and Lincoln asks him if he recalls any bits of the speech. The soldier proceeds to recite verbatim the speech, and he is soon joined by the other soldier in unison. Scenes like this speak more to the mythology of Lincoln than of his character as a man; a leader; caught in a great struggle. Day-Lewis's performance is indeed extraordinary, as really all of his performances are. He has such a transformative ability as an actor. Nevertheless, it's not enough to carry this ship to harbor. As we watch Lincoln struggle to pass the 13th Amendment and thereby end the Civil War, we are introduced to a host of secondary characters whose roles and place are barely defined. Even though so much of the film is devoted to ideological discussions, the sides and beliefs of the other politicians presented remain murky at best. Rarely do I decide to leave a movie early. Usually, if ever, it only happens if I or my companions are feeling unwell (see this fall's viewing of The Holy Mountain). However, when my significant other fell asleep during the picture, and then told me that he was enjoying the sleep just as much if not more than the film(and this is coming from someone who attended film school and works professionally with the medium), I knew it was time to go. I also figured I had a pretty good inkling of how this story was going to turn out.... Next up: my musings on other recent films I've seen, such as Django Unchained, Les Misérables, and Silver Linings Playbook.