Alive

Pimposterous: Unbelievably smooth.
His outfit is totally pimposterous!

Yes, I'm still alive, whether you like it or not. So let's catch up, yeah?

I must say I’ve felt kind of funny this weekend. Besides general loopiness caused by sleep deprivation and the anxiety of the future, I finished the last episode of Freaks & Geeks this afternoon and felt seriously unsettled. The last ten minutes left my mouth watering for more, but there was nothing left to eat.

Will Lindsay get caught for following the Grateful Dead tour instead of going to the academic summit? Was there weird sexual tension between her and Mr. Rosso, or is it just me? Is Daniel a geek now that he’s playing Dungeons and Dragons with the boys? Is Cindy Sanders going to murder Sam in his sleep for dumping her? So does this mean that Nick likes disco now? What’s that all about? So many questions and not an answer in sight. Such is life.

In case you’re interested at all, I wrote a review of Inglourious Basterds recently. It wasn’t published or anything, just for practice. Here:

It’s amusing to imagine the loud (and explicit) expressions of joy that must have come from the Weinstein brothers’ mouths last weekend as Inglourious Basterds knocked out anticipated box office predictions. Their golden boy had done it again, and perhaps that’s because Quentin Tarantino is paradoxically uninterested in the kind of calculated success so much of the industry foams over.

The director’s image constantly seems to be evolving—just when you think he must be as maniacal as the characters he creates, he goes and guest-judges something as family friendly as American Idol. It is clear Tarantino is not afraid to take risks with his own artistic image and body of work, which is apparent in his latest picture. Two foreign languages, a number of unknown European actors and not a Jheri curl in sight could have been a disastrous formula. Diehard QT fans may have been bored by too much war history and not enough jive while skeptics hoping for something new from the auteur felt the film still reeked of Tarantino. But hell, it worked.

Basterds parallels two stories of characters seeking the same revenge against Nazis—a girl named Shosanna whose family was murdered under the command of Colonel Landa and a squad of Jewish-American soldiers aiming to live up to their infamy. Their plots collide when Shosanna, played by graceful French actress Mélanie Laurent with the unfortunate resemblance to The Hills star Heidi Montag, decides to host a Nazi propaganda film premiere at her theater in Paris, which the Basterds infiltrate by posing as an Italian camera crew, explosives strapped to their ankles.

The historical war genre is new for Tarantino, but the action-comedy-gross-out hybrid is not. And do not fear, his signature is still very legible. In addition to the use of juxtaposed music like David Bowie, the film employs some old gags the viewer is sure to recognize. There’s something undeniably wonderful about seeing the name “Hugo Stiglitz” in big, bright, porn star letters.

Another familiar element that seems more pronounced in this film than in his others is the self-reflexivity of movies and their making. Besides the chemistry lesson on the flammability of celluloid film base, courtesy of Samuel L. Jackson, and the character of the British film critic, Inglourious Basterds is sprinkled with obscure references to early German filmmakers (is he talking about Pabst Blue Ribbon?). The climax even takes place in a theater with an audience mirroring our own delightful, trance-like state, except that they’re, you know, evil Nazis. When Shosanna’s face hijacks the screen as she informs the clueless viewers that they’re about to die then devilishly laughs, I was half-waiting for someone to scream, “Fire!” in German.

This similar kind of direct communication from character to audience is of course evident in the last few moments of the film as Lieutenant Raine carves a swastika into Colonel Landa’s forehead, the two men staring deeply into the camera. Raine tells the Bear Jew “I think this could be my masterpiece.” By the way all fifteen rows behind me were cheering, it seems perhaps it is, Mr. Tarantino. Mazel tov.

Thanks for getting through it, if you actually did.

Anywho, if I haven’t told you already, I’ve officially decided to teach English in Thailand within the next few months. I’m looking at a TESOL course that starts in Chiang Mai Nov. 9th. I’m nervous and had some reservations, but something feels very now or never to me so I’m just going to take the plunge. The timing is right—I end my internship in seven weeks or so, will have made some money and have no commitments or attached strings after that. I’m ready for an adventure. My plan is to be back by early to mid summer, however I know that time frames with these kinds of things can easily change. You will see me again within the next year though. I can guarantee that. I think.

Wow, what a visually boring post this has been. Let's change that:

.....

I guess that’s the report for now. I’ll try to touch back sooner. Until next time, long live freaks, geeks and every self-loathing youngster in between.


J.

Cheezburger

[Note to the reader: This blog was started over a week ago and is now being finished/posted due to lack of time and/or general laziness. My apologies.]

Fluffle: A sign of affection over the Internet. Like you're fluffing a pillow.
He fluffled Kate and skipped off happily.

Schmello. Coming to you on a Saturday evening since I never want to go out again after last night. This morning was spent dry-heaving in the bathroom like a cat choking on its own hairballs. And no place is worst to be doing this than in the house you grew up in—I became potty-trained in that room for Christ sakes. And at least in high school, I could feel slightly badass when I got sick and had to hide it from my parents. Now they just walk by the door, shaking their heads. It's sort of a pathetic really.

Uh, just because this brings me great pleasure.

Although the past few weeks have mostly revolved around my internship, I'd prefer not to write about it because it would be boring to read and boring to write about, I'll just share this passage from "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoapuffs" that has resonated lately:

Darth Vader tells Skywalker he has to make a decision: He can keep fighting a war he will probably lose, or he can compromise his ethics and succeed wildly. Many young adults face a similar decision after college, and those seen as "responsible" inevitably choose the latter path. However, an eight-year-old would never sell out. Little kids will always take the righteous option.

Now I'm not saying I'm compromising my ethics or that I'm an eight-year-old. I'm just saying that some form of this thought has been with me all summer as I venture into the job world, and I don't think I'm alone here.

Thought: For years now, I have found the exclamation point to be most unnecessary, over-used form of punctuation in the English language. It has become such a forced expression of excitement or enthusiasm or way to relieve tension (I'm not mad at you anymore, but I still hate your guts! [smiley face]). I feel like it's worse for girls as they become socially obligated to show how happy they are about upcoming events (So excited to see Cindy this afternoon!) When I see them, I either feel yelled at or lied to. I also don't like when academics use it in their writing in attempts to seem hip or whimsical (Nihilists have feelings too!!!). Kinda takes the credibility out of it for me. In my humble opinion, words should have the power to express these emotions.

Me in grumpy old man form (Please don't sue me Jospeh Farris).

HOWEVER, I will say that prudent and well-timed exclamation point can be a good thing. Matched with all caps, I love TW1TTERTRACKER's use of the punctuation to ridicule the most obvious and dull celebrity tweets. A few recent examples:

UPDATE THE ENCYLOPEDIA AFTER YOU GET TO THE MEAT OF THIS TWEET! RT @mileycyrus Just ate/made the most uh-mazing breakfast of all history :)

YOU’LL WANT TO BUY A BOAT AND STACK SOME SANDBAGS BEFORE YOU GET HIT BY THIS TWITTER BLOOD FLOOD!! RT @iamdiddy Watchin true blood!

THIS SLAMMING SWEET TWEET SERVES UP ACES AT OVER 100 M.P.H'S YEAHH YEAHHHHHH!!!! RT @andyroddick had a short but good hit!

Now these are how you use exclamation points. Take note, people.

Wow, this blog has become far more complacent than intended, so I think I should stop here. Until next time, have a great fucking week [exclamation point]. (I'm being sincere, by the way.)


- J.

Everyday I'm Hustlin'

Dilbert: an office loser. Any office employee who embodies some characteristics of the main character in the comic strip Dilbert, created by Scott Adams, which depicts employees who work in cubicles for a clueless boss at a large company.
The young Dilbert tried in vain to sell his boss on the new technology, but his boss told him to shut up and consider himself lucky he even has a Coleco.

Note: above term and comic are unrelated to below
news—just funny and mildly timely.

I start work Monday, well, technically I start an internship Monday. I’ll be doing marketing—press releases, product promos, stuff like that—for a small medical technology company. It really just fell into my lap. I randomly applied as someone's personal assistant not knowing who it is, who happened to be president of this company. Then, his marketing manager called to say the assistant position was filled, but they wanted me somewhere else.

I still don’t know everything about the job, but I think it could be an interesting experience. Plus, it’s paid (thank Hashem). It will be full time for the next few months making it a temporary solution to unemployment. Unfortunately, this also means you won't be hearing from me as much. Dry your eyes, little one, it'll be okay.

I'm grateful for the opportunity but am always looking for ways to make a buck. Despite a few obvious kinks to work out, here are a couple ideas I came up with:

Start gambling. My gambling experience extends to walking through Caesars Palace once. I don't even know how to play poker. But I am prepared to be that woman sitting at the slot machines eating peanuts for six hours straight. Something about no clocks and highly oxidized air gives me a good feeling.

Sell my plasma. Despite the fact I've never really donated blood and needles make me a bit queezy, I think this could be a real money maker. I even overheard a girl say she made $60 from doing it the other day—not bad! Then I came across this graphic that made me want to throw up in my mouth a little.

This looks unsanitary.

Become an undercover taxi driver. I've always thought driving a cab would be kinda fun, but I have no interest in becoming registered or dealing with drunk men. So I think I should just do it on the down-low on my own terms for people I trust. Oh yeah, I don't exactly have my own car or any sense of direction, but I can usually borrow my mom's or you can just ride on my handle bars.

My plans may seem a little flawed, but I can work around these issues—you could even help me out. Teach me poker, give me a vile of your blood or lend me your car a few times a week. I will also accept cold hard cash.

Moving on, is anyone else as jazzed for Where the Wild Things Are as I am? The trailer looks awesome and Arcade Fire doesn't hurt either. I weirdly get choked up whenever I watch this:



I was thinking how cool Spike Jonze must be and how he dates Michelle Williams, who has become a huge star like former Dawson's Creek co-star Katie Holmes. So what happened to that other guy?

Poor James Van Der Beek

Until next time, keep your day job.


-J.

Eat Your Heart Out, Kafka

Fivehead: An extremely large forehead.
That girl has a fivehead so big you could show movies on it.

Sunday greetings. Hope your weekend was as lovely as mine. Yesterday was filled with food, drank and summer dresses at Micaela's mom's spontaneous backyard wedding. I would describe it as a beautiful shitshow. The end of my night was spent taking mind-blowingly (not a real word) obscure photos in an alley with Katie.

Nobody gets us.

My mother has been in Oregon for the past five days and won't be back from Seattle until Thursday—translation: the house is a hot mess. And as the oldest child and only daughter, one might assume I would then step up as "lady of the household" during her absence. Sike, I have transformed into one of the boys. We track dirt into the house, leave the dishes in the sink and lack general cleanliness. It's like living with 17- and 62-year-old frat brothers. The other night, the three of us bickered over dinner about who didn't replace the toilet paper. "Well, you were in there longer than 5 minutes!" one of us yelled at the other. I'm not sure if it's kind of sweet that we notice each other's bathroom habits or just wrong.

You know, I've been doing some thinking about my place in the "career world." I know I'm not in a position to be too picky about my employment right now, but I hope I never work somewhere feeling that I'm selling my soul. I told my dad that and his response was, "You won't be in a position of power or influence for years. And what does that even mean? What if you work for a newspaper that is owned by a media conglomerate that also manufactures WMDs, or your office is in the middle of nowhere and the only thing to eat around there is McDonald's who cuts down Brazilian rain forests for grazing space?"

I know he's right—I'm going to be a professional nobody for a while, and everything is somehow connected in ways we often don't recognize. I could be indirectly doing something to cause harm elsewhere and never know about it, nor does everyone have the option of an occupation to do good. Try talking about this kind of stuff to your immigrant mother or father from a blue-collar background—I feel like a privileged ass. I just hope I can find a job that proves to have a direct positive effect on something I care about. Damn, what do people having existential, quarter-life crises do? Buy bikes?

I've been meaning to post this video for a while just because I love it so much though it's not really related to anything. Or perhaps it's related to everything.



Until next time, viva el frat house.


- J.

Fight the Power

I pity the fool: In Mr. T-glish, a common equivalent to the English "I'd best not find out who it was."
I pity the fool who scratched my car.

First things first: NEW JACKIE AND DEBRA VIDEO. I was so jazzed when I stumbled upon this (and by stumbled upon, I mean I was watching "Jackie + Debra - Stephanie Berger" for the 492nd time). Please do not watch this out of context—take the time to watch the two previous videos so you really understand the inner workings of Debra's soul first:



While you were watching MJ's memorial service on every single broadcast medium known to man yesterday, I was waiting my turn at a court hearing for my loitering ticket. Yes, the loitering ticket I got approximately a month ago while sitting and innocently eating goldfish near the Lighthouse Beach parking lot at 2:50 a.m. It was a bogus ticket, no doubt about that, but the cop got us for "being in a park after hours."

I've lived half a block away from this so-called park my entire life and never knew it was considered one, so I decided to contest the ticket. But first, I did a little homework. I went back to Lighthouse to see if signs were clearly posted, which they weren't. Only a sign in the actual sand saying the beach was closed after 11 p.m. and ones in the parking lot saying no cars after this time. Nothing calling it a park. Later, I went on the city Web site to find the list of Evanston parks—no other beaches were on there. My argument: Lighthouse is NOT sufficiently labeled a park.

I was a little nervous when I actually got to the hearing, not because I was scared of being found guilty (it's a friggin' loitering ticket) but because I had to perform. The other people there with me consisted of three groups:
- Generally law-abiding, middle-aged women with petty tickets like having their dog off the leash or not wearing protective eyewear on a motorcycle
- High school students caught drinking
- People a little too familiar with the court system and all seem to personally know each other

After the high school seniors made their unconvincing case (and lost, $500 tickets each), they dramatically stormed out with "this is bullshit!" and threw up peace signs to the others waiting. I was relieved to go next, knowing any act following theirs would be an improvement. After my explanation, the hearing officer told me I made a strong argument and seemed to appreciate my gumption and willingness to waste an hour—he reduced it to $25. "I'm not going to make you pay $75 to the city for this; tell your friends I'll do the same for them."

Needless to say, I walked out with a little skip in my step. I utilized my journalist/sexy foreign detective skills, and it payed off. It's still bullshit we weren't just let go in the first place, but at least I defended myself. What of it, 5-0?

Sorry, you're probably so tense sitting on the edge of your seat after my civil court story. Here's something to ease your nerves for the rest of the day.



Until next time, "I'm putting the boot on her thing!" (please tell me you watched it till the end).

J.

Luring You With Moving Pictures

Effed in the a: A different way of saying "Dude, we're screwed."
If we get caught, we're gonna be effed in the a!

So I just applied to write content for a social media site, and they asked to include a blog address if we had one. I did, then realized all the stupid crap I have on this thing. The idea of someone sitting at their desk quietly judging me via Rants and Babbles is a little scary. God knows they're going to think I'm crazy. Plus, I don't want my blog to become so public that something I said five months ago sabotages my future career as a senator. That would just be tragic.

In other news, I'm feeling much better. I started taking antibiotics a few days ago, and they just wiped out whatever was in my system. Still coughing a bit but such an improvement. Azithromycin = magic beans! Speaking of health, I've been researching and comparing different insurance plans lately, and it's probably the worst way to spend your summer afternoons. Copayments, deductions... it's all so messed up. I really hope Obama makes us a little more European in the next few years.

I've watched this video a hundred times lately because it always makes me smile. And they're playing at Pitchfork in two weeks, any takers?



One good thing about unemployment is having the time to watch movies. Good movies. The latest:

Welcome to the Dollhouse - I had seen this dark comedy six years ago or so and remember finding it disturbing. Turns out it still is a little but in an awesome way. It's about a girl named Dawn who is pretty much rejected by everyone she knows. She lusts after the lead in her brother's band until her feelings grow for the school bully. The director Todd Solondz always has the most pitiful protagonists and usually some degree of pedophilia in his films. He's a weird man, but his movies are very original.



In The Heat of The Night - This poster was on the wall of one of my film classes last semester, and it always intrigued me. I finally watched it and was quite pleased. Sydney Poitier plays a homicide expert trapped in this town where a man was just killed. After first being accused of murder, the police chief forces him to help with the investigation. The movie is about 40 years old, so parts of it are understandably dated, but I can imagine how powerful it was during the Civil Rights.
Swingers - Really, I had never seen this before. You probably have so I won't discuss the story. Vince Vaughn is amazing (and so cute). And I love how the male characters dress and really think pocket watches should make a comeback.

Broken Flowers - After Lost In Translation, it seems Bill Murray was trying to reinvent himself as a serious "indie" actor, however the success of that movie is hard to replicate. In this film, Murray goes on a cross-country road trip revisiting old lovers after he gets a letter warning him he has a son who's gone looking for him. The story has the potential to be good, but it was tiresome to watch and barely reveals anything by the end. But one of my favorite films is by this director (Jim Jarmusch), and that's Stranger Than Paradise.



Jesus Camp - Ironically, the only responses I had after seeing this documentary about a crazy Evangelical summer camp in North Dakota involve some religious connotation (i.e. "sweet mother of God" and "holy shit"). It follows a female minister/camp director who aims to train these young children to become "soldiers of God" and essentially brainwash this next generation with fundamentalism. Some footage is truly frightening, and this comes from a girl who went to church camp as a kid. However, they never passed out little plastic babies to represent aborted fetuses where I went.

The Puffy Chair - Part of the mumblecore genre, this low-budget, DIY flick follows Josh and his annoying girlfriend Emily on a journey to find a replica of a recliner from his childhood for his father's birthday. His free-loving, hippie brother invites himself along and completely takes the trip in another direction. Certain scenes are difficult to watch because they're uncomfortably realistic, but I also think that's what makes this film, and those like it, important to experience. It also gives hope to people who want to tell good stories—but don't have the money or resources of a studio—that it's still possible.

Phew, this is one meaty post. If you'll excuse me, I have to go find out which healthcare provider is least likely to ruin my life. Until then, meet me in Canada.


- J.

Man In The Mirror

Mirrorface: The look of coolness, focus and determination that appears on one's grill when in front of a mirror. A self-preservation technique in which one fantasizes about looking way better than they really do, usually occurring prior to a significant social outing.
Rick got suited up for a night out with his homies. Prior to his departure into the evening, he gave himself one final mirrorface. He knew he was ready to slay some hoes.

For the second time this week, I've been unwillingly up at the ass crack of dawn. It was another all-night coughing fit. My dad heard me in the middle of the night and told me to take Oxycodone and Robitussin, which, by the way, is a bizarre combination. I felt like I was sleeping in slow motion, if you can imagine that—I was consciously dreaming, but time felt completely nonlinear, and I kept imagining myself lifting cardboard boxes. OK, my acid trip is over, let's move on.

I'm not going to get into the Michael Jackson/Farrah Fawcett stories because I have nothing to say that hasn't been said. It's sad to have lost two American icons, however the coverage has been a little absurd the past few days, especially over the former. I'm curious as to what other world news has been neglected because of it. Also, American media has created such a tragic, one-dimensional view of death with our famous. These people have moved on and will now have their spirits celebrated for years to come. And I think that's nice.

Next: movies. I had really high expectations for Away We Go. The cast is excellent, it's directed by Sam Mendez and written by Dave Eggers (who I know is hot shit but haven't read him yet. I know, who am I?) It seems destined for "indie" rom-com greatness, don't you think? Just watch this:



Problem is all the best parts of the movie are already in the trailer. The story is underdeveloped, the acting is only mediocre and a good soundtrack seems to be what pushes the narrative forward. The film is watchable, even cute, but nothing original or life-changing. And I must express annoyance with John Krasinski, who I used to adore but now realize just plays variations of Jim in all his roles—this one being Slightly Alternative Jim.

So I'm in need of a laptop sleeve, and I've literally looked everywhere both in stores and online. I came across this and think it's adorable. But not for the $40 it would cost, include S&H. That's too much, right? Do I really need to make a statement with my computer protector? Because if I did, then I may have to go with this bad boy.

It screams, "Fuck with my laptop, and I'll char your fingers off!"

Knowing me, I'll probably grow impatient and just buy the first black sleeve I find. But until then, maybe I'll just keep my laptop in... a cardboard box (I am totally still tripping).


J.