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December 29, 2003

:: quiet time ::

It's really amazing what a good, solid dose of hermit time can do. With the exception of a walk here and an errand there, I've been out of my house exactly once since Christmas Eve. I've spent most of my time reading, watching the Comedy Central SNL marathon, listening to whatever's in the CD player and just thinking things over. Also napping.

No epiphanies or breakthroughs or anything dramatic like that, but then that's not what I needed. I'd been feeling so fantastically rocky lately, blaming it on this or that, but now that I've had some time to navel-gaze, it all looks pretty simple: I spent a lot of time on my own last year. I haven't given myself much since I've been back. I had a lot of plans that I've had to adjust and/or cancel. I haven't processed any of it, really. Between worrying about work and worrying about moving and worrying about not moving and, well, just worrying about pretty much everything... let's just say it's easy to lose track of what's important. The good news is, I'm starting to come back around.

To sum up: I've seen ads for some scary shit - I only wish I'd caught the whole of that blue-screen spot for nationwide donut-of-the-month-club or somesuch horror (I would like to point out that, with the exception of Comedy Central's own Holiday spots, what I said a few days ago about advertising emphatically does not apply to what's airing on cable); I've been alarmed by the sight of Angus Young in short pants at age 104 or however old he is now; I've successfully solved a murder mystery before getting to the end of the book; I've written several thousand words and processed a few hundred photographs. I've decided I need to open a store called Disco Pants 'n' Haircuts*, but I'm not sure what I'd sell (ideas welcome, bien sur).

So, yeah. I'm feeling much better, thanks. Now, who's coming to see Big Fish with me? It's showing right across the street from La Creperie...

December 24, 2003

:: santa's broken leg ::

When I was a child, we celebrated Christmas in the German tradition, wherever we happened to be. It's not that dissimilar from the American version, but there is a fairly serious twist for parents. Instead of Santa coming down the chimney with presents while everyone sleeps (wink, wink) through the night, in the German folklore, the Christkindl (literally, Christ child, though in illustrations the child looks about 10 and is fairly androgynous) comes around to the house with presents while you're at church on Christmas Eve. Every year, we had company for Christmas - my mother's friends were our extended family, and I called them all uncle and aunt (the "orphans' holidays" began a long time ago for me, and I still host them to this day). One year, when I was about 6, Uncle Keith and Aunt Joan and their father, whom I called Grandpa Arthur, were in town. Normally, the guests were charged with taking me for a ride after church, distracting me with a tour of the neighborhood's most garish lighting displays, while my mom dashed back to the house and ran around like a maniac, unearthing the presents from all the back corners of closets where they'd been hidden. This year, though, was to be a little trickier than usual, because my mom had had reconstructive surgery on her left ankle, which was encased in an enormous cast.

After church, I climbed into Keith's car with him and Joan and Arthur. We pulled out of the parking lot and commenced our tour of the neighborhood. About 5 minutes into it, I spoke up. "Uncle Keith, you'd better take the really long way home tonight," I said.

"Really? Why is that?"

"Because the Christkindl's got a cast on."

They were all so shocked that there was total silence in the car for a good thirty seconds. I really thought Arthur might cry. Isn't it funny how much harder it is for adults than for the kids, when the kids figure out about Santa? Maybe we perpetuate the myth so that we can somehow vicariously live some of that childhood joy that can only come when you're too young to be suspicious and analytical.

Anyway, it's going to be another quiet and lovely Christmas at the den of iniquity this year - 6 of us for a traditional meat fondue tonight, followed by opening of presents and general merriment. Tomorrow will see the traditional nursing of the hangover, with mimosas and silly movies to ease it along. Also roasted poultry. And hopefully snow. And a handful of people I really love, which means more than anything else.

Joy!

Over and out.

December 23, 2003

:: torn ::

It's all so weird. I can go back and read the posts from a year ago and even less, and I can remember being there, remember the taste, the feel of it, but I feel at the same time so far removed from the place I was in then. I went away and found something, and I came back to collect what I needed and take it away again. Only I haven't left. So now here I am, in this minor crisis of identity, or consciousness, or something - just dire enough that I'm not entirely sure who I am or what I'm becoming; not quite dire eonough that I've forgotten who I was. Maybe this is my trap - the best laid plans, as the man said.

One way or another, I've got to get back to that place in my head where, even when it was bad, it was clear. Somehow, I've got to get back to that place where I saw all the possibility in the world. It's tempting to see this as a function of geography, but I know better. It's tempting to think of this as a function of circumstance, but what isn't? It wasn't so long ago that I wrote three chapters in a day; what's keeping me from writing even one now?

A lot of things are tempting. A lot of things always were. Somewhere in it, I found something beyond temptation. How and where and why I lost it is another question entirely.

December 22, 2003

:: the vagaries of thought ::

The other night I was watching television. I haven't watched TV in quite a while - except for the odd game at a bar somewhere - because I haven't had cable or an antenna, so it's been DVD or nothing for the past 6 months. But when I rearranged all the wiring of my home entertainment system the other week, presto: TV! Not just networks, mind, but Discovery Channel and the Cartoon Channel and IFC and Sundance and all the other lovely things that so effectively kept me from getting anything accomplished before I went away last year. Now, the good thing about not having had TV for so long is that I often forget I have it, which not only means I'm not camped out in front of it 24/7, but also that every time I turn it on I get a little tickle of gleeful surprise, like... well, I guess it's just the teensiest bit like Christmas.

That was a lot of exposition, but I feel it's important to note up front that I haven't been paying attention to these things for some time. What I noticed the other night was that when commercials came on, instead of taking the opportunity to channel-surf (and haven't commercials always been the Pavlov's bell of the remote?), I quite often paused to watch. What's more, I found quite a large number of the spots really good. Sometimes funny, sometimes intriguing, sometimes just solid work. It occurred to me for a fleeting second that if I'd been able to stomach sticking it out in the advertising world, I might have been working on spots like this by now, and wouldn't that have been fun. Of course, most of the Account Supervisors must be about my age by now, which would make a lot of sense. Obviously, those spots appeal to me. They were developed by people my age, in similar urban environments, who share a lot of my cultural references. I never thought I'd hear Tones on Tail in a financial services commercial, but there you have it. So what I'm wondering now is this: has it always been like this? If I had been in my early 30s ten years ago, would the advertising of that period have appealed to me as much as the current stuff does now? Or does this represent some sort of evolution in the industry?

One thing that occurs to me is that I only rarely remember the product/brand associated with the spot after it's over, even when I remember the ad itself quite clearly. And with few exceptions, the ads for which I do remember the products are the ones I really dislike, not the ones I enjoy (case in point: the H2 print campaign from last year - I still don't think I've seen a TV spot for one of those monstrosities, which is good because all I can think of when I see an H2 is how very much I want a rocket launcher). It seems possible that advertising is actually growing closer to the film world, at least in the sense that commercials now have discernible plots, production design that goes beyond logo placement, cool effects and sometimes even some bitchin' camera work. Is this the result of all those disgruntled former film students stuck in the corporate grind, or have my standards just become alarmingly low? Or has actual television programming grown so poor that commercials look great by comparison? I'm a little concerned by this. Perhaps I should seek help.

Also, and still on the topic of television, I have a new favorite show. Favorite in the sense of can't-look-away more than wow-this-is-inspirational, but still. Have you seen the talk sex lady? Last week, I was flipping through channels on mute when I came across a small older woman behind a desk, holding a cock ring. I was so shocked I had to turn up the volume. She was explaining to someone on the other end of the phone line that this device could be lubricated for easy removal, and "doesn't catch in the pubic hair like rubber bands." Now, entirely aside from a woman old enough to be my grandmother magically producing sex toys from under her desk and demonstrating them on national television (remind me sometime to tell you about the sound-activated vibrator - she was on about that one for ages), does this mean there was some guy out there who had previously been using, um, rubber bands to prolong his erection? Yikes.

And finally, a little something non-tv-related that made me very happy today: a fan letter to Grace and Mercy. I want to give this woman a big fat hug.

December 19, 2003

:: oh, dear. ::

The holidays are a time of mixed blessings. A perfect example (several, in fact) of this was the 1st Annual Star Wars Holiday Special Party (& Inappropriate Ornament Contest) at Jeff's last night. Star Wars Holiday Special? Is this some new thing you haven't heard about yet? Did you miss it? Well, yes and no. You may never have heard of it before, but it's not new. The SWHS aired during the holiday season in 1978. And yes, you missed it, but that's really nothing to be sorry for. I promise. As Jeff put it:

"You have never seen a bigger piece of shit in your entire life than The Star Wars Holiday Special. It's like a motherfucking train wreck.

"You. Cannot. Look. Away."

He's not kidding, folks. It's all for real, right down to the performance by Jefferson Starship. I'm glad I've seen it, more or less so that I never, ever have to again. It was only an hour long, but I could swear I lost about a week off my life. So, mixed blessing #1: getting together with friends; sitting through the most abysmal piece of television any of us can remember having seen, ever.

On to part 2: the Inappropriate Ornament Competition. The instructions (again, from Jeff's email) were as follows:

"Each partygoer is encouraged, nay URGED, to bring along an Xmas ornament of their own devising for entry into a contest, to be judged by popular vote. The theme of said ornaments is simple: be inappropriate. It's my goal to have the most stupefyingly awful Christmas tree ever. Shock & Awe, kids. Shock & Awe."

It was further indicated that owing to the other theme of the party, entries involving Star Wars characters would be highly regarded, and that biblical characters in compromising conditions would also rank high. A "LARGE prize" was to go to the lucky winner of the Most Inappropriate Ornament competition.

Now, considering the ridiculous artiness of most of the attendees, I didn't really think anything I put together would stand much of a chance. Add to that a more or less complete lack of inspiration, and you'll find me exactly where I was on Wednesday evening around 8:00: at home, drinking a glass of wine, with neither ornament nor more than a half-formed idea involving pipe cleaners and condoms. But then something magical happened. I took out the pipe cleaners, leafed through the craft suggestions pamphlet in the package, and behold! One of the muses (the one in charge of drunken epiphanies, what was her name again?) came and bashed me in the head. Roughly 25 minutes later, I had my ornament, which I have lovingly titled: And what do YOU want for Christmas, little girl?.

Well, he said inappropriate. Quit staring. It's not polite.

As I said, though, I didn't think I had much of a chance of winning. What with Andrew's gingerbread Star Destroyer (which, by the way, is delicious), Phin's Star Wars Nativity Scene, complete with R2D2 baby and scary-ass goat, and the host's own Yoda Jesus on a cross, I was just happy to have managed to contribute. But when the time came for judging, there were actually two categories: Most Inappropriate and Most Needlessly Elaborate. And I won the prize.

[later addition: sorry, I forgot to mention that Andrew won (completely deservedly) the prize for Most Needlessly Elaborate. I got a giant plastic Santa; he got a crystal bowl (no, really) full of chocolate. Somehow I think I might not have got the better end of that deal. But hey, he spent days making templates from CAD drawings and I spent 20 minutes twisting up pipe cleaner, so I guess I really shouldn't complain.]

The prize may well be scarier than the entry. Then again, I've been saying that I'd like something to curl up next to, keep me warm at night...

See what I mean about mixed blessings?

December 18, 2003

:: more random crap ::

A few weeks ago, a friend and I were discussing the relative merit of translated poetry. Thanks to Andrew for muddying the waters even further with this: Rimbaud or Babelfish?

December 17, 2003

:: stuff ::

Thing the first: Phin and I last night joined the ranks of the übergeeky, taking in a midnight showing of The Return of the King. Granted, we're not nearly as obsessed as these guys, but I did feel like I should be wearing some sort of promotional swag (a satin jacket, perhaps? with the logo on the back? that would present an interesting fashion challenge). That said, and the presence of people in actual capes (!) at the movie theatre notwithstanding, I exhort each and every one of you to go and see it. It is excellent. The cinematography is stunning, the acting is consistently impressive, and the film on the whole manages to balance a certain heavy-handedness required of a huge epic story with a strong dose of humor and attention to the development of the individual characters. I've got to hand it to Peter Jackson for being the first director to really hold a trilogy of this scope together since... well, possibly ever. Now get a move on.

Thing the second: apologies in advance to those of you who are just getting used to the new site. I'm making some changes in the next few days. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Thing the third: encouragement sometimes comes from the most unexpected of sources. Normally, Fiction Bitch strikes terror into my very soul (link via Jeff), but catching up on her most recent decimations reviews - probably an ill-advised activity, since I'm experiencing a fairly serious bout of writer's block - I found this nugget of wisdom: "Relax, and allow yourself to write whatever you want. Once you give yourself permission to not be clever, but to simply have fun with your writing, you regain your sense of play, and life returns to your writing. Try it; you may be surprised by the results.". Best advice I've heard in a while. Thanks, lady.

December 16, 2003

:: festivus! ::

sunday night at the den of iniquity (aka chez moi) featured the annual christmas tree-trimming festivus, my favorite seasonal event and, this year, one hell of a party. there was drinking, there was decorating, there were silly nicknames and much blathering and chili in abundance. and as far as i could tell, everyone from satansanta's little helpers to the either painfully fashionable or just terminally late, a good time was had by all. i'm thinking lindsay's hot spiced wine had a lot to do with that.

the pictures are, admittedly, terrible. i'm blaming that on the wine as well. convenient, no?

i remain convinced that the tree-trimming party is one of the Best Ideas Ever: you invite a bunch of people over, cook up a little food and a little booze, and they bring you more booze, entertain you with endless stories and laughter, decorate your house and then go home. and the tree? the tree, she is gorgeous.

thanks, everyone. i had a blast. merry christmas! now go check out the pictures. scoot!

December 12, 2003

:: hawks 4, wings 3 (final-OT) ::

I would not be at all surprised to hear that CuJo underwent electroshock therapy between last night's game against the Sabres and tonight's mess.

Now, I understand that standings aren't everything, and that furthermore you can't expect the top team in the division to beat the team in last place just because of their rankings, but I've got to be a little concerned when my team can pull out a 7-2 victory against Anaheim and only barely eke out a tie against the Blues the following night; and then the very next week follow a 7-2 win against the Sabres with a really quite pathetic 4-3 performance in Chicago. Especially when I haul my cookies all the way down to the United "Detroit Sucks!" Center. Granted, I know we've got lots of injured players; I know we're missing Hasek and Yzerman et al. But still, can't we play like the equal of our opponents when we're actually favored to win? Please? Pretty, pretty please?

And while I'm at it, what in the name of all that's holy is up with sending underage girls in skintight outfits with snow shovels out to "clear the ice" at every ESPN commercial break? Is this Humbert Humbert* stadium, or what?

December 11, 2003

:: what's opera, doc?: part 2 ::

And another thing: Samson et Dalila is incredible. We got to see a dress rehearsal yesterday afternoon (thanks, Sambo!), and Phineas got some great pictures.

:: what's opera, doc? ::

I've been going to the opera all season, as usual, but not writing about it. Not being a particularly gifted reviewer, I generally prefer to simply enjoy the production, discuss it over a drink or two afterwards, and then move on. Every so often, though, something really piques my interest (or really pisses me off) and I decide to get all long-winded about it. This season, so far, it's Wagner's Siegfried, which was an excellent production on a lot of levels. The voices were spectacular, the sets and lighting were, for the most part, both functional and colorful... and the costumes. The costumes were really unconventional and, to me, really appealing.

Siegfried is a challenging opera. Yes, there's the usual things: it's Wagner and he's a longwinded bastard (remind you of anyone?); the Lyric starts it at 6 and you don't get out til 11. Musically, too, it's a tricky animal: no choruses, not even any real arias to speak of. It's largely sung dialogue, with a huge number of musical themes meandering throughout. Moreover, unlike many operas, if you've got your eyes shut and are just listening (provided, of course, you don't understand German), you've got absolutely no inkling of what's going on. The musical themes are that abstract. Finally, and perhaps most difficult of all, there's no secondary characters in Siegfried. I've already mentioned the lack of chorus, but there's not even a maid, or a sidekick, or a choirboy love interest. Everyone is an archetype. Gods, monsters, sinister dwarves and heroes, and that's it. As a result of all this, it's quite a challenge to make Siegfried accessible at all. Of course, there's always the option of skipping it entirely or leaving after Act 1 (I know a lot of people who favor this strategy), but I've gotta hand it to the production design team this time around, particularly set/costume designer John Conklin, and most particularly his costuming choices.

Since everything about the opera is so abstract, it's often been the approach of the scene design team to keep things as visually simple as possible. Siegfried winds up dressed in furry cloaks, everyone's in varying shades of brown, gray and black, and everything... well, everything sort of melts together and puts you right to sleep. Conklin takes a very different approach to this production, clothing his characters in archetypal costumes borrowed from a number of different mythologies and traditions, each according to practical needs and the role of the archetype in this particular story.

Wotan and Brünhilde, as in Die Walküre (last season's Wagner production), are clad in a quasi-postmodern combination of leather and cotton. For Wotan, this works more or less because he's the wandering mystery man in this story, and well, what's more mysterious than some dude with an eyepatch in a leather trench coat and fedora? Brünhilde's only around for Act 3, and it's a direct continuation of her role in Die Walküre, so that's that.

The Nibelung dwarves, Mime and Albericht, are treated very differently from one another. Mime, the blacksmith/crafty craftsman who's taken in Siegfried and raised him (and is pretty much just waiting around until he can figure out how to sic Siegfried on the Dragon (we'll get to him in a minute) and get the Magic Ring back), is costumed as a traditional machinist. It took me a while to work out the costume, so I'd guess it could be a bit clearer (at first, he looked like a steam engine mechanic to me), but ultimately this works for me: Mime furthers the story through his crafty nature and through his craftsmanship and instruction. Albericht, on the other hand, by this point in the Ring story, has been relegated to a second-level guardian of sorts. Fafner the giant, who's got the Ring, has transformed himself into a Dragon (as you do) and is now guarding the Ring in a cave in the woods somewhere. Albericht, because he knows that eventually someone's going to come along and try to take the Ring, waits outside the cave, ostensibly with the intention of killing whoever comes for the Ring before they can get to it - or maybe just to make sure that it's the right person who gets it in the end. You'll have to ask Wagner which it is. Either way, Conklin costumes him as a Ronin, a samurai without a master but with his own cause.

Fafner and the Dragon present another kind of challenge, which Conklin manages by using traditional Kabuki techniques. The dragon itself is a multi-piece skeleton sculpture manipulated by a crew of 15 (by my count), and once Fafner comes out for his longish singing piece, he stands and delivers downstage from a giant puppet, which acts out the gestures to match his lines. This is traditional Kabuki - the human actor, clad simply (in this case, in a long black asian-influenced coat), stands immediately downstage of his puppet, which is responsible for the brunt of the phyisical representation of the role. The human is the voice, the puppet is the body. This works out particularly well in an opera scenario, where having a singer inside a giant mask is counterproductive to say the least.

Arda is treated a bit differently (refreshingly so) than usual. As the Earth Mother, I've most often seen her in forest greens and muddy browns, perhaps with a bit of lichen thrown in for variety or somesuch. This time, though, she rises on a lift from beneath the stage, clad in flowing orange silk robes. This is a different kind of earth mother - not the surface but the fiery center that sleeps beneath it. It's a brief appearance, but the contrast between her (as representative of the old gods) and Wotan's current incarnation was stark and telling.

Finally, there's Siegfried. He's a bit of a tricky one to pin down - both innocent/wild child/nature boy and hero/heir apparent to Wotan's power. As I mentioned earlier, the most commonly seen solution is to drape him in wolf pelts and call it a day, and Conklin actually didn't stray far from this approach. Siegfried is in traditional pastoral fairy tale gear: think cartoon character, even. Complete with little white horn on a thong across his body. The only unfortunate thing about this is that, owing largely to the physicality of the performer, this costume wound up reading not so much as hero as the hero's lovable sidekick. This was exacerbated by the fact that the Magic Helmet, when he acquired it from Fafner/Dragon, looked like nothing so much as a lovely sequined handbag. I'm feeling magnanimous, though, so I'll give Conklin the benefit of the doubt here. If he'd had a performer with more decisive movement habits, a more hero-like physique, chances are this costume would have worked out perfectly. Except for the handbag. That was just silly.

Overall, I can see how the production might seem disjointed, even schizophrenic, borrowing elements from all these cultures and mythologies, but I prefer to think of it as a kind of illumination. When you have few aural cues to help you understand what's happening, when all of the characters are equally important and, in most cases, complex representatives of multiple concepts in multiple stories, these visual cues provide a link to the character's particular purpose this time around. Entirely aside from which it's a lot more fun to look at than all-gray-all-the-time, which seems to be a popular design choice for Wagner's work (see the Lyric's production of Parsifal, back in 2001-2002). In a world where absolutely everything is abstract, why not use the most evocative abstractions you can think of? Might help. I think it did.

December 5, 2003

:: the gospel according to travis, weeza's friend ::

It's always good to have people in one's life who have the insight and the balls to point out the obvious, if sometimes unpleasant, truth. Bonus points are given for doing so with humor and a modicum of grace - or at the very least, bourbon. My friend Travis is a wise man, and managed to point out some home truths to me after the hockey last night. To wit:

1. You have no job.
2. You are writing a novel about relationships and dysfunction.
3. You spend a lot of time with your mom.

The conclusion: "If I didn't know you as well as I do, I would put you down as a bad bet."

Fair point. Perspective is everything. But it's not as grim as all that, and I'm not nearly as neurotic as I could be, considering the fact that I really am writing a book about relationships and dysfunction. I'm actually feeling pretty positive about things in general. Of course, this might be taken as further evidence that I'm not at all right in the head, but I of course prefer to interpret it otherwise.

Always possibility
Every moment you don't think about it
Every moment you're alive
The lines of your past and your future and your loves and your passions
Are always intersecting
Entwining

That thing that you feel is holding you back?
Look again, it's holding you up
Only stop straining against it
It is your heart.

'Nuff said.

December 4, 2003

:: always possibility ::

always possibility
every moment you don't think about it
every moment you're alive
the lines of your past and your future and your loves and your passions
are always intersecting
entwining

that thing that you feel is holding you back?
look again, it's holding you up
only stop straining against it
it is your heart.

21.10.03

:: what do you want for christmas, little girl? ::

Who knew that the local Jewel/Osco was so full of fabulous gift ideas? Yesterday afternoon, I was staggered by the sheer volume of fantastic merchandise, and will therefore take this opportunity to share with you some of my most coveted items:

I'm not entirely sure what this is, but the name is so evocative, so lyrical... I just gotta have some.

What well-appointed bathroom could be complete without the creepy monkey loofah? A must-have for every fashionable household...

I love a good game of cards as much as the next person, but don't you find the regular decks so, well, bland? A good dose of pink will brighten up any game of Texas Hold 'Em, and how better than with the queen of all things rosy, Ms. Barbie herself?

And while we're on the whole poker party subject, I can't count the number of times I've been asked on those nights: "Weeza, this is great, but where are the appletinis?" Well, friends, armed with the fabulous stocking of DeKuypers worst poison yummiest elixirs, I'll be able to whip one up, pronto.

Finally, it's always so difficult to choose a wall calendar that truly expresses one's persona. I was tempted initially by the Care Bears calendar down at the Osco, but when I saw this one at my local FedEx drop point, I knew I'd found what I was looking for. Baby animals, posed and terrified-looking - it just doesn't get a whole lot better than this, folks.

So I don't want to hear any guff this year about how hard I am to shop for. Capisce?

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