hello, my name is rob gordon

Right now, my top five 80s songs:

1.) Electronic: "Getting Away With It" (1989)
2.) The Go-Betweens: "Cattle and Cane" (1983)
3.) U2: "I Will Follow" (1980)
4.) Haircut 100: "Love Plus One" (1982)
5.) Squeeze: "If I Didn't Love You" (1980)

Honorable Mentions:

6.) The Smiths: "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others" (1986)
7.) Duran Duran: "My Own Way" (1981)
8.) The Clash: "Train in Vain" (1979; yeah, right on the cusp)

which way is up?

This is my new desktop background:


It's of that ski-lift at the summit of the Great Orme, Llandudno, I was telling you about. If only the bush weren't visible; then it'd really be disorienting.

a walking billboard

On Friday, I bought two boxes in order to start shipping things home (mainly books and clothes). I carried them flat in a large enough bag that fit them, in my armpit like it was some sort of artist's portfolio, from the post office to the record shop to the grocery store and finally to the bus station. It wasn't until I got home that I read the Post Office's slogan on the bag: "For the little things that make the big things happen." I laughed as soon as I noticed this. I carried that stupid saying all around town? I thought.

where in the world am i?

Yesterday I went on the Graduate Student Association's trip to Conwy and Llandudno, North Wales. I wasn't the only undergrad but I think I might have been the only American of 100 travelers. But that is neither here nor there. The purpose of this post is to share some pictures of the trip.

First up, a side view of Conwy Castle as seen from below and across the street:


Denise and I elected to explore the town instead of following everyone else into the castle. We walked along the dock. I was convinced I was seeing the Chesapeake Bay:


People were standing and sitting on the edge of the dock, fishing for crabs. Is that a contradiction in terms?

[Image missing.]

As we were wandering around, enjoying our ice cream, we slipped into Plas Mawr, the "finest surviving Elizabethan house." I think our beta mp3 player-like audioguide dated back to 1585, too. This is part of Plas Mawr from the courtyard:


Next, we journeyed to Llandudno. Though I've never been to Atlantic City or Brighton, Llandudno reminded me of them both. Or maybe it was Disney World's Boardwalk Inn I was recalling? Just look at this photo:


We took the Great Orme Tramway up to the Great Orme. I still don't know what an orme is, so don't ask. But it was a mountain with a playground, ice cream stand, restaurant, ski lift from one end of the summit to the other, and some meteor-like dent/ancient amphitheater. Don't ask. But here's the "amphitheater":


When we came back down, I saw Main Street, Magic Kingdom:


And there were even palm trees:


Deja vu. Of places I've never been and of the one place I couldn't help compare Llandudno, the Edwardian seaside resort town, to: Disney World. I need to see more of the world, don't I?

tell me honestly

Do I look like Harry Potter? Apparently, one of my neighbors thinks I do. When I looked at him like "I don't get why you're telling me this," he pointed out to someone else how he should just not talk anymore because everything he says sounds offensive to whomever he's trying to "compliment." I assured him that he didn't offend me. But how do I look like Harry Potter? Seriously. C'mon.

employees of the month

OK. I said somewhere that I am not going to L.A. this summer because the full-menu DQ no longer exists. I've changed my mind. I'll go just to find this Eagle Rock supermarket:



The video is good, as are all of theirs. Very funny. Wish Ben Stiller weren't in it because I can't stand his guts. But he's apparently a big fan, so at least he's got good taste in music.

Favorite bits:

1.) The woman's reaction to Dougie's mistreatment of her groceries. Also the look he gives her for buying some weird thing that looks like a mandrake to me.

2.) Neil shooting the price tags onto the products. Oh, and after he's done dancing with that old, scary woman, how they say goodbye.

3.) The reference to Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981). I'm guessing it's the first one (it could easily be the second?), but it doesn't matter. I distinctly remember one of Jones's students painting "I Love You" across her eyelids and flashing them at him during class. Back when Harrison Ford was sexy. But this is neither here nor there.

What doesn't make sense:

1.) Why is Dougie the only one to play an instrument?

2.) Don't actually believe the rest would be friends with Andy's character. He's such a Tracy Flick.

I read too much into things.

STOP LAUGHING

There is something truly lacking in these residence halls. While I never spent much time in the lounges of my former building on the university campus back home, I did park my ass for hours on end in the lobby on the first floor of the building just to read. These moments were punctuated by anything from quick chitchats to long discussions with people as they came and went. I spent so much time there that my friend Cassie and I were convinced that my favorite chair was something like a companion or boyfriend for me. We called him Alfred. I miss Alfred.

I can't do such a thing here. There aren't lounges on any of the floors. The kitchens compensate for any room where social activity outside the bedroom can take place. I don't count the pubs on campus because often there are so many people that you cannot hear each other well enough to have a conversation without shouting into each other's ears. Plus it's so smoky you can't even breathe. That's not as comfortable as sitting in Alfred's smoke-free arms.

It is not in me to spend time in a kitchen. A kitchen is for cooking. I recognize this is not so for others. But I don't particularly like the smell or look of my kitchen so the less time I spend in there the better. Other people, however, I'm convinced spend more time in there than they do in their own rooms. They like to gather, play beer pong, laugh, and generally have a good time. That's wonderful, but their laughing is annoying.

I know, I just said something as strange as "laughing is annoying." How can laughing be annoying, you ask? Well, when they are laughing ALL THE TIME, it is annoying. It is annoying because it is loud. It's like a symphony; they know each other so well they know when to chime in. They laugh so much I know exactly which laugh belongs to whom. They have no idea how iconic their belly laughs are. (This blog post only cements that iconic status.) But what is most annoying is that it is so loud and so incessant you can't hear WHAT they are laughing at. Without knowing this, what is the point? Do they even know what they are laughing at?

So, next time you laugh, ask yourself, "Why am I laughing?"

too serious an issue to have a pun for a title

I just read an interview from Advocate.com with Barbara Walters on her upcoming segment of "20/20" on transgender children and their families. It wasn't so much that Babba Wabba was covering this issue on such a widely-watched news show that made me cry. It was more about my admiration for people--no matter how young--who know who they are and thus know who they definitely are not. To come to terms with, embrace, and feel comfortable with one's transgender identity, as Barb says, takes a lot of courage. To read about how these parents have embraced their transgender children has given me hope.

But having said all this, I think the last line of the program ("No one can imagine what these special children go through to be who they are. They and their families struggle simply to be accepted. What if, one day, your child said, 'I am in the wrong body'? Could they accept it? Could you?"), which Barbara thinks is compassionate, is rather sensationalist in a National Enquirer sort of way. I understand it's supposed to make viewers reflect on their own lives, but it falls flat on me personally. I know what my answer would be to my child.

deutschland here i come!

It's official. I just booked my flight and I am going to Germany! For a couple of days. Right before exams start. I will go and stay with my friend Denise, who lives in the Cologne-Dusseldorf vicinity. But actually closer to Dusseldorf. We have plans to go to both cities in addition to Aachen and Maastricht, which is in the Netherlands.

Looking at the map yesterday, I saw just how close all of these cities are, and how Maastricht is right on the border with Belgium. What a small world. You hear about these European cities, but you have no idea how close they are until you plan to go visit them. (In the reverse, you think England--and hell, the UK as a whole--is just a small island, but when you spend hours on end on a train to get from the southern end to the northern, you realize just how big it might be. More possibilities.)

And "America" is just huge in comparison. The distances between (major) cities? No wonder we're in awe of it being just one country.

Anyway, I am really excited!

would you like attitude with your meal?

Because Sainsbury's suddenly stopped selling my low-fat burgers, I haven't had any red meat for at least a month until last night. I went to the burgers-kebabs-pizza-fried chicken joint on campus. If you are disgusted by this culinary combination, you have to realize they are ubiquitous here. Gotta hand it to them for wanting to please a variety of tastes. Suppose one in your party feels like chicken when you and your other friends want pizza. Oh, but this is neither here nor there.

I hadn't been to them in a while (only twice before really), and I remembered that the guys who work there are ALWAYS there no matter what time of day it is. And they are always friendly, but they weren't there last night. Some asshole was. He's actually the reason why I am posting. I ordered a half-pound beef burger (£2.90) and a side of chips (£1). He tried to charge me £4.20. When I asked how it totaled up that way, he looked annoyed and looked at me as if I were stupid. I added it up for him and then he said, "£3.90. OK." Because he was outsmarted by a woman, he didn't offer me any salt or vinegar on my chips. I had to ask for them. The other guys would ask me when I'd forgotten to request.

I'm sorry. This was a more interesting story in my head, but its moral is: people are such jerks.

where do little fanboys come from?

Reading an A.V. Club interview with Simon Pegg, Edgar Wright, and Nick Frost, I was reminded of just how knowledgeable and perceptive they are. It's always a joy to read what (famous) people say and find out that they're not idiots or assholes. Anyway, I think their comments on the origin of this strange and now popular species--the fanboy--are right on the money, and I've never seen anyone say this about him. (See this for another definition.)

From the A.V. Club interview, in response to a question about how pop culture is a generation's most prominent or only frame of reference (as opposed to real life experience):

Simon Pegg: The revolution of video had a massive [e]ffect. We grew up in a time where suddenly you could own films. Before, they had a theatrical run, and then perhaps they'd come back, or you'd catch them in a retro cinema. Generally, that was it. You never saw them until they were on TV. And you were on someone else's clock. The whole kind of notion of film belonging to you has also risen in the last 30 years or so. Less, probably.

Nick Frost: You'd have to wait so long for it to come out, too. It was a real treat to get a video.

Simon Pegg: I remember when Raiders Of The Lost Ark came out, it was the first sell-through video in the UK. It cost £19.99, and it was the first one you could buy and own. There was a rental period, where you could only rent them, you could get ex-rental, but they were always really expensive. This idea of popular culture became something that belonged to us rather than something that we looked at from far away. We realized we could be part of it and create it, instead of just being consumers only.

Reading this last bit of the interview, I felt nostalgic. I mean, I remember how we convinced our dad to buy a DVD player and DVDs when they were first actually affordable (what 1998? 1999?) by saying that when movies are released now, you can buy them straight away on this new format. Before, you'd wait months or even years to buy it once it was $19.99, after it finished its rental-only run. For instance, my sister and I rented Little Women (1994) almost every other week because we couldn't buy a copy (it was $100, and we were even thinking of keeping the rented one and paying for it once we'd claim it was lost). That's a fangirl obsession.

why does it always rain on me?

It's started to rain again everyday now. For weeks I'd say we'd gone without rain, and now it's here again. Welcome back rain. I see it as an accessory to my already depressing mood. Can't wait to get out of here.

no need to wait for red nose day to come together

I'm feeling dirty. I've embedded myself into some rather incestuous British comedy. When I should be revising like mad my four essays due this upcoming week, I've been streaming video online, watching the second series of "The Office" (2001-2003) and the whole of "Spaced" (1999-2001). I have yet to write in my film journal about them, so don't expect a dissertation right now. Instead, I want to address what I mean by "incestuous comedy."

British comedy stars pop up everywhere, in their friends' own efforts. See that Ricky Gervais from "The Office"? He'll do a cameo in "Spaced" and even one in your movie Hot Fuzz (2007) if you're Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. Oh, and so will "Office" co-creator Stephen Merchant. Pegg will do "I'm Alan Partridge" (1997-2002), and "Spaced" co-star Julia Deakin will appear in an episode, too. You know who else will pop up in "Spaced"? David Walliams, one half of "Little Britain" (2003-present). Speaking of "Little Britain," Rob Brydon's been a script editor on that show. Bill Bailey's in Hot Fuzz, "Spaced," and "Black Books" (2000-2004). And co-star Dylan Moran's been in Shaun of the Dead (2004) and Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (2005) with Steve Coogan (who's in Hot Fuzz, too) and Brydon.

I felt inspired to write on this topic while I was watching the very first episode of "Black Books" just now. I burst out laughing when I saw Martin Freeman of "The Office," Hot Fuzz, and Shaun of the Dead. When will it end? I asked myself. (Reminds me: I have such a crush on Martin.)

Surely never. Kevin Eldon from Hot Fuzz, "Spaced," and "I'm Alan Partridge" (he was that Mike guy whose laughter really annoyed Alan) just appeared. It's a small world, innit?

smells like toddler spirit

This is a thought I've had since last Friday. It recurs everyday, but I am only just now getting to tell you about it. It sickens me so.

It all began last week when my moisturizer ran out. Whenever I smell it, I think of L.A. Why? Because that is where I first met it. To make a short story even longer, I have terribly dry skin on my hands. It's obviously worse in winter. When I visited Stephanie in L.A. in December 2005 I told her that she better be waiting with some body lotion for me at the arrivals in LAX because I hadn't gotten round to buying some in the climate where it really would make a difference to have moisturizer anyway. She did. This is when our relationship started, and I always think of the room I stayed in in her former flat because I always put some on before going to bed and after waking up in the morning.

Now that it has run out, I had to buy something else as it is not available over here. I bought something because of the announcement on the bottle that it would minimize the hair on my legs so I wouldn't have to shave as often. I have yet to see any evidence of this, but what is most troubling is its fucking scent. It smells like Play-Doh. I kid you not. And looks like vaseline. What have I gotten myself into?

the envelope with no return address

I've been waiting to hear back from a scholarship to see who won it. Of course, I'm rooting for myself. So I was a bit disappointed not to find anything from the scholarship committee today. Instead, I got a mysterious envelope from London. With what felt like postcards in it.

While I was picking up my mail in the porters lodge, a friendly American neighbor was there, too. I told her how strange it was that I've gotten this. "I just have to know what this is!" I opened it up and Fran, Neil, Andy, and Dougie were smiling at me, reminding me that I really should go to their concert in Manchester in May (especially if I don't go to Berlin). "Travis sent me something."

"Oh, you're friends with Travis?" I have no idea if she was seriously referring to an individual called Travis or was referring to the band.

"Oh, yeah. We go way back," I said.

revenge of the dorks

I never imagined that reading an article about Adam Brody of "The O.C." (2003-2007) would really get me angry. Then again, I probably never imagined I would read an article about him anyway. But now that it's over and done with, I should just get on with it.

Don't get me wrong, I don't really care about this guy, but the ideas Joel Stein was passing around in this one from Time really got me. More specifically, it seems to me that the terms "nerd," "geek," and "dork" are interchangeable, but for me they have always meant separate things.

According to my dictionary (read: admittedly prescriptivist grammar):

"Nerd" = pocket protector-wearing, calculator-sporting, fashion-challenged Urkel. Favorite school subject: anything science. Wouldn't be caught dead without: Casio watch.

"Geek" = lightsaber-wielding, video game-playing, comic book-reading, D&D master. Favorite school subjects: English and theatre. Wouldn't be caught dead without: Spiderman underwear.

"Dork" = "indie"-listening, chronically embarrassed, obscure referencer. Favorite school subjects: music and art. Wouldn't be caught dead without: The Smiths Greatest Hits.

I understand these are gross generalizations, caricatures even. I admit that individuals can exhibit behavior characteristic of all three, but I don't think they mean the same thing. In other words, yes, we are all nerds, geeks, and dorks sometimes, but we're not all three all the time. Instead of this strict code I grew up believing in, I have turned to more of an umbrella term to describe myself: trainspotter. (See this for more information.)

I have often described "trainspotting" as synonymous with "geeking out." When you get so excited about something that no one could possibly match your enthusiasm, you're geeking out. For me, this occurs whenever I play "six degrees of separation" with film. Also whenever I recall people's birth-dates. I have to describe it as "geeking out." Otherwise people think I literally mean just watching trains go by. It's collectionist. It's obsessive compulsive behavior. That's why it's called "trainspotting."

Despite using the term "geeking out," I do not consider myself a geek a la the definition outlined above. I could care less about sci-fi and fantasy. (My reaction to Sunshine [2007] doesn't count.) I don't like to pretend to be anything I am not, so I don't role-play. I don't buy into other people's role-playing, either. Just doesn't interest me. However, I will point out that I would consider the same theatre-loving geeks the ones I admired for their imaginative use of the English language. I always thought this is why the ones I know like this are good at crossword puzzles.

Why I'm not a nerd: Apart from entomology and astronomy (which I don't understand completely by any means), I don't like science. Physics was only fun because the teacher was a riot (and a dork). For some people, "nerd" extends to just intellectualism in general. While I'd like to consider myself an intellectual, I think it's a bit pretentious to say I am at this stage in my education. But I can't help it: I want to know about more than I already think I do. Plus, I may not dress as fashionably well as others, but I am not fashionably challenged, am I? I haven't worn flood pants since I was little!

If you twisted my arm, I would probably consider myself a dork, but reading this article about Adam Brody made me think that it's trendy and/or hipster-ish to be a dork. I'm a dork because I often say things people cannot get into because they can't see where I am coming from (meaning they don't get my obscure reference). I embarrass myself all the time. I'm so timid. That's a dork, not this "Adam Brody type." He's just pretending.

So now you know where I stand. I'm a trainspotter.

i'm keeping it safe for someone else

You know, when I was going through withdrawal for not being able to listen to RadioIO80s and I was really not liking my other options, I would go through the iTunes libraries of my neighbors. Most like a whole range of musical genres. Most do not have all the albums of the bands they like. Some only have the singles. Some actually do have British bands in their collection, which I was relieved to find out.

Of all of this new music available to me, I only played one song from time to time: The Zutons' "Why Won't You Give Me Your Love?" I'd seen the video before and fell in love with the song then. I like their other stuff (I'd seen them support The Thrills in D.C. a few years ago, too). Should buy the records for myself.

I've embedded the video here for your viewing pleasure. It's fantastically cinematic, tipping its hat to West Side Story (1961), Grease (1978), A Clockwork Orange (1971), and Gladiator (2000). But before watching it just now, whenever I'd listen to the song, I wouldn't imagine the video per se. I'd imagine some vague new (or is it nouvelle?) movie plot. I need to think about it some more, but I think this song can inspire an idea for a screenplay for me. Isn't that a strange thing to happen upon?

when in rome... oh just screw 'em all!

I haven't blogged in a while. Been busy writing a horrid paper about why the student protest movement during the 1960s lasted longer in Italy than the ones in France, Spain, and West Germany did. Who cares? Besides, the topic is way too big and complex for 1500 words.

Oh, and I've also spent my time catching up on the second season of "Rome" (2005-2007). I've been streaming past episodes online. It's really a ridiculous program, a long-winded soft core porno, but beautifully made, (generally) well-acted, and contains enough homoeroticism to keep me entertained. The love story between soldiers-turned-gang leaders Lucius Vorenus (the Great Kevin McKidd) and Titus Pullo (Ray Stevenson) is usually gripping. I tell you, when they get close to each other, I can't stop hoping they will kiss. Oh, they never do. If they do at the end of the very last episode, it will be something out of a filmic adaptation of Jane Austen. Then again, it'd be very Jane Austen if they never kiss, either.

The past three episodes I've watched had French subtitles. Absolutely distracting. I can't help reading subtitles when they are up. I read The Fountain (2006) in French in addition to listening to it in English when I saw it in Paris. In the case of "Rome," I knew what they were going to say before they even said it. Surprised me to find out that I understood 95% of it. I can tell you I now understand why, whenever "fucking" is used as an adjective in English, it's translated as "putain de [fill in the blank]." For instance, "fucking hand" becomes "putain de main," meaning "bitch/whore of a hand." You get the picture.

There is one last thing I want to say. Watching the sex scene between Vorenus and barmaid/whore? Gaia (Zuleikha Robinson of The Namesake [2006] fame) was uncomfortable. Those kinds of scenes are not usually like that. But as Vorenus in general has gone off the deep end and has turned into a psycho desperate for redemption, it doesn't come as a surprise. He's just weird. I hope it is the director's fault that the actors played so badly in this scene. I'd hate to think McKidd's really this weird in bed.

welcome home

Animal Collective came on. I couldn't take it anymore. I went to investigate whether or not I could get RadioIO80s from the station's website. Yes, and to cut a short story even shorter: I'm even streaming it in iTunes. Thank. Fuckin'. God. I feel so much better, more at ease. There's nothing better than (most of) this music.

Now I have a different kind of situation. I was planning on actually *gasp* leaving my floor today. It'd be the first time since Friday. Now that I have my station back, I don't want to leave just yet. I need to get out of here, though. RadioIO80s will still be here.

Going.

a new kind of docudrama?

I just learned from reading the May 2007 issue of Sight & Sound that Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore are starring in a remake of Grey Gardens (1975) despite the fact that their ages aren't anywhere near close to Edie Bouvier Beale's and Little Edie's, respectively. At first, I thought, so this is the first remake based on a documentary, huh? Then I recalled how Rescue Dawn (2006) is a remake of Herzog's own Little Dieter Needs to Fly (1997). Now that I think about it, I'm sure Rescue Dawn ain't the first, either. Can you name any others?

But what does this mean, now that we're remaking documentaries into fiction?

this one will make you smarter

Just watched Defending Your Life (1991), a wonderfully brilliant (romantic) comedy. It's a funny thing, I have always thought it is an incredibly original film. But watching it this time round, I couldn't help but think of how like "The Metamorphosis" it is. (I think today being Kafka day and all for me, I need to stop thinking about it.) Finding these similarities doesn't mean the film isn't original. It definitely is.

OK. So why are they alike? Well, you have the dream-as-a-reality premise again. Plus the climax happens before the opening credits even roll! In much the same way that the first sentence of the story is the start of a downhill journey for Gregor. What Daniel Miller wakes up into is not a dream, but some sort of reality beyond consciousness. He goes to Judgment City to defend his life, so that he can move on in the universe and not spend a 21st lifetime on Earth. Sounds dream-like to me, but it's not. Gregor waking up into a nightmare, finding himself transformed into a giant insect, that sounds like a dream, but it's not.

In any case, I have some thoughts about Defending Your Life that I would like to share. I have a few questions that I would someday pose to Albert Brooks and then attempt to answer them myself if given the chance:

1.) Why is everything in English? I would assume that everything would be in several languages considering the world's diversity. I suspect the answer is that Judgment City only serves the United States, as Bob Diamond says about fifteen minutes into the film. At the same time, the film acknowledges that in their past lives, the "little brains" come from all over the world. Cases in point: the sumo wrestler and Daniel's native "dinner." Thus the real question I should be asking is: why only the U.S.? Those reasons are obvious; watch the film, I say.

2.) How have they recorded everyone's lives? Was this technology always readily available to those in Judgment City but we earthlings had to wait until the late 19th century to discover recording live action? I mean, centuries ago, how would the defenders and prosecutors working on the "trials" gather and examine evidence?

3.) Where do Daniel and Julia go? I understand this is left wide open because even Brooks doesn't want to pretend to know more, as the afterlife is already beyond our comprehension. Don't get me wrong: in saying this, I do not mean to say that Brooks seriously thinks there's something like Judgment City on the other side!

What I really mean by this question is, I don't think wherever they are going they will be together. I think they may end up in the same area or region or whatever, so as to make their search for each other easier. See, if he had gone back to Earth, they most definitely would never see/find each other again. That's why he had to fight to get on her tram. (Just realized that if you've never seen this film before, it must sound pretty strange to you right about now.) In this way, I think this "happily ever after" ending is quite bittersweet. I cannot help but imagine how they will be separated again. The search for someone to love and for someone to love you is never really over, is it?

OK. Enough of this heavy business. Here are my favorite bits about the movie:

1.) In finding out that Lena had lost her case last week, Bob gives a sigh of relief: "There is a god." Funny to think even a big brain is skeptical.

2.) The fact that in Judgment City you can eat and eat and never feel sick or gain an ounce. It's introduced early on, to Daniel, and it gets him excited about being there. It's nice to see that it's not discussed as only first and foremost exciting for women.

3.) One of the TV stations at the hotel, the one that loops all the attractions of Judgment City. Reminds me of every vacation I have taken to any resort (especially Disney World). THAT is priceless comedy. As is "There is no hell. But I hear L.A. is pretty close."

4.) Shirley MacLaine's cameo. I think this is the only thing about the film most people know about if they've never seen it. How fantastic for her to make fun of her beliefs in reincarnation! At the same time, it shows us that MacLaine is a big brain because she knows of Judgment City's existence and even works for the city. (She should, she's been there several times before, right?) And don't we feel smarter for knowing this, too, after having watched the movie?

we decided not to name our band

As you know, I've been listening to RadioIOEdge, the indie station. I've written down quite a few names of songs that I have enjoyed. In general, I think this mix is a bit pretentious. I can't describe it exactly, but so many are too "indie" for their own good. You know that stigma against "emo"? I think there's a similar one against these bands. But I haven't blogged to talk about that.

What I do want to comment on is some of the most ridiculous band names I have ever heard. It seems to me that bands no longer want to name themselves nouns. The Beatles. Stone Roses. The Thrills. Whatever. Now bands are moving toward names that are--get this--whole sentences.

Cases in point:
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (more like a run-on, really)
I'm from Barcelona (no hint of a Spanish accent)
Pretty Girls Make Graves (I take offense as a Smiths fan because this new band sucks)

And my favorite:
Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin (Doesn't that just make you feel better?)

I even encountered a band labeled "!!!!" I thought, this cannot be their name. Try Googling it. It will be the only time you search for something that comes up with absolutely no hits. That doesn't bode well for the band, now does it?

By the way, the title of this blog post is a name of a band I just made up.

i don't like my job either, gregor

Tomorrow, I promise, is Kafka day. I will continue with the new additions I encountered this afternoon, I promise. Having just stuffed myself (and wanting some more oreos), I just don't have the energy to work through these new Kafkaesque thoughts.

Until tomorrow.

a little taste of home?

I rarely ever eat them when I am at home. And when I do buy them, I buy the reduced fat kind, but of course those do not exist here. It is a wonder I can get the regular kind. They're an American novelty. A lot of people I know do not know what they are, and if they do, they have never tried them. "Oh, they go with milk, don't they?" Commercials have given them this much information. So that they may never try them for themselves. Why would you when you have milk chocolate digestives?

The only way to buy them is in a small package (59p at Sainsbury's) with four individually wrapped packets of four biscuits each. I'm sure we get twice as much in the packages at home. And I cannot for the life of me find the nutrition information anywhere. The ingredients and storage instructions come in ten languages, though, so that is handy.

Now I am going to taste them to see if that is any different. The verdict: much more cookie than cream.

Oh well. An oreo's an oreo.

happy birthday bobby carlyle

You're awesome. I don't know what else to say.

this is an autograph by me

Now this is embarrassing, but I am going to tell you about it anyway because I've been thinking about it. I recently rewatched The Terminal (2004). I still have many problems with it, but I found it moving again. In any case, the end credits feature everyone's signature. It's good because if you should write in to the Tom Hanks or Diego Luna fanclubs, asking for an autograph, you'd be able to tell if it was real by comparing it against these signatures at the end.

As for the point of this post? I'm getting there.

Watching the signatures get filled out, I was reminded of how I really don't like my own. So I reverted back to seventh-grade behavior and started signing my name all over pieces of scrap paper, attempting to find a newer, cooler way of making my mark.

The best one I came up with--and it's unfortunate I can't duplicate it here--featured the "L" and "X" of my name reaching down together, at different angles, very nearly meeting each other. And the "C." that is my middle initial floated as some sort of quarter moon above each of my names. The last name didn't change much.

it's all gone, gone, gone, baby

I shaved my head today. You know how much I hate my hair. Recently, it had gotten to the point where I couldn't stand to look at it in the mirror anymore. I'd go to sleep hating it and I wouldn't be able to think about anything else.

It's longer now than I have usually had it shaved in the past. F8 instead of F4. It's cute. I'm very happy with it. I went to three places before someone agreed to shave my head. First, it was a barber shop. If I were a man she would have done it for £5. I guess it's against the law; if they have a business that caters specifically to men, then they cannot work on women. The next one said she wouldn't have time to do it today, all while her receptionist, who was quite dumb really, was looking for a name and price list for what I was asking and suggesting I do something else. The last place, which is where I got it done (and funnily enough it was a Hair Cuttery, which is called HC UK here and I only noticed this after I got my receipt), originally said £20. ("It may take 2 minutes, but it's the length." Um, no.) I bitched and scritched, so I got it for £10, which was the most I was willing to pay.

Sorry to have bored you with this, but it is always interesting to me to see how people--especially women--react to my decision. Denise said she was "impressed" and that she could never do it. A hairdresser called me "brave." I told her, "I've done it before. And it's the best haircut." You don't have to worry about it anymore. No more frizz, wind, blow-drying, etc. Will admit that sometimes there is bed hair. Sometimes some parts will stick up and will be hard to flatten out, to pad down.

A few days ago, when I sent an email to my father and Stephanie about how I was thinking of doing this, even going so far as to transcribe my pro/con list from my journal, my father replied back, saying that such a superficial change couldn't change my attitude, the way I feel about myself. I agree to a degree, but I do believe that a change of clothes or hairstyle can make you feel good about yourself, which in turn changes your attitude toward others. I smiled a lot more today, and I suspect it will continue.

sunshiny daydream

It is so damn nice outside. I just got back from a stroll round campus. I walked to the other end just to recycle a glass jar of peanut butter. Remember, I just discovered I can't recycle glass with the rest of my plastic bottles and jugs.

The sun is shining, people are out. It's just so pleasant, but I don't know what to do in such weather. It's not like I'm athletic or anything. And walking round campus? I can't tell you how many times I've done it. I might walk into town tomorrow (never done it) to go grocery shopping, pick up the new issue of Sight & Sound and maybe NME because this is England, and shave my head.

In the meantime, I think I will watch a marathon of movies.

First up: Wet Hot American Summer (2001). It's not summer. I'm not in America. It's not hot. It's not wet, but it seems appropriate for the mood that the sunshine has brought in to me. I want to laugh.

Next: Little Miss Sunshine (2006). I do like this one after all. I just don't like the juggernaut it became. It's feel-good, funny, and leaves you all warm and fuzzy.

And after that: Who knows? Bride & Prejudice (2004) maybe?

I just want to see people in sunshine. It's a simulation of what I've actually observed today and cannot see myself taking part in. But I will pull the curtains open and let real sunshine come through. Oh, it can improve moods.

non-commercial = gay?

Listening to at least three RadioIO stations, I'm pretty familiar with their commercials. I'd list the most regularly played (there are only four), but that would be doing them a service.

I just heard an advert I'd never heard before. It started with something to the effect of: "You've proven you don't like commercial music, so why are you still watching commercial movies?" Then it went on about the virtues of independent cinema, about how it can change your life.

Curious, I visited the advertised website, and found something I really wasn't expecting (they got me!). They specialize in gay and lesbian films, which is not hinted in their name or in that sound bite I heard. They look like they're direct-to-video and a little too over-sexed, I might add. I'm not a prude or homophobic (me? yeah right!) but just admit it: there's a certain style in marketing such films, and they've got it full-on. It defines their image. I should write a paper about this...

but i heart these guys

This isn't exactly laugh-out-loud funny but it is cute:



It's a parody of the Lily Tomlin-David O. Russell on-set spat I directed to you a while ago. Here the brilliant Paul Rudd takes Tomlin's place, and Michael Showalter is over-the-top as Russell but still not quite as over-the-top as Russell himself was. "I Heart Showalter" is part of an upcoming episode of "Michael Showalter Showalter," according to the website I swiped it from, but I cannot find evidence of its existence elsewhere (i.e. IMDb).

Must say that the funniest bit is a play on Michael's name. "Go fuck your sho(w), Walter." Classic.

By the way, I cannot believe I have finally broken down and embedded a video in my blog. I guess I did it because if I "directed" you to it, you probably wouldn't go, especially since out of the gate I called it not "exactly laugh-out-loud funny."

thank god he met rachel

I just read this in the celebrity news posted on IMDb, or what Stephanie calls "The Bible" just because we read it everyday (not because it is the gospel truth):

Gosling & McAdams Plan Flash Engagement-Wedding?

Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams are secretly planning a flashy engagement party and wedding ceremony - on the same day. Sources tell Us Weekly magazine the stars of The Notebook are planning to keep their nuptials top secret - by marrying hours after agreeing to wed. An insider says, "They want to get engaged and married on the very same day to keep it very private."

OK. Now I understand they're doing this because the date of the event(s) will not be released, in effect keeping any paparazzi from spoiling it (but who cares about their coupling anyway?). However, if this is true, doesn't their announcement of this kind of plan announce their engagement anyway? Their intention to wed? So just cut out the engagement party and have a wedding party. We already know you're engaged.

i was looking for salvation

Fuck RadioIO80s. I recently heard Jay call it "RadioIO80sPop." This makes sense since RadioIO80sPop is no longer listed as available. This means they got rid of RadioIO80s because I was the only person who listened to it. What I don't understand is why they didn't just get rid of RadioIO80s from the list. It's a bit confusing, no?

Well, I had wandered onto RadioIO90s and it's just awful. I'd say I didn't recognize about 50 percent of the bands and songs played. The stream host, whose name I do not know because I hadn't spent as much time with him as I have with Jay, must have really liked 311 because that was the only band that was ever repeated. And all their shit sounds the same to me, anyway.

Where am I now?

RadioIOEdge. I suppose it's their indie station. So far it's pretty good. I'm going to stay here for awhile, but I have to tell you that the mumbling radio one of my neighbors (the only one I truly dislike) is blasting is driving me mad. I can't even tell you what language it is in. I think I need to get out of here, anyway.

Please, I don't want to be miserable anymore!

let's call the whole thing off

Thank god for libraries, that is all I have to say.

After days of writer's block, I spent about six hours in the library, brainstorming for this essay on the narrative perspective of "The Metamorphosis." Afterwards, I was even brave enough to write by hand the whole damn thing. Now all I need to do is type it up and edit, edit, edit.

I know what you're thinking. Why didn't you just go to the library all those days ago if you knew it would help you work? Well, it was closed for about five days for the Easter holiday week(end). I had to wait just to sit inside, to get away from my computer's multifarious distractions and to get away from the bed whenever I felt depressed or bored.

memories flood in like sound waves

I need to stop listening to RadioIO80s. Will you help me? 'Cuz I need to work on my essay on the narrative perspective of "The Metamorphosis." I was convinced that I had writer's block, but I realized just before falling asleep at 1.10 pm today that what I have now will work for the paper. But what have I done? I've napped and listened to RadioIO80s, which now only plays some of the worst 80s music. But I've also regained my youth.

1.) Earlier, Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" was playing. All of a sudden, I had a flashback and I accurately remembered Mannequin 2: On the Move (1991), but the song was written for the first one with Andrew McCarthy and Kim Cattrall. But it's in the second, which I spent a lot of time watching over and over. Thus I was at once impressed with my skills (read: memory) and horrified by it all.

2.) "The Final Countdown" by Europe. I thought I was remembering Rocky IV (1985) or something like that, but in fact I was really just recalling GOB's theme. It was playing when he sank the family yacht.

3.) Now it's a song by Rick Astley that I don't remember at all ("Move Right Out"). But I remember him: his voice, his dark suits that were always WAY too big for him, my cousin's enthusiasm for his music. She liked Barry Manilow, too. Still might, for all I know.

Get this: Whenever I publish a blog, Jay does something that makes me have to write again. This time, he's gone and played Phil Collins. I should just kill myself right here, right now.

no need to book in advance

I just saw the trailer for No Reservations (2007), the one with Catherine Zeta-Jones as an anal retentive chef who suddenly comes into the custody of her niece, Abigail Breslin aka the Oscar-nominated precocious Olive of Little Miss Sunshine (2006). At the same time, the chef must deal with the sous-chef (a very SIZZLING Aaron Eckhart) who's got different methods in the kitchen. And on top of this, she's gotta resist his sexiness. Poor girl.

Sound familiar? It is. It's a remake of a cute little German film, Bella Martha (2001). See the trailer so you can see how it is the same, scene for scene. How could Scott Hicks, who gave us Shine (1996), remake something that won't match the original (let alone remake anything at all)?

On a similar note, I've heard that the Best Picture of 2006, according to the Academy anyway, is almost scene for scene the same as its original source material, Infernal Affairs (2002). For. Shame.

wtf? and omg!

How was "Go Insane" possibly Lindsey Buckingham and NOT Wham! or George Michael?

Oh, and if only the commercials on RadioIO80s would change!

And now Rod Stewart's "Some Guys Have All the Luck" is playing. Reminds me of a little version I did when I was little ("some guys have long penises"). I got in a lot of trouble for it after my sister suggested I sing and dance it in front of my dad.

Memories, memories.

my world's turned upside down

I don't know what to do now. I feel like Howard Stern in Private Parts (1997) once the radio station he's been working at in Detroit or some place has turned country. RadioIO80s no longer plays new wave. I knew something was up once stream host Jay Cumbie started playing the Producers, who I get confused with bands like the Hooters and the Tubes. (However, I should note that these last two bands were played from time to time on MY RadioIO80s.)

Now I doubt I will ever hear the likes of the Smiths, the Jam, the Clash, Joy Division or New Order even. I'm now in the company of Don Johnson, Hall & Oates, Lionel Richie, and some guy called Gerald Levert (of "Casanova" fame, apparently). It's like any other easy listening channel minus Roxette, Ace of Base, Cher, and Gloria Estefan. The only respite I've had this morning is "Rock Steady" by the Whispers (grew up with that song) and, forgive me for saying this: Thompson Twins ("Doctor Doctor").

Oh god. "Break My Stride" by Matthew Wilder is on right now. Maybe my dad would like this change...

my retinas still burn

I saw sunshine today. In more ways than one. It was an unusually sunny and warm day. And I also saw Sunshine (2007), a new sci-fi epic penned by Alex Garland and directed by The Great Danny Boyle. It doesn't come out in the U.S. until September. (What are they waiting for?) This time, it was just four of us. I arrived late because of the bus; the commercials had already started, and I was the first one in the theatre. But that is neither here nor there.

Out of respect, out of courtesy, I will not go on and on about this one because I highly recommend it. Sunshine is an experience, it's not a film. In much the same way that The Fountain (2006) was for me.

After the first half hour, once something truly upsetting had happened, I think I cried the rest of the way through. I had such a visceral reaction to the visuals, the sound, the story, that at some points it was hard for me to breathe (and to see because of the tears in my eyes). On the way out, the usher asked if I was alright.

I really hate that I cannot divulge much more because you can't see it yet. I will say I only had a few problems with it, such as the ending which should have ended just thirty seconds before. And I don't understand why they played the whole movie back during the end credits in a sort of cliff notes version.

When I first learned of the film's premise, I thought it was a bit stupid. But for two hours, I believed in their mission to basically bomb the sun's core so that its rays of light and warmth and energy would reach Earth. Suddenly it became very realistic, so realistic that you're amazed this hasn't actually happened before. It's set in 2057, following the effects of global warming and climate change, I'm sure, to some degree, but they never explicitly say. Oh, the technical jargon required some getting used to, but once things were set in motion, everything became clearer.

I had read an article in The Guardian by Mark Kermode, and I think it gives a good background to the film and where it comes from in relation to other sci-fi movies (for instance, it's very cineliterate). There is some discussion of spirituality, and it is definitely in the movie, but not in the way I was expecting and not in the way this article would lead you to believe. If I were to say more than this, I might ruin it for you.

what's with today today?

Gregory Peck would have been 91 today.
Bette Davis 99.
Spencer Tracy 107.
Melvyn Douglas 106.

What is wrong with IMDb today? Surely some people born today are still living, right? In any case, it is rather cool that so many (contemporaneous) acting "legends" were born on April 5.

please reuse me

I just found out some disturbing news. I've been recycling glass along with plastic bottles and aluminum cans when I shouldn't have. I don't ever feel right about throwing away glass. How am I supposed to do that now?

happy birthday johnny borrell

Before I took a three-hour-long nap this evening, I had been awake for 34 hours straight. I'm still very tired and I suspect I will take it very easy tomorrow so as to recover.

I'm not going to recount everything that happened in Manchester. I will say I got lost once but that was just while getting my bearings after having to exit from Piccadilly Station rather than Oxford Road. I heard at Cornerhouse, where I saw The Namesake (2006), that there was a bomb threat/scare. This troubled me because I recalled the Arndale IRA bombing of 1996. Yesterday was the first time in the UK I ever felt worried about where I was. I didn't feel well watching a movie in a basement.

I went to Manchester to see Razorlight in concert, as you know. I am not very familiar with their music, but I do have their first record. The concert was at MEN Arena and I hadn't been to an arena-scale concert in forever. It reminded me of the very first concert I ever went to: Bush. (Don't ask.)

Last night was filled with contradictions. I enjoyed the concert very much; I finally had some fun! We didn't know how many supporting acts there would be or just who they were even, so it really was quite exciting to see it unfold in front of us. Mohair was the first band but I wasn't too crazy about them. Then Pull Tiger Tail came on, and I much preferred them (they were also sexier). I should look up each band's music because I am of the persuasion that believes that seeing a band in concert does not mean that I'll like the recording. I mean, when the vocals are not equal to the instruments' noise, you cannot really hear the vocals. The singer may sound "annoying," and this would only be obvious on the album. Anyway, will look them up. I suggest you do, too. Especially Pull Tiger Tail (what a ridiculous name).

I had grown tired halfway through Razorlight's set. It didn't help that I was also holding my bladder. But once I relieved that upon leaving the venue with thousands of other people, I became hyper and obnoxious. Leaving, we actually passed members of the first two bands signing merchandise. I was so wound-up that I said "hi!" to the lead singer of Mohair as he walked past. He didn't hear me because I probably wasn't loud enough. I should have said, "Your set just kept getting better and better!" This is not untrue; it just leaves out the fact that it wasn't very good at the start.

Then I sat in the kitchen with my friends Lisa and Denise, chitchatting away until 1.45 am. On the way back to the hostel, Lisa had bought a copy of Q Magazine with Razorlight frontman Johnny Borrell on the cover, topless and looking a bit like Mick Jagger and Jim Morrison. We found out from Q that today, the 4th, is his 27th birthday. And he didn't even mention it to us. Surprising because he is sooo into himself.

In any case, I put my head down at 2.10 am but never lost consciousness. People were already asleep by the time I got into bed, so I'm not exactly sure to whom I can attribute each strange behavior. You see, I could never get to sleep because of these weird noises. One guy was snoring AND moaning. It was a sort of hybrid. Another (or it could be the same guy, and I think it was) spurted out trios of farts every so often. Two others had your run-of-the-mill snores. Another spontaneously woke himself up now and again, saying something in a language I could not readily identify. I slept on the top bunk, above some guy who reeked of smoke and B.O. when he got in at 3 am. And he snored. It was terribly unpleasant. Especially since I otherwise really liked this hostel. It was VERY clean, very quiet, and very well-situated. (Although I must say I did not like the showers as you could see right through them and there was no area to change.)

In summation about most of the nine other people I shared a room with last night, I thought: "These people should never sleep in public." I don't understand how some--such as my friend Lisa (who, I might add, never made a peep!)--could sleep through it!

At 6.40 am, I finally stopped rolling around. I got dressed and watched "Breakfast" on BBC 1 where I witnessed firsthand Lee Ingleby's sexiness. He was promoting the BBC 1 drama "George Gently" with co-star Martin Shaw. Other than this nice blip, I really just heard all the top news stories over and over for a few hours. Then I headed out to Urbis. Learned some new things thanks to a private tour (a bored docent walked straight up to me, Denise, and Denise's friend who met us at the hostel just before, and asked if she could lead us around). Learned more about how the building/site relates to that part of downtown. Also more about the architecture and architect himself, Ian Simpson, who clearly has democratic ideals in mind while designing but likes to hole up in the poshest parts of his designs like any pure elitist.

I was afraid there wasn't anything new since the last time I went there. But this was fortunately untrue. "Play" was pretty damn cool even if kids were fooling around with the interactive exhibits. It was basically about people reclaiming urban spaces and subverting practices and prejudices that are so closely regulated. For instance, there were playful uses of irony in temporary graffiti art that was, in some cases, quite inspirational. In the snow, one artist had inscribed something to the effect of "My mum told me to stay at home. Did I listen? Hell no!" and "Listen kids, graffiti destroyed my life." There's guerrilla gardening in some parts of the world, too, where people meet up late at night and plant flowers and such in public areas. This reminded me of Joe's Apartment (1996). Despite looking like something for kids (with a title like that...), it was really rather good.

Also good was the exhibit on Hong Kong's contemporary art trying to reconcile some historical and cultural issues within and outside itself. The exhibit is an event to help mark the 10-year anniversary of Hong Kong's switching over from British to Chinese control. This exhibit was there the last time I was at Urbis, but I didn't get to see it because we ran out of time.

Unfortunately, Urbis will have two exhibits starting in the summer that I will miss: "The Best of Manchester" and "The Hacienda." That pisses me right off.

Next I went to the Manchester Art Gallery and was utterly underwhelmed. The wonderful space that had once housed the Joe Colombo exhibit that had amused me so much I wrote a paper about him was now sparingly decorated for an exhibit about contemporary international artists' use of Cold War sci-fi themes to make statements about race and difference. Almost absolutely no (con)text. And there really wasn't much of an emphasis on a/an (inter)national context, but they showed movie posters of American films in local languages such as Polish and Italian. They looked the same as the American posters for the same films. What does this say? The curators don't even attempt to answer this question. Will say that I loved the richly painted orange walls. So was "Alien Nation."

And then I went home.

a way round it

This is for today!

auto-reply message: will return wednesday

I'm exhausted. There's not enough time to write a proper post. I am going to Manchester tomorrow for a Razorlight concert. I won't be back until Wednesday evening/night. This means there will be no post tomorrow. The first time since I started this blog. I apologize for any inconvenience.

hey, burn my finger

My left index finger is swollen. It's red. It hurts. It looks like a bee has stung it, but actually I burned it on the pan while I was cooking grilled cheese sandwiches this evening. Wait, that's not true. I was WASHING the pan with COLD water so that I could carry it back to my room. How do you like that? I didn't get the part where the handle meets the actual pan and burned myself just at that spot. Terrific.

Will you kiss it, make it feel better?