Spanning the sub-genres of monster, boogie man, vampire, slasher, and zombie—these are my ten-best horror films of the 2000's. (Actually, they are all monster films, aren't they?)
What for you bury me in the cold, cold ground? — The Tasmanian Devil
The Decade's Best Horror Films
Spanning the sub-genres of monster, boogie man, vampire, slasher, and zombie—these are my ten-best horror films of the 2000's. (Actually, they are all monster films, aren't they?)
What for you bury me in the cold, cold ground? — The Tasmanian Devil
The Decade's Best Animated Films
Covering the techniques stop-motion, rotoscoping, traditional, and CGI—these are my ten-best animated films of the 2000's. The film genres represented are: Fantasy, Superhero, SF, Documentary, Action/Adventure, Mystery, and Comedy.
We cartoon characters can have a wonderful life if we only take advantage of it. — Heckle (or Jeckle)
gameboard
1. Begin in the proximity of the birth square.
2. Move according to the pips on your die.
3. Avoid as many bad spaces as possible.
4. Stop when you land on a death spot.
— Pogo Possum
evaluate the artist by comparing this 2010 artwork to:
Zonk Won't Hike Frozen Ground
I gotta have a bird! I'm weak, but I don't care! I can't help it! After all, I am a pus-thy cat. — Sylvester the cat
Byzantine Bullshit
I slowed my pace from march to stroll about a half-block from the Washington Square train stop because the status board read Blue Line to Hillsboro 9 min. Downshifting from stroll to meander, I began listening to the-already-waiting’s conversations. I paused near three college-age girls.“...to fuck on Saturday and I’s like, ‘He is so fetch. Maybe I should, you know?’ But then, I dunno.”
I meandered on when I didn’t hear the obligatory reply: ‘Gretchen stop trying to make fetch happen it's not going to happen.’ I’m not bothered by cute people's colloquial use of fuck, or even their inane overuse of like—but mishandle fetch and I decline to participate...even as a skulking eavesdropper.
“...only that’s never sufficient is it? Always needs the next. The brightest. The mostest. You’ve heard of champagne taste but beer budget? Well, chauffeur taste and bus budget is how I...”
He could have been using the almost invisible Bluetooth, (and I’m not adverse to listening-in on one end of a wireless conversation; I sometimes get myself giggling imagining the other half) but this grimy guy didn’t have the posture or the requisite disconnect with the other members of the train stop to be loud-talking on a phone. I think he was preaching to himself about himself. I shuffled my feet along the sidewalk and—even though I had my sunglasses on—I became conscious of where my face was pointed and insured it remained away from him.
“...too early in the damn morning for that byzantine bullshit.”
Whoa, this could be a good one. Two tallish scruffs of indeterminable age—taking up waaay more space than their backpacks and hats-worn-askance should be able to fill—would, normally, never catch my ear. But byzantine bullshit? That’s a keeper.
I climbed the steps of the westbound Max-train behind them and stood in the isle near them.
“Tell me Scrait...do parasites like dat qualify for your program?”
“Naw. Dude’s a mosquito. No sense in swatting em when you can use repellant.”
“Mosquito hover round me...try to land (snap—I hear the sharp sound of a finger-click) I mash it, even if I am wearin Deet.”
“Deet? You wear you some Deet?” (This was spoken through a big smile.)
“Fuckyou....whatchou wear?” (Also, through a smile.)
“It’s an anology.”
“For reals? Here my dumb ass was thinkin it was a metaphor all dis time. Glad you here to set me scrait.”
Up to this point I’d thought scrait was the name of the one who used byzantine in a sentence. We all shuffled as seats emptied. Byzantine and Scrait ended up in a bench behind me as I took an isle seat next to a gray pantsuit with a gold duffle-purse too big for her body-frame.
“A metaphor is a type of analogy; a sub-set.” replied Byzantine.
Scrait said, “I was bein ironic....which is a type of sarcasm...a sub-set.”
The soft sound of clothing-against-clothing punctuated their snickers, and I imagined the exchange of elbow-nudges. I had hopes of gleaning more about Byzantine’s program, which (I assumed) Scrait had brought up after Grimy-bus-budget-guy asked one or both of them for money, but their conversation had travelled too far from the Washington Park train stop and I suspected I’d never hear more.
Just before I stood for my stop, Scrait asked, “So... what kinda insect qualifies?”After such a lengthy pause I was afraid I wouldn't hear Byzantine's answer before I got off—he said, with his face toward the window so his voice sounded much lower than it really was, “brown recluses and black widows.”
As I walked to my car, I wondered if he was still speaking metaphorically.
(...) — The Pink Panther
Santa and Easter Bunny
Everybody was a baby once, Arthur. Oh, sure—maybe not today or even yesterday—but once. Babies, chum: tiny, dimpled, fleshy mirrors of our us-ness, that parents hurl into the future, like leathery footballs of hope. And you've got to get a good spiral on that baby or evil will make an interception. — The Tick
Sneaky Low-Down Persistent Ellipses
. Her most recent ploy, (I choose to imagine a woman whose every feature conjures the word pert) is to use some innocuous cliché followed by dot dot dot times five...with each dot a link to their site.Yesterday's post was blessed by: A bird in hand is worth two in the bush................
I chose, rather than resort to Captchas, to create. Thanks pertness!
There are three things in life that people like to stare at: a flowing stream, a crackling fire and a Zamboni clearing the ice. — Charlie Brown
Mixed Meta For Stewed Mackerel
In criminal investigation, sometimes you tackle the guy, sometimes you swing-and-miss, and—once-in-a-clue-loon—the guy takes a high dive (when it should've been obvious there's no diving in ice fishing). This was one of those times. I recall the strange details of this case as if they unfolded yesterday instead of over a decade ago. I feel slightly guilty (still) about the dreadful outcome. It also still makes me giggle a little bit.1: While badger hunting, we are gifted with a mackerel stew recipe.
I had three on-the-job-trainee interns: Hughie, Dewy, and Louie. I tasked Hughie with locating a suspect, Mr Ecks, who did not want to be found. After two days of flailing, Hughie said he didn't think it was possible to locate Mr Ecks's address without a warrant.
"We can't get a warrant without probable cause, Hughie. You have to find him first. Then we talk to him." I said.
"Everyone I called told me either they didn't have any information on him, or that I needed a warrant before they could give me his information. I'm no good at this." He said.
I looked over the agencies he'd contacted. The local cable provider was the least significant company on his list who said they needed a warrant. I said, "Call the cable company back. Ask for the same lady you spoke with the first time. Once you get her on the phone, explain everything to her. One hundred percent truth. Tell her what you know he did and why you know it; also tell her how this suspicion isn't enough for a judge to grant a warrant. Tell her all you need is his address. That this guy is going to get away with it if someone doesn't help us catch him. If she sticks to the warrant-bit, give her your name and number and ask her to call you if she changes her mind and thank her. Be overly nice to her. It can't hurt."An hour later he came back to my office. "She says if we go down there and show her a badge, she'll give us Mr Ecks's address."
"All that time on the phone! What the fuck Hughie? Are you goin steady with her yet?"
"Very funny. Actually, she and I kinda hit it off and she ... well, she had this complaint. Kind-of. Mostly, she wants it to be anonymous cause she's scared as greased hell that the info will point back at her. But if what she says is real, I think she just gave us a pretty big economic crime case."
As we drove downtown to show her my badge, Hughie explained how, before her divorce, Mrs Cable was the sole bookkeeper for her ex-husband's business. Mr Cable's company installed large overhead, hinged, and sliding garage doors. For the last four or five years Mr Cable met about every month or two with Mr Mackerel, who provided assistance in obtaining government contracts. Although Mrs Cable suspected Mr Cable paid his friend for the inside information, she never witnessed any actual graft.
2. I compile the stew ingredients.
To provide a smoke-screen, over a period of a few weeks I "conducted a review" of hundreds of various government contracts: plumbing, electrical, new construction, old construction-repair, siding, windows, roofing, and garage doors. I learned Mr Cable's company had been awarded 92.5% of all the garage door contracts on the military installation; 37 of 40 in the prior 4
½ years.One person was responsible for representing the government in these contracts: Mr Mackerel.
4
¾ years earlier, Mr Mackerel had been promoted to the contracting position.These contracts were required to be open to the lowest bidder. The bidding process was always conducted with sealed envelopes. Between two and five other contracting companies routinely bid. Mr Cable's bid was the lowest by $10 to $50 on all but three contracts.
3. I put the ingredients I found in a pot.
I called Mr Cable and asked him to come to my office. The day he came for his interview, I sent Dewey and Lewie to go pick-up Mr Mackerel from his office. I advised both Cable and Mackerel—separately—of their legal rights for the crimes of: Conspiracy to Commit Fraud, Graft, Theft of Government Funds in Excess of $100,000.00, False Official Statements, and Bribery.
Neither of them said anything incriminating. Both claimed they only knew each other professionally.
I did not interrogate either of them.
I told Mr Cable that I didn't need a confession because I had a source who'd already provided all the information I needed, and concluded with, "...on the basis of that information, a judge will undoubtedly find you guilty. And—from my experience with white-collar crimes of this nature—you can look forward to a huge fine, being banned from all government contracts for 3 to 5 years, and probably probation." I then told Dewy to take his mug-shots and fingerprints.
I told Mr Mackerel that I didn't need a confession because I had a source who'd already provided all the information I needed, and concluded with, "...on the basis of that information, a judge will undoubtedly find you guilty. And—from my experience with white-collar crimes of this nature—you can look forward to a huge fine, losing your job, being banned from all future government employment and pension, and probably probation." I then told Louie to take his mug-shots and fingerprints.
4. I turn on the heat and stir.
Hughie was sent to interview some government co-workers of Mr Mackerel: Mr Ahe, Miss Bee, Mr Cee and Mrs Dee.
Louie was sent to interview a handful of construction employees of Mr Cable: Mr Eff, Mr Gee, Mr Ache and Mr Eye.
Dewy was sent to interview other owners of garage door installation companies: Mr Jay, Mr Kay and Mr Elle.
They were given a small list of questions to ask, like: Did you ever see Mr Cable and Mr Mackerel together outside of a professional setting? Did either Cable or Mackerel ever confide their fraudulent activities to you or anyone you know? None of the interviewees provided any information.
I met with the Director of Contracting. I briefed him on the facts of the case and recommended that he remove Mackerel from all duties involving contracts. He concurred, immediately suspended Mackerel and turned him into a high-paid receptionist.
5. I put a lid on the pot.
Mrs Cable called me.
"You are going to get me killed!" She said, "My ex was just here and he is going ape-poop-crazy. He accused me of turning them in and told me that if he finds out I turned him in he would kill me an bury me in the woods where nobody would ever find me! You said they would never know it was me. But I told you they would suspect me and now look, I don't know..."
"Mrs Cable. MRS CABLE! Calm down. Caaaalmmm dooowwwnn."
"Okay, sorry."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him it wasn't me. That I had no reason to turn him in. I told him that we'd been divorced for over a year, so why would I turn him in now? Which did calm him a bit; but then he just got more worked up and he pointed outside at a dark sedan and said they were following him. Are you following him everywhere?"
"No. No, we don't have any reason to conduct surveillance on him. But I'm glad he's upset. That's a good thing. If he gets in touch with you again, just continue to deny, okay?"
6. The pot begins to boil.
"Hello, Mrs Cable?" I said, "Have you heard from your ex-husband since I spoke with you last week?"
"No."
"Good. I want you to call him and tell him you just got a phone call from the cops. That we asked to schedule an interview with you, but you told us that you couldn't until Saturday because of work. Then I need you to convince him that you are in a panic, that you don't know what to say or do. That you need his help. You need to convince him to come to your house on Saturday before noon and wait in the next room when we come to interview you at 1230. We'll act like it's the first time we've spoken; we'll ask all about your work as the company bookkeeper. . . you'll deny any knowledge. He'll overhear. Can you do it?"
7. I take the lid off the pot.
"How did everything go?" I asked Mrs Cable.
"Fantastic. He coached me on how to act and what to say. Then when your guys left he came out and I could see immediately that he no longer suspected me. He thought of me, more, as a co-conspirator at that point."
"So you don't feel in danger any more?"
"Nope. Not at all."
8. Mackerel stew is served.
"Special Agent Glines?"
"Speaking."
"This is Lieutenant Colombo from the Downtown Police Department. I've got a guy who confessed to shooting and killing your confidential informant in a case you're investigating where ... ummm, he ... they ... were doing some kind of contracting fraud?"
"Ahhh... umm, this is the first I've heard. I ... I'm ... sorry lieutenant—yes, I have an investigation of that nature. Who is the suspect? Can you tell me the name of the man who confessed to the shooting?"
"Yes, it's a Mister Mackerel. He says the guy he killed last night, around 2am, was your informant and I..."
"Is he sitting within earshot?"
"No. He's in another office."
"Well I can tell you he didn't murder my informant, because my informant is not a he. Obviously, Mackerel can't learn about this."
"Right."
"What was the name of the victim?" I asked.
"Ahhh....Mister Gee. He was a sub-contractor of his friend's, a Mr Cable. Mr Gee supposedly worked with them installing doors and, supposedly, knew all about their under-the-table stuff. Mackerel said he followed Gee to a Waffle House after a night of drinking and as Gee exited the restaurant Mackerel pointed a .22 caliber pistol at him, threatened him, and then shot him four times. Mr Gee was dead at the scene."
Leave us not jump to seclusions. — Popeye the Sailor
2009 Charted
4 minutes of Art (x 2)
Oscar for Best Supporting:
Do you recall how good The Dark Knight was...with Heath Ledger's Joker? That level of rare disturbingly-wondrous performance is, this year, Mo'Nique in Precious. The film has a well written script, fine acting, and good pacing—however—Mo'Nique's performance, as the noxiously vile woman who gave birth to Precious, is beyond amazing and turns an otherwise good film into a fantastic one.
Sanitized violence in movies has been accepted for years. What seems to upset everybody now is the showing of the consequences of violence. — Stanley Kubrick
The Decade's Best SF Films
I keep seeing lousy films and saying to myself, 'I don't know anything about movie-making, but I couldn't do any worse than this'. — Stanley Kubrick
My E.M. Crumpler Interview
Elizabeth M. Crumpler—a 25-year-old, Sarah Palin-lovin-republican, who recently lost two-stone and got married; and is a conservative-christian resident of Oklahoma, who owns a Scoodle—is my interviewee. Neil from Citizen of the Month wrote this about his Great Interview Experiment: "...In my mind, I visualize a permanent interview site where ... a liberal would interview a conservative, and a religious fundamentalist would interview a feminist lesbian. It wouldn’t matter if you liked or agreed with other person. We would still be neighbors, in a Mister Rogers sense." I think he was envisioning this: Me: When Oklahoma City is mentioned, most (of the citizens of the world) recall the Oklahoma City Bombing in April of 1995. You were 10½ years old at the time. Please describe your memories surrounding the incident, and how growing up with an act of hatred of this magnitude, on your doorstep, caused you to be the adult you are today.
EMC: Some people say that they could hear the sound 50 miles away. I don't remember that clearly, but it's possible.
I was in Mrs. Keller's 4th grade class and sometime in the middle of the morning I do remember the tone changing. The administration had made the decision not to reveal what had happened to the elementary school children and to let our parents handle it when we got home.
My parents picked me and my 2 younger brothers up from school that day. Both of them, in Dad's work vehicle. I knew there was something wrong. On the way home, they explained that something very bad had happened in Oklahoma City and that a lot of people had died. At the time, our local evening news had a "family-friendly" broadcast at 5pm. It was the one we watched generally. Whenever the theme music played that evening and the anchors began speaking, the first thing they said was, "Tonight's broadcast will not be our regular family-friendly show. Please be advised that there will be a number of graphic images shown tonight." That stuck with me. They never had another "family-friendly" newscast.
I cannot say how it changed the adult I would become. Probably the same as those who were children or not yet born on 9/11. It just is. As a child at that time, my world was still faerie tales, tree-houses, and the books I had my nose stuck in. Living in the country, OKC was a different world. I think if I had lived in The City (as we call it here), The Bombing might have left lingering scars on me. The truth is that I'd experienced tragedy much closer to home just 2 years before, when a family member was murdered. I carry those scars. That changed me. Turned a mama's girl into a whimpering, crying mess because I was scared that if I left my home I would return to find her dead...like my family member that had been killed. I think I owe it to my parents that I made it past The Bombing without further damage. They were proactive in explaining things and taking us to the site before the implosion. Letting us see that it was real. Sometimes the things that you can see and touch are so much less frightening than the image you may create in your mind.
Me: The decade’s end is fast approaching. I’d like your list of the ten best films made in the last ten years.
EMC: This is very difficult for me. I don't watch a lot of new things. In no particular order:
- il Mare (Siworae)
- Jeux d'enfants (Love Me if You Dare)
- Away from Her
- Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her
- Ten Tiny Love Stories
- 13 Conversations About One Thing
- Nine Lives
- Dancer in the Dark
- About a Boy
- La vie en rose
EMC: If I feel I've been misled, then, yes, I'll toss the book. I think I may have done this once in the past. I have a very awful problem though. No matter how hard I try I can not seem to give up a book. If I am 50 pages in, I'm going to stick it out until the end.
Me: I think 21 DEC 2012, will be a day no different than today (well, maybe colder). But what do you tell a fanatic who seems to continually bemoan the “pending apocalypse” and steers your every routine conversation in the direction of what the end of the world means to them and how it should be taken more seriously by you (assume this person is related to you close enough that stopping all communications is not an option)?
EMC: Funny, I dealt with a situation not unlike this for about a year. I had a deskmate and she was a blathering idiot. Her obsessions varied from week to week, but I have no doubt that if we were still working together this would be making its way into conversation.
In a situation like this I ask for facts. What do you have to back up what you're telling me? I ask questions to try and understand where they are coming from and why they believe this. If there is no concrete basis for your worry, tell me why you believe it is real? Is there any way that this event can be stopped? Do you believe we should even try.
It may be boring, but I would probably let it go. Having dealt with the ramblings of the insane for lengthy periods, I've become adept at sitting back, taking a deep breath, and going to my happy place.
Me: I’m an artist. Please look at some of my renderings, select one and explain any-and-all emotions, thoughts, or feelings it engenders—no matter good, bad, or ugly—I’m very interested in your opinion.
EMC: Finate — Acceptance, newness, life, calm, embrace, welcoming, peace, nostalgia, need.
Me: You and I share something in common: we are both the oldest of three. Tell me about how that biological-timing-fact made you into someone different than if you had been the middle sibling, or the youngest of the three.
EMC: In both of my siblings I see how my parents had to approach them differently than they did me. I was incredibly independent. My spirit was quiet and even, I was imaginative and my speech was bubbly. I feel very lucky to have been born first and even more so that I was the only female. I will be the first to say that it earned me some preferential treatment in certain cases.
The bad thing was: I was the oldest and the only girl. I know, I just said I thought I was lucky. But there is something that comes with being the oldest. You are the first. They don't want to mess up. I felt like a guinea pig. Their default answer to anything I wanted to do was, "NO." Better safe than sorry, right? Being the only girl made it worse. I lived in a house full of men, outside of my mom, and there was this intense need to protect me. In some ways I appreciate it, but there are a lot of things I would have liked to do.
Being the oldest prepared me for life alone. My autonomy helped me make it through college at times when I thought I would just give it up. I always knew what I wanted, had established goals, and worked to achieve them on my own. However, it also instilled in me a need to be "the best" and constantly try to please others. Whenever someone seems just the least bit upset or unpleased with me, I freak out and try to fix it.
I think Nabokov may have had the right approach to interviews. He would only agree to write down the answers and then send them on to the interviewer who would then write the questions. — Stanley Kubrick
Life-Mission: Possible
My parent's living room on Tanglewood Drive had two regular-size bedroom windows instead of a picture window. When Mom closed the big curtain over the wall, I could pretend it covered a picture window (like every living room was supposed to have). In the corner was a gray plastic Zenith black-and-white television with a gray plastic briefcase-handle on top. It sat on a little, flimsy, aluminum, TV-cart. The antenna, mounted on a forty-foot metal mast in our back yard, looked like an old-timey outdoor clothes line.When my sister and I played safe-cracker, I'd turn the volume knob down to where if turned any more it would shut off; then I'd set the top dial to "U" (between the 13 and the 2) and ratchet the bottom dial, cranking it around and through its hundreds of channels with my ear pressed to the “safe.” Whenever my peripheral-view caught some hint of reception breaking into the static, I'd whisper the next digit of the “combination” for her to write down.
One day, Mom interrupted before I could get to the jewels. She shouted from the kitchen, “What are you two doing? Stop that, you’ll break it! Go to your room until you can learn to take care of other people’s property as if it was your own. Some day, after you decide what you are going to be when you grow up, you’ll have to buy a television with your own money and THEN you’ll appreciate it!”Sitting on my twin bed, watching my hamster—Spooky II—running on his little wire-metal wheel in his little wire-metal cage, I contemplated my punishment as she demanded: In the couple-hundred times I’d been in a room with a TV and a grown-up, channel U was never used and the bottom dial was never turned. If I broke the dial pretending to be IMF Agent Jim Phelps from Mission: Impossible would anyone ever know?
Sitting on my single bed, watching my hamster—Spooky V—jogging in his little plastic wheel-room attached to his extensive yellow plastic warren of tubes and compartments, I contemplated my young-adult life to date. Three years and three drastically different college majors, from Pre-Veterinary Medicine (too stupid in science) to Landscape Architecture (stupid waste of tuition) to Architecture (too stupid in math). I needed to re-aim my sights for a fourth time...what was I not too stupid for and was not a waste of my money? What did I enjoy (besides watching Captain William “Buck” Rodgers of the 25th Century and his robot Twiki)?
Sitting on my queen-bed, watching my first son, Bram, play with Popcorn on an area rug, I contemplated the life I found myself inhabiting. A Private in the Army earned just enough to afford a microwave oven. Mine had a dial which you turned to the number of minutes. It “dinged” when it was done (just like the counter-bell at the dry cleaners where I had my uniforms extra starched). Am I Wembley, on Fraggle Rock? Shouldn’t I be more like Drillbit Dozer?
Sitting on my bunk, watching a Betamax video of my two sons, Ian and Bram, play with my ex-wife/their mother in an unfamiliar backyard, I contemplated the selfish existence I was dragging around behind me like a rotting-shadow. An Army Spec-Four earned enough to replace the microwave oven he lost in the divorce. Now, mine had two dials: one for time, one for power. But as far as I knew, if I broke the power dial (which never got turned from its 100% setting) while pretending to be the still safe-cracking but older Agent Jim Phelps on The New Mission: Impossible my roommate would never know.Sitting on my futon, looking out the open window at my cats, Budroe P. Wilson and Louie, playing on my next-door neighbor’s tile roof, I contemplated the resilient person I’d chosen to become: A Sergeant earned enough to replace the microwave oven that had been damaged in the move to Korea. My new one had buttons and a LED information display window. Occasionally, if my Korean wife used it (she thought they were dangerous) she’d exit the kitchen until it beeped. It was rare. That she left the kitchen, that is. Johnny Carson—a familiar-constant in all my previous decades—is retiring. His last show is tonight! But that doesn’t mean much to you, does it?
Sitting on my thrift-store-mattress, watching my new kittens—the brothers Spencer and Lloyd—grooming in the patch of sun at the foot of the bed, I contemplated 'resiliency' being just another word for wishy-washy. A Staff Sergeant earned enough to buy a new microwave after giving the last one to his last-ex (who'd learned all about convenience). My new ones had turntables and Probes—the microwave’s was a revolving tray and a heat-sensor; the wife’s was a Zenith record player and a Ford. Hey, Mission: Impossible with Tom Cruise is on HBO tonight. Wanna watch it together?
Sitting on my sleigh-bed, watching my dog, Cody, and new cats—Lloyd, Missy, and Moe—all trying to draw some warmth from the electric blanket, I contemplated the dichotomy of my perceptions with my past performances. A Warrant Officer earned enough to buy a new microwave if the old one was gifted to his step-daughter when she moved out. My new space-efficient microwave attached under the counter. Wait a minute...you don’t want to see Mission: Impossible II in the theater, because it means two hours without a cigarette? When did this happen?
Sitting on my air mattress, watching my Siamese cat, Gus, stalking a fly through my 5th wheel trailer, I contemplated the end of my career and third marriage, as well as the beginning of an old-new me. A retired Chief Warrant Officer still could afford a new microwave to replace the broken one. My new one was a combination convection-microwave with racks and scrolling data. The built-in remote-controlled Zenith over my bed (the size of my first Spooky's metal cage) was playing an old Mission: Impossible on Cinemax 3 or Showtime Extreme. I didn’t care. Why didn’t I care? Should I pretend to care?Sitting on my king-mattress, watching older and maybe not wiser Gus stalking our new cat, Aggie, I contemplated happiness. This artist still received enough pension to buy another microwave when the one that came with our new apartment needed to be trashed because it smelled like ten years of grease and curry. The new one was just as good as the one in my 5th wheel. Sure I’ll go see Mission: Impossible III with you tonight...even though we’re both positive it will suck balls, we don’t care. We. Don’t. Care!
Did the day come? Was it the day I was able to afford my first one...maybe it was the day that I appreciated the expense of replacing that-which shouldn't have needed replacement so many times...maybe it will be the day I decide what I'm going to be when I grow up. May. Be. Never.
I've got a peculiar weakness for criminals and artists—neither takes life as it is. Any tragic story has to be in conflict with things as they are. — Stanley Kubrick
Juana Molina
A film is—or should be—more like music than like fiction. It should be a progression of moods and feelings. The theme, what's behind the emotion, the meaning, all that comes later. — Stanley Kubrick
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