If, then, you

I'm always searching for connections. The more I consume, the more it all seems to relate to each other. So in an attempt to bridge the gap between what you like and what you haven't experienced, here are my observations.

If you like the song "Human of the Year" by Regina Spektor, then you might like the story "This Person" by Miranda July.

If you like the song "Two Birds" by Regina Spektor, then you might like the Pixar short film "For the Birds."

If you like the movie "Taxi Driver" then you might like the story, "Weights" by Charles Baxter.

I've been thinking about this post for awhile, waiting until I had an impressive collection of thoughts to finally publish it, but I'm short on material. Should quality art remind you of other art? Or should it be entirely new? Do entirely new concepts make you think of other entirely new concepts? Is the goal to be universal or unique? I have no answers, only questions. Also, if someone could tell me definitively what Travis looks at in the rear view mirror at the end of Taxi Driver, my sanity would thank you.

What do you think? Does your brain do this too? I'd love to hear your examples and thoughts. Or thoughtful examples, whichever you prefer.

An update on things that are good

1. This week I lost a promotion but won a raise. Thanks, gov'nuh!

2. Elizabeth and the Catapult - Taller Children. Their first full-length album came out on June 9th and I didn't even know it! But thanks to iTunes, I got the whole thing for $6.99. Favorite tracks: "Taller Children", "Race You" and "Everybody Knows."


3. After watching Cabaret this weekend with the family, I finally broke down and asked Dad to send me a list of classic movies that I should've seen years ago. He sent me a list of 64 films and I promptly signed up for Netflix. So far this week we've seen Casablanca and Taxi Driver - back to back. It made for a very interesting evening. Tonight we're viewing On the Waterfront and Breakfast at Tiffany's. My goal is to watch as many as possible before classes start again on August 28th and I'll post reviews as I go along. If anyone has suggestions for classic movies to add to my queue, comment away!



4. Starbucks treat deals. In Manhattan, if you buy an iced coffee before 2, you can keep your receipt and bring it back after 2 to get any iced/blended/cold grande beverage for 2 bucks! It's the perfect excuse to splurge twice in one day.

5. Cherries. We've hit that holy grail of summer where, for one week, you can buy cherries at a non-absurd price. Yum.

men + guns + hats = happy Susan

(I wish more people wore hats)

Occasionally, it's helpful to have gaps in your education. Despite Dad's best efforts, I know very little about American history. I can recognize important names, and can put together a very vague timeline of important events, but that's about it. Most of the time it's frustrating and embarrassing, but last night, it paid off.

(It is so nice to see his real face again. Where'd you get that scar, Johnny?)

Public Enemies is the story of John Dillinger - legendary bank robber and American anti-hero. Michael Mann (Hancock, The Aviator) directs in his typical fancy fashion. Again, my ignorance shows here - Steven swears there's some special name for the cinematography, but neither of us know what it is. All I know is, it's pretty. And flashy. And full of those great "production qualities" that I love so much. Most of the reviews written about the movie criticize the decision to make the film at all because everyone knows how the story ends. How can you possibly build suspense when you know the outcome? Enter: my generation. A bunch of know-nothings with an affinity for pretty pictures and pretty people. I caught myself holding my breath through many of the scenes in the movie. I knew the end, but I didn't know how or when. Johnny Depp does a wonderful job of bringing this legend to life - to real life, in a true, 3 dimensional character. He's not just a bank robber, he has a story, a motivation, a perspective that makes him choose to rob these banks and love these women and make the silly decisions over and over and over again. Through Depp, you love the anti-hero, and hope, foolishly, that Mann will decide to re-write history.

(She lubs him. In real life - I'm sure of it)

Mann's crazy cinematograhpy works here, because these are beautiful, powerful characters. You want to understand them, but the camera keeps moving. The few times when it stops, and lets the audience really see a straight profile shot, is incredibly effective. It seems to work as a rhetorical device, allowing the emotion to swell at all the right moments. Perhaps this is what cameras are supposed to do, to narrow the field of vision on important moments, while setting the tone for other scenes. This is the first time that I've actually considered it as a narrative tool. At the very least, it's captivating. The 1930's are my favorite cinematic decade. You've got sweet accents, pet names, adorable costumes and all the little small-town details that I dream of finding in antique stores. It is my ideal world, and I was perfectly content to live in Mann's creation for the full 2.5 hour epic.

(Cotillard calls this a $3 dress. Shenanigans!)

Regardless of how much you know about the true tales of Dillinger and his co-horts, it's still a fascinating part of history. Good movies based on true stories can even inspire the young and lazy to do their own research, and dig out those textbooks they so enthusiastically ignored. Maybe Mann chose to make the movie to help inform society about the history of the FBI. Maybe he's passionate about tommy guns and 30's cars. In the end, I don't care why, I'm just glad he did it.

(The tommy guns were beyond cool)

Varieties of Disturbance*

Places I have come to fear the most

Tuesday night, Steven and I went bowling. We are so good at this. So good, that the owner, Mr. Zuck himself, remembered us and asked why we hadn't been in for awhile. (The last time we bowled I wore a long sleeve shirt and jeans. I'm thinking it was in March). We explained to him about the allure of Stimulus Tuesday, and then he gave me velcro shoes and Steven signed the credit slip. We played two games, and then took a snack break, which required me to venture into the Women's restroom. This restroom does double duty as a locker room for the league bowlers, and as I walked in, I was transported back 15 years to the YMCA locker room. I haven't thought about this locker room in an entire lifetime, but seeing the gray lockers and the little round bench brought back the chlorine smell, the cold carpet, the full-length mirror and the green swim bag filled with cracker bits, swim caps, goggle cases and earplugs. As the moment hit me, I was instantly exhausted, reliving the 6:30 practices, sunburned weekends and laps upon laps upon laps. The rest of the evening I bowled faster and faster, hearing whistles in my ears and constantly afraid that I would get kicked in the head by a girl doing a flip-turn. It worked. I scored a personal best of 143 and we got invited to join a bowling league. Thank you, Seahawks.

I'd rather be British

I live in an apartment complex attached to a car dealership. You can hear people being paged all day long. In our parking lot, old cars get their tires slashed, while 10 feet away, never-driven vehicles get waxed and buffed and loved. Now, a fireworks stand has joined the mix. It came in small doses. First with a small sign. Then a banner. Finally a table, then a tent over the table and a trailer. Yesterday there were two trailers and finally there were people. People and banners and tents and fireworks and pages. I do not like this, Sam-I-Am. My first memory of the fourth of july involved hiding in the back of the red car, seats prickly, air hot, my ears assaulted by the terrific noise of packs of black cats ignited at once. My second memory contains the image of Mom's burnt sock. Every other year melds together into a whirl of bug bites, fear, and exhaustion. I would like to reclaim my independence from this day.

Reactionary tale

These days, I have forgotten how to react. Someone starts telling a joke and I tense up - knowing that at the end, I will have to laugh. I know the right answer, but my brain will not respond. Instead I choke, or sneeze, or sit down and type an email. When someone is telling a sad story, I nod and ask what they would like for dinner. When a co-worker recently filled us in on her weekend adventures, I merely frowned, stared at her knee, and then started humming that new Lady Gaga song in my head. I think it's a result of watching too much TV. In the later seasons of ER, the acting is very similar to my behavior. People yell and cry and laugh and love, but never at the right time, or in a sensical way. They just... act. They are clinging desperately to a way of life that no longer exists. A hit TV show. A critically acclaimed drama. A part of Must See TV Thursday. We both exist in a world that has moved on, and so our reactions will never match up. We are marching to a different drummer. We are seeing a different reality. We are apart, and you do not understand.


*Title inspired by and stolen from Lydia Davis. Read the work. Let your mind bend around it. Then drink a milkshake.