done with writer's block, and on to 2009!

December has taken me by surprise--out of nowhere, it seems, top ten lists have popped up on blogs and many of this year's movie nominations have been announced. This prompted me to attempt my own top ten lists, which proved more difficult than I would have assumed. The last few months have brought many downturns and a few ups, but the one theme that I noticed shining throughout the spectrum of events this year was a feeling of hope.

The most resplendent display of hope was in Barack Obama's presidential campaign and election. Though I don't know what the houses in most of the country looked like, in my Brooklyn neighborhood many windows were emblazoned with the Shepherd Fairey Obama posters, the word "HOPE" in all capitol letters singing out to all the passersby. Obama elicited this feeling of hopefulness by stating and re-stating our country's need for change with a vigor and track record that allowed us to believe in him. But this hopefulness was also reflected in other venues in various and sometimes subtle ways, many of which were probably in works long before Obama's presidential campaign or the current recession took over the nightly news programs.

My three favorite movies this year--"Wall-E," "Slumdog Millionaire," and "Milk"--could not be more different in subject matter or style, and I was surprised to find, while pondering the notion that there could be three movies I really loved in one year (something that hasn't happened since I was 14!) that the reason I loved each of these movies is the same. These three films evoke a sense of hope in each of the characters' attempts to make their worlds a better place to live.

"Wall-E," the little robot left to clean up the Earth, through a series of foibles and mishaps convinces what is left of the human race, grown complacent and fat circling through space on a giant cruise space-ship, to return to Earth and rebuild their society. His quest for treasures (our trash becomes his collection of prized possessions) and desire for companionship in a post-apocalyptic wasteland are so pure and heartfelt that it becomes difficult not to want to join him in his pursuits to search for beauty in a ruined world.

Though taken in a different direction, "Slumdog Millionaire," a movie about a boy from the slums of Mumbai who ends up a contestant on the Indian version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," could have been utterly depressing, it is instead, as the television commercials declare, "a celebration of life." The film depicts the extreme poverty and corruption in certain Indian neighborhoods, but it is the background and the means for Jamal Malik to answer the final 20,000,000 rupees question and find what he cherishes most, love.

Any movement struggling for rights and recognition requires an immense amount of hope, and "Milk," which focuses on Harvey Milk's struggles in the 1970's to be elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors as the first openly gay man elected to public office, is a perfect example. Perhaps the film creates an even stronger impact, serendipitously released at a particularly relevant time in light of the decision on Prop. 8 in California to ban gay marriage. Even if Milk's assassination in the end is disheartening, the following scene where the people of San Francisco radiate through the streets, holding candles lit in his memory, shows the effect Milk's efforts and vitality had on the community and their desire to keep his vision alive.

The characters in each of these films are full of life and love, and though my enthusiasm might border on sappy, they were not. Each time, I left the theater with a feeling that if these characters could find ways to make their worlds a better place, each one of us should be able to bring about something to make our real world better as well.

A real-life character whose music I have only recently fallen head-over-heels for is Justin Vernon, who goes by the moniker, Bon Iver. His debut album, "For Emma, Forever Ago," sat on my iPod for months with only a few listens, but in the last few weeks I've hardly listened to anything else. Songs with such tortured and heartbreaking lyrics might not seem hopeful, but the tale behind the album's composition creates a more layered and complex understanding. It's also difficult to find a compilation of such gorgeous songs totally depressing. From what I understand, fleeing a terrible romantic breakup, band breakup, and a bout of illness, Justin Vernon left his home in North Carolina for his father's remote cabin in Wisconsin, where, over a period of three months, he ended up writing the songs that became "For Emma..." His blatantly raw emotion becomes a catharsis, and a hope that in this endeavor, he will find himself in a better place (And considering how many top ten lists he's topped, I think he has.)

Perhaps I see hope reflected in the movies I've watched and the music I've listened to because I've spent my year hoping--hoping for a boy to like me back or for more responsibility at work. Comparing what actually happened this year to what I hoped would happen, I've learned that hope and positive thinking are only the first step. Hope sets things in motion, but properly executing tasks is necessary to get things accomplished. This was a year for hope, but 2009 needs to be a year for execution.

I finish this essay and this year in the home where I grew up, sitting in my room, the purple walls adorned with relics of my teenage past. As I stare up at the posters of Titanic, Good Will Hunting, and Shakespeare in Love, I realize that these are the three movies that ten and eleven years ago, I fell in love with and inspired me to pursue a certain path. The jump from hope to action is not easy or simple, and at this point in my own life, I haven't quite figured out which direction I am supposed to take. However, even if the circumstances are different now and more complicated than in high school, perhaps the means of getting to that next step is the same. All I know, is nothing is possible that without perseverance and a continued belief in hope. So I may not know the plot points ahead of me, but for now, I'll keep hoping.

On Fairytales and Michel Gondry

What's wrong with believing in fairytales? In my opinion, nothing. Fairytales are the life-blood of our society, or at least the part of society that encompasses the wishers and dreamers and artists, inventors, entrepreneurs, or basically anyone else who has any sort of ambition in life. They allow us, normal people, to believe that it's possible something great can happen, or more correctly, that we are capable of making something great happen. Michel Gondry is a filmmaker who creates realistic fairytales, fantastical stories about seemingly real people who end up, through some wacky happening finding something greater than themselves. He is also one of my favorites. As an avid Michel Gondry fan, I had been warned against possible disappointment in his latest film, "Be Kind, Rewind." But, as an avid Michel Gondry fan, I wanted to see it regardless of other's reviews, figuring that I would find something to like about it, which indeed turned out to be true. Though the story was lacking at times, and Jack Black's ridiculousness sometimes bordered on annoying, for the most part it was entertaining and endearing.

The tale of little video store struggling against the corporate conglomerate is nothing new, but this story changes quickly when the store's owner, Mr. Fletcher, leaves town for a couple of days to investigate ways to make his business more profitable and save his building from being condemned, and he leaves Mike in charge of the store. During a freak accident where Mike's friend Jerry tries to sabotage the local power plant (and the logistics of this are a bit confusing) he becomes magnetized, and when he shows up to the store the next day, accidentally erases all of the video tapes. In a moment of desperation and brilliance, Mike decides to film his own version of the movie Ghostbusters for an important customer. Their rationale--she'll never know, she's never seen the movie!--is completely unconvincing, as it is clearly Mike and Jerry filming themselves, but their growing excitement, and the artful movie-making montage, kept me watching. Their little shop becomes wildly successful, with townspeople lining up around the block, asking for their favorite movies to be "sweded," their term for those films they've re-made themselves. And then things become a bit muddled after this--the movie studios shut down Mike and Jerry's operation, which consequently means that Mr. Fletcher won't be able to come up with the money to bring his building up to code and it will soon be seized and demolished. The community is heartbroken, and so they help Mike and Jerry finish their one last film effort, a movie of their own about Fats Waller, a jazz musician and the town hero. A group of the film's main-players gather in the video store for one last screening while the demolition crew waits outside. When Mr. Fletcher hears a commotion outside and leaves the screening to see what's going on, he finds the entire town gathered outside, rapturously watching and cheering for the film.

They didn't succeed in saving their video store. They didn't even succeed in saving their building. Under most people's direction, Mike, Jerry, and Mr. Fletcher would have seemed like incredible failures, but somehow I found their (perhaps, overly) earnest pursuits and struggles endearing, which was, I assume, Mr. Gondry's purpose. Though in the end they didn't achieve what they set out to, what they did achieve was even greater, for it allowed them to realize their potential to do and create something more that they thought they were capable of. And for this reason mostly, even though there were so many other reasons to be disappointed in this movie, I couldn't help but kind of like it in the end.

California: Land of Opportunity and/or Inescapable Nostalgia

Perhaps the cliches are true and time and distance do make the heart grow fonder. Lately I've found myself missing California, the place I still call home, but haven't lived for six years. Upon graduating from high school, I fled San Diego and its surfer bums for the great city of New York to attend film school at NYU and flirt with the idealistic notions of making my dreams come true. Undeniably, I still love New York, but it's a city that will roughen anyone around the edges, and coupled with time and distance has allowed me a rosier colored cross country view.

The San Diego I travel back to now is almost identical to the one I left, but without the interference of clicky, snobbish high school kids. So, I guess, it is actually quite different--a much more pleasant and enjoyable place to be. And still when I drive down the freeway towards my home in the late afternoon, I feel a pang of desire to return to the music I liked and watch the television shows and movies I liked in high school, a link to the time when I was beginning to figure out my likes and dislikes and what I (think I) want to do with my life. Being in California, and driving in particular, is like a familiar smell--it brings back the feeling, though it may have become a bit muddled over the years, that the world is full of opportunity and I am capable of anything I put my mind to. The last few, post-graduation, years have proved a bit grating on my optimism, and though I'd still like to believe in these sentiments, it is becoming harder and harder to do so. Returning to San Diego, if only for a few days helps to remind me of this feeling of opportunity.

Example 1: Driving home with my friend Kathy after a pleasant dinner and a dessert so marvelous and decadent it warranted a photo shoot, we somehow came upon a discussion about how we both feel we are a bit behind the place where we would ideally like to be in our lives. Not exactly the most uplifting conversation, but, as the eternal optimist when it comes to other people's dreams, when doubting whether or not her dream of going to med-school is attainable, I bring up this idea to Kathy that with enough drive and determination she can achieve whatever it is she wants to do, and if going to med-school is her dream, then she'll make it happen. Apparently, I had brought this up in a similar conversation the last time I was home, and Kathy told me that this sentiment was one of the few things keeping her on her chosen path. When other people had suggested that perhaps she look into different professions within the health-care industry, she would think about my (unsubstantiated?) words of optimistic wisdom and decide to stay the course and continue her pursuits to become a doctor and work within the public health spectrum.

I was too tired at the time for it to really sink in, but for a few little words that have, for as long as I can remember, always been a part of my dialectic and that I choose to believe, because otherwise it would make all the thankless jobs I've worked utterly pointless, to mean something to someone else, gave me and my ideas and sentiments greater validation.

Example 2: My last evening at home before flying back to New York, I went to a barbeque at the house of old family friends with my parents. We arrived just in time to hear one of the guests telling a story about his daughter, who had just graduated from high school and whose dream of studying theater in college he did not seem to support. She hadn't gotten into NYU or a couple of other schools with reputable drama programs, and though I suppose it's a good thing to be realistic sometimes, I was rather appalled when he told us that "she was very talented, but just not that good." The optimistic me in my head retorted that, how can you know if you're good enough unless you try? He went on to inform us that she would be starting Northwestern in the fall. If she is an ounce more positive than her father, I think she'll be fine.

After that, we somehow segued to the topic of my schooling and where I am currently working. When I told him I work at a post-production house, he asked me where in San Diego it was, assuming I had returned home after college and that I probably still live with my parents. When I corrected him and told him that I live in New York, his face dropped. He looked at me flatly and asked how I can live in New York. I manage, I told him. I make it work. And then he went on to tell a story about his 30 year old niece who still needs financial help from her parents. His idiotic tales of defeat didn't bring me down--I had stopped taking him seriously ten minutes before.

The experience of leaving San Diego and returning to New York was a bit painful. As always, it was nice to be home--the dad-cooked meals, lack of worries keeping me up at night, consistently good weather--and the idea of coming back to work and responsibility wasn't something to look forward to. I try not to get upset about the petty irritants, the things that are less than the realization that I am "making it work." And though often just "making it work" doesn't seem like enough, as I was sitting on the subway recently listening to my excellent travel mix and reading my book, everything felt okay. Because perhaps one day if I keep "making it work" it will turn into something great.

Simply Amazing

Further evidence that all of the constituents of Broken Social Scene (Feist in particular) are simply amazing:

please watch

Brooklyn <3

It's been no secret to anyone who has talked with me in the past couple of weeks: I love Brooklyn. Granted, after the chaos that befell just before my departure from Manhattan, any place might seem a pleasing refuge. But falling cranes and closed off streets aside, I think I would be happy to be in Carroll Gardens regardless of the way in which I left the tiny hovel that my last apartment was. Strolling down the sun dappled sidewalk, light filtering through the trees, my friend commented that he felt as if he was in some sort of film set, an idyllic, homey place. And for the most part, it's just about as close to that as you're going to get. I love that when I get out of the subway, I see parents playing with their kids in the yards in front of their houses. I love that there are yards and houses! I love that the trees and plants aren't cordoned off into an architectured park and that the air is filled with birds (and perhaps the distant hum of the BQE) as opposed to being rent by the sound of drilling and construction. I love that it doesn't feel like being in the city, and yet the city is still right there. The calm and space is a most wondrous feeling. I think I'll stay in Brooklyn forever.

music for all occassions

Sometimes it is necessary to add a bit of exuberance to your life, like, for example, on a morning after an un-restful night's sleep when getting out of bed, much less getting myself all the way to work and facing the issues of the day, seems a magnanimous feat of willpower. At times like this I often seek the company of musicians like Sufjan Stevens or perhaps a band like the Shout Out Louds, whose robust cheeriness is pervasive and helpful in willing a change of mood. I never thought I'd add Sigur Ros to this list, an Icelandic band whose poignant and somewhat morose music, has, in the past, nearly brought me to tears. But thanks to Bob Boilen's All Songs Considered and my morning addiction to the NPR music page, I was introduced to the new sound of Sigur Ros. While still retaining the incisive subtlety of the music I'd heard previously, the track featured on the show, Inni Mer Syngur Vitleysingur, is infinitely more lighthearted and upbeat, so much so that it entirely altered my outlook towards the day. And though mornings can often be so brutal, a great song and thus an unexpected change to a sunny disposition can make all the difference.

Frightened Rabbit

When, blog after blog, I find myself reading about the potential record of the year, even though it's only the beginning of June, it's something to pay attention to. Especially when the first thing I read links them to the National, one of my favorite bands, and whose album Boxer was by far my favorite of last year. Frightened Rabbit is a band from Selkirk, Scotland whose music evokes the landscapes of a National song and the pop sensibility of Okkervil River twinged with a Scottish brogue. Marked with hype, at first I wasn't thrilled with what I heard, but after listening to a few songs, I was entranced. After a couple subway listens, I haven't quite gotten the intricacies of their lyrics, but it's definitely left me wanting more. Their new album "Midnight Fight Organ" is definitely a highly recommended summer listen.

recommended online reading

Blog-hopping a few days ago, I found the website New York Portraits and it's since become one of my favorite stops on the web. The photos aren't necessarily of anything spectacular, but perhaps that is what's most appealing. They portray a normal New York; a place that can be awesome at times, awful at others, and somewhere in between most of the time.

another pattern!

This one really works when tiled. Pattern making may be my new calling.

On The Perils of Being Young

The I Wants

There is a song called "Rich Wife" by The Long Winters that got caught in my head. As the lyrics were flowing by, I began thinking, it wouldn't be so bad to be a rich wife. I would never want for anything again, because I could have everything I want. I only want a few things—this would solve at least some of my problems. Clearly there are other more important issues that would have to be in place before I would accept the position of rich wife, but if all else were right, I don't think I'd mind marrying into money.

This got me thinking about the other day when I proclaimed to my dad that I wish we lived in a socialist country.

I, along with probably most of the population of this country, if not the world, have a terrible disease called the "I Wants". What this disease consists of is an overwhelming desire to have certain things and the inability to procure them. The consequence is a ridiculous sadness over the inability to have everything we want, which is an unattainable wish to begin with. The origin of the I Wants probably comes from a combination of innate desire and the influence of
advertising and media on our society. They feed off of one another, heightening the impact of the I Wants upon ourselves. Not to mention that technology has quickened the pace of our society so that not only are we yearning to possess many, many things, but we feel a need to
possess them now. But that is another essay.

I've been searching for a pair of brown boots. It is not imperative that I buy a new pair of shoes—I will not be going barefoot in the cold if I don't. However, I really, really want them and can generate many, many reasons as to why I should buy a new pair of shoes until it seems like something I definitely should do. However, boots (or at least those that don't fall apart right away or feel like plastic) tend to cost more than a gentle sum of money. And I don't earn more than a gentle sum of money. Conundrum. Herein lies my problem.

My first reaction, reflecting on my complaints, is that we should become a socialist nation. In my base understanding of Socialism, everyone is equal, thus reducing if not entirely removing the aspect of desire from our lives. I also understand that Socialism, the non-corrupt version of socialism, is not a viable way of running a country, because it cannot exist in reality. Human nature does not allow it. Damn human nature. We are desirous creatures—for things, for power, for entitlement. This was the case even before we had television commercials telling us literally what "I want". As I write, the latest commercial for Verizon, graces the television screen, featuring a number of diverse individuals telling us, what they want, while in the corner of the screen their desires are spelled out for us "I WANT ________fill in the blank". Conveniently the services provided by Verizon will solve all of their problems.

Unfortunately, many things are not as simple as signing up for Verizon.

My other idea—inspired by the Long Winters song—is to become rich. Whether it is by marriage or my own personal accumulation of wealth, if I have a bulging bank account buying a pair of boots won't be such a big deal. At this point in my life, as a recent college graduate with bills and loans to pay, an entry-level salary, and no prospects for a wealthy husband, becoming rich is not a viable option either.

I probably sound pretty ridiculous right now. I'm sure you're thinking, "Don't you realize that those two ideas are totally opposite? That neither of them are actual possibilities? Why even
bother wasting your time thinking about it, when it's not going to solve your problem." Or more likely, "Don't you listen to the Rolling Stones? You can't always get what you want."

I do realize this.

Unfortunately you can't just take a pill to make the I Wants go away. Our natural inclination is to want something more, something mundane—I want a cheese sandwich for lunch—something a bit more complex—I want to do something meaningful with my life. However, the I Wants doesn't have to be a terminal disease. Some things that we want are unattainable, and we have to accept that. Others just take a bit of strategizing and effort to make possible. And in the end, at least ideally, we get what we need.

adventures in patterns: part 2

No. 2 and No. 3. These ones almost work. If you tile them, they line up almost seamlessly!

adventures in patterns

No. 1

Band Blurb: M83

Even amidst so many new spring releases, I've had a difficult time finding new music to listen to lately. The one band that has particularly struck my fancy the last few weeks is the 80's inspired French indie pop outfit M83. I've been listening to their new album Saturdays = Youth, the most apropos of titles, and can't seem to get enough of them. I tend to like things that evoke a sense on nostalgia, and M83 surely accomplish that with their shiny, poppy harmonies and synth-full sound, somehow combining enough modernity with a taste of my childhood to satisfy me for hours on end. In my head, I've deemed them Sophia Coppola's new favorite band, as the soundtracks to her movies suggest that she's a fan of French pop and synth-pop music. M83's music, as well as some of her movies, carry a specific aesthetic of youthful hopefulness encapsulated in a complicated world of adolescent lust and awe. Though I'm glad to be past that point in my life, M83's music often exemplifies the most wondrous aspects of being young, and it's nice to have that sense of openness and opportunity, if only for a couple of minutes.

a partial funny

So I was watching an old episode of The Office the other day and Michael Scott and Jan had taken one of their clients, Tim Meadows, out to lunch. Jan wanted to get straight down to business, but Michael had his own idea of how the meeting should be run, beginning with this somewhat dumb, but actually funny joke. (It's a three parter, but I was so amused by the second part, I don't remember the rest.)

There's this guy, and he's an astronaut, so he drives a Saturn.
There's another guy, and he's a pimp, so he drives a cheap Escort.

It's probably better when Michael Scott tells it, but I'm still amused.

new lights

In high school, as I loved Catcher in the Rye and dreamed myself on the edge of indie, I found myself coerced to read the book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which some of my friends touted to me as the Catcher in the Rye for the 90's. I didn't care for the book and if I were to read it today, I probably wouldn't have finished it, for I've lost some of my patience since then. However, back in high school, I was a more persistent reader, I suppose, and completed the book. So many years later, I don't really remember much about the book other than it revolved around a whiny teenage boy who loved the song "Asleep" by The Smiths (something that I do give him credit for). I also remember a passage in which he talks about how much he hates when people tell him to forget about his problems, for at least he's not a starving child in Africa. His response is that, though he is a fortunate kid, his problems are problems nonetheless, and must be dealt with. At that time, and still today, I find myself, like everyone else in the world, faced with numerous problems, most of which aren't so great in the grand scheme of things, but in the moment often seem like monstrocities. In the midst of my freak outs, I'm aware that there are people who have a lot more to deal with than I do. But when you're freaking out, that's not what you tend to focus on. And I find myself comforted by the idea that, since everyone has problems and each is conditional to his or her own life, it's okay if every once in a while, I find myself freaking out about whatever situation I've found myself in.

Currently I'm reading What is the What, by Dave Eggers, which is, simply put, about starving children in Africa. It is a beautifully written account of Valentino Achak Deng, who suffered through the civil war in Sudan, and as a very young boy walked across the country with hundreds or thousands of other children to refugee camps in Ethiopia. It is also one of the most graphic and difficult novels I have ever tried to read. Though I'm less than half way through, it's beginning to alter my opinion of the "at least you're not a starving child in Africa" response to my or anyone else's griping. While I really do believe that all people have things to complain about, it does help to put different problems in perspective. People are capable of so much. If ten year old boys able to walk barefoot across a desert with little food, dodging the attacks of lions and men hunting down any people considered Dinkas, then I am most certainly capable of getting through a day of work, no matter how bad a day it might be.

a false sense of reality: part 1

A few weeks ago, there was a giant party at my work--literally hundreds of people, 22 gallons of margaritas, endless buckets of beer, multiple tables of food. For entertainment there was beer-pong, Nintendo Wii, and Rock Band. After the party was over and all was cleaned up, the Rock Band remained in the gym (the multi-purpose room on our lower floor). A large white sheet used as a giant projection screen still hangs on one wall and black lights glow to enhance the rock-star feel. Daily, as the work begins to wane, you can hear the loud rocking music emanating from behind the closed door of the gym. It has become an office-wide obsession.

And rightly so, because playing Rock Band is SO MUCH FUN. Perhaps I enjoy it because Rock Band is the first video game I've taken to successfully, or that I actually play a couple of instruments, or that I not so secretly want to be in a real rock band, but I can't seem to tire of the game (and neither can anyone else). And when I tried to convey my enthusiasm for the game to my friend Sophie, she began to question its popularity. "It's just so fun!" I tried to explain, but at the time couldn't really pinpoint anything much more specific than that. This wasn't a satisfactory answer.

What I was aware of, but too busy fake-drumming to care about, and what Sophie eloquently pointed out to me, was that most of the popular video games of recent years are ones where a person is simulating an activity they might actually be doing if they weren't playing video games. Rock Band and Guitar Hero feel like playing instruments, but it is really nothing like playing a guitar; the sports games on Wii may involve actual physical movement, and though I can bowl strike after strike in the game, I'm hopeless in a real bowling alley. The video games I remember best from my childhood were role-playing games where you ran around as a little Italian man named Mario searching for a princess or Sonic the Hedgehog, trying to collect as many golden rings as possible. Even games that more closely resembled real life activities were controlled by a keypad on a controller--baseball games weren't played by actually motioning the swinging of a bat.

We revel in a false sense of reality. It's not a productive way to spend time--it doesn't necessarily make one more capable of playing music or hitting a tennis ball across the net. My friends and I waste so much of our day pretending to be social by collecting "friends" on Facebook or Myspace and "chatting" on AIM or GChat. And it doesn't seem to matter that these actions are only based in a physical reality. While some people may long for the days of old fashioned human interactions, virtual reality is here to stay. And though a conversation on gchat will never been as satisfying as a conversation in person, perfecting a song on Guitar Hero will never feel as great as being able to play it on a real guitar, and winning a wrestling match on Wii Sports will never get the adrenaline going as pummeling someone to the ground, it can still be a lot of fun. And that's worth something too.

if only we are pilots once a day

I sometimes find myself surprised to be sitting around at a bar drinking with my friends; to be calculating my expenses and referencing my bank account; waking up at an early hour to get to my job where other people rely on me; or just realizing that I'm actually capable of taking care of myself. It's strange to recognize how, over time, you have changed and grown up. And it becomes apparent in small and unusual ways.

On the days where I don't have to be at work until 10am, I've taken to walking rather than riding the subway. Most people seem to think it's a bit ridiculous--it's only about three miles--but I find it quite pleasant, as an opportunity to be outside and to have some time for myself. While the weather can determine how enjoyable the walk may be, the proper soundtrack is also imperative. Lately, I've been listening to my most recently downloaded songs, carefully arranged into my "new" (inventive title, I know) playlist. A few days ago, I added a few songs by The Notwist to my playlist, a band I've known about for a number of years, but have not, until now, had the pleasure of falling in love with.

When I studied abroad in Ireland, I made a music video for a local band called Halite. On the day of my shoot I had my Ipod laying about and the lead singer, Graham Hopkins, asked if he could take a look at what music I had--which is the one of the few ways I don't mind being judged. His overall consensus was that I generally had very good taste with a few obvious guilty pleasures, and I was pleased with this response, since as a musician who seemed to have good taste himself, I valued his opinion. He was particularly excited that I had Pinback on my Ipod, explaining that "They're from San Diego," to which I replied, "I know. Me too!"

As a parting gift Graham gave me the CD "Faking the Books" by the band, Lali Puna, whose music is considered some amalgamation of German/indie/electro/pop, thinking that since I liked Pinback, I would like Lali Puna. I listened to the CD a lot, and eventually became familiar enough with the songs to like them. Years later, I've actually come to really like Lali Puna and listen to their music with much more enthusiasm than I did back in 2004. After graciously thanking him for the gift, Graham recommended that I listen to another German/indie/electro/pop band called The Notwist. I gave them a brief listen, and finding myself fairly uninspired kind of forgot about them until recently, when they've been popping up on a number of my favorite blogs. Since I trust the musical tastes of the bloggers who posted about The Notwist, I decided to give them another try, and to my surprise, found that I really like them. Had I not heard of them before, this band would have been my great new discovery.

Learning that I like a band I thought I didn't particularly care for, forces me to recognize that over time my tastes have changed--a telltale sign of growing up. Though it often seems the idea of "growing up" embodies negative connotations (who actually enjoys paying bills), perhaps there can be some benefits as well. If growing up also means re-discovering and appreciating great bands like the Notwist, it clearly isn't all bad.

In Regards to the Battle of the Telemarketers Vs. Receptionists

A significant portion of my day is spent answering the phone. Though answering the phones may be one of my least favorite things to do, most of the people who call in are nice and considerate, which makes my job much more pleasant. A portion of my time on the phone is spent warding off telemarketers, who I thought were a nuisance before, but have recently become the bane of my existence. Since I have difficulty telling people off outright, I have to dance my way around why I cannot connect them with the "hiring manager" "the person in charge of the computers" or the name of an actual person who works at the company, but has nothing to do with what they're asking about, and should most definitely not be bothered by the call.

Telemarketers are worst in the morning, when I'm still battling the desire to go back to sleep and have not yet built up the stamina to deal with them. This morning, as people were just beginning to arrive, someone called asking who he could speak to about our company's Verizon account. I replied in my standard, polite way, asking if he had a name of someone I could connect him to--knowing full well that even if he did, I wouldn't connect him. At first he didn't veer far from our polite stock responses, but after I told him that if he didn't have the name of the person he wanted to speak with, there wasn't anyone I could connect him to, he started rattling off random guy's names--John, Tim, Steve. I managed to stay in character, which I think pissed him off even more, saying that there was not anyone by this name or that at our company, which strangely enough was true. After the fourth or fifth name, he pushed a button that made a loud beep and hung up.

Now there was no need to push that button and make a loud noise in my ear. And in this situation, I'm fully in favor of that saying "don't shoot the messenger." In the battle of the telemarketers vs. the receptionists, I believe there's no reason not to fake politeness to one another. We both stand in each other's ways and don't want to be talking to each other, so why not at least feign a mutual regard for the other's responsibilities and call a truce. I'll listen to your schpiel and pretend to attempt to connect you with someone and you say thank you and quietly hang up. Neither of us will have gained anything, but at least I'll still have my ability to hear.

one of my favorite words is apropos

Looking through the daily picture posts of graphic designer Christopher David Ryan, of all the pictures, I thought it was appropriate this one landed on my birthday, even if her hair isn't quite so curly. He's done some pretty neat work.

The Great Escape

I've just discovered (via Pitchfork) that Alex James, bassist for the band Blur, writes a column called "The Great Escape" for the The Independent, a British newspaper. Surprisingly (or perhaps not, considering the various endeavors the Blur boys have embarked upon in the last few years) the column has nothing at all to do with music, but instead with his daily life at his home in the country—dealing with his chickens and their eggs and watching the sunrise on a winter's morning. Basically he writes about why he loves his quite life in his country house in the north of England. While it seems James may be taking from the Blur song "Country House"--the one in which the man in the song retires to the country seeking respite from his chaotic city life--their stories may begin in the same way, but the endings are clearly different. The protagonist in the song finds his life in the country one of continued discontent, but from what he writes, it seems Mr. James has found his ideal locale.

There were two things in particular that struck my interest as I read a few of posts from "The Great Escape." The first was rather unsurprising—a longing for the peace and quiet, the laid-back nature and beauty of life at the country house. In a passage discussing a routine of sitting around to watch the loveliness of morning sunshine he writes, "I could see everything from up there. The dog, Socks, had formed an allegiance with Mackerel, one of the cats, and they were trotting around with purpose. Rooks tumbled out of the big oaks, fighting and screaming. The whole of the Evenlode valley, my valley, was laid out and it was hard to believe anyone was doing anything, anywhere." James describes a calm life, one not necessarily of invariable consistency, but one where not much happens and the small details are what provide excitement. As someone who has only experienced city life, I sometimes find myself wondering what living in the country would be like, not to have the alluring amusements of the city at hand to keep oneself occupied. Sometimes it sounds really nice.

What was even more surprising was that, in a way, I found myself, a dweller in the city-est of cities, relating to what James writes about. I have a different set of pre-occupations—I don't have to worry about the number of cockerels in my back yard—but like James seems to do, I also try to find my own way of taking pleasure in the little things. Sometimes I'll go a couple blocks out of my way to walk down 5th Avenue along Central Park on a mid-winters afternoon, just to see how the soft, pale light filters through the bare tree branches. However, living in New York and working a 40+ hour work week, I don't often have the time to sit and just watch the day pass, appreciating the world for merely existing, but perhaps it is precisely for that reason that I find it necessary to take pleasure in the minutia. I suppose it's important to take notice of these things no matter where you are, whether it's sequestered in the country on a farm or bumbling about in the big city, for without those interesting details, a person might find themselves aching painfully of boredom in the country or swallowed up by everything that one must do to sustain life in the city.

snow!

I figure it's only my sixth real winter ever, and so it's okay for me to act and feel like a six year old when it comes to the snow. Though it's nearing the end of February, it's been a mild winter, and until last week, I didn't have the pleasure of experiencing any real snow. So you can imagine the excitement I felt when, peering out my window, my sights were filled with a world of soft white.

Growing up, my dad would sometimes travel on business to cold climate places, most often to New York, and usually upon his return, he would bestow upon me and my brother some little gift. One particular time while my dad was in New York, I remember he asked if there was anything in particular that I wanted him to bring back for me. I begged him to bring back snow for me, and I'm sure this is not the first time I ever asked this from him. I guess, because I knew that New York is cold in the winter, I assumed there would be snow and decided that my dad bring should be able to bring some back. He tried to reason with me, to explain that there isn't any good way to transport snow from New York to San Diego, but I thought that if he got one of those ice chests that the seafood places in New Orleans used to package the crawfish and crab we would bring back from family vacations, the snow would be just fine in its travel from coast to coast. For all I know, there may not have been any snow at all, but I refused to give up on this request and continued to pester my dad each night when he called home.

When my dad returned from his business trip, he didn't have an ice chest with him, but he opened up his luggage and pulled out a snow globe--a little heart shape filled with tiny snow covered skyscrapers and snow covered streets. Even though I couldn't make my own snowball out of it, the effort my dad had made almost made up for that.

So as I headed out the door, bundled up against the wintry weather, I prepared myself for the walk to the subway, and pressed play on my Ipod. Within my playlist of newly downloaded songs, the first song to randomly come on was "Walk In the Park" by Oh No! Oh My!, possibly the most ironic and perfect song that I could have possibly listened to first thing that morning. While most people in New York seem to consider the snow to be pretty from the inside and otherwise an awful pain, I, as previously established, love the snow inside and out. Granted it can make the walk to the subway a bit tougher, but in general, I find it to be quite exciting.

The song begins with a nice little intro that could be the soundtrack to some 1980's children's TV program--it is sweet and pretty. The first words heard from lead singer Greg Barkley are, "Nice day for a walk in the park. Nice day for a drive through the city. This world is a warm, sunny park. Ba ba ba bada bada….." There is a sunny pleasantness to the song. Since I imagine this song is about a the kind of beautiful spring day where it would literally be a crime not to leave the house, upon entering out into the storm, it seemed entirely ironic. But then I felt a bit of truth to the song. It was freezing, but veiled with snow, the streets looked beautiful. And I couldn't wait until I had time to go for a walk in the park.

oh, oscar night

Jon Stewart was a good Oscar host. Though it wasn't the most riveting of ceremonies, he made some funny jokes (and perhaps a couple in poor taste). However, one of the best things he did all night was allowing Marketa Irglova to come back onto the stage after a commercial break to speak, since she was cut off after winning the Oscar for Best Song for the movie, "Once". And I'm glad he did, for in a night of relatively un-painful speeches, hers wasn't long, but entirely heartfelt. More so than perhaps any film, "Once" (definitely my favorite movie of the year) was the underdog, a film made for $100,000 that wasn't expected to go anywhere and ended up with a relatively large international release and positive press from just about every meaningful source. Here's what she said:

Marketa Irglova: "Hi everyone. I just want to thank you so much. This is such a big deal, not only for us, but for all other independent musicians and artists that spend most of their time struggling, and this, the fact that we're standing here tonight, the fact that we're able to hold this, it's just to prove no matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible. And, you know, fair play to those who dare to dream and don't give up. And this song was written from a perspective of hope, and hope at the end of the day connects us all, no matter how different we are. And so thank you so much, who helped us along way. Thank you."

Watching the acceptance speeches often leaves me me a bit teary eyed; perhaps a combination of excitement for the winner and a bit of dreamy-ness on my part, for I not-so-secretly hope to be in their shoes one day. For the first time in a number of years, this year I felt most of the appropriate people won. It was less of a political situation--well, he didn't win last year when he really was the best, so we're going to give the little man to him this year--and more of a celebration of the best films this year. The way it's supposed to be.

And so after a night of winners, most of whom, like Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard or Marion Cotillard (who won for best actress for portraying Edith Piaf in La Vie En Rose) or even the Cohen brothers who stood there barely cracking a smile and have plenty of statues gracing their mantles already, truly deserved to win and really appreciated the recognition, I am feeling a bit sentimental. It makes me long for the time when I really believed I would someday be sitting amongst all those people, even if only for one of the awards during the hour in the middle of the show most people tune out because it is one of the boring awards that the normal-ish people win. But also, for the first time in a while, I feel that perhaps this still could come true. And, if nothing else, while I'm sitting at my desk today answering phones, it's a nice thought to have.

nice sentiments

"I practice absurdity quite religiously"
~Alfred Hitchcock

Evolution of a Song: "Up"

When I first saw the trailer for "The Savages" months ago, aside from becoming terribly excited about this movie, I was entranced by the song in the second half—it has a sweet sound with just a hint of sadness, creating a tangible dissonance that gave me a reason to want to spend two or so hours of my time with these clearly messed-up-yet-loveable characters even greater than that they were played by Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney. I found myself baffled, unable to figure out who sings this song. Finally, after getting thoroughly irritated with not knowing, I asked Google a bunch of questions and found out that it is a song called "Up" by Rob Crow, the lead singer of the super awesome San Diego band Pinback.

I wanted to hear more of the song than the snippet in the trailer, so asked Google some more questions and found the video for "Up." While the video as a whole didn't do much for me other than to stir up a sense of nostalgia with the occasional shots of my hometown, San Diego, there was something else that felt a bit off. I've enjoyed Pinback's music since high school when "Penelope" from their album Blue Screen Life received some air-play on the local independent radio station, but I had never seen what any of the members of Pinback looked like until I watched this video.

I shouldn't have been surprised by what I saw—Rob Crow looks like a typical San Diego guy. On the cover of his album "Living Well" he's wearing Vans skater shoes, long baggy shorts and a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. There is nowhere I would think to place him as living other than San Diego. And suddenly this San Diego "look" made me feel awkward.

I never felt the culture shock people told me I would feel when I moved to New York. Sure, there was a lot to learn and get used to, but I felt like I fit in more on my first day in New York than I ever did at home. In San Diego, I always felt like I stuck out in the way I dressed, the music I listened to, the fact that I couldn't get a tan--I was constantly teased (lovingly) by my swim-team teammates for my sparkling white skin, for although we practiced daily from 2-4pm, I always showed up the next day if not the same shade of ghostly pale, a glowing florescent pink. Although living far away in New York City, I've come to love San Diego and sometimes even desperately yearn for it, I still feel out of place in the dominant presence of surfer and skater cultures—it's something, for as long as I did live there, I never felt connected to.

So in watching this video, there was a disconnect between my love for this song and my unease amongst this San Diego culture. How could this song, which greatly moved me, be enmeshed in a culture I had fled? When I see someone dressed as Rob Crow is on the cover of his album, I think of boys who like to hang out at the beach skateboarding and who listen to Blink 182 and Metallica, but this is only a generalization from my formative years in the 1990's. I doubt people are listening to Blink 182 en masse anymore and, clearly, if I was listening to indie rock on the radio, then lots of other San Diegans were too. Unfortunately my ideas of San Diego culture are colored by stupid high school kids, myself included.

To satiate my need to figure out my contention with this song, I downloaded the track and began putting it into a somewhat fierce and obsessive rotation on my IPod. Despite having first heard the song at the Angelica (a movie theater quintessentially New York, with it's narrowness and subway rumblings) listening to the song in my New York apartment, walking down New York streets, sitting in a New York subway, the more I listened to it, the more it began to take on a non-New York, more San Diego feel. I envisioned things typically and stereotypically San Diego—it felt like a song that would be the soundtrack to my drives around the city featuring beaches, sunsets, and stucco houses.

San Diego by no means deserves the criticism of my high school antipathy, but since I haven't spent a significant amount of time there since then, that's the lens through which I still view it. Though I know it is more than a city of skater kids--that it is actually a fairly cultured city--when I see someone who dresses in that San Diego way, I'm brought back to that part of high school I never enjoyed. Since I'm more likely to find myself in the company of those in hipster dress--skinny jeans or plaid flannel--or something more generic--The Gap--I experience a bit of backwards culture shock when I encounter anything typically Californian. And in the end, once the shock from the initial impact has subsided, there's a connection more tender and sympathetic than might otherwise have been possible.

Cheesiest Story Ever. Really.

For a long time, I've been a fan of both Blur and Oasis, but have never quite able to make up my mind about with which band my loyalties lie. As an American middle-schooler at the height of the Brit-pop hype, I could sing along to "Champagne Super Nova" and "Song 2," but had little exposure to what was actually going on in the world of mid-1990's British pop music until much later when I studied it in college. While Blur's songs are a bit smarter and definitely have better music videos--I've never been more captivated by milk cartons in love--there's no questioning the greatness of songs like "Live Forever" and particularly "Wonderwall." But now, thanks to a story I read in the British tabloid the Daily Star via New York Magazine's Vulture Blog, I've found out that the two bands are no longer feuding and have bonded over a love of cheese. I totally understand how deep running a person's love of cheese can be and I'm thrilled that I no longer feel the need to choose sides, but this story will probably tickle me all day.

http://www.dailystar.co.uk/goss/view/28076/Rock-rivals-cheese-role/

I've Always Wanted to be a Drummer...

I’ve never been one for video games. While I’m pretty sure it was me who first played Sega Genesis at a friend’s house and consequently got my brother addicted, the attraction ended after I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I would never get past level 3 of Sonic the Hedgehog. It also bothered me that my little brother could surpass me with agility and ease, and so I wanted nothing to do with video games. For most of my childhood and up through high school, while I was constantly bombarded with the whizzes and doodle-ee-doo noises of the latest and greatest videogame system my brother had procured, I drowned the noises out with prime-time WB shows, the newest CD of whatever band I happened to be obsessed with that week, or my own tinkling on the piano.

And then I went to college, where I finally felt a reprieve from all this videogame madness. Although a number of the guys I knew owned Playstations or whatever, I was separated from it, and there were other things to talk about. I was finally free!

That is, until the end of senior year when I discovered Guitar Hero. After ending up very late one Saturday night at a friend of a friend’s apartment, my undiscovered potential was realized. I attributed my success at Guitar Hero to my ability to pretend to play a real guitar. I don’t remember what song I played or my score—it couldn’t have been that good—but every time I’ve seen my friend’s friend since, he congratulates me on my achievement and welcomes me back to his place to play at any time. Unfortunately, after this one time, I found very few opportunities for me to continue playing Guitar Hero.

Just after new years, I started a new job at a commercial post-production company. Post houses, in general, seem to have a reputation for being laid back—when I recently went for an interview at another post house, one of the editors was playing Wii baseball in the lounge area as I waited for the woman I was meeting to come get me for my interview. So I wasn’t really all that surprised when on my first Friday, I was trying to get a hold of one of the editors and he was nowhere to be found, only later to be discovered playing the latest incantation of Guitar Hero, Rock Band (which includes not only guitar, but also bass, drums, and vocals) in another editor’s room.

Being that it was only my third week working at this company, when on Thursday night everyone erupted into joyous celebration for the executive producer’s birthday, I felt obligated to stay and try to ingratiate myself into the group. Rock Band was once again present, the conference room turned into concert venue. Many had gathered around to watch those who were playing—it’s sort of hypnotizing, and totally fun to see people get really into their roles.

After a while, when it seemed some people were beginning to lose interest and I couldn’t resist the urge any longer, I decided to take up the drums. I think the other members of the “band” worried about me, since I couldn’t even figure out how to change the level settings to “easy”. And at first, I was pretty bad—I couldn’t figure out when to hit the drums—but eventually I got the hang of it and didn’t fail too badly. By the time I had finished my second lengthy heavy metal song, the other members of the band (who were total pros) were questioning whether I was telling the truth about never having played before, which I was.

I wasn’t really all that good—I barely passed—but I must have seemed like I knew what I was doing. And it was really fun! At the end of our set, everyone high fived me and congratulated me on a job well done and my apparent secret talent. It was nice, too, to start to feel like a part of the group.

The following day, between answering phones, ordering pizzas, and making sure the faucets in the bathroom hadn’t leaked onto the floor, I overheard some people discussing the Rock Band jams of the night before. Seeming perhaps a bit surprised, since I am still and always “the quiet one” I heard them discuss how I had really rocked it out on the drums. And while I don’t mind being “the quiet one,” I’m happy to be known as “the quiet one who can totally rock the drums on Rock Band.”

shouts and murmurs from the office (so glad i'm no longer temping)

Work was scarce and I was hard up for rent money, so I decided that perhaps my best option to solve this inequity would be to try to get some temp work. So I emailed my resume to the temp agency with the highest yahoo rating, a few days later received a phone call, and went in for the interview. They just opened a creative division, my bubbly blonde counselor informed me, that might even offer something to correspond with my film background, however the work would most likely still be office work. Fine with me.

I've worked in offices before, so really, I should know what to expect. And yet for some reason, I kept imagining myself being placed in the office from "The Office" and found myself quite enamored with this idea. I, of course, with my light brown curly hair, would be "Pam" and would become insta-friends with the guy who works across the way, "Jim." This thought was most definitely the highlight. Across from "Jim" there would be this totally weird, and yet strangely endearing guy, "Dwight," and we would bond over the jokes "Jim" played on him. "Ryan," a former temp, recently hired (in my mind this plays out before season 4), would chat about why, when we're perfectly capable human beings, we found ourselves resorting to temp work.

And with "Michael Scott" as my boss, while there wouldn't be copious mounds of real work to do, perhaps I would get to utilize my creativity to organize a meeting about leadership skills (what makes "Michael Scott" a great boss), equality in the workforce (why it's good that "Stanley" "Kevin" and "Angela" aren't all the same person), or an invoice sorting barbeque with the ping pong table as a centerpiece. Although this would be a job I would take trudgingly and solely for the purpose of having some sort of income, it would be enjoyable, with its colorful and humorously awkward room-full of characters to amuse me throughout my assignment.

So you can imagine my surprise when I walk into the financial section of the advertising department at a large fashion design company and I'm escorted to a room in the back where I'm expected to stay at my computer all day and taught how to process billing reports, whatever that means. While I was a bit disappointed, this, an office where people actually do work and you have to wind your way through a maze of private cubicles to get anywhere, is what I should have expected. It's probably a good thing that I did not end up with a boss like Michael Scott, though I would have liked to have a "Jim," as opposed to an office comprised almost entirely of women. The people, though not overtly friendly or hilariously awkward, seem nice enough when I actually have an opportunity to talk to someone, and the work, though tedious and uncomprehensible, is a more profitable way to spend my time than sitting on my couch.

on resolutions, or it's gonna be a happy new year!

Honest New Years Resolution #1:

To look up more, rather than down (and still manage not to trip too much).


I never really believed in New Year's resolutions. Come January 1st, I would hear people throwing out the same resolutions—most often to go to the gym on a regular basis, to drink less or more—and while a few people may actually go through with these, I hardly recall any particularly meaningful or memorable ones. And also, if there is something you really want to do in your life, why wait until January 1st to start? Perhaps it was this thought that always stifled me from coming up with something I wanted to accomplish in the new year—I’ve never been great at coming up with ideas on command. Each year as New Years rolled closer, I would often feel awkward when people would ask about my resolutions, and would make something up, usually uninteresting, usually copying someone else's answer, just because it was better than saying nothing at all.

And then last year, it may have been spending New Years with my contemplative and questioning friend Sophie or the fact that I worked a boring job and had numerous hours to ponder over my life, I came up with an answer for the inevitable question, "So what is your New Year's resolution?" I realized it had been bothering me that, although there were recycling bins adjacent to the trash cans outside my apartment, I made no real effort to recycle. Empty water bottles and large stacks of paper usually ended up in the proper bin, but most of the everyday waste that could otherwise be recycled did not. So I bought a new trashcan and my roommate and I began to use the old one as our recycling bin, weeding out the paper, plastic or glass from our other disposables. Though we still have a lot of trash, we usually have just as much recycling, so I feel a little less wasteful, and thus a little better. And hopefully it has benefited not just my ego and my need to feel like I was doing something advantageous for the world, but actually bettered the world in a tiny way. It was a small thing, but it was something.

As I was attempting to make plans for this New Year's Eve, the question has once again popped up in my mind, "What will I tell people when they ask about my New Year's resolution?" I came up with a number of answers, so I felt prepared. But then on New Years Eve, when someone asked me to come up with a silly sounding answer, I was a bit stumped, since mine were all fairly serious. This brought to mind a story about climbing Masada that a rabbi had told when I was in Israel recently. Starting out at the bottom, looking up at the seemingly endless ramp, he said he felt discouraged by such an imposing undertaking. But he started up anyway, and while he was hiking, he noticed that just about everyone was looking down at his or her feet. He realized he had been doing the same, looking down for fear of seeing the how much of the trail was still ahead of him. He decided, rather, to look sideways at the view around him and was astounded by what he saw—the beauty of the new morning light on the mountains. More so than the hike ahead, I found myself looking down for fear of falling on my face, but perhaps he is right. Even if it means pausing for a moment, it might be worthwhile to look up from my feet once in a while and appreciate what’s around me.

And so, even more than keeping up with a blog, walking to work more, or curbing my shopping habit, I hope that I am able to keep this idea with me throughout the year.