Think-Make-Think

Via One Floor Up:

"Artwork and photo by Clifton Burt, inspired by a John Maeda quote."

November is Awesome.

November. I've always like November. Mostly because November is my birth month, but this November is monumental. Aside from being the month I turn a quarter of a century old, it's the month The Koppa Mafia (our kickball team) made it to the championship game. It's the month I finally write a novel as part of NaNoWriMo. And in the grander scope of things, it's the month the democrats took back all houses of government.

The shock if it all is preventing me from articulating myself, from expressing how exciting/relieved/proud I am. But as soon as I find the words, I'll be back.



Happy day.

WANTED FOR: Hooliganism

Sometimes I like to peruse INTERPOL's "Wanted" section, searching for the fugitives who are around my age, memorizing what they're wanted for.

I like INTERPOL, because they seem to have a policy against posting flattering pictures of the fugitives, and the unbecoming photographs make me slightly less jealous that these people have, at least, committed to some kind of life. That they know what they're doing with their lives. They're fucking running, trying not to get caught, and that's that.


Say what you will about the life of crime, but at least it lends itself to concrete objectives.

Captain's Log.

Stardate... Um... I don't know the stardate. What the hell is a stardate? Let's just assume it's 10102008. The Enterprise remains in standard orbit. Something about the Starfleet, yada yada yada. I don't know how the rest of it goes. My nerdiness never extended to Star Trek. However, the Enterprise does remain in standard orbit. And life carries on.

Anyway.

Last week, we acquired a washer and dryer, which made us all feel extremely grown up and responsible. However, our basement was (well... in a lot of ways, still is) terrifying-- crumbling concrete, water stains, deteriorating paint, so many spider webs that the ceiling and the walls appeared to have a sort of opaque sheen, etc. Soooo. We decided to "renovate" the laundry room, in an attempt to inspire a shared desire for cleanliness.

Ergo, we decided to paint the laundry room purple. Or rather, Louise and I decided to paint the room purple, completely ignoring Ryan's objections. So, after vacuuming the webs and planting a dozen or so spider traps, sweeping the floors, and scrubbing everything down with Lysol, I painted the room "Playful Purple" (or, as Ryan dubbed it, "Gayful Purple"). We added a side table, a lamp, a stereo, a chair, some frames and other miscellaneous shit.

The result?



A room I have a hard time leaving. I find myself washing things that don't necessarily need to be washed, just so as to have an excuse to sit in that chair and smoke and read my stack of retro self-help books the lady at The Bargain Corner ("Where you can corner the market on bargains!!!") felt inspired to give me (books such as The Cinderella Complex, Why Am I Afraid to Love?, and Why Am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?)

If I could get internet in the basement, I'm pretty sure I would never leave.

****

Speaking of The Bargain Corner. Somewhere between Louise and I deciding that the aforementioned laundry room should also serve as a Musée de Christ Kitsch and being given free self-help books, I stumbled upon this creepy little doll.



For some reason, I thought it was a man-doll, probably supposed to be a factory worker. Delighted by it's hideousness, I bought it. It wasn't until later (while using it in an impromptu puppet show I put on for Louise, meant to express my sexual frustration and resulting in one of the doll's arms shattering against the dashboard) that I noticed the man-doll had long eyelashes, shoes with bows on them, and... breasts.



I take this as a testament to my subconscious attraction to androgyny. Later, I thought of that character, Honey Huan, from the Doonesbury comic by G. B. Trudeau. Specifically, I thought of this strip:



****

And lastly: if I had four or so thousand dollars to throw around, I would probably buy myself one of these:

My Body Lies Under The Ocean.

Because the internet has been good to me today (insomuch as I have not once, in many, many hours, sighed and said "I think I reached the end of the internet. Again."), and because I'm at The Oxford, and because it's five in the morning and I have nothing better to do, I've decided to share with you my new and improved living will (re: what I want done with my remains.) Now, my parents (who will most certainly outlive me) aren't going to be pleased with my wishes, but I am determined in this.

I want to be cremated. This is not news.

However, I decided today that I want my cremains to be 'buried' at the Neptune Memorial Reef. The NMR is an underwater cemetery,

giving our members peace of mind... cremation and placement in the Neptune Reef is a non-polluting process that consumes no above-ground real estate while reducing stress on other fragile marine reefs which actively support the continuation of life and aliveness on our planet. Done properly, this marine habitat enables life to thrive in the ocean. What better way to give back to the environment and our planet than this environmentally friendly way to replenish the coral growth.

I don't know that it's necessarily more eco-friendly than above ground burial, but it's a helluva lot cooler.






Basically, what they do is, mold your cremains into a cylindrical "placement," which is then inserted into a memorial column. As for column toppers, you can chose between a starfish and a shell (I want a starfish). After that, divers come and visit you periodically, and your ashes are forever lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds of the ocean (or, since they're underwater, the soothing sounds of pretty much nothing at all.)



This only slightly alters my previous request, in that now, you all must listen to "The Princess and the Pony" (and whatever else Ryan spins) while dancing around on a boat.

****

In other news, owing to the fact that Autumn lasted approximately 72 hours this year, Ryan, Louise and I have decided to move to Barbados and become Tiki Bar bartenders. Anyone else in?

Movie Review: Dans Ma Peau

I'm a big fan of gore/violence in movies. No joke. While I may cringe, or hide in my hoodie, generally it's in mock-horror. In actuality, I find gratuitous carnage entertaining, even satisfying.

However, even I have my limits and "Dans Ma Peau (In My Skin)" (2002) is the first film I've seen in a long time that went beyond them.

"Dans Ma Peau" is about a woman named Esther (played by Marina de Van) who lives an ostensibly normal life, complete with a patient, understanding boyfriend and a moderately successful career. Her choice in friends is a bit off, but otherwise, she's doing alright. But there's something amiss, some sense of dissatisfaction, or perhaps ennui, as evidenced by her impulsive 'escape' from a work party her friend drags her to. While exploring a construction site (in the dark, by the way), she trips and gashes open her leg. We're to believe that she fails to notice the cavernous wound, until several hours later when she finally has to go to the bathroom. Instead of rushing to the hospital, she goes out for drinks.

The accident inspires a sort of fascination in Esther that leads her to self-mutilation via box-cutters, hinges, and steak knifes, and culminates in self-cannibalism. At one point, she tans a strip of her own flesh out of a sort of perverse sentimentalism.

The movie itself is an interesting look at mortality and vanity, catharsis and repression, belonging and alienation, pain, love, etc., etc., blah blah blah. And perhaps it would've been more tolerable with a different leading lady, but Maria de Van was, I guess, intent on being involved with every facet of the film (she also wrote and directed it.) Short of being difficult to look at, de Van seems like a bad character actor.

I will say this for the movie: it's disturbing enough to watch a woman, supine on a cheap hotel floor, sawing chunks out of her thigh, blood dripping all over her face. Or to see her gnaw on her arm, then pause, pull a nugget of her own skin from between her teeth, look at it... THEN PUT IT BACK IN HER MOUTH AND RESUME CHEWING. But de Van shows us all of this without offering us the relief of music. It's just her, her flesh, the viewer, and the sounds of self-mutilation. It's an uncomfortable silence. It adds an intensity that I can't recall experiencing in any other movie I've recently watched. And I watch a lot of movies. I felt the need to ask Louise to hug my head at one point, because tensing up in the fetal position wasn't enough. Ryan described the movie as inciting his Cremasteric Reflex. Louise actually left the room.

It was horrifying. But not the kind of horrifying that leaves you gratified, feeling like your suffering was justified, because there's no real payoff. In the end, I just kind of felt like I'd been held at Guantanamo for eight years, just for Googling "World Trade Center."

My body hurts just thinking about it.

The Right Side.

Click Here to See Active Image

Stumbled across this via What an Errant Knave Knows, and found it interesting. The active image turns. If you see it as turning clockwise, you're using the right side of your brain. If you see it turning counterclockwise, you're using your left side. It is possible to be able to see it turning both ways, but uncommon.

According to a study at Yale University, if you can see it both ways your IQ is above 160. Which makes you a genius. Only 14% of the US population can see her move both ways.



I can only see her turn clockwise...

[UPDATE: Nevermind. It's all a load of crap.]

****

On a lighter note, here're three of a thousand and one images I'd like on t-shirts. Part of Randy Reddig's design project "I Like Your Face," via Shaderlab:

****

I realize that the title of this post is squandered on a non-political entry. To remedy this, I will suggest that everyone read "Sarah Palin vs. 'Sarah Palin'" by Mo Rocca. It's a smart, insightful article about how Tina Fey's characterization of Palin on SNL differs from all other political impersonations, in that Fey's "Sarah Palin" "may very well end up defining a major political figure before that figure has defined herself."

Also, Mo Rocca is incredibly attractive.

And now, I must play something, some music other than what I'm listening to in my head, wherein "Captain Jack" by Billy Joel is on repeat. While I love the Billy Joel, I'm not a huge fan of that song.