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Posted on 01/26/2012 by 1110

Replaying past arguments in my mind, I find myself apologizing very often. There shouldn’t be a win or loss with an argument, it’s too emotional of an event to ever be resolved. Discussions, those are appropriate. Yet can quickly crumble into arguments when feelings sneak into the matter. This recent replay was more of a chastisement than an argument. My new apology that emerged was along the lines of, “sorry that I didn’t grow up learning your social rules.” Just another reflection how we don’t all grow up learning the same standards. Somehow being different has lead to many arguments. Or, thinking different.

And yet relationships should be able to overcome such details.

An argument in a film is no different than a fight scene, it impedes progress. It may result in shedding some light on an issue, but it is a lot of fluff to get through. And then you can’t be lazy about it. The last thing it should be is of two people interacting on screen. How predictable, how boring. Too similar to life. A film surpasses such moments. Or should.

Trying to use personal experiences for such scenes can leave me feeling depressed. The problem arises when you adapt your own experience to fit your scene, which I feel results in you rewriting your own memories. How frightful. Instead of the apology, I recall being an asshole.

But maybe I was all along.

So rather than corrupting my own memories, I’ll head out and imagine an argument with whoever I may encounter. Sometimes it’s a stranger I just happen to notice. What could be the cause of our argument? Would I start it or would they? Will they resort to a physical confrontation or give me a mighty tongue lashing? Will I resort to hitting them? Maybe I’ll find myself crying at the end, surrounded by a crowd that has sided with my opponent.

But since I don’t like such situations, I end up imagining two strangers falling into a disagreement. The greater the selection of people available, the better. And yet too often it’s a typical argument. The old lady versus the rebellious youth. The bus driver versus the businessman. The crazy cat lady versus the store clerk. I need to find new places for people watching. New observations have lead me to believe a pizzeria is opening up right across from my building. There’s potential, definitely some potential.

There was that time with the young thug versus the homeless man, each boasting to be Mr. Big Dick McGee. An actual confrontation, I didn’t mentally put the two to fight as I was busy reading. It took an elderly woman of the cloth to shut them up, and with only a soft touch of her hand and kind words.

I couldn’t hear what she said, but maybe with time I will learn the words.

Anyhow, the numerical sequence relates to my preference of “most enjoyable” to “not the most enjoyable” episodes of Sherlock. Martin still makes me tear up at the end of Reichenbach Fall, such a performance, and this is because you know how it ends. The series forced me to finally read Doyle’s works. Yes, it took far too long for our paths to meet, but I’m glad to experience the show’s adaptations alongside my literary marathon. Plus I got to pick up the entire series in a most dashing of covers. One book to hold them all.

And Andrew Scott – stellar. Benny gets enough love, so I will comment that Scott has created a wonderful and most memorable villain that I may ever encounter. Not the only one, but he certainly gets added to my favorites. Whoops, looks like I have to make an actual list now. But how much of his character is because he is playing against Benny’s Sherlock? The two definitely play well together. Oh well, I enjoy it, good show, good show. The cast is excellent, I’ve enjoyed them all.

OH, and the editing, superb! Reichenbach Fall has some wonderful moments with scenes overlapping each other. What an enjoyable way to experience two scenes at once. I guess I should just say that the entire production of this series has been a joy to watch.

Guess I’ll go back to my books and writing for the time being.

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Stepping stones

Posted on 01/22/2012 by 1110

There’s a need to make sense of our experiences, generally to share them with others. So standards are born; ideas, languages, concepts, stereotypes, pictures, stories, theories, proofs, riddles, and lies. We passively apply them all, daily. Time, may be my favorite. It is ensconced within the science and the arts for the critical, and prevalent for the rest. Fate is the other cloud that heavily floats in my blue skies. And so we’re left with introductions, transitions, and segues.

For instance.

Consider it a work of fate that I would venture out last Sunday to listen to the violinist at the Eastman House. Or – discoveries in life require a bit of a buildup, and timing, in order to be fully appreciated. Last Sunday happened to be the start of such an event.

However you want to analyze the situation, it stands to be a mere fabrication of your fancy, a reflection of your experiences that you choose to quantify with great importance. Perhaps the superstitious would apply a ‘fate’ perspective, while the analytical would say it was all about ‘timing’. And the dull and boring would say it was a coincidence and think nothing more of the matter. They may not even pursue it.

Well, I like to believe I’m not boring.

Anyhow. Let us follow the web of events as they occurred. Fact: I enjoy violins. Fact: I adore a handcrafted book. And the older the better. SO, these are the two factors that we begin with, and now we go back a week when I visited the Eastman House.

There is an exhibition in the museum that, although not entirely interested, I figured I might as well see in order to take full advantage of the admission price. You can’t ever go wrong with an exhibition, much like every genre of music, there is bound to be a singular object that will inspire you. So I showed up early and walked around.

But there was another smaller exhibition in a side room. This one was a ‘collection of collections’. Various collected gems that the Eastman House has stored away. Old photographs, cameras (the handgun camera was a new one for me), films (the one with the singing duck) playing, and books. Books! One in particular that made the entire venture memorable. Just, well, look at it:

From 1873. That should give you a bit of a clue as to how long I stood admiring it. The size, the details, the colours, and the history it contains. By golly, I looked into it after the day’s events. And here’s where the timing comes into play, because there happens to be a project currently underway to bring this book back into the light.

Quite exciting.

And then I came across the unfortunate events of the artist, Rena Bass Forman. A dark moment to learn of, but with a light at the end, for her daughter is finishing the work. It is due to bad timing that I was late in helping sponsor the project, but it is with a sincere heart that I will try to help see this project into completion. I will look forward to the story’s end.

It’s been an interesting week, all set in motion by a book that was created for “the purpose of art”.


Justice - On'n'on by justice

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Lessons tomorrow

Posted on 01/17/2012 by 1110

We went to see violinist, Yixuan Song, perform in George Eastman’s living room. To think, a lifetime ago, such an event may have taken place while that house was still a home. It’s a history worth repeating.

I’m a sucker for those strings.

A gentleman, who can only be described as beyond retired, gave the event a charm as he recognized the songs performed, either by title or by performance. Quite a grateful attendant, thanking after each song, clapping the loudest, and ever eager for another. I sat content and ever humbly ignorant at the titles. Well, I recognized a few, and definitely knew the authors, but it’s an avenue not taken too often in my ways. Should be, could be, needs to be.

At some point.

My skills are horrendous at reading music; only used when a puzzle is hidden among the notes. Which doesn’t occur too often, so these ‘skills’ are quite rusty. While the strings sang, I thought about a world where such a skill had disappeared. Yet the papers existed. It had a ‘Canticle for Leibowitz’ vibe to it, but not as wretched. And as it tends to go in a simple story, someone deciphers the papers and translates them to an audience, ending in a romantic fervor.

Obviously, history would repeat itself and the audience would call the translator a witch. Burnings would follow and the world would once more be ignorantly content.

I can’t ever seem to just enjoy the moment; the mind wanders on its own, ever so freely.

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Bang

Posted on 01/11/2012 by 1110

You know, I wasn’t much into hunting as a child either.

Rome - Two Against One from Chris Milk on Vimeo.

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They will call you

Posted on 01/07/2012 by 1110

The opening reception for Steven Foster was held last night at Lumiere Photo. Perhaps it is common for a viewer to spend little time with each work, but it must have taken me over an hour to make a single trip around the gallery. The Departing Landscape was stunning, even more so when I believed it was all done by hand in a darkroom. Later in the evening it would be discovered that it wasn’t the case. I think. Never did get around to asking, as I was more than entertained and inspired with what was on display. Good eyes, good eyes, he has.

A woman approached me as I was transfixed on a photo, whispering, “what are you staring at so ….?” Took a bit to realize she was actually talking to me, and as such didn’t hear what she asked but I responded, “I’m trying to understand how he did it.” She drifted off, hopefully pleased with my answer. No idea who she was, we never spoke again.

It always results in trying to solve the puzzle, trying to understand the techniques and tools the artist used for his craft.

In other news, if you’re interested in learning a thing or two about juggling performers, my good friend Warren Hammond, who not too long ago was on Letterman, and his show partner, Reid Belstock, have done an interview with (another) good friend of mine, Ted Baumhauer that is now up on the IJA’s e-zine. Take a moment to learn a thing or two about how they ended up where they have. Spoiler alert or TL;DR: it takes time and hard work.

No surprises there, although it does remind me that I have some work to do.

Today, Bowie is 65. Tomorrow, Hawking is 70. Both of these men have had a strong and strange influence on my life. Not much to say except that it leaves me in a state of meditation. As for the departed, Charles Addams would have been 100. Quite a bit to consider, plenty of names to remember. Always a name, the name first. Faces, if any, come after. A name will always carry the weight of its history. I’m getting sidetracked here, but it reminds me of The Crucible. Not sure what film rendition we saw in junior high, but near the end, when Proctor is put to sign away his name, his defiant cry, “because it is my name”, still echoes in my mind and stirs the spirit with great vigor.

All in a name.

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So many pictures of you standing by yourself

Posted on 01/04/2012 by 1110

Perihelion occurs tonight, 8pm. It was around this time a year ago that I started working on an indie horror film. Well, we started talking about it. Then I started writing and thinking and goofing off, but in a good way because it lead to some fun ideas for the film.

Principle was shot over the Summer, followed by editing. And then everyone decided to have babies, so editing has been on hold ever since. Several other projects began last year which have yet to be completed. Looking over my calendar, I need to remind myself (consistently) that this is natural. In a world of instant-satisfaction, my ideas will not be fulfilled after a single synaptic burst.

Folly.

I never even got around to writing about Québec and Turbo Fest, of which will be occurring once again this weekend. Without my presence, sadly. I’ll keep those stories in my little red book and focus on finishing up these projects. After all, plenty of projects are just waiting to get started. So let’s leave ourselves a reminder that can be easily ignored:

- by April I should have a fun photo project completed
- Kinect project is very tasking but a joy to watch it grow, and we haven’t even begun!
- something else? something something…
- at some point those babies will feed themselves and we’ll get back to editing.

I don’t recall if there was anything else. There probably is, but let’s try to not spread myself so thin this time around. Hence the lack of Turbo Festing. Sad times. At least juggling classes will begin again next week. How many new tricks will the students have learned over the break? Maybe someone made up a new one? Hell, I’ve got two new ones I am just itching to test out. It’s a bit tricky to try in my home, with short ceilings and all.

Oh, but things are moving once again. Such excitement and energy in a time of frozen gloom. We’ve sobered up, cleaned up the post-party mess, and have made peace with the past.

Well, 2 out 3 ain’t bad.

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With this

Posted on 01/03/2012 by 1110

Let’s share this new map, come come, won’t you take a chance? Out we will go, you that way, and I this way. Little by little, we will fill it in, with notes and sketches, smiles and tears. Bruises, scrapes, bandages, and … feathers?

Not everything will bad.

Most will be good as we go exploring. New and undiscovered, places and secrets, homes and strangers. Let’s meet everything. And as we continue tripping to an unknown map, forwards and backwards, someday, we will meet. Then, only then, we can share what we have seen.

Even combined, our map will not be complete. But from then on, we can choose where to go, what to fulfill, and who to meet.

ah blooh blooh blah blah

So this year marks the 50th anniversary of the first book of the Berenstain Bears. The National Museum of Play will be holding a fun event come January 14. You’re damn right I will be there.

Possibly.

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And away we go

Posted on 01/02/2012 by 1110

Last film I saw for 2011 – High Fidelity. It would have been Tintin 3D, but then I got drunk and nostalgic prior to heading out. Tintin was enjoyable, and unfortunately almost forgettable. The kids will (should) enjoy it. The 3D elements were best when subtle; the shafts of light, dust floating around, and looking through window panes. Or did I imagine that last one? The surrealistic approach of transitioning between some of the scenes are a perfect example of the advantages of animation, as well as being able to create exactly the shot you need, which can feel cheap at times, especially if used often, but is effective to create those moments of serendipitous action. Tintin uses it far too often. Then again, that’s how every action film plays out, so nevermind – it’s okay.

Sorta.

Well, actually, it is what made the film so enjoyable. The dog chase, the escape from the ship, and the fantastic pirate battle – all wonderfully orchestrated with a pace and style that breathes of adventure that is carefree and yet still hints at danger. Magical, fantastic. Not a lot films of late carry this attitude, or handle it well. But this is what you get from the hands of Spielberg and Jackson. Overall, I wouldn’t mind seeing it again. There is a lot to take in and appreciate, and although I am not that knowledgeable with the source, I did enjoy the approach and adaptation.

Good show.

I walked around the streets during the eve of the new year. The sky exploded in color and light as the city celebrated… at 10pm. Come again? I continued about, seeing lines of miserable folks acting out a regular Saturday night out. Trying to get into some club, trying to get smashed, trying to get laid. The streets were crawling with old, young, new, used, tough, and abused. Nothing spoke of a new year, everything screamed of the same.

ho hum.

I found a Rolling Stones pinball machine and would have played it, except it was inside a packed bar and my ears caught wind of folks singing into the night. These folks were sober and happy, where oh where, were they hiding? A couple of streets over, away from the noise and debris, I found the merry and the free. But they were leaving as I approached, as an announcement declared the celebration over. I landed upon the site, an ice rink lay exhausted and bare as a zamboni slowly entered. A polite exchange of nods left me wandering again.

Plenty of upset people were lost on the streets, plenty more would spill out from the bars in a few hours. So it goes. Turns out, there’s a few more bars in my neighborhood than I first thought. By their glowing lights was I able to discover them, yet another example as to why the Sun can’t reveal everything unto you. Some places can only be seen in the dark.

How spooky.

So anyhow, I stayed up and watched a bunch of angry drunks navigate about back to their (hopefully) own homes.

First movie of the year – Singin’ in the Rain. Not a bad way to start off.

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2 pigeons on a good morning

Posted on 12/31/2011 by 1110

Have you figured yourself out yet?

These presents are over two years old now, doubtful they will ever be claimed. But we wait. They wait. Locked up, with the rest of the boxes, ready to fly at a moment’s chance. Too many boxes in that closet, it’s a certainty that they will all fly if the moment arrives.

Where did the pigeons go?

Popular belief says a new year is upon us. Well, you can’t argue with history, much. Tradition, though, very much is open to debate. Why at midnight? I’ve never come across two clocks on the same beat. And growing up in Central, USA, I found my family far more cheerful for Dick Clark and that damn ball than our own timely voyage. That is, of course, if they managed to stay up at all. Cultural parties were rather disappointing in my eye as a child, and it could be because my family did not party appropriately.

So I decided some time ago, that, if we’re going to party, we’re going to do it well.

Yes, there’s a scheme for everything. For the new year festivity, it is as follows:

-Everyone get to the coast before sunset (any coast, preferably a warm one)
-Prepare the festivities before the Sun sets
-Gather everyone around to watch the setting of the final Sun of your year
-Commence rocking out
-All night
-If you need to sleep, FINE, but someone has to stay up (someone always does)
-Wake everyone up to watch the rising of the first Sun of your new year
-Have some coffee or tea on hand
-The final moments will write themselves

It’s a much better way to exchange those sour kisses, in theory, as I’ve yet to amass a party big enough to attend such an event. It’s fun to consider, either way.

For now, onward. If my heart survives the night, then the new year should be spectacular.

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Covers

Posted on 12/29/2011 by 1110

Mercy on the woman who shares her nights with me when an idea pops up. To be honest, it is difficult to determine which organ is far more intrusive during those delicate moments. But at least I have the courtesy of informing them; no contracts, but participant beware.

I jest. Partially.

The impulse is rather cumbersome at times, especially when sleep is the only goal. Last night, for example, was on a steady course to slumber, when the distinct sound of a shovel scraping across the ground occurred outside my window. Now, it did snow earlier in the day, but by evening there was but a fine and scattered powder on the ground. Not much of a reason to shovel, plus this window faces an empty parking lot and some trashcans. I don’t spend much time looking out that window. That was my thinking as the scraping continued, but in order to solve this mystery, I would have to leave my bed.

Nope, ain’t doing that. A warm blanket can not be argued with.

So I brushed the thoughts aside and focused on falling asleep at a convenient time. But who should happen to show up than a curious thought, buzzing about my idle mind, wishing to play. So we did. And a short story emerged from the result. Knowing I would forget most of the details, or the entire mess, I scrambled out of bed to write it all down. The cold doesn’t seem to matter as much with a burning idea in the mind. If I were a smoker, this is when I would light one up. But I don’t, so I didn’t.

The scraping was gone before the writing was done. And yet, as I looked out the window, there was no sign that a task was accomplished with a shovel. Stranger and stranger. I crawled back into bed, as there was nothing else to do but fall asleep and hope that another idea would be polite enough to wait until after some rest.

As unlikely as that is.

Domino Party from Ronda on Vimeo.

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