“Halt! Identify yourselves, in the name of the Empire!”
The Dark Side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities, some considered to be unnatural…
I am currently teaching a unit on imperialism in World History. We are working through the causes and effects of imperialism and the different strategies of empire building in order to ultimately determine if we think that the United States is/is not/was/was never an empire. We examined the Ancient Maya, China in the age of Dynasties, the Spanish, the British, and compared and contrasted their strategies, goals & ambitions, purposes, and results. Then we determined that, like all good social scientists, we needed a model in order to effectively assess all of these empires. Our archetype of empire is the Galactic Empire. To this end the students came up with a list of characteristics that they believed must exist to merit the label: Empire. The list looked something like this:
- Territory
- Army/military strength
- Influence
- Power
- Money
- Respected by others
- Allies
- Renown
- Strong leader, perhaps an autocrat, definitely with cult of personality
- The five elements of “civilization”, which include skilled workers, advanced cities, complex institutions, advanced technology, and record keeping
- Ambition
- Hierarchy
- Unique cultural traditions
- Independence
It is a rare and joyous moment when something like Star Wars is validated as meaningful academia. The idea that Star Wars could actually be a legit focus in the study of World History has been one of these moments. Of course, I now must tread lightly so as not to ruin something cool by ‘schooling’ it, but that is a chance I am willing to take.
As these students began to put together composites of the characteristics of the various empires we looked at – focusing specifically on their aims, ambitions, and methods as time (and let’s face it, attention) is always limited in high school you’ve gotta be selective, so we are – certain trends become clear. Trends not only in the characters of the empires and their imperial designs, but trends in the scholarship. This is fun when the students start to notice these things and ask questions….
Why did everyone think the Maya were all peaceful?
Why don’t we learn how they partied?
If the Maya calendar is so accurate, why don’t we use it? [Chased by the inevitable follow-up, 'cause then we're all gonna die in December!]
The second of our empires who aimed for a sort of self-sufficiency the Western World has never seemed to understand was Ancient China. My students seem to instinctively understand the Chinese response to Britain, “We don’t need you. We are awesome.” [On a personal note, I find it fascinating how this attitude has persevered throughout all of China's history and is alive and well today. Not that I disagree, but it is an interesting cultural legacy.] And the students totally understand China’s attitude because, well, because of their size, really. When we write on the board that the land area of China is 9,569,901 km sq (which I have to convert into square miles, thank you very much England… 3,694,959) and then I write down the land area of Britain, 241,930 km sq (and this is generous as it include the entire UK… 93,409) the kids laugh.
What? The Maya had more territory!
That is so small? Is it bigger now? [No...]
Hold on, why did they call it *Great* Britain?
Still, the students also seem to totally understand the shift in power once drugs are introduced, and the opium wars are one of the most logical lessons we’ve covered in History so far this year. But they are perplexed by the Treaty of Nanking and further confused by the Open Door Policy.
Um, I think I am reading this wrong because it seems like the Chinese got totally screwed in this Treaty. Who would sign this?
Wait, no one agreed to John Hay’s plan, but he said people did… and that worked? That’s like a Jedi mind trick! [smiles]
Uh, when did the United States even get involved?
Maybe everyone was smoking opium or something… [Ah, would that it were so simple...]
In general Britain confounds them. They fully understand the need for Britain to spread out and take over the world, but they don’t understand how they were able to do it. We talk about gunboat diplomacy and dollar diplomacy. We talk about short-term and long-term considerations (and miscalculations). They keep asking why Britain called itself great. We talk about how the sun never set on the British Empire. They mention that the Spanish had already used that saying a century or so earlier… and we consider the effectiveness of British imperialism as a commercial ambition and a matter of national pride. They seem to understand this. In contrast considering Spain’s hyper-religious focus, they seem to think the Brits had a better strategy by not alienating every non-Catholic on the planet. What was that going to do for them anyhow? they ask. I refer them to Mel Brooks in agreement.
All the while, pretty much every third question is, “When are we going to watch Star Wars???” [The other primary questions having to do with why Britain is *Great* Britain (insert all size matters jokes here, and trust I have been hearing them, these are sophomores, after all), and if we are going to watch all six Star Wars films. (I did mention they are sophomores, right? Disregard the idea that there are no silly questions...)]
And so tomorrow, it begins, in a galaxy not so far away, armed with all sorts of comparative data, and a timeline of the Galactic Empire from the year 19 B.B.Y. (the year the Empire was established) to the year 137 A.B.Y. (the year in which the Remnant of the Galactic Empire joins the Galactic Alliance, while all the displaced Siths are simultaneously infiltrating the emerging conjoined governments…) they will get a chance to examine the Galactic Empire, its aims, ambitions, strategies, the cyclical nature of imperial strength, and the ever-present Force to put the finally piece in place for their model of empire and identify the similarities they may see between the Galactic Empire and…
- The Empire of the Maya: ”Listen, I can’t get involved. I’ve got work to do. It’s not that I like the Empire; I hate it! But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. It’s such a long way from here.” – Luke Skywalker
- The Empires of Ancient China: “The Empire reaches far and wide, and is made up of countless individuals who all strive for the same overall goal: stability.” - Imperial Advisor Ars Dangor
- The Spanish Empire: “I have brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new Empire!“- Darth Vader
- The British Empire: ”We must move quickly. The Jedi are relentless. If they are not all destroyed, it will be civil war without end.” – Palpatine
Then it falls to them to determine the state and/or existence of the American Empire…
“We are an Empire ruled by the majority! An Empire ruled by a new Constitution! An Empire of laws, not of politicians! An Empire devoted to the preservation of a just society. Of a safe and secure society! We are an Empire that will stand for ten thousand years!“―Palpatine
*all quotations from taken from Wookieepedia.
One of the best love stories of all time. Like, totally fer sure.
I’ll stop the world and melt with you
You’ve seen the difference and
It’s getting better all the time
There’s nothing you and I won’t do
I’ll stop the world and melt with you
I own this movie, though I haven’t watched it in a while (no matter a I know all the words and every song by heart…) But every time I do watch it, I am reminded of how it is like, the most awesome love story ever. It is clearly responsible for indelibly imprinting a certain archetype on my brain. Thanks 1983.
Randy: So, when can I see you again?
Julie Richman: Gee, Randy… why don’t you wait until the end of the evening to say these things?
Randy: It’s how I feel.
Julie Richman: I’m here with you now.
For some reason, in spite of the fact that I spent just about every summer in LA – and mostly the Valley – from 1970 until 1987, this early 80s period is part of my most elemental programming. I wonder if it is genetic if you have Valley parents? Anyhow, I remember so well riding around in LA and seeing it exactly how it is in this movie. The malls, god, I actually loved them. And the ranch-style Valley houses, because you know there is so much ranching going on out there in the Valley… The clothes. Holy crap – I aspired to that.
Epic.
And parents that just did not fit into the norm of my peer set? Yep. I had them. I love that they run a health food store, so wonderfully 1983. The language is a bit silly, almost distracting… (were we ever that bad? Well, I did have a 3/4 sleeve shirt in white and lavender that said: “I’m a Val, I know” Seriously…) But the story is pretty much the end all be all of love stories. Okay, okay, Top Five. Like, fer sure.
And you all know I have my Nick Cage issues, but damn, he could deliver a line. He is just like the “real” guy among all the plastics, you know? I can’t imagine how he would have played in my high school, [angst in my pants!] but in hindsight it certainly seems like just what the doctor ordered. He makes every boyfriend I ever had seem pretty lame.
Man, he’s like tripendicular, ya know?
Oh, except for Joe Flynn. The scene in the movie when Julie and Randy are talking and Fred is chasing Suzie around the car happened to me almost exactly the same way when Nancy took one for the team and let a certain Hurt brother chase her while I tried to convince Joe that a nice little vanilla girl like me was just what he needed. Short lived success there, but not because I had to deal with some Tommy cretin… more just because Joe was a little too thug to make up his mind. But man, he was smoking hot. Oddly, as with Julie’s predicament in the movie, I am farily certain none of my friends agreed with me on this…
And still, every time I watch the movie I love it a little more. Who wouldn’t root for Randy and Fred. [Hi, I'm Fred. I like tacos and '71 Cabernet. My favorite color is magenta.] And another victory goes to the Bohemians.
Well, I mean, come on, we are talking about the Valley – how alternative did you think they were gonna be for the perfect little love story? Plus… they got a word for girls like me…
This pisses me off.
I am trying to be in a good mood and often that requires purposefully not thinking about things that piss me off, but this has been impossible to ignore (though I’ve done a pretty good job up until now.) In what has got to be one of the most criminal remakes of all time, a new Footloose has been released. And if logic holds wherein the ratio of advertisements to quality are inversely proportional, it really sucks. Adding insult to injury they covered the soundtrack as well… making it all countryfied. Let’s hear it for the Redneck? Come on.
So, I went to the website and checked out all the hullabaloo. Like for example, who the HELL would think this is a good idea?
Remakes in general pale… but I think if you are going to do a remake, do like Soderbergh did for Ocean’s 11 (granted, probably not #12 and #13…) But he took a pretty weak movie – even by camp standards – and made it something better. I’d say good even. That movie is serious eye-candy at the very, very least. Remaking Footloose is like remaking, what? Like… ummm… Better Off Dead. A great niche movie. I loved me some Better Off Dead. In 1985. Right where it belongs. And I like to be able to reach right back to 1985 when I want to. I do not want to have my 1985 becoming your High School Freaking Musical.
And this movie opened at number one. Seriously? The advertisements are showing the older side of the ‘tween market talking about how they were “a little unsure because it was, like, a remake… but OMG – we were dancing in the theater!! It was so amazing!” [It lost its first position to Real Steel, which I will refrain from judging simply based on the Hugh Jackman rule. And by the Hugh Jackman rule I pretty much mean, he is in it, and probably has his shirt off at some point.]
I have a slam book from my spring break trip to Washington DC in 1984 (remember those? I cannot believe there is a Wiki entry describing them. I should probably be more shocked that I still have them.) Anyhow, I have this book in which we wrote a bunch of stupid shit – “What is your favorite drink?” Answers: “Vodka and OJ, so great!” “Peach Schnapps!!!” Yes, the exclamation points are in the book and yes, it is highly improbable that any one who wrote those answers had any real firsthand knowledge… we were lucky to get our hands on Hamm’s or California Coolers. One of the pages asks: “What is the best movie EVER made??” Answers: “Totally Footloose!” “Oh my god, the best movie ever is totally Footloose!” [Do you need to know about the favorite songs? Ummm: #1, #2, #3 - I am sure Kenny Loggins and Deniece Williams were on there too.]
Obviously, this situation hurts me deeply. Scratching the fragile veneer of my pop culturally formed heart.
Please Hollywood, can’t you keep it real, even for a minute? STOP.THIS.MADNESS. What is next? You going to get on the Swayze Train and redo Dirty Dancing?
I Love L.A., Part Five: “We love it we love it we love it!”
Century Boulevard – We love it!
Victory Boulevard – We love it!
Santa Monica Boulevard – We love it!
Sixth Street – We love it, we love it, we love it!!
We love L.A!
I get up early now. I do not know how or when this change occurred, and I don’t mind that much, except for the part about how I still stay up really late. Anyhow, up early on this occasion was okay. I was getting a ride back to Hollywood in time for brunch. My aunt was totally cool to make the drive, especially since Carmageddon had been such a bunch of baloney, and Malibu takes a few hours to be beach ready anyhow. The Malibu surprise had been epic on many levels, and my work there was done. And I was going to be eating some brunch with a side of magic, apparently.
When A first told me they were staying at The Magic Castle, I was nonplussed (and I mean this in the vein of the actual meaning of the word, not that I was unfazed, which apparently many people believe that word means.) Why not The Roosevelt? A explained that with the entire A-Team in tow, The Roosevelt wouldn’t be ideal. Fair enough. And, why I am at all surprised that anything A plans is not entirely thought out just shows my forgetful nature (this is the girl who shows up at music festivals with coded spreadsheets of the bands. For real.) The hotel was great. And by great I mean, generous, friendly, and insanely tolerant. I give them an excellent rating for customer service, location, and chillness. On Saturday morning, I was greeted by Dr. I (aka Mr. A) bearing a Bloody Mary. Nice start. Showers and outfits done and we were ready to get things going.
Come on, you know you want to go.
My foray into the San Francisco International Film Festival (or, I met Ewan McGregor and that is all that really matters.)
Last night the SF International Film Festival opened with a screening of Beginners at the historic Castro Theater and an after party at the Terra Gallery. And I got to meet Ewan McGregor. The End.
Not really. But sort of. I have never attended the SFIFF before and was fortunate to be invited by a dear friend as a VIP, which as you know, always makes me smile. Knowing that Mr. McGregor was going to be there was pretty much the icing on my silly-girl cake though. On top of this I was feeling like quite the hostess; pretty nice to be able to bring your French friend from Hong Kong to the “International” Film Festival.
Frenchie and I arrived after a lovely happy hour at Beretta and found our friends in the balcony. I love these old theaters and the Castro always reminds me of the glory days of the movies, a delicious time in our entertainment history. Though there is not enough leg room for people of my size.
The festival opened with remarks from the organizers and the director Mike Mills. Ewan was supposed to be there. He was not there. Something about a plane and a fuel leak and Paris. Then the movie began. It is a really wonderful movie and a very moving story. I cried. A lot. Loved it.
Following the film was a Q&A session and I was starting to feel like a pro at these because earlier in the day I had taken my senior AP Literature class to the A.C.T. to see a production of Jean Paul Sartre’s No Exit, after which we had Q&A. Frenchie came too, how many of you can say that you get to be a high school chaperone on your vacation, huh? [The production was incredibly interesting - highly recommended.] Still, Mr. McGregor was not there, but then in similar fashion to the new arrivals condemned to l’hotel Hell in Sartre’s work, he came sprinting down the aisle. Oh. My. God.
There he was.
The answers were much more entertaining than the questions, but I was thinking about the after party – and getting up close and personal with Ewan.
We got to Terra Gallery in perfect time, one slight glitch as I was unaware that Frenchie does not carry i.d. with her (the freedom of foreign life), but a quick reminder that we were not the droids they were looking for and we were in. The gallery space is huge and there were several bars, music set-ups and lots of people. And amazing food. Seriously awesome. And all free. –> Smiles. But… where was Ewan?
In and up to the VIP lounge and I was getting a cocktail. Walking back from the bar I see Frenchie gesticulating wildly. I rarely know what she means because Frenchie and I speak a different body language as well as about every other kind of language. [Hey, opposites and all, right?] but she was being vehement. When I got to here she said, “You and your eyes!”
“Huh?”
“You cannot see anything! You walked right by Ewan McGregor! He was right in front of you!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Shit!”
“Oui!”
“Hold my drink!”
“Okay!”
And I went back. (more…)
it came upon a midnight clear…
If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. ~William Blake, 1790
Christmas Eve, Sandpoint, Idaho -
Last year I said I would be home for Christmas. And here I am. Though I have my moments of missing Hong Kong, this would not be one of them. I am knee-deep in Americana up in the North Woods. For real. There is a big old moon (just past full for that impressive lunar eclipse caught so wonderfully in the Petaluma sky by my friend Gabe) and snow on the ground. It is sparkly inside and out. It is warm inside. And I am with the core of my family – the epicenter as it were: the nuclear group.
Things are as they should be.
And what of Christmas Eve? A walk down the snowy road returning to alpenglow and meeting a friend lighting ice lanterns [luminaria in the Norwegian tradition, imagine his dismay to realize his discovery a centuries old tradition, though none the less spectacular for its prior existence] at the end of the lane. These lanterns are so beautiful and fragile and temporary. This must be what makes them so spectacular.
life in a day
The old man said to me
Said don’t always take life so seriously
Play the flute
And dance and sing your song
July 24 was the day selected for a very interesting project spearheaded by Ridley Scott and Kevin MacDonald. The premise being that people all over the world – anyone from anywhere – would take to the streets in a common 24-hour period and film… anything. Then, people submit the videos and Scott and MacDonald are going to use the footage they deem worthy in what they are calling an “experimental documentary film” that will debut at Sundance next year. I love shit like this. This may be because I am an inherently nosy person, but I am okay with that.
In addition, MacDonald had four questions that I guess he is using as his guiding questions for the project and so if you wished you could film a video that also answered/addressed them. The questions were:
- What do you love?
- What do you fear?
- What makes you laugh?
- What’s in your pockets and what’s the story there?
I really wish I were more adept at video because I would have loved to have done it. I thought about it a lot. But I did not do it. [On principle that sort of behavior really bothers me, because the more I think about it the more I realize: I could have done this.] If I would have done it I would have used the varied clips of footage from the day to create a montage that addressed the questions…. all of which I am contemplating about in response to another cool project/concept I am thinking about that asks us to consider: “Why do you do what you do?”
I spent the day in San Francisco and as I headed home I thought about all the people I had interacted with and how I would have endeavored to capture their presence on video. And I thought about those questions. (more…)
My Twilight Saga: or “How I learned to stop worrying and love Donnie Darko all the more.”
“Doesn’t he own a shirt?”
[I must start this story by telling you three things: 1) I adore my friend J, 2) Matilda is not in this story... directly and 3) The above quote is categorically the best line in the entire movie.]
On Friday I was down in San Francisco to take care of some very important business (hair appt) and made plans to meet up with J afterwards for dinner and a movie or something. I was kind of excited, having just seen Inception (still pondering necessity of a blog there but it seems to have been done, exponentially) and Salt was opening. I thought seeing Angie get her groove on (or off) would be a nice follow-up. But then J gave me some interesting information: she wanted to see Eclipse, the third movie in, not the Twilight Series, but the self-titled, SAGA. I laughed, certain she was joking.
That should teach me.
7:45 p.m., Lowes at the Metreon, A & J were seeing Eclipse.
John Cusack FTW. Don’t act like you are surprised.
Less than a week before its official US debut, the star (one of) and producer of Hot Tub Time Machine, John Cusack took his promotional mettle to Twitter. As both a regular Twitter user and a follower of Cusack I was party to the whole thing.
And it was a thing of beauty.
The thing about following Cusack on Twitter is this: he has very little (admitted) knowledge of how the thing works, and even less (admitted) interest in working it out. He also cannot type for shit. I assume he probably can spell, but only because of any public evidence I can glean as to his intelligence. And I think he is super-duper smart, politically, ideologically and, well… in the Mary Poppins way, if you want to know how I really feel about it. I think he likely Tweets drunk on occasion and I applaud his irreverence and his range of topics in his “stream” (look at me work the double entendre.) Basically, he cracks me up and makes me wonder how HST might handle such a concept as Tweeting.
So, either of his own volition or at the request of someone else, Mr. Cusack decided to take advantage of the Twitter tool of “trending” and see if, with the efforts of his more than 27k followers, get the movie to “trend.” He seemed unclear on how the trending thing worked at first, and I could certainly relate. Basically, any subject that starts getting repeat Tweets (to an exponential degree) shows up in the sidebar of a Twitter user’s page. This, in the tradition of the hive mind, of course draws more attention and before you know it, whatever the trending topic is, it has gone viral. You can set your trend topics regionally or world-wide, so you see what kind of audience we are talking about. Using a hashtag (#) seems to speed things up, but to my (limited) knowledge it does not seem like a requirement.
I guess you can sort of see the potential for massive exposure. The question is… to what do you want to be exposed.
A quick survey of the trending topics on any given day is almost certain to be 80% inane-to-the-point-of-insulting topics. For example, right this minute the worldwide trends are:
- now playing
- don’t you hate it when
- april wish
- i just wanna know why
- Justin Bieber….
And let’s just stop right here.
Justin Bieber. Two weeks ago, my only knowledge of this individual was through my blogging friend Clare‘s husband‘s tweets about Bieber because he has to write about him for celebrity news website. I had no idea who he was or why he was so popular, he is almost always a trending topic, but obviously I had never taken the time to investigate. I assumed he must have been an American Idol contestant or on Dancing With The Stars or something equally not-my-style. Turns out, No. He is a pre-pubescent (though he is 16 apparently so someone should be worried…) Canadian pop “star”.
Back to the Cusack connection. In the effort to become a trending topic, Hot Tub time Machine was going to have to disable the Bieber-machine. How to do this? Could it be done? Was it impossible that Cusack/Coddry could generate enough cyber-energy to topple the hormonal urges of millions of teenage girls around the world? [Turns out it is not teenagers that they had to worry about... it was three-year olds. Amazing.]
Game on people.
The Cusack troops were motivated. The Bieber-barbs were witty and snarky and all that is right with mockumentary. But clever does not always win you points in the world of Twitter. You need volume. Bieber held fast. But the,… suddenly… after a few days of solid #httm/#hottubtimemachine effort… it looked like the Bieber might be cracking. Add to that Roger Ebert’s review of the film and the ABSOLUTE AUDACITY of The Bieber to even try to emulate Lloyd Dobler, and the game was getting interesting. [By the way, just look at the picture. I mean, come-the-fuck-on people... what is this thing you have created? He thinks he is serious. Wait till his voice changes... All down hill from there, kid.] After just a few days, the movie was trending… it was a victory of Bieber proportions to be sure. When the movie opened it got an even bigger boost as people not actively involved in (or inciting) the Shockozulu-Bieber smackdown were inadvertently helping by tweeting about the movie.
Thus far, the movie that began this Twitter showdown, which apparently made it into the foreign press, has yet to make it to my far off shores, but you can be sure I am going to see it. I mean, 1986? I’ll take a second look. Plus, there is not much connected to Cusack that I don’t like. [Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was on purpose.] And while I am certain that the temporary Bieber displacement will be short-lived because I am aware that you cannot stop the insanity madness idiocracy that supports a concept like Bieberism, you can certainly enjoy it for one brief, shining, Twitter moment.
Going (senti)Mental?
I have heard it said that certain people “become sentimental,” and it is rare that this suggests something positive. Rather it seems to assume a lack of ability to somehow perceive things realistically or with any degree of sophistication. Not too long ago in a discussion of movies contending for Academy Awards, I do recall saying of my mom that perhaps she was “becoming sentimental,” in response to her positive reviews of Mayor Clint’s latest film, Invictus, and the consensus that it might be too saccharine for the Academy.
Becoming sentimental.
The word comes from the Latin, sentire, meaning “to feel.” Seems okay. Of course, for those of you who might enjoy word roots in the same way I do you probably already know that “sentient” shares the same root. While sentimentality, which means expressive of or appealing to sentiment, especially the tender emotions and feelings, as love, pity, or nostalgia (or worse, mawkishly susceptible or tender - mawkish? slightly overstated, no?); sentient means characterized by sensation and consciousness. I dare say we would not be waxing complimentary in disregarding another person’s sentient qualities (though rest assured I have, and would kindly request proof indicating otherwise for a few choice individuals…) So, why the bad rap for being sentimental?
In consideration of this subject, the abundance of spiritual teachings throughout history that encourage the awareness of, and kindness to, all sentient creatures strikes me as particularly relevant. It is the sentient nature of a creature that we tend to honor – yet we grossly overlook this sentience when it suits us. My step-dad, in his efforts to rescue all threatened things great and small, has been known to gently call the most hideous of insects, “Poor little guys…” And rescue them he often does. I recall my mom asking me, on seeing me rashly take down a trail of ants in my bathroom, if I would do the same to a litter of kittens. I hardly thought it a fair question. But, maybe… On reading Robert Frost’s A Considerable Speck, I have to wonder if in fact they were all onto something a bit more sophisticated than I had been willing to admit. A certain delicacy in dealing with the world around us.
Could we be confusing delicacy with mawkish sentimentality?
I am reading a book right now that I am thoroughly enjoying, so much so that I am reading it for the second time in as many days. Selected reviews of this book accuse it of being overly sentimental though I respectfully disagree (further thoughts to that end later) – but perhaps, I too, am “becoming sentimental”? Then tonight, I watched the aforementioned Mayor’s movie, Invictus. It had all the trappings of the typical triumph-of-the-spirit-sports-can-heal-the-world story: beating the odds, great anthems, the perfect ‘bad guy’ (I still, and will always, love the All-Blacks…) and the becoming-buddies-in-spite-of-ourselves element.
And I thought it was great.
An Oscar winner? Unlikely. A solution to the problems that plague a nation as diverse and historically troubled as the Republic of South Africa? Uh, no. A gross oversimplification of the racial strife that has permanently associated itself with places like Pretoria, Jo’burg, Durban and Capetown? Possibly. But so what? I have long subscribed to the (likely over-simplified) attitude that sports CAN mend fences of a far more serious nature. And I do not think that I will ever outgrow that tendency. [There are several examples mentioned here including the 1995 Rugby World Cup.] Eastwood did a nice job with this movie, avoiding mawkishness, and including some very delicate moments. Yeah, I just said a movie that takes place in South Africa in the mid-nineties, about rugby, by Clint Dirty Harry Eastwood, was delicate. Certainly not the whole thing, mind you, but there were graceful, even nuanced, elements that added a lot to the story: the little boy listening to the match outside the stadium with the police, the fourth ticket for the championship being given to Eunice, the Bokkes holding rugby clinics in a township. All with definite McDisney potential, but coming off as lovely understated sentiments. Yup, that’s right, sentiments.
How deeply personal are our sentiments, our sense of right and wrong? They are so intrinsically essential to our beings they defy, time and again, the possibility of articulation. Hence, arguments, fights, wars. Far from expecting they all be understood, a better idea may be aiming for acceptance. Only a few months prior to Mandela’s historic 1994 election, I was traveling around Europe with a boy named Stephen who came from Durban. Stephen and I had the kind of relationship that one has when one is 23 and traveling around the Mediterranean until one can no longer continue traveling around the Mediterranean. He was lovely and polite (he certainly charmed my mom way before I remember anyone calling her sentimental) and he was an Afrikaner to the core. Having just graduated from Thurgood Marshall College at UCSD, I asked Stephen all sorts of questions about South Africa that in hindsight only showed my cultural arrogance. He was mostly very patient. One day he tersely responded to one question too many by saying, “Our blacks are not the same as your blacks. You will never understand.” I remember that we spent some time apart after that and I still take issue with the statement, but in fairness, I have no idea of the situation of which he spoke beyond the level that appears on to celluloid. [Okay, I have more than that, but when I think about what it was like traveling with Stephen - how everywhere we went he was stopped at the border, held back, searched, questioned, I pause. He was 23. He was a lot like me. But his country had a much more visible strike against it. (Even in 1993 I had been told to affix a Canadian flag to my backpack. No I did not.)] Did the 1995 victory in the world cup make a difference for Stephen and make him embrace the multi-lingual anthem (the only anthem in the world to incorporate five languages) and hug his black neighbor who is not like my black neighbor? I have no idea. But I would bet, that for one day, he let a lot of stuff go.
Does that make me sentimental?
The thrill of victory that comes from sport has yet to be matched for me. I cry watching the Olympics for goodness sake, even when the other guys win, and in life, maudlin I am not. The Bokkes beat the All-Blacks in 1995 and they never should have. That was an All-Black team of legend. On the same token, Mandela beat Robben Island for nearly three decades, and one wonders what the odds were on that.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.~ Invictus, by William Ernest Henley
Who’s sentimental now?
The brief and wondrous life of Oscar – WOW!
Sunday there was quite a lot of pre-Oscar speculation at my house as we all completed our ballots to see who could pick the most winners of the 24 major award categories for the 2010 Academy Awards. I find that just about everything is more fun when you have a wager on the line. [Sue won with a tie-breaker over Vickie, both having guessed 12 correctly...] One big disadvantage of living in Asia is that we do not get a lot of the hype associated with the movies nor do we get a chance to see a lot of them in the theaters, certainly not prior to the Academy award telecast. [Though, The Hurt Locker is coming now, and as I was walking through the Causeway Bay station on my way to work about an hour after the end of the live telecast in Los Angeles, I saw the poster for it and it says winner of 6 Academy Awards - that was fast! (On second thought the sign is in Chinese so I suppose the "6 blahblahblah 9" could mean something else...)] On the other hand one of the big advantages is that we have almost all of the movies (save for foreign films, documentaries, and shorts – far too, what? Too cultural? I don’t know…) on DVD thanks to our very industrious pirated entertainment industry. So, among us we had seen a pretty significant number of the films up for awards.
It made for a very lively discussion (along with whether or not my neighbor, now living in Saigon would vie to defend his impressive win (21 of 24) from last year, via the interwebs. (He did not…) Sue was sure Mo’Nique would win, Vickie and Andre had their money on Sandra, I knew this would be the year The Dude would Abide, Jerry was simply convinced that Avatar was not good enough for a Best Picture win, but conceded that it might… We vacillated between The Fantastic Mr. Fox and Coraline lot about the animated features, which in hindsight was kind of lame since, as Neil Gaiman pointed out, when one of the cartoons is also nominated for Best Picture, it is probably going to get the nod in the Animated Feature category. Personally, I was totally pulling for the regional flavors in the documentaries and I didn’t get either with Burma VJ or China’s Unnatural Disaster.
In general, the whole spectacle is just an excuse for a party and a chance to banter on pop culture phenoms. I have always loved the Oscars and I am not entirely sure why. The telecasts can be terribly tedious, the hosts can be painful, the politics too much or not enough, and the Red Carpet interviewers (hosts?) generally make me want to punch something. But still, I love it. The clothes, the couples and the speeches.
Oh, and the “In Memoriam” part always makes me cry. Serious. This year they did not include Farrah Fawcett and some people were pissed about that, but I am not sure she was ever in a movie, was she? I don’t know, maybe they should have put her in simply because her death got totally overshadowed by MJ. I am always amazed – and saddened in a strange way as I certainly do not know any of these people – when I watch this segment. I guess it serves to remind me of the fragility or the inevitability of death. Doesn’t matter if you are a SuperStar or drive a big fancy car…
Brief and wondrous.
And in the spirit of brevity, right after the touching images and voice overs, we’re right back to the best and worst dressed. As I mentioned, not “watching” the awards live but through various live feeds (this year substantially bolstered by live Twitter feeds from a variety of sources, most notably the aforementioned Neil Gaiman) I saw mostly still images. I thought Sandra Bullock, Rachel McAdams and Penelope Cruz looked stunning. Nicole Richie! No idea why she was there, but she looked amazing. JLo <– WTF? Demi Moore was making it work and Charlize Theron could probably not look bad if she tried… oh wait, she actually did try once, but not here, though her dress was totally boobie-centric. Not interested in the dudes, sorry – all looked the same-ish. Oh, except RDJ, he always brings it and his wife’s dress was AWESOME. Kate Winslet looked hot too… why is everyone always on her case? The Grande Dames were working it too… Helen and Meryl FTW.
Everyone was loving on Cameron Diaz and Zoe Saldana… I am not sold. And that Twilight girl – gack. Oh, and SJP? The color was ace, but, um… yeah. And could someone please tell me what Whiney Cyrus is doing at the Oscars? On that note, Kathy Ireland? I tripped right back to 1986 on that note. Mariah Carey… eeewwwww. This link pretty much indicates that I do not share my taste with the majority of people polled. Good thing I don’t care. And these links are more interesting.
After the fashion brigade, I like to contemplate the books or stories that I would like to see make it to the big screen. And there are a few. Of course the much mentioned Steig Larsson books would be a good time (the Swedes already made them for T.V. I think), The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie would be very good, or Counting Coup: A True Story of Basketball and Honor on the Little Big Horn – I would like to see some modern Native American young-adult stories. And one that I have been contemplating as a great screen play for some time now is The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz. On a semi-realted note, I am hoping to go to see Junot Diaz next Tuesday in Hong Kong when he delivers a talk as part of the Man Hong Kong Literary Festival.
Would that I were a screen play writer…
Brief and wondrous sounds okay, for a day: at the Academy, followed by a party at Morton’s…
And finally, Avatar.
I saw it last night.
I went to a late, late, late show (for me.) This meant no 5:35 or 6:55 a.m. ferry to town for yoga this morning, so considering that fact, you know I really wanted to see it. The UA cinemas at Times Square are sort of old school, but one thing is for sure, the aircon works a treat. I froze my ass off. But I actually didn’t think about it too much until I re-entered reality and walked outside to find normal temperatures. Whatever may be said about the movie, one thing is for sure… it is a full-on immersion experience. I am not sure why I waited so long to see it, likely the logistics and the length of the movie had much to do with it, but I knew I had to see it before we have the annual Oscar party at my place this weekend.
So, nine Academy Award nominations, four Golden Globe nods and two wins, eight BAFTA potential wins coming away with only two (I have some thoughts on this), and the NY Film Critics Online, Critic’s Choice, Broadcast Film Critics, among others have all noted the film for everything from directing to technical merit, though none for the acting. That speaks to the BAFTA performance I think, and it is probably fair play. This film has been a ginormous money-maker and in typical Cameron form, it has a lot of the standard features of a commercial epic. This does not include stellar acting, though it does include good-looking people. And I say this without the slightest hint of disappointment, I do not see Cameron’s movies to be astounded by thespian prowess, I see them for the sheer scale of audio and visual ass-kicking.
And here, Avatar delivers.
3-D is so much fun, and this 3-d experience was particularly impressive. I especially liked how the ewya and other smaller ethereal things floated out at the audience. The concept of the planet Pandora was also visual euphoria with the colors and the sparkles and the texture. It reminded me of what the Atlantis Casino in Reno must be aiming for, and also a long ago evening spent in the Wizard of Oz themed bar at the MGM Grand in Vegas when it used to be like a munchkin forest. Suffice it all to say, it is reminiscent of certain experiences one may have had that one does not want to necessarily detail in a public forum. It will leave you a bit agog, and my eyes got tired because I realized in several instances I was forgetting to blink.
With regard to the plot… I thought there were a couple of holes… but again, I am not sure that is the point, and I definitely enjoyed the human race in the role of the antagonist. [It is like a bog old "Duh" moment.] And what of the acting? Well, exactly. And as above, who cares. It is not like you were really all that unsure of the outcome. It’s like when I was waiting in line to see Titanic way back when and we were joking aloud about how the film ends, “I mean, the ship’s gonna sink, right?” And this woman behind us got all upset. Wait, did she not realize? Oops. For her. I was a little disappointed that it has to be the human/Na’vi who saves the day and tames the wild beast and wins the hot (I think) girl and all that. But it couldn’t really go any other way, could it? I mean then it would just be like Fantasia or something… visual masterpiece where you leave wondering what everyone in the place was smoking. I think you have got to keep certain elements a little simpler when you are going so full-bore for another. It is like balance in fashion: if you wear denim on the top, you would never wear it on the bottom at the same time would you? No, I did not think so. Or in make up: Dark eyes – light lips, and vice versa. It’s standard.
Cameron’s message about appreciating the environment lest we end up totally fucked like the humans of 2145 in the film is significant, and probably most people will glean this aspect. The more subtle suggestions touching on things like interconnectivity, even elements of quantum physics like entanglement and coherence, were much more interesting to me. Those are things that I believe in (does that make them true – quién sabe) and so they are the things I took away from the story of Avatar. As far as it being an Oscar winner for the Best Picture? That will really depend on one’s interpretation of the word “picture.” If it is about the visual imagery, I think Cameron gets the win. If it is a more global context, like meaning, and synthesis and plot development… not so much. I have a feeling though, that the Academy will come down to dinero. I mean, what other reason could there be for including ten pictures in the Best Picture category this year, with the full knowledge that they are definitely NOT all Best Pictures.
I did read that Cameron planned to do two sequels to Avatar if it was successful. The success question has been answered. Shame about the addiction to sequels, it would be so nice to let something stand alone these days. I believe Avatar could do that just fine.
I’d like to thank the Academy…
Every year, I host an Academy Awards party on Oscar® Sunday©. In the States it was kind of different because my party actually incorporated the awards telecast and we could do silly things like dress up or whatever. Over here in GMT +8, we do it differently. They do televise the awards eventually, usually on Monday night after everyone has worked out who won, who looked like shit and who won the coveted Red Carpet Douche-Bag award.
Some things remain the same though: we still pick the winners and have a little pool to see who can out guess the guessers Academy. This year I think I am going to add some categories like Best/Worst dressed, Best/Worst lines, or Best/Worst audience appearance, just for a little more variety. And we have champagne, ’cause we are classy like that. Oh, and one other thing we can do here, thanks to the fabulous Asian copyright laws, is that we can hand out the movies as swag because they are easily purchased in any SE Asian locale. We have ‘em all. [Okay, except Avatar.]
And so, as the necessary prelude to the March 7 (or 8th) event, “The Academy” announced the Oscar® nominees a couple of days ago. [Their website has a countdown in case you have lost the ability to use a calendar.] This of course precipitated the standard litany of commentary on the oversights, the poor judgment, the obvious make-up calls, the general dissatisfaction with the list. It’s predicable and fabulous and a part of the cultural fabric to which I always look forward.
It’s a Shocker.
I have a friend in Hong Kong who I have mentioned here before… I call her Frenchie. Because she is French. Not original, but catchy enough that it has become a bit of a nom d’jour. Or I could just be feeling self-important. Regardless, I mention Frenchie tonight for this reason: We have nothing in common. Seriously. It has become somewhat of a joke because it is pretty much a guarantee that if I like something she will hate it, and I have to say, if she likes it, I think it is pretty much garbage. Ironically, this has actually worked to our advantage and having our one commonality be that we have a shared mutual disregard for the preferences of the other turns out to be something pretty significant to have in common. She is the perfect one to share food with – she loves what I hate. We will never fight over the last anything because for sure if she wants it, I definitely do not. I like cats, she says she likes dogs (though she refers to N & M as her niece and nephew… or wait, that could be me… I don’t even remember). She likes pâté, I like vegetables. She likes bright colorful clothes, I like black. She likes heavy reds, I like Pinot. She likes the outside of the brie, I like only the middle. She hates to plan, and you know how I feel about that. She thinks the internet is crap, (and though I am starting to see her point of view there, I am resistant to giving it up…) She likes white chocolate, I like the darkest you can find. She hates the word “fuck” and counts how many times she hears it in the American movies she cannot stand but watches to humor me, and well, you know how I feel about the world’s most versatile word… You get the idea; we are a veritable Bert and Ernie. And yes, I am certainly the Bert.
Anyhow, on the odd chance that we ever do agree on anything, we always laugh, and it is a guarantee for a good conversation.
Tonight, Frenchie brought a movie over to watch – and it could not have been more perfect for the two of us. It is called “Bottle Shock.” [Imagine my surprise on seeing the DVD cover that it was called Bottle SHOCK as ever since she has been talking about this film I thought she was saying Bottle SHOP. Just one more area where we make it work - I cannot count the times where one of us has told an entire story to the other only to realize at the culmination of the long and inevitably circuitous and detailed account, the other has no appropriate response to offer as comprehension was lost from the second sentence. Now we just look at each other and say, "You have no idea what I am talking about do you?" And carry on.] But Bottle Shop Shock was an interesting call.
The premise of the movie is about the introduction of delicious (me) rubbish (Frenchie) California wine into the snobby (me) discerning (Frenchie) wine culture of France. And it was pretty good. The movie made me incredibly homesick with the sweeping views of the Napa and Sonoma Valleys – I come from one of the most amazing places on the planet – and I think for Frenchie the scenes of Paris and France in the Seventies had the same effect. It was a funny shared sentiment. While we watched the movie we shared a bottle of Sonoma County Zinfandel. We both liked it. We also had some cheese and crackers (I ate the middle of the brie, she the rinds.) And we had some black pepper Boursin as well, which we both agreed was inferior to the garlic variety. We were freakishly in synch.
Oh, and we totally agreed on the presentation of the Brits in the film, but then, that is one of our few and far between standard shared sentiments. [As when Alan Rickman's character says, "Because you think I'm an arsehole. And I'm not, really. I'm just British and, well... you're not." A mutual nod took place. Or when Dennis Farina's character says, "Where I'm from, they call it a left-handed compliment. They don't have a name for it in England: it's too ingrained in their culture." We both totally get it.]
The film has a great cast [and the California rental car is a Gremlin, seriously, rad] - and though it is admittedly lighter fare than say, Sideways (not to mention lacking Thomas Hayden Church – though Farina is a good call, I can’t ever really dissociate him from Get Shorty…) it is a fun little film along with which to throw back a nice bottle of a California vintage.
And you might just realize that the things you think are so different might not actually be all that discernibly oppositional in nature at the end of the day.
The “Best” Movies Of a Decade…
I love movies and I love lists, so how great is this? I have been mulling over this thing for about a month, doing the things that list obsessives do, like counting how many movies on this list I have seen, want to see, would never see, etcetera. Of course also thinking about movies that should have made the list or maybe should not have.
Some highlights:
- In the Loop
- Me You and Everyone We Know
- Memento
- Anchorman
- Shaun of the Dead
- Y Tu Mama Tambien
- Eternal Sunshine
- Team America [#5!]
Some WTFs:
- Knocked Up
- Minority Report
- United 93
Some “Really? Serious?”
- School of Rock
- 28 Days Later
- Borat
- The Bourne(s)
This list was supposed to be the best 100 movies of the decade, so not of all time, therefore when I started thinking of movies I thought should definitely have been on there it was a little more challenging… Not to mention I have yet to see the majority of “Just Released” movies (though I bought them all in Vietnam totally legally I am sure.)
Some I thought should have gotten a nod include the following (and I fought hard from including Tropic Thunder…):
- Almost Famous or High Fidelity
- Chocolat
- Snatch
- Motorcycle Diaries
- Big Fish
- Kill Bill
- Iron Man
Just sayin’.
{Feel free to contribute, I am looking for the top recommendations form the last two years, my veritable movie blackout.}
Mojo Rising.
The phases of life are pretty interesting. We are really into one thing, then another then another. Could be maturation. Could be capriciousness or dilettantism. Lately I am less concerned with micromanaging these phases, but I get a little bothered when they impede my ability to do things I like. For instance, I have had the hardest time writing these past few days. My brain is full and my eyes are open. But – nothing seems to be happening. I mean, lots of things are happening, just absent of words.
I feel like I have lost my mojo.
I better take a look around, see which way the wind blows….
OMG – A full-on Monet.
One of my students is sort of an expert on French literature these days. Zola, Balzac, Flaubert. The whole thing is rather impressive. She has been analyzing one particular scene in Madame Bovary for a while now, looking at how Flaubert uses the hotel room where Emma and Leon meet as a way to basically call Emma out on her affectations and pretensions. And pretty much insinuate that she is a stupid cow it appears. We have had some laughs over the excerpt: “arrow-headed [curtain] rods,” “big balls [gleaming on the fender],” “big, pink” conch shells… And spent a good deal of time trying to come up with lots of synonyms for tawdry, cheap, and a general lack of sophistication, the premise being that the room in which Emma finds herself ensconced in the glory of romantic love is really just a cheap imitation of her ideals, and really rather poorly thrown together. I made my student laugh when I said I felt sorry for Emma because she reminded me of someone who goes to Vegas and says (in my best Britney drawl), “Oh my gaww! Lookit! It’s jus’ so beautiful! Lookit all how niiiiice it is!”
The room is described at once as plain, frivolous, tranquil, passionate, delightful, intimate, faded, splendid. My student said thrown together. I said hodgepodge. She raised her eyebrow. I said, “It’s like a full-on Monet.” She said, “What?”
Emma Bovary has colored her expectations by her own illusions/delusions/desires (we are still debating whether or not Emma is stupid or delusional, or really, sort of typical in her fantasies – the debate seems to fall along an interesting age divide – she seems perfectly plausible to me as I compare her to a lot of people I know, not so to my seventeen year old counterpart who sees her an inept idiot.) Emma’s perspective, based primarily on her adoration of what Geoffrey Wall calls sub-literary trash, seems so pathetically transparent when you look at it in the abstract. But she does not look at things in the abstract (due to inability or choice, I do not know) and so she colors entire chapters of her life with sweeping strokes of grandeur.
Emma sees connections, suggestions, and relationships between things that the audience, and certainly Flaubert, see as completely unrelated at best and in direct opposition to Emma’s reality at worst.
So, is this a lack of discernment or an astute ability to synthesize? This question has got me all perplexed.
Do I suffer from an inability to discern when, through the course of an hour lesson, I can call up images of Las Vegas, French literature, Alicia Silverstone in Clueless, impressionist art, Britney Spears, and the singular significance of a specifically placed comma? Or am I a master of synthesis? I can only hope that I am not contributing to the production of ‘sub-literary trash’ (though I LOVE the label) but still I see such a need for abstract analogies sometimes that it makes me wonder. It is the age old quandary of the sum versus the total of the parts. I suppose one’s goal makes all the difference. For now, I think I am sticking with the hodgepodge effect. Realistically, I am not sure I could stop at this point.
Tai: Do you think she’s pretty?
Cher: No, she’s a full-on Monet.
Tai: What’s a monet?
Cher: It’s like a painting, see? From far away, it’s OK, but up close, it’s a big old mess. Let’s ask a guy. Christian, what do you think of Amber?
Christian: Hagsville.
Cher: See?
Out Back in the USA, numero cuatro: My Santa Fe Trail
It has been a long, long time since I was in Santa Fe. Too long by all readily available accounts. The family member to time ratio was also not completely in my favor as there was to be mucho activity in a small amount of time. It made for a fabulous, if manic paced mini-week in the Southwest. This was my fourth regional variation since I got to the States and another reminder of the amazing geography of the American West. I am sure I have mentioned this already a million times, but it is so nice to be back in clean environments. I miss clean air a lot lot lot.
Santa Fe’s elevation is over 7,000 feet (for everyone in the world outside of America, that would be more than 2,100 meters/metres.) It is an awesomely arid climate and a true painted desert. My uncle was very worried about my water consumption for all of those reasons. And in spite of my sturdiness and stubbornness, I acquiesced and made sure to hydrate. (I never did get a headache or really, even winded. Yay me.) The city also has building regulations that keep things looking, well, Santa Fe-ish, so it has a consistent aesthetic, which is cool, because it is a good one. The adobe and the chile ristras were a welcome sight. It is also the time of year where green chiles are being roasted everywhere so the place smelled fantastic, and of course my gastronomical tour continued. (It is probably fair to admit I miss the food from home at least as much as the cleanliness.) While in Santa Fe I would be seeing my grandma, my mom’s sisters and their families – two of my cousins who we determined I had not seen in eight years, and in the words of Lowell, “that is so wrong.” Also friends who are basically family that I’ve just missed terribly. It is weird how much you can miss people even with all of the other crazy stimuli that permeates daily life.
I did a lot of stuff in Santa Fe… eating, drinking, visiting, hugging, laughing, a couple emo moments (yes, mom, you are not the only one on the ’09 Emo Tour), yoga, eating more, shopping, chile coveting and future planning. It was clearly a very busy time.
What I took away from Santa Fe most noticeably was a reinvigorated sense of myself within the context of my family. That sounds cheesy, but I cannot think of a better word. I commenced birthday celebrations for the big 39 there too and in a lot of ways it just really felt like coming full circle. My cousin Claire is now a senior in high school. When I told my girlfriends this they couldn’t believe Baby Claire was almost 18; they all remember her from photos in Trento when she was maybe two… and I was feeding her strawberry gelato sans parental permission. Time does fly. Lowell is driving now and maybe even contemplating a visit to Asia in the not too distant future. We will see. The one thing that is certain is that there cannot be so much time between visits next time. Lowell, is right, it is just Wrong.
And then there was grandma. She looks terrific and had some moments of heartbreaking lucidity. I am so glad I saw her and say again, it is just never enough.
I would do dinner parties every night over and over like we had in Santa Fe, it was just too much fun.
And I feel confident in saying – that time is coming.
My mom, my aunts and I went and saw It Might Get Loud, which was great fun and as I thought back on it, also really an appropriate tag line for our time together in New Mexico. At one point my uncle was saying how it has been hard for him, on occasion, to get a word in edgewise around all of us. As I looked around the table at mom, Nancy, TT, Ellen, myself, Nubia and the kids, I thought, “Yeah… we are a raucous crowd, and it is awesome!”
It definitely WILL get loud.
xoxo
“Inside all of us is a Wild Thing”
To make such a perfect book as this one, a feature film would be a challenge for the most gifted writers. Thank goodness it is Dave Eggers who heeded the call. The poster for the movie already has me all emotional; I have always loved to be be where the wild things are.
Let the wild rumpus begin!!
Hell hath no fury… Seriously.
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”
~ William Congreve, The Mourning Bride, 1697
People make jokes about this line all the time… like, “Oh snap, don’t make her mad, you know how a girl gets!” or, “Damn, why’s she so pissed off? Well you know what they say…” But it dawned on me this morning, in a grey moment of epiphany, that I actually proved this maxim recently. I experienced such complete and focused rage directed towards a very particular individual because of their unbelievable dissing of me that I can only express it in terms like <Hell Hath No Fury> Now, said individual’s behavior was egregious and in many ways inexcusable, but that is not what interests me anymore. I am more interested in the levels of anger that it inspired within me. To. My. Core.
Why? Why did it make me so angry? Well, lots of reasons come to mind, but they seem silly when I look at them on their own. And frankly people I know far more intimately and far more concretely have done things that are far worse and not inspired even an iota of the ire I am talking about here. So, what was the deal?
I honestly contemplated doing things to this person that are beyond outrageous. I considered tweeting his phone number… posting the NSFW photos he sent me to a public web domain and linking it to him… spamming his email… forwarding his emails to me to random people who may or may not have anything to do with him… making his physical address known to all and sundry. Seriously, I contemplated all of these things. And I reveled in the satisfaction of reigning down vengeance on this person. This single, inconsequential, small, little person. The irony.
Of course, I did not do these things – though I could have. But I am absolutely mystified as to why I wanted to… It was so completely out of character for me. I mean seriously, I have put up with some whacked out bullshit from people that I have just blown off… but this really got to me. And the more I let it get to me, the more I saw this unfamiliar rage rise up. To be honest, it was a little scary.
I was thinking about this as I chilled out in Bangkok last weekend, and you know, while I was there the whole thing seemed so remote – so distant – so tiny, that it was even more perplexing as to why it got to me so severely. At various times I had chalked the whole thing up to a lack of information, humiliation, disrespect, deceit… to name but a few. I imagine it has a bit to do with all of those things. But notice, none of them indicate an emotional connection – like heartbreak, say. Or betrayal. It was totally ego-driven. Wow. And, ironically, the bruised ego seems to subsequently act in ways that are actually truly humiliating.
As I sat poolside at the Mandarin Oriental, sipping a cool drink and reading Cosmo, yes – actually on purpose, I saw an article about stalkers. Now, I have been stalked, and I take that shit quite seriously. This article was discussing how casual interactions can lead to stalking and one sort of off topic line jumped out at me: “…that he would even want to engage with someone who was not even remotely interested in him was…” And I was like, “Holy shit. Why am I even interested in working any of this out with someone who has made it clear that they are not even remotely interested in the same?” I mean, how contradictory in nature for someone with a sensitive ego… I was not stalking this person, but the mental energy was certainly comparable.
How. Totally. Embarrassing.
Ouch.
So, yeah, Congreve’s line might better be expressed as ‘Hell hath no fury as an ego wronged.’ [I think it best to remove the gender qualifier since it is reported that the majority of violent crimes against women are perpetrated by men who believe they have been you know - faced.]
In the end… I am glad I did not act on my ideas for revenge. He is not worth it. And even though I got this email from him recently that made me want to immediately jump right back into his quagmire of crap…
I know that I treated you badly and I’m sorry. I would just rather forget the whole experience. Some messed up shit, that I care not to go into, happened in April. Please don’t contact me again; I don’t want to rehash any of this. I wish you the best.
…I abstained. And I will abstain. For, while plotting revenge is sweet, and a righteous good time… carrying it out seems scary and creepy and yucky. And I definitely do not want to share in his karma. In the end I prefer my revenge served up by others, on others, for pure entertainment value: Like you can see here in the 20 Best Revenge Movies.
And one night in Bangkok worked that all out for me… Just in time.
Amanda
