MOVIE: "Molokai: The Story of Father Damien"

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Mutant Reviews From Hell, a website, cites a telling discrepancy between history and this film: Damien had no conviction, on his death bed, that he had done enough to enter heaven. Kind of blows your mind, doesn't it? While Mutant thinks this a minor historical dissonance, I think it is fundamental: Damien was a person; now he is a saint. Any rumors of inappropriate activities, any qualms about his possible lack of humility, ANY character faults of the poor dude are buried in bells and smells, as the church gilds his story, just like all the others. Want to become radicalized? Work with the people who need it most; everybody will hate you and tell you to your face to be more considerate of other people. So, no, I did not enjoy the magical thinking, sanctifying of a regular guy with a back breaking job, to boot. Now, I watched this film because I love Hawaii. I love Hawaiians. You know: the inconvenient ones, who want to save their ecosystem from environmental degradation? Who want to be a sovereign nation again? Who want the OLD traditions of Hula, not the cheap tourist entertainment? You know, the grouchy, real Hawaiians? Well, none of them really appear in this film. They are MENTIONED. They have one or two minor scenes. I happen to think that, if a group of exiles is capable of organizing prostitution, theft and black market rings in the colony, they are probably not all a bunch of passive, brown sheep: heads lowered, whimpering, singing three part harmony in the background. I think their story would be very interesting. Nope. Hot here. This is the story of white, European and US people, how important they were, how clever they are, how educated and articulate they can be. No Hawaiians were ever in danger of spraining a jaw from speaking too much, let alone too honestly, in this film. I hated it. Hawaiians, please produce some juicy, indy stuff and get it on NutFlux. I like pagans a whole lot better than  saints.

MOVIE: "Mary & Max"

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I keep seeing superficial reviews, calling this movie strange. This is about regular humans, in a regular friendship, living individual lives, struggling to understand what it is, exactly, the Universe wants of them and why it will not drop any hints. Attention to detail is meticulous: it is one of the best furnished claymation films I have ever seen. The musical choices were sophisticated; sometimes, I laughed out loud at the compositions chosen for various scenes. This is one of the best portrayals of the rights of people with behavioral health challenges I have ever seen: we do not need to change to make others comfortable; we just need to love ourselves. Que Sera Sera tore a hole in me; I have been where she was and survived. The depictions of genuine emotions was stunning, considering it is clay. This is NOT a depressing film! Exactly the opposite: this film is filled with celebrations of life! The end was magnificent. Mary and Max were SO lucky to have found and befriended each other! I only have two friends in the whole world; my own behavioral health challenges provoke hate, fear and mockery in sheeple. I am sending them this film to thank them for sticking by me through a lifetime of chocolate hot dogs and ancient roosters. To the rest of you for whom superficial, easy attachments are normal: I feel sorry for you. We who are confused by your world know the true value of love and dignity, on the most profound levels. I wish I could just live in that world. As the movie began to wind down, I looked at my timer counter and reaized: I am really going to miss this place.

My favorite scene, Que Sera Sera

COMEDY: "Jake Johannsen, I Love You!"

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People laugh for the same reason dogs bark: when they are confronted by the truth (I am parphrasing Lily Tomlin there). NOBODY gets injured in this routine, unless you count the comedian but not really him, either., Well, when his daughter reaches adolescence, if she finds out some of the stories he told, she may either run away from home, get into therapy, join a cult or kill him in his sleep. See, this is not standard self deprication: I am a jackass, or pathetic, or unconventional and you should laugh at that. He is not insulting himself so much as exposing himself. It takes healthy self confidence, humility and just the right amount of self love to be so exposed to a room full of strangers. All of us may not go through exactly what he describes, but we know, in our intimate, secret selves, that these kinds of uncomfortable self revelations happen; we usually just try to forget about them. He makes a routine about them. I laughed at some of this until I was squeezing out tears. This is an ordinary guy, trying to understand what in the heck is expected of him: too intelligent to just blindly obey and too timid to revolt. There is a slight tremor in his voice that is endearing. He looks and dresses like any guy on the bus. Nothing about him is especially attractive or interesting. But when he opens his mouth, and his mind comes pouring out, all I could do was smile, wide eyed at how clearly and lovingly he ponders reality. I am telling all my friends. I feel better about myself and the world, having watched this. It is not life changing, just life enhancing.

Jesus rides

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A guy picked me up, hitch hiking, the other day. He told me Jesus told him to pick me up. It had nothing whatsoever to do, I suppose, with the fact that I, a fat, disabled, older woman with a load of groceries was standing in the hot, desert sun with my thumb sticking out. He takes no personal responsibility for his own decisions; either God or satan tell him what to do. He can blame every aspect of his life on somebody else. I didn't reply to his Jesus comment. I did tell him a little about my life. I'm 5 miles from the nearest, small town. There's no public transpo and I have no car. Every room in my house has at least one broken window, which I've patched with bits of glass and clear silicone. I have no running water, no sewage, no heat in winter. I poo in a bucket and bury it in the yard. I have no friends or family here to help me. First few days of summer, it was over 110f in my house, as I had no air conditioning. He heard all of it and commented on none of it. If Jesus were actually directing his actions and decisions, would he not have offered to gather a few of his fellow congregants to help me make this place habitable? Not doing anything is a decision, which he can't recognize, of course. He didn't want to help me; he wanted to recruit me. He's not alone. Most people who pick me up start immediately cramming their religion down my throat. They never ask if I have a faith or show any interest in what it might be or who I am. They assume that, because I'm poor, I need to be saved. I guess God is only for the middle class. If you're poor, you're going to Hell. 

MOVIE: "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee"

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thought I knew this story. I first heard it in one of the first Native American history classes offered on this continent, over thirty years ago. It has been part of my concept of reality ever since. But it was theoretical and political. This film is visceral: a little boy, having his hair (and all his memories)cut for the first time: both the character he portrays AND his own hair pounded a hole in my heart. I knew Sitting Bull traveled with Bill Cody, but I never grasped that he was a roadside attraction, a tourist trap, just like the people on the road to the south rim of the Grand Canyon who now sell Mexican blankets and Chinese beads to tourists. I felt so embarrassed, so sad and SO protective of Sitting Bull as that realization dawned on me. Charles, who chooses his so called Christian name just so he can speak in class to defend his chief, tricked by his teacher into a huge slip into assimilation. The recreation of the photos of the frozen bodies in the snow. The pot of dead mice, fading to the dead child and a tear on Sitting Bull's face. It was all a genius heartfelt production from all. I just wish they had used more contemporary: white, African American AND Native music for the score. The Hollywood Philharmonic orchestrations took me out of the movie; they were melodramatic. I had to go outside and watch the sun set after I saw this, let the wind wash my mind from the images. It took a long while before I could listen to the actors' commentaries. I got little from the director's, beyond a history lesson, and turned that off rather soon. This is work. Your heart must be open but protected. Do not try to see this movie in a hury. It is a memorial; treat it with honor.

the well pump

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10am, Thur, July 8

I have about 20 2 liter soda bottles full of water in cabinets. That's it.

h2o lines burst when frozen. leave h2o at drizzle only, constantly, esp. last winter, to prevent further freezing. That's to the house. the hose spigot worked fine. Now, there is no water at all.

So, no swamp cooler for air conditioning, no bathing, no dish or clothes washing, no flushing urine (I poop in bucket & bury in back yard).

No transportation to lug heavy water home. Think there's a thirty five cent/gallon h2o dispenser at grocer in Belen, not sure.

Neighbors brought me portable heat pump/air conditoner, but it burns a LOT of electricity.

I'll have to seal off livingroom again, like I did in winter, to keep this habitable if possible.

Can't move out.

Haven't heard from landlord in 3 months; hasn't even collected rent.

I'm screwed. It's barely July.

Garden will die. damn

how to water goats?

 

4am Fri, July9

 

I'm not sure I understand what these people say they did, but they built a brumby pump for under fifty bucks. I can, too, if I can figure it out.

Rachel, I still have that little compressor of yours; it's bigger than what they used and water GUSHES out! Would only turn on when water needed. Can store in bottles. Need water for garden, and can attach hose to PVC pipe. Can build this weekend, if I can figure this out.

Here's their video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjYLPW93-EA

 

Hope I can get old pump OUT of well. Will look tomorrow.

5 am

This one has a sensor to turn off/on compressor. don't need that. but it's a pretty good schematic, if a bit TINY!

http://www.airwellpumps.com/HowDoesItWork.aspx

 

I can't find anymore online. I don't really need the balls in the one above. air bubble will drive h2o to surface and will suction more h2o for next charge.

THe couple in the vid. I sent you suggested making small holes in capped off air line.

THey make "fish stones" for aquarium aeration.  I could use that.

http://www.pet-dog-cat-supply-store.com/shop/shop_image/product/9f4b418494da85c9c4c78d885b5575f0.jpg

 

Gotta check that air compressor doesn't blow it off end of tube, though...

I can buy parts tomorrow or Saturday at a place in Belen.

Sat, July 10, noon

Guy came out and fixed my well. Couple of electrical parts were bad. Don't have a pressure switch now, so I have to run hose on full when water's on for air cond., laundry, etc. then turn off power to well. Can't let pressure build; burn up pump!

So, I'm lyin here nekkid, after hitching back from grocery store, a/c on, laundry going, all my bottles & tubs full, sprinkler running out front in my garden, letting a cat lick my toe.

Got a good deal on marked down rotisserie chickens; bought all seven @ $1.50 each, corn tortillas cheap, lots of marked down cookies, tons of marked down bananas, cheap grapes . . .  I filled my baby stroller contraption!

Gonna make chicken tacos. Weasel & I snacked on some chicken in the parking lot of the grocery while I stuck out my thumb. I gave cats & dogs a whole chicken to fight over... that was fun.

Yesterday exhausted and dehydrated me. I was overheated: headache, dizzy . . . couldn't get enough to drink.

I believe I'll take the rest of today off, except easy, light chores. I've never been so scared in my life. I can put up with burying poop, with only having water part time, with the long walk & hitch hike to get ANYTHING, with the heat, poisonous bugs, missing electricity in parts of the house, blowing sand . . . but when that well stopped working, jesus.

Of course, I immediately made a plan, so next time, I won't be so scared. I have 55 gal drums neighbors can fill. I can get drinking water from a dispenser at grocery, 5 miles from here. I planned how to keep garden alive, do laundry, etc. without running water, using pumps, etc. But that REALLY SCARED ME!

I can probably rig up some way to pump h2o up through the hole for the air cond. to keep the reservoir filled, if this happens again.

All the well and pump guys have been really nice, telling me what I need to do to keep from killing the well pump.

Winter will be very hard, if I can't put a pressure switch on before then. It costs $25, but I am not sure if I can get the old one off. Tried the other day, and couldn't get it loose.

I'm hiding in my house for as long as I can. I am to the point where I really hate going out in public or even talking on the phone.

Like the guy who gave me a ride home today: am i married, do I live alone... I just said I don't like to answer personal questions for my own safety. Fortunately, he accepted it.

Ugly Betty arrived once I had bathed and rested yesterday. The box was almost three feet square! FULL of stuff! I have beautiful, cheerful, hand made things all over the house from the show now. It was just like xmas, opening the wrappings to see what was there. I got a lot more stuff than I had thought. A lot is much better quality than I had imagined, and cuter. Everything has tags or stickers from the auction house that states it came from Ugly Betty. When I woke this morning, it was like the day after xmas. I couldn't wait to get out of bed, wander the house and see the wonderful things I got! What a treat!

There's even a weird coffee mug with a face on it, hand made, I think by a kid, marked "J. Hernandez" on the bottom. I'd love to use it, but don't know if it could stand the microwave, as I warm pre made pots of coffee, since I can't function right for several hours in the moring, plus the mug has an auction sticker on it. It comes from the kitchen of Betty's last apt. in Manhattan, season 4. My husband's name is Juan Hernandez, by coincidence.

Lots of coincidences with this lot of stuff, really. Just little things in common that make me smile.

Have gone through all Ugly Betty DVDs on Netflix, except Season 4 (final) which will be released in August, in time for my birthday.

The auction, and rewatching old Ugly Betty episodes, inspired me to go back to my old ways of dressing in interesting colors, textures, etc. with off beat accessories. I learned a lot about wardrobe from UB. It isn't just Betty, either: as the show goes on, you begin to see even the stylish people dressing in patterns, textures and colors you wouldn't think would go together, but look really sharp. My favorite is Michael Urie, who plays Gay Marc. His wardrobe gets AWESOME by the end of the show. He played Vanessa Williams' assistant. Here's a BEAUTIFUL ensemble:
http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2320406784/nm1235530

 

 

July 10, 3pm

Thanks for noticing my skill. I was always smart (not something I take credit for, but feel responsible for). But I was raised middle class female in the San Fernando Valley in the fifties & sixties. All institutions in my life expected me NOT to fend for myself; someone else would take care of me.

So, a lot of my anger as a young woman came from not being taken care of, even though I was a teen runaway, hanging out with radical Lesbian feminists, Olivia Records, the Women's Building, the Lesbian Tide, etc.

I was powered by terror and righteous indignation, mostly.

My standard of living has degenerated gradually over the years. The economy's much tighter now than it was in the seventies. And I've progressively lived more and more rural, until now I find myself in a harsh, desert frontier. I've been thinking about my neighbors' indifference to my life threatening circumstances recently. I have finally come to the realization that the influence of the Conquistadors and Patrons of New Mexico are very old world values: empathy and compassion are not practical survival skills here. It's a very predatory system of sizing others up to see if they have any value, ignoring them if they don't.

I accept it. I don't like it and I think.  No, I know it is wrong and counterproductive. But I accept it because that is how it is.

So, over my life, I have been brought down to basic survival, alone. I HAVE to apply my intelligence to resourcefulness and problem solving. NOBODY is going to help me, least of all the people in the agencies who are supposedly paid to do so.

I have been forced to put my feminism where my mouth is. If I want gourmet food, by gawd, I'd better learn to cook.

If I want a running vehicle, I'd better learn mechanics.

If I want a garden, I'd better study how.

If I want animals, I'd better know veterinary medicine.

If I am injured, I'd better know HUMAN medicine.

It is REALLY TOUGH at times. But I have learned I can trust myself. I think that is the greatest accomplishment of my life.

The way my animals feel completely secure, trusting, relaxed and happy under my care, I KNOW I could have been a good mother, partner, friend, lover, community member... if I had been wanted. I no longer blame myself for not being wanted. I don't understand all the reasons why I am so rejected, but I accept that, too.

It's been a big relief not to call myself a failure as a mother anymore, because my baby died. Did I tell you about her?

I nearly killed myself over her death, until I realized my suicide would be the only memorial to her life: rogi killed herself because her daughter died. no way. Viri DIana has not CURED my suicidal impulses, but I can no longer indulge them or flirt with them; I made a contract that I won't kill myself, for her. Her life has GOT to have had some meaning, so I am giving it THIS one.

I feel the water has evaporated from the swamp cooler, so I need to go out and turn water back on.

Thanks for noticing that I just get down to business now and solve problems, rather than wallowing in self pity, panic, pleas for rescue, pointless rage... thank you for noticing.

Time for some air up in here.

You want something from Ugly Betty? I feel like gifting a bit of it. Just a little pottery animal or something? There's a psychedelic green squirrel from Mexico that grins. It is very nice.

 

 

MOVIE: "The Only Good Indian"

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I thought SCHINDLERS LIST would be the most profoundly disturbing film I would ever see. I was wrong. I will not discuss production, techniques, etc. here, except to say the music, the lighting, composition and acting were spiritual (and I do not use that word lightly nor often). US treatment of Native peoples informed Hitler and served as template for treatment of Aboriginals in Australia, Hawaii, Latin America, Africa, the entire planet. I live in New Mexico. I see the effects on Sam Franklins, nearly every day. Kevin Wilmott, director, is listed in Wiki as a Black man and Kansas native; his sensitivity to the subject seems as blood in his veins. I followed the Santa Fe trail, from Albuquerque, through Lawrence, KS. The story of this film was completely invisible to me. I know about boarding schools, but this portrayal was more poignant than RABBIT PROOF FENCE, a profound film. The asylum (which was anything but) is a chilling testament to the pathologizing of free people, which continues today with chemical, instead of iron, restraints. Forced sterilization got mention, which is rare. Native collaboration with US genocide, a tricky discussion, is here. I kept seeing the thousands of silenced stories like this one that need to be told about Native peoples. The film is clear eyed, unsentimental, without polemic or magical thinking. It is nearly documentary in storytelling. The Jews have a saying about the Holocaust: Never Again. We need a filmography, a literature and schools of all art forms that record, with such care and honesty, Manifest Destiny on the North American continent: historically, and contemporarily. The metaphor of the vampire as European invasion is honest; the church as the Castle Dracula was heart breaking.

http://www.theonlygoodindian.com/index2.html 

MOVIE: Ping Pong Playa

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You mean Charlie Chan is not Chinese? I put off watching this film because I thought Table Tennis? It is dorky, boring and embarrassing. I thought a comedy about table tennis? How lame must that be? I NEVER laugh out loud at movies. I laughed SO HARD at this one, I almost puked my soda pop, for real. I grinned from start to finish and my face hurts. You know the stereotype of the Chinese American father who is the stern patriarch, overly demanding, not listening to what his kids really want? THIS father, and the actor who plays him, is a REAL sleeper comedian! The KIDS! Oh, I would think my life was Heaven if I had even one of this clever, cute, brilliant boys doing their slapstick and one liners! The love interest is not a haughty, arrogant, conservative, disproving cardboard cut out. She is, in her subtle and dry way, a very funny straight man. And Chris? I have never seen a character quite like him! What a doofus! Yet, he is intelligent and has a good heart. The actor who plays him deserves a brilliant and long career (I think it would be funny to remake Charlie Chan movies, urban style, with him in the lead!) I do not hear hip-hop style music too well: the lyrics just go by really fast. I loved the music in this! And now, a word about editing. The juxtaposition, in a conversation, about what Chris tells his friend, against what actually happened? Oh, my GAWD! The kids' practices, the final tournament...beautiful. The tiny pocket cycle, the cereal, the vibrating cell phone that lands on his head, the Opium Wars . . . I really REALLY loved this movie! And no, it is NOT racist to point out the IGNORANT things Europeans have said about, and done to, Chinese people! We aint workin on no railroads for free, bro. PS: not Asian here, Im just sayin . . .

 

Golden Cock: ROFLMFAO!

MOVIE: "Together"

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One toy car, one record album and one game of soccer in the snow do not make up for the child abuse in this movie. Drugs, alcohol and cigarettes are lying around where kids can get them. An adult attempts to seduce a 13 year old. Children are ignored and neglected, forlorn and forgotten. Revolution is for angry men with weapons. TRANSFORMATION is when we put children first. If it is not good for children, it is not good. Period. It does not matter if you are working class, middle class or playing poverty tourist in some so called commune. If it is bad for children, it is bad. And nothing good will ever come of it. IF that is the point of the movie, it deserves four stars. I fear it is not.

MOVIE: "The Village Barbershop"

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Well, Chris, that's a sweet lil flick you have there. I would have made the pimp, hookers white US citizens, to keep down suspicions of racial stereotyping. I would have left out the lisp, as Gay folks don't usually speak like that, and I've never heard a florist do it. I liked the sets, but how can she afford an Airstream? I was jealous! And your lead actress has a cosmetology license, so I would expect her to at least wash and comb her hair occasionally. I loved your sound track. I loved all the colors. The props were fun, especially the guys next door. Great love interest: not beef cake, a real guy. In fact, I liked that these are real people, not eye candy. Script was subtle, effective and poignant. I hope it's ok that I chuckled, more than laughed. I hesitate to startle my pets. The garden hose was a nice touch, and probably my favorite bit. Liked the details, like the neighbor on oxygen who smokes. I will post this review in my blog, livinginthehood dot blogspot dot com. I wish you a long and successful career. That was a lot of work and obviously a labor of love.

MOVIE: "Matinee"

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Hey! Movie producers! Wanna get me off NotFlux and back in a theater? Hire Lawrence Woolsey to make it an interactive experience! Forget the boutique coffees and gourmet jelly beans! Market to the masses and zap their @$$es! That was AWESOME! It was REALLY SCARY when everything started to fall apart, too! What a spoof of B movies! I just finished watching THEM (which TERRIFIED me when I was a kid, during the same historical period as MANT). MANT is at least as cheesy! The Cuban Missile Crisis was another character in this film: ominous, foreboding, looming over childhood like a cracked balcony. I do not have memories of it; I think, out in California where I grew up, the adults decided to protect us from it. Poor Florida kids! I was terrified of my Czech neighbors, though, and had a nightmare that he would jump the fence with a dagger in his teeth and murder us all in our sleep! I remember duck and cover. I remember my Dad, who worked for Columbia Studios, who capitulated with HUAC and who thought there was a Communist under every park bench. We were all very scared then, worse than 9/11. More message movies that entertain the SNOT out of us, please, without preaching us into a coma! BRILLIANT! What a RIDE!

MOVIE: "Seducing Dr. Lewis"

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All across the world, tiny villages are dying. It is the tragedy of globalization and, more and more, climate change. People, whose ancestors founded their home towns hundreds and even thousands of years ago, can no longer survive and must evacuate to cities of low wages, indifference and exploitation. We are losing our cultures, heritage, foundation and future as a result. When the Solo Cup factory closed here, hundreds of people were reduced to shut ins, with no hope of other employment, watching television all day, eating cheap and nutritionally unhealthy foods produced on other factories, accepting food stamps and lining up at the food pantries. Because they have no money, the car dealer closed. So did the movie theater, the clothing shop, the hardware store, the green grocer and on and on. These people are not cartoons or stereotypes. The folks in this film are heroes for fighting as hard as they could to keep their lovely village, with its spectacular views of sea and sky, alive. Yes, it is in French, as clearly stated in the NF blurb. If one cannot read that, I suppose one could not read subtitles, either, even though none was over five or six simple words and none came too frequently to read, as there is not a great deal of dialogue. If people complain about having to QUOTE work END QUOTE at watching a movie, how in the name of Heaven could they possibly work to save our heritage? Me, I do not want to die of a heart attack from too many McGreaseys while aimlessly meandering imported factory junk at Wal*Fart. That is sound and fury, signifying nothing. I would rather die having fully lived, like the folks in this film.

MOVIE: "I'm Not Rappaport"

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Heartbreakingly heart felt, this is a love letter to New York City, her denizens, her popular history.

I need to note the actress, Elina Löwensohn, whose small but powerful roll orator of the inspiring speech that sparked a union strike was magnified by her understated and sincere emotion. According to Wikipedia, she QUOTE was born in Bucharest, Romania. After the death of her father, a survivor of Nazi concentration camps, her mother emigrated to the United States with her, where her mother went on a hunger strike in order to get a visa for her. END QUOTE

As the camera pulls back during closing credits, from a close up of Mattheau and Davis to a helicopter shot of the entire park and the city beyond, I realized the millions of such stories that wait, lovingly carved as the stone work of Central Park bridges, for people to discover, to appreciate and to respect. In the distance, we see the Empire State Building and, farther on in faded focus, the World Trade Center. The poignancy of Walt Whitman cries out as the Internationale is sung. We come from sturdy stock, we Americans. And New York City is a nexus of our strength.

It took me quite a while before I realized this was an adaptation to a play, it was so seamlessly translated. For this, I tip my hat to the late Mr. Gardner, in addition to his intricately crafted dialogue and his artistic eye for directing. He truly loved New York.

I have always wanted to visit New York City, for her history, her landmarks, her culture, her FOOD, her people. I expect I never will, as I do not have income enough to pay five dollars a pound for any beef less than prime rib (and that was 1999 prices?!). This piece lets me see what I am missing. I am happy for those lucky enough to live there.

To Red Diaper babies everywhere: thank you for taking care of our human library of struggle, courage, humor and brutally hard work.

My one quibble: Mr. Davis is an equal to the character of Nat. I wish his character could have spoken more of his experiences in the context of New York City, rather than playing straight man to Nat. The late Mr. Davis and Ruby Dee are heroes of mine and could tell you stories that would curl Nat's hair.

MOVIE: "Starting Out in the Evening"

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Warning: with all its plugged-in tweeting and face book posturing, the modern pseudo-intelligentsia is too preoccupied with the superficiality of posturing to ever produce art while barraged by marketing, demographics and the corrosive corruption of academic prestige. Those who can do. Those who cannot criticize. And the clamor of those latter voices drown the quiet contemplation of what gives life value. For, when real life intrudes into the schemes of power, glory and recognition, they turn in their keys and walk away, hungry for an easier conquest. Writers cannot find paid work, unless they write advertising copy or slanderous opinion blogs. The one sliver of genuine hope in all this is that a young man who, up until now, has cloaked himself in self righteous impatience, helps a frail man to bathe. So, there is still reason to get up tomorrow morning.

MOVIE: "Dirty Filthy Love"

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Oh, it is, indeed, a comedy, and a drama. I thought about the reviews here that said this film was miscategorized and I think I know the problem. Everybody on the planet has behavioral health issues. Some of us just have them to such a degree that denial and hiding are no longer possible. The options then are: commit suicide, be a pathetic loser for the rest of your life or face that person in the mirror, learn to love her, forgive him for being human and imperfect and then take a deep breath and live life. All this somber talk about so-called mental illness, how tragic the film is and how damaged and limited these people are? That is just a smoke screen: pretending you are better than someone whose behavioral health challenges are more obvious -- often temporarily, I must add -- does not bely the fact that all of us have stuff, whether we pretend we do not or just admit it and go on. This is a FUNNY MOVIE! Ok, it over generalizes about clean freak behavior and other stuff. Heck, for all we know, everybody in that support group DID have compulsions about cleaning! It is possible. That is knit picking. Mark is not a pathetic bum who makes excuses not to participate in his own life. He has burned himself out, trying SO HARD to mask symptoms of a neurological disorder, feeling guilty and responsible for something that was never his fault, trying to deny there ever was a problem. Even when he loses everything: when everybody in his life hands him black, plastic trash bags with his stuff in them, he is STILL trying to cover up his challenges! That is a lot more exhausting than just embracing the degrees of madness we all possess, forgiving it, celebrating our creativity in living with it and learning to run along the seashore. It is a sweet and honest movie, with much attention to composition, musical score, props, costumes and atmosphere/mood. Fact is, we are ALL strange, under our masks. And is that not the funniest thing of all?

heat nearly got me today.

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Holy crap, we're having a heat wave. I THOUGHT I was hot yesterday, but today proved yesterday down right nippy. And it's supposed to be over a hundred degrees through Sunday.

That guy never fixed my swamp cooler, but at least he dropped off some pads.

Well, a young woman picked me up hitch hiking earlier this week. She cares for her mother who lives in Solomon Estates, where I live. I recently watched "Skins," filmed on the Pine Ridge Lakita reservation. Except for the fact that THEY have a lot more trees and grass, Pine Ridge sure looks a heck of a lot like Solomon Estates! Ancient single wides, rusted out cars & trucks, piles of trash & scrap lumber to burn for heat, scary dogs, cows in too-small pens, shanty shacks, piles of tires, weeds and litter along the roads.... A lot of social services types actually MOAN when I tell them I live here: Not middle class enough for their tastes, I suppose.

Anyway, the young woman dragged her fiance over tonight. They had tubing, pressure fittings and even stuff I don't really need, plus a tall ladder. He and I got the air conditioner working as she stood in the yard and hollered back and forth between us, giving instructions from one to the other.

They came back a few minutes later with this alien robot thing. It looks like a Japanese washing machine or something: large small appliance. But it comes with two weird, fat flexible hoses and a flange thing that goes in the window.... a portable air conditioner! I mean, real, REFRIGERATED AIR!

Hold on; Miss Thing's stealing my cheese. Just found out she loves cheese. Who knew?

So, my modem, computer and monitor are actually COOL TO THE TOUCH!

I have the swamp cooler on in the kitchen and the little air conditioner on 3 feet from the bed and computer stuff.

I am nude, under a fan. My skin is cool to the touch. Cats have reappeared from under the house and 2 are actually in bed with me & Weasel (dog).

I have the air's fan on low, with temp. set at 75 for the night. I'm sucking in as much cold air as I can while it's night time, to cool the walls and ceiling as much as I can. I won't run the swamp cooler tomorrow and will set this thing at eighty degrees.

It pulls juice. I flipped the breaker to the living room twice tonight, trying to set everything up. I finally ran a utility extension cord to a bedroom, to lower the drain on the circuit breaker that operates my computer.

I got really sick today from the heat. I drank tea ALL DAY, lay in bed with a spray bottle of water, under my fan, nude. Every time I came back to bed, the sheets and pillows were so warm, they felt like I'd just taken them out of a dryer! My metal bed frame was as warm as a meal. I kept shutting off modem and monitor, whenever I left the computer, but they never cooled completely.

Finally, I put my sprinkler into the end of a ten foot piece of pvc pipe, strapped it to a shelf on my front porch and sprinkled the roof and walls from 2 pm 'til about 5 pm, but things were still warm in the living room. BUt the bedrooms, where the water didn't go? EVERYTHING in them was HOT, even with windows open.

As the young woman and man worked on my swamp cooler, some guys pulled up with some ripped trampoline canvasses, two of them.

I'd made a shade cover for my stock pond/fountain from one I'd found in a dumpster. A local kid saw it and I guess he told his family, cuz he'd told me they had some, too. So, I can make more shade tomorrow for the new dogs and maybe even a cover for my front porch, which gets western sun in the afternoon and reaches temps of a hundred fifty at times, baking the wall behind my head as I lie here in bed, even with a piece of styrofoam insulation betwen my pillows and the wall!.

It finally feels good in here. My heart rate and respiration are back to normal. I feel less in danger of a nose bleed that threatened all day. I can see better and my eyes don't sting as much.

I have to remember to start eating salt. I don't like salt; grew up without it. But I'll be in bad trouble if I don't start sprinkling some on my food. Think I need some bananas and potatoes for potassium, too. I was getting chest pains today from the heat, for some weird reason.

This new air conditioner will be used to cool the living room, only. I'd put blankets up to block the hall on one side and the opening to the kitchen on the other, to try to keep it warmer in here last winter. They'll help me keep it cool in here now, without having to cool everything.

I was in BAD shape today from the heat. Now, I'm eating cheese, rye crackers and as much watermelon as I want (I've still got another uncut!). And drinking my wonderful iced tea with ginger, cardemom Earl Grey, green tea, stevia and just a dash of sugar. I could NOT hydrate enough today. It was scary.


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Too Small to Fail!

MOVIE: "Ben X"

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Have I missed something with ASD (autism spectrum disorder)? I am not familiar with delusions and hallucinations as part of the spectrum, but I could be wrong. In a lot of cases, who knows what is going on inside the head of someone else? Ben is totally capable of rage and destruction. He could have easily gone Colombine on his classmates. LOTS of kids end up suicidal from the toxic and sometimes lethal attacks of bullies. The stats on suicide are much higher in the U.S.A. Bullies succeed because they are not exposed. The community seldom knows about the torture being perpetrated. We condone it and even encourage it by our stereotypes and slurs in media and public discourse. We think it is funny to mock someone with a difference. Ben made a choice to end the torment. Everybody in town would know who is trustworthy and who is a weasel. I thought his solution was brilliant. Now, back to the delusion or hallucination: perhaps it is his higher self from whom he gets advice, support and encouragement? Even the incompetent doctors admit Ben is very smart. He just relates to the world by a different set of constructs than a lot of us do. So, the delusion or hallucination may be a part of himself. Violence is no solution. Ben is smart enough to know that; it would simply escalate the situation. If someone is a jerk, shine a light on that and invite your friends and neighbors to see it, close up, in detail. No more shame! Behavioral health challenges are not our real disabilities; the REAL disabilities are the attitudes of the TAMs (Temporarily Able Minded). They are much QUOTE crazier END QUOTE than we are! But why is it that someone has to die before the media listen?

MOVIE: "Jerome Bixby's The Man From Earth"

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What sort of faith says its creator is omnipotent and is the One True Religion and yet is so brittle and fragile that a science FICTION picture could evoke such anger, masquerading fear that maybe, just maybe, thinking beyond What-I-Have-Always-Believed might damage or destroy it? Are we as offended by Santa Claus? This is a group of scholars, discussing possibilities, postulating, speculating. Should we strap bombs to our chests, walk into a crowd of nonbelievers and detonate ourselves? Can we not just celebrate our ability to ponder and to think, without personal attacks and implications that such musings are naive or unread? How do we know what the other has or has not read? Is faith based on love, or is it a desperate nightlight to impotently attempt to ward off fear and doubt? Me, I think Jesus would get a kick out of this film, and Buddha, too. Please, do not fly a plane full of people into a tall building full of people simply because some people think differently than you do. For a $200,000 budget, this was pretty good, technically speaking. I would have picked a better actor to play John, though. I don't think his brow ridge was as prominent as it should have been; he was too hairless and he had an American -- rather than old European -- accent. He learned English on the other side of the pond; he would not sound like a weather announcer on TV. I also think John would be a happier person than portrayed, and much more emotive with his friends. What a nice gift to the world from the death bed of Jerome Bixby! Joy, curiosity, mystery, tenderness: these seem a lot more faith based than fear, anger and insults. But then, I never ran an inquisition.

MOVIE: "Free of Eden"

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I never would have believed I would ever give Phylicia Rashad, let alone Sidney Poitier, three stars for a piece in which either had performed. My main complaint: This is an after school special with cuss words. It is too naive, too simplistic and too much a manifesto on how to be a Black Republican (it is hard to pull oneself up by one's boot straps if one has no boots). I guess most of the people living in Eden are what: too stupid, too lazy to get up and out? Because, you see, there are no other factors that make it nearly impossible to escape poverty, right? Like: in the real world, some of the homeboyz to the bad guy would have snuffed Ms. Thing at the airport for snitching! THAT would be a realistic ending! Now, back to one of my favorite hobbies: the cussing. When Poitier opens his mouth to say something that rhymes with bull spit, my jaw dropped! Later, Ms. Rashad says something that rhymes with duck, several times, and my teeth fell out. To Sir With Love and Claire Huxtable KNOW words like that? They can pronounce them? The world has ended! You mean Black folk get to be regular folk, and do not have to constantly model perfect behavior, or be called race traitors or sell outs? Yet, most of the authority figures in this lil morality play cussed more than the not-too-street-wise-lookin teenagers in the flick. Music was tedious: a somber, forlorn, jazz trumpet in a public toilet, by the reverb. Lighting should have been much better where people were looking at each other through glass: Poitier's eyes were in shadow and he looked like some scary, B-movie bogey man. I loved Fast Freddy and wish he'd gotten a few more lines before . . . well. And if homeboy Poitier is so tight with the riff raff, would it not be beneficial to the denizens of Eden if HE popped his head in once in awhile, and not just order homegirl to pick up his slack? Wud up wd dat? The lil out take at the end of credits was lame. I would love to see Sidney Poitier bloopers! But not THAT one. Guess it was supposed to signify tender moment between daughter and daddy? Speaking of daughter: totally eye candy. But I kept looking for some of that backbone daddy has. I think Sydney (I guess she is named after a city in Australia?), born in the late seventies, will never really know the strength it took for Sidney, born in the late twenties. So the personalities are different. Do not get me wrong: Nobody should have to endure some of what Sidney Poitier experienced back in the day, but wow, what he did with that! So, maybe a sheltered life in post-Civil Rights U.S.A. softens the edges a bit more than I might like, but let us rejoice at the change. If you love Poitier, watch this. But it's not deep, unless you live (as, apparently, our heroine has) under a vast and unmovable rock. But my man Sidney could pee in his shoe while reciting the phone book, and I would be enthralled.

MOVIE: "To Sir, With Love"

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To all those of you who believe racial stereotypes are real, here is proof that it is a bunch of hooey and that you are full of hot air. Mr. Poitier can neither box, nor dance, his way out of a paper sack. I was dumbfounded. Until watching this, I thought he was totally perfect! Honestly, though: I needed a good, happy cry for joyful reasons, like how one person can actually make some sort of difference in this world. I needed to remember that I am right to think every person deserves dignity and that, given the opportunity, will break her or his back to live up to high expectations. What a CAST! Where are all those brilliant young people now, and what are they doing? So cool to see Mr. Poitier go from BLACKBOARD JUNGLE to this! Too bad the cast of TSWL did not have as much professional good fortune, though. Corny by the standards now? Maybe. Dorky clothes, silly slang. But it is not important. People want to learn, want to take responsibility, want to walk with our heads held high. This film is a lovely reminder.

MOVIE: "Not One Less"

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This happens in the U.S. to most vulnerable populations, all the time. When my roommate stranded me in a rural house with no utilities and no vehicle, I hand wrote notices and walked all day, posting them to people's gates, asking for help. The next morning, the sheriff came to my door, warning me that I was littering and to never do it again. Police stopped me once for hitch hiking. No public transportation was available and I lived 25 miles from decent groceries. When I explained my circumstances, one officer said he did not give a f*** if I am old; he would take me to jail and put my dog in the pound. When my goat was dying, I yelled for help from every passing vehicle. Nobody stopped. I am disabled and cannot bury the goat properly, so, last night, dogs dragged the body from the grave. The smell attracted other predators and scavangers and I woke this morning to find all my ducks and geese dead. I frequently eat from trash. The way to heal the planet would be to put the needs of children first. This would cause us to solve all social, economic, environmental and political problems in healthy ways. I am an adult; I am not surprised at the cruelty and indifference I experience. But I do not forgive that this happens to children, in the U.S., all the time. Beautiful movie. Show it to your students.

MOVIE: "CSNY Déjà Vu"

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What is the difference between Halliburton and CSNY? Halliburton guys dress more dapper and get hair cuts? Two hundred clams for a ticket? Oh, yes, GW Bush was a terrible thing. But Obama is in office now, and where are the voices, protesting war? People sing these memorized lyrics and speak of how artists and audiences need to get involved, need to sing more. Where are we singing; in the cemeteries, the mountains of Afghanistan, the streets of Iraq? Should we not be putting our own lives on the line to demand peace, now? Why are we so quiet? Is it because the only difference between Viet Nam and now is the fact that Bush was smart enough to recycle the same military personnel over and over, rather than reinstate the draft and risk political suicide? So, all the affluent people who can actually attend college are not in jeopardy this time, can focus on their studies and their individual solutions, pay lip service to pacifist protest, but actually do nothing to change anything? What HAPPENED to Change, anyway? MAYBE we will let out Queers in the military, but we will still not let them marry? And we will have anti-Queer preachers pray over us? Where is this change? Production quality here was terrible: out of focus, vocals overpowered by instrumentals. This was a disjointed apologia for the motivation of the tour. We learn nothing of the tour, itself. This is an infomercial for CSNY. Nobody is empowered; nobody learns anything; nobody has to break a sweat, make a commitment or actually change anything. This is an anthem for complacent tongue cluckers.

Kate sent a poem

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The poem is too desolate for me right now. It's too cold. I'm not saying I don't agree with it. But it isn't any comfort. Sorry.

I stayed up until 3:30am because I heard coyotes. I had to leave Nilly in the front yard, so any death smell wouldn't attract scavenger/predators to the back with the chickens and goats. I left my front door open, but sat on the porch for a long time, waiting for a sheriff I'd called but who never came. I wanted welfare checks for the night.

I finally lay down at 3:30 and slept 'til some time after 5, when the babies started screaming again. I let the ducks and geese out of the house and the goats out of the back yard.

I drank only one cup of coffee, wheeled Nilly to the dirt pile and began covering her. I've got one layer on her, but it's not enough. But my arms and legs are so sore from working on her for six hours, I can barely walk or carry things. I put an old pallet on top of her and came in the house to lie down.

I heard a ruckus in the front yard: chickens hollering , cats running in, baby goats screaming, trying to get in the front door.

Two dogs outside, after the baby goats, Willy trying to fight them off. They ran into my back yard. The big one had a bloody mouth. I picked up a PVC sewer pipe and smacked him over the head a few times, since he'd cornered himself in my fence. I let them run out. Weasel chased after them. I don't think they'll be back.

As I started to walk back out, I saw that poor, frost bitten rooster, who'd just regrown his tail feathers, father of a new nest of eggs, lying dead by the duck pond.

I ran out front. The baby ducks and geese were huddled together, right in the open, dead silent. I called to them and they all came to me.

The hens may all be hiding under the house. I heard one singing just a minute ago; it's about four hours later.

My legs are so cramped, I can barely walk. My arms and hands are so tired, it hurts to type this.

I will push more dirt over Nilly tonight and tomorrow morning. There's a heavy, iron grate, looks like some sort of farm equipment, about fifty feet from her grave. It must weigh two hundred pounds. I've sort of moved it before, to get something under it. I'll drag to Nilly's grave, once I've used that entire pile of dirt (10 feet long, six feet wide, two feet tall) to cover Nilly.

Before I started digging, I let the babies come to terms with her. They smelled her all over, especially one ear the little nanny liked to chew. They smelled all the hoses and tubes, tools, blanket, sofa cushions, the chair I sat in and the bucket my neighbor sat on. They even smelled my iced tea glass. They're not crying now. They all came to the grave and smelled her before I started covering her.

Willy, bless his heart, gently butted the dirt around her, once I'd started covering her, trying to uncover her so she could get up.

I think they all know she's gone now. The babies might cry a bit more when they crave milk and at bed time.

She was full of milk when she died. She was a great mother. She was taken from hers at a week old. I don't know how she knew all the wisdom of raising babies, but she knew.

She protected Willy constantly, since Willy is the gullible and trusting one. She protected those kids. She always warned me when someone was coming too close to where ever we lived.

She liked to eat cigarettes, cardboard boxes, junk mail, hard candy and those molasses cookies I'd bake with medicine hidden in them.

I can still hear her voice. Damnedest thing: I could swear I heard her calling me this morning.

The consciousness of that being was amazing: brave, kind, curious. She had an incredibly complex sense of humor. She never suffered fools lightly. She thought the sun rose and set in me. I could see her eyes smile when she saw me. Goats don't have many facial muscles for expression. They tell you what they experience through placement of ears, tail, stance and eyes. I always knew what she was telling me with those eyes. I held her eyelid up so she could see me most of last night, allowing for blinking. She watched me steadily. I could see how weary she was. I could see she was sad. I did not see fear. I saw a little pain near the end. She looked at me with complete trust, even when I was hurting her.

I never stopped talking to her the entire time.

My legs are on fire. I need to eat. and drink something.

She was an amazing gift in my and Willy's lives: a truly noble creature.

Everything melts

burns out:

lamp lamp-shade

the light itself

with no shade left

no world

belongs to you and you

belong

to no world

you are pulled

by rain and light

on roads coming

and going

from everywhere

to everywhere

Jaan Kaplinski

The Same Sea in Us All

Translator: Sam Hamill

Nilly died about 15 mins. ago

Click image to view full size. Nilly is facing camera.

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I don't know. She was fine this morning. Mid to late afternoon, she was sleeping in shade, not near Willy or babies, which is unusual. Babies eating lots of solids now. She didn't let them nurse often or long any more. I thought she was taking a break from them in the heat.

As afternoon went on, babies became more agitated, as Mommy not there.

IT was maybe 4 or 5 o'clock before I understood that something was really wrong. She had moved, was lying down, breathing labored. She couldn't get up.

I put her in my Radio Flyer wagon with an old sofa cushion and rolled her into the front yard, so I could yell for help from passing vehicles.

My neighbor called a friend with goats. Friend said she thought it was bloat and Nilly would be dead in 45 mins, if dr. didn't cut open one of her stomachs to release gas. No vehicle, no money for vet.

I took vinyl tube off my home made air conditioner. I covered it with hand lotion and forced it down her throat into her stomach. I pushed on her sides and she aspirated some. She also had watery diarrhea. Goats normally poop several dozen pellets, the size and shape of rabbit poop. If they're sick, the worst that usually happens is the pellets clump like black berries. I'd seen some black berries the last two days, but thought nothing of it, as everybody's looking very healthy. Had to be Willy or Nilly, as babies' poopies are very tiny, like pepper corns. It usually clears up in a day or two. No big deal.

Now, she's squirting out the back end: Not like a goat, at all.

She moaned a lot. I made a sling from an old blanket, wrapped around her distended stomach, would lift her 'til she hollered. Sometimes, she'd vomit, which is almost unheard of in goats, and sometimes leak out the back.

I would get loud and keep stimulating her when breathing got labored and she rallied at least half a dozen times.

Then, the moaning came regularly, almost with every breath. Her neck went slack and she couldn't hold up her head. I extended her wind pipe. I put a chip of firewood in her mouth, to hold it open, so air could pass more easily.

I went around to the back yard to get another sofa cushion, so she'd be more comfortable. When I got back, she'd stopped breathing. It was seconds. I guess I shouldn't have left her. As long as I stayed, she kept fighting.

I punched her in the chest, screaming, "Babies! Nilly! Come here! Come on! Come back!" I put my hand over her nostrils and sides of her mouth and put my mouth over the front of hers, vomit and all. I must have given her CPR for over twenty minutes. Several times, I felt small muscle movements, but she just couldn't come back. She was trying, even then.

So, I sat with her while her brain died. I thanked her for the babies, for her friendship. I let her know it was ok, that I understood, that I'm not mad at her.

She's in the front yard, still in the wagon. The babies went to bed in their dog house in the animal shelter. Willy went to bed on an old sofa I have out there for them. The babies had been running in the yard, screaming for her. I let them & Willy stay around through all of this, although the babies didn't understand Mommy was sick and kept jumping on her. But I wanted them to know when she was dead, so it wouldn't be as scary as having her just disappear.

I can't dig a hole big enough for her. There's a pile of dirt outside the fence. The people who lived here before had a LOT of trash and burned & buried much of what they didn't just leave lying around. The pile of dirt is at the top of a slope, about ten feet long and six feet wide. I will have to lay Nilly at the bottom of the slope and just push dirt on top of her. I can't let the wild dogs and coyotes get a taste of goat meat; they'll kill all the others.

I lost one of my best friends tonight. I called KUNM's request line. Fortunately, the person on the board is Bob Otty tonight: old hippy, radical, suspicious of station management, always signs off with "Always Look On tthe Bright Side of Life" by Monty Python and refuses to bleep out the phrase, "Life's a piece of shit, when you think of it..." I told him it's an emergency and I don't have Rachel's home number. Would he mind paging her and giving her my number and not tell anybody, since Rachel's always so worried about someone thinking she's abusing some privilege of her job, including her pager.

She called, confused and probably asleep. She's not very smart about human feelings and it took her awhile to understand that I didn't need her to help me, as Nilly was dead. I just needed a human being who knows how much those animals mean to me to let me speak my sorrow. She finally got it. I thanked her for not being mad about the pager and the hour. She was tender and kind and said not to worry.

Kate, they've taken SO MUCH from me. And I've gone through so much to keep my ANIMALS, at least, safe and healthy. Did they HAVE to take NILLY?!?!?!?

The goats sometimes browse on vacant lots near by. One is catty corner to my place. Today, a guy in a van was parked right in the middle of that empty lot, his side window pointed right at my house, staring at me. He stayed out there for about two hours, staring at me constantly. The neighbor who came over to help tonight recognized my description of his van. He owns the lot. If I go over there tomorrow and find rat poison or something, I will call Animal Control. But I cannot guarantee that I won't do something to the bastard. I've been all over that lot with my goats. If I see poison over there, I'll know it was him.

My goats never eat poisonous plants.

My friend is dead. One of the best friends I ever had in my life. I'm embarrassed to say, but Nilly was always my favorite goat of the 2.

I don't know how I'll handle the babies tomorrow. They'll probably witness the burial. I doubt I could keep them away.

I'm so far beyond grief, my heart feels dead. Tomorrow morning, I'll have to see my friend, stiff and dull eyed. I couldn't get her eyelids shut. I'll have to bury my friend in the heat and prickles, all alone. It will take all day.
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Too Small to Fail!

MOVIE: "Departures"

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Producers, actors and directors approached it with the same meditative and craftsperson like skill so essential to Japanese tradition. The music is not emotionally manipulative: it is a depiction of the strong and profound emotions of the characters which, according to Japanese etiquette, may not be expressed overtly, out of consideration for the well being of others. This film is a testimony to the agony of grief, the joy of existence and the poignancy of life. We in the West are at least as emotionally repressed and probably more prone to trauma, because we do not have well developed ceremonies to handle it. We do not have social permission to express what is profound, and are punished or ridiculed for such expression. Nokan (encoffinment) is a process of allowing loved ones to witness, and participate in, the preparation of the dead for cremation. Families also witness cremation. Tearing of the veil between life and death is very much more healthy than modern, Western funerary practices which segregate death so radically from the living that we can now pretend antiseptic denial: a process not dissimilar to trash removal, as can be seen in the ham-handed behaviors of one pair of undertakers in the film. Solemn and gentle ritual is vital for psychological closure for the living and mitigates the trauma. The nokanshi must remove ego from this process; there must be no reaction to the state of the body, be it decomposed, transgendered or anything else. The nokanshi must respect the needs of the body and the loved ones first. Later, the nokanshi may find his (or her?) own way of coming to terms, but not in the presence of the deceased or witnesses. The director was convinced, due to the taboos associated with funerary practices, that this film would not be a commercial success. It stormed the box offices in Japan.

MOVIE: "Ballast"

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This is a hopeful, encouraging, empowering film about the sorts of people whose lives have been too long silenced.

Speaking of silence: The sound engineer needs to be worked over for totally screwing up what could have been a really good film, but I'm giving it 4 stars for acting, lighting, script and honesty, even though I could barely hear the actors.

The problem with the dialect is the SOUND. Every word is understandable, WHEN there is decent audio. These actors were not miked correctly. Did they have a boom? A shot gun? Did they use anything besides a cell phone to record this? It's terrible! The motorcycle is so loud, it scared me, so I know the fault is with sound engineering and not with the streaming medium. But I had to literally hold my breath for dialogue at times, with speakers four inches from my ears, at full blast.

It didn't need a sound track; that would have ruined this. Besides, with the above mentioned audio issues, I couldn't have heard a thing, anyway. What the heck kind of music could one put to this, anyway?

Emotional repression is a fact of life among the rural poor. I can imagine that would be especially true at times for African Americans, who have a heritage of silently sucking up what the cold world has offered. This family is seriously traumatized. They act out in their grief in self destructive ways.

But, slowly, they turn themselves back toward the light, toward hope, toward initiative, toward study, toward love.

I'm very happy for these people. They didn't let the trauma permanently poison them. They won!

MOVIE: "Far From Heaven"

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This is a queer movie; it is peculiar. It is not a Queer movie; it does not portray Queer history, culture or life in any authentic version of reality.

Mr. Todd Haynes, writer and director of FFH, was born less than ten miles from me and six years after, in the San Fernando Valley. I can tell you right now: he knew little about the Civil Rights movement of the time; none of us did. It shows in this film. No mentally competent African American man, raising a daughter on his own, would jeopardize her safety by such reckless behavior. Period.

I also believe Mr. Todd Haynes has some work to do on his personal issues about being a Gay man. I'm sure he, like I, was saturated and inundated with anti Queer propaganda of the late fifties and early sixties, during his formative years.

Let me make this clear: Gay cannot be presumed to be alcoholic, woman hating wife beaters! THAT IS A STEREOTYPE.

Oh, it's a very artsy movie, for sure. A lot of attention was paid to the "smoke and mirrors" to mimic a '50s melodrama. He wasted a lot of time on those details. The halting dialogue was farcical, gee whiz, and completely undermined the viewer's ability to relate to the characters in any but the most superficial ways. Not for one second would he allow the viewer to be immersed in the story telling; we must always be reminded that he made a movie. This movie was about Todd Haynes' ego most of all.

This is a movie of stereotype piled upon stereotype. The effect is similar to some cheap imitation of Andy Warhol or that guy who makes the giant "inflatables" and lobsters.

There is no there there.

He learned a lot in film school; that's quite obvious. And he bamboozled a lot of Hollywood snobs who want a chance to assuage their liberal guilt with pretty revisionist history.

And one, very crucial, but unnoticed detail gives him and his pandering house of cards all away.

Ms. Moore's dresses "hiked up in the back," to quote a constant warning from my mother, as I was growing up. No middle class little girl like me -- and especially no upper middle class housewife from Connecticut -- would EVER be caught in public with her petticoats showing and her hems not straight!

From opening overture to spring buds on a branch, I laughed at the sheer gall of this movie, all the way through. It's an embarrassment to Black folks and Queers.

MOVIE: "Bottle Shock"

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I don't know the first thing about wines, mostly. It's odd, as I'm rather a foody, but nobody ever taught me and, frankly, I don't have the budget.

I almost didn't hit play on this one. See, I know what has happened to Napa Valley SINCE the great wine wars of '76. Guys like those portrayed in this film wouldn't have a snowball's chance these days. Speaking of snobs.

I only watched it because I'm curious about Alan Rickman's film career, having just watched "The Winter Guest."


Even though I could pretty much guess what would happen in France, the movie was so suspensful, and had presented the characters so well that I was aching for their success, I have literally bitten off all my finger nails.

I'm a native Californian. People who were willing to drive around on three tires are the real Californians. Cut me, and I bleed Steinbeck. I have to cheer for the Napa Valley folks in this one.

The music was wonderful, thanks. The sound, however, was muddy, had no full range and bad volume. When people spoke quietly, I couldn't hear them, and my speakers are, literally, four inches from my face, cranked to full volume to get through this one. bad.

Little details in this movie make it more fun. For instance, they had to hire 2 actors, get them chauffeur costumes and have them lean against the outside wall of the wine tasting, conversing as working people do as the rich hob nob. We couldn't hear them; they only appeared for a few seconds. THAT is film making.

Bravo!

Now, I need a nail file and, some day, a good glass of wine. But right now, it is 1:30 in the morning. I should not have stayed up so late!

MOVIE: "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead"

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OK, I guess I'm a pseudo intellectual fifteen year old girl then 'cause I enjoyed it.

Maybe it's my brain injury which, I fear, seems to be affecting more with time. For instance, When "Elizabeth R" first came out on Masterpiece Theater, I watched every episode on the edge of my seat. Tried to watch it on NF the other day and could not keep up. Sigh.

I think the Monty Python/ Waiting for Godot crack is pretty close, 'though I really can't bear sitting through another performance of either in my old age. I'm more a "Red Dwarf" gal these days.

So, with memory and concentration fading, I totally spotted myself with this one. Funny as a pickle eating contest at a chapped lip convention.

Personal note to
auc 1808773

The lack of accessibility to these movies for people who need captions is beyond me. I understand: even though I can usually hear, with Elizabethan accents, grammar and figures of speech, a little help might be nice.

I stopped the film multiple times to look up inconsistencies with props. There may, indeed have been tomatoes, MAYBE in Denmark, in those days, but would R & G have had access? The bath scene is more accurate than I'd have thought.

But I still find no excuses for the matches.

This is a fart in a chapel: it's only funny to those of us too tired or too inexperienced to revere Shakespeare as High Art, which he, himself, did not.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosencrantz_%26_Guildenstern_Are_Dead_%28film%29

MOVIE: "Lollilove"

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So, this is suppose to be an indictment of privileged people who exploit the homeless for their own career advancement and ego gratification, right?

Then, why were the cat and dog in this movie credited before the actual homeless people filmed here in closing credits?

I didn't watch this; I skimmed this. That was enough.

Did those real homeless people get PAID for being in this tragedy?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LolliLove

MOVIE: "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

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Yes, it's Gilliam and a very nice film to look at as a result.

BUT

This is just another film about addicts. Addicts are completely narcissistic. The only thing they respect is their mind alterning chemicals. They're compulsive liars. They put other people's lives in danger because they're too impaired to understand they are not immortal, that their mind is altered by mind ALTERING substances, that what seems "brave" and "edgy" to them is simply irresponsible.

These are little boys with too much money to buy drugs and anything else they "want." They have frail egos and drug induced delusions of adequacy.

And Saguero cactus doesn't grow on any road to Los Vegas from Hollywood.

Oh, was there a war in Viet Nam of which everybody was sick? Funny, most of the world's population found some other way to deal with it besides turning into chemically induced sociopaths.

How ignorant of us!

As for we needing "more bizarre" behavior like this; that's how we got the coke queen/drunk GW Bush in the White House, mumbling, "you're either with us or with the terrorists."

There IS no "American Dream." There's just U.S. propoganda. So, if anything died, it was the delusional thinking that propoganda brought on. And how do we deal with that, kiddies? Get loaded and disrespect and endanger people who've done you no harm.

When he threw change at the waiter and walked out without paying his bill, I knew just what kind of boy he was: Spoiled, addicted, narcissistic and abusive.

This isn't a film. It's a temper tantrum.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_and_Loathing_in_Las_Vegas

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I've lived, undiagnosed, with Post Traumatic Stress, for most of my life.

I first saw "The Fisher King" well before I had a diagnosis. Until then, I just went through life, feeling inadequate or lazy or stupid, not knowing how utterly painful the nightmare really is. I didn't know other people weren't held down by PTSD like I was. I thought I was squandering my potential and I hated myself.

"The Fisher King" gave me permission to begin a path to recovery. Its main theme is hope: liberation from bondage, from trauma, from timidity.

"Jack" is always seen behind bars at the beginning of this movie: he's the real captive here, not "Perry."

I want to say something about production. I'm not from NYC and have never been there. But, whenever the subject of Union Station comes up, I immediately see the scene from "TFK," and smile.

And that Escher stair case! Holy smokes!

And the improve in that gorgeous Chinese restaurant!

And the lighting in Bellview!

And the defense of the homeless. Yes, thank you.

This movie probably helped me save my life. It is a dear friend. I was recently robbed and lost almost everything, including my VCR tapes. When I saw "TFK" in my "Play Instantly" thing today, recommended to me, based on my other eclectic and breaking-the-algorithm of trying to guess what I'd like, I was thrilled.

The moment I heard the name, "Babbit's," I misted up.

Every psychology class should be required to see this film. If you think you can "treat" or, more preposterously, heal people with behavioral health challenges, this should be required curriculum!

BRAVO!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fisher_King_%28film%29

MOVIE: "Bickford Shmeckler's Cool Ideas"

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Who says young adults will only buy a ticket to male hormone exploitation flicks?

This has beer and other bongs, ogling and inflatable palm trees, sure. That's part of college/young adulthood.

But the pretty girl ain't no bimbo. The best peer advisor is really honest about himself and the protagonist doesn't cringe with adolescent homophobia. The "homeless" guy is not (as the insulting blurb on NF says) a "lunatic;" he's a guy in crisis looking, gently and commitedly, for a way back.


In fact, behavioral health challenges aren't used here to manufacture cheap snickers. It's a fact: life is hard and sometimes, one needs to recover. No shame in it.

It's not a stupid movie. It's not Stephen Hawking, but, no offence, dude, Stephen hasn't really published fun. Interesting, inspiring, but not a lot of deliberate fun.

So, not too cerebral. Not too bone head macho.

The togas scared me, at first. I had "Animal House" flashbacks that almost made me turn it off. But it went dang cool really fast, and I'm good with it.

And what IS frog-on-a-stick?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bickford_Shmeckler%27s_Cool_Ideas

Off the Grid: Life On The Mesa

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These are not heroes. I guess middle class people wanted to visit these outlaws for some romantic notion. They're not romantic.

I have electricity and well water, but no sewage or heat. I have phone, because I have no vehicle. I have internet, or the isolation would leave me too depressed and despondent.

I leave the water off most of the time because the pipes burst when frozen and they leak. Landlord won't fix anything. I hitch hike or ride my gasoline bicycle. NO drugs. Maybe 3 shots of bourbon each for xmas and my birthday each year.




Kids don't need to be near what's going on out there. There are guns, drugs, toxic chemicals, explosives, rusted scrap metal, poisonous critters, extremes of heat and cold and no access to any help in an emergency. People set fires, shoot guns, get very intoxicated.

It's not a tribe; there's scant cohesion or sense of responsibility to self, let alone others in any consistent way. It's a group tantrum.

I'm sure the "progressive" elite in Albuquerque and Santa Fe will champion these people as "greens," "anarchists," and revolutionaries. They are not. Chaos is not anarchy.

Foraging junk to reuse is not environmentalism, if you are, in the same film, creating huge explosions of noxious smoke.

I put a lot of the blame for the necessity of their and my living arrangements on a society that shuns and vilifies people with behavioral health challenges. A lot of us would rather just live in squalor than "come in" to your "therapies" of toxic drugs, guilt trips and prejudices masquerading as "statistics."

But we're not all a bunch of hair trigger renegades, just waiting for a chance to scare the snot out of the tourists.
Don't know how you make a plastic greenhouse survive sixty mile wind gusts, like we get where I live, though.

What kind of society are we running when our children live like feral dogs?

http://www.snagfilms.com/films/title/off_the_grid_life_on_the_mesa/

MOVIE: "Ship of Fools"

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The blurb here says this movie is "dark." BALDERDASH! This is one stinkin' funny, spot your pants comedy, if you're twisted and patient enough to actually pay attention. Psychologically and philosophically speaking, this makes Cameron's "Titanic" look like a kiddy pool (one wonders how anybody could drown in something so shallow).

I've had a crush on Michael Dunn since I was a kid, back when this came out. Those eyes! That grin! That voice! Intelligence and irony seep from every pore. I <3 href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_of_Fools_%28film%29">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_of_Fools_%28film%29