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I just finished my first International Film & Television class, and all I can say is that I’m excited for the weeks to come. In addition to having interesting subject material, the class is being taught by an articulate and intelligent Brit who promises to add flair and intrigue even when the subject matter becomes ponderous. As an introduction to the class, we watched Wim Wenders’ Tokyo-Ga, which takes the form of an observational tribute to Yasujiro Ozu, a Japanese director whose works span from the early silent era until his death in the mid-sixties. The film carries the tag-line of “a film diary,” and, despite an onerous and ill-fitting score emblematic of everything despicable about 80’s music, fulfils its quest in preventing a uniquely observant perspective on 1989 Tokyo. A basic tenant of the film is that Ozu captured a true perspective of Tokyo and manages to create an intimacy between his viewer and his subject. In the true tradition of a tribute film, Wenders attempts and achieves much of the same effect by providing unique glimpses into both Tokyo and Ozu as a person. Although sometimes grating in its presentation, it was as unique as it was effective.

This is not an auspicious start to the semester. It’s Wednesday morning, and I have my first day of class in about 8 hours. In spite of this, I’m sitting in front of my computer, whittling away the hours until the sun will rise to meet me again. Why? Lord only knows. In the background I’m making a backup of my Windows Profile– I’m a wee bit concerned, seeing as how one of my hard drives decided to fail on me. At the very least the offending drive is being replaced, and I can only hope that my computer will run a little better with two functional drives again. Speaking of which, my 250Gb external MP3 hard drive should arrive tomorrow, which means it’s time to make some new friends (i.e. find some new music collections to borrow).

Looking back on break, I can say that, although I’m not sure that it was good, at the very least it was good times. I had no problems filling the days, which for Cheyenne is something of an achievement. Living with Sagar was (and continues to be until next Monday) enjoyable, and the trip to L.A. helped break up the monotony of three weeks in Cheyenne.

I miss Chester. Somehow we managed to bond more in three weeks over break than we did during the three months of summer. I suspect this is either because: 1) I’m, emotionally, in a much better place now than I was this summer or 2) Chester has a personality now. He almost makes we want to come home for the summer.

My classes tomorrow are as follows:
History 319: Ancient Rome
History 109: Asian History
MTA 218: International Film History

I should be excited.

Being back in the Quad is good. God, I missed a lot of the people here. William, Meekyung, Autumn, Bovard, Ken, Andrew… god, I might as well name everyone in the Quad (with the obvious exception of Little Ben who somehow managed to pass not only the last 18 years of his life but also all of Christmas break without learning any social skills whatsoever). The new roommate, Leif (pronounced lay-ffff, vindicating it from otherwise being what I would characterize as an “unfortunate name” for reasons known mostly only to me which I certainly won’t share with you =P ) is a solid guy, and I’m excited at the prospect of getting to hang out with him throughout the upcoming semester.

I saw Kinsey tonight (4/5 stars). A great movie, it inspires a terrible regret that those who should most see the film are those who never will. It presents a realistic and mature perspective on sex– what it is, what it isn’t, and possibly why– and manages, if only for 90 minutes, to rescue what could otherwise be a natural and wonderful act from the clutches of life-destroying Christian morality. If only the movie had a wider audience…

Well, as the clock ticks closer to morning, it seems that my summons to bed have arrived. I hope I wake up in the morning– what a precedent to set: not making it to my first class of the semester!

1. Wrestling with Chester. He’s developed such a personality and I so very much enjoyed the times I had over break to just play with and enjoy him. He’s scared of a corner of the kitchen, will try to sit on your lap even when there’s no lap to sit on, howls when the piano is played, and is astoundingly quick when I chase him in laps around the stairway. I’m going to miss him this spring.

2. The Wyoming sunset. I never had the opportunity to get out and watch a sunset alone, but one of the sunsets I saw from my house caused me to choke up as only Wyoming sunsets are able.

3. Walking along the nighttime Santa Monica beach as the waves gently came in, lapping over my feet, reminding me of their enormity and beauty…

4. Seeing Copenhagen. The performance was amazing.

5. Driving. Alone. At night. Recklessly. In the daytime. Alone, recklessly at night. Alone, recklessly in the daytime. Going up the 9th St. Canyon…

Today was a wonderful day. Although originally scheduled to leave for Denver at 8:00AM to go see a few movies, Sagar and I ended up getting up around 11:30– just enough time to get up, shower, and make it to Erik’s house by 12:05. We piled into Erik’s van, and started driving toward Loveland to pick up a friend of Erik’s from Grinnel, Jess. After lunch at Arby’s, the now four of us headed up the Thompson canyon to Estes park for the sake of giving Jess a taste of Colorado. Once in Estes we explored the historic Stanley hotel and found a delightful mom & pop candy store where we bought ice cream and some favorite childhood candies. From there we headed back to Fort Collins in time to meet Keto for dinner at Woody’s Pizza and to get to the Lincoln Center by 7:15 to see Copenhagen performed. After the play, we drove to Walrus and enjoyed more sugar-y heart attack and then back to Cheyenne for bing-cherry cider. Sagar and I made it back to his Dad’s place at about 1:30, concluding another wonderful day of break.

The performance of Copenhagen was nothing short of amazing. I’ve seen several Broadway performances, but none of them were the equal of what I saw tonight. Although the acting wasn’t flawless and the stage was spartan and the sound was often intrusive, it was still an ovation-worthy performance. Certainly my overwhelming love of Frayne’s masterpiece (the 2000 Tony Award winner for best play) played a part in my enjoyment of Copenhagen– it’s, perhaps, the most intelligent script I’ve ever read or seen, but what really carried the play was the outstanding performances by the three actors who managed to hold fast my interest for two hours plus without the aid of music, props or even scene changes. The direction of the play was exactly as I envisioned it but also managed to embellish and give life to the play in numerous ways that only a stage-performance can. Walking from the theatre, all we could feel was overawed– it was a great performance of a great play.

In the mean time, I’m supposed to meet Mr. Wacker for coffee at 7:00AM (a mere 5 hours from now) so I’m thinking about heading to bed.

My friends rock. In the last hour, we’ve transferred what’s likely to be over 15gb of MP3s to and from our respective computers– perhaps more. It’s fun to realize that, since two of our computers are on a wireless network, that there are MP3s flying through the air all around and through us. Whoo!

But on a more serious note, there’s no question that music is an integral part of humanity. Since antiquity mankind has found personal and cultural definition through music and dance. This tradition of human connection through music continues today, with all the exciting new possibilities of mass-media and the internet to spread and perpetuate one of the few things we, as a planet, all share: music. It thrills me to get new music, and it thrills me more to share new music with other people who will enjoy it as much as I do. And that’s what Carter, Sagar and I have done for the last two hours– playing piano and guitar, and sharing copious amounts of digitized music.

This isn’t the time for an anti-RIAA rant, so I’ll leave off here: one of the highlights of break has been sharing music with my friends, and discovering new music to both enrich me personally and to further the bonds that constitute our friendship. And that’s the long and short of it.

4/5 Stars

Don’t get me wrong–Saw is not a “good” movie in terms of cinematic value. But for a horror movie? Saw is nothing short of entertainment gold. For its capacity to mortify, to disturb, and the make the audience genuinely uncomfortable and drawn in, this movie hits its mark in grand style. Don’t take your parents, and get ready for a rip-rolling ride that’s sure to leave you smiling as you walk out of the theatre and leaving the light on when you go to bed.

The movie opens in a dark room. Adam (Leigh Wannell) gains consciousness and pulls himself out of a grungy bathtub as he hears another voice in the room. Dr. Gordon, the other voice, finds the light switch, illuminating a grungy bathroom of sorts and the two characters, chained to pipes on opposite sides of the room. True to its name, director James Wan begins to craft a gripping jig-saw puzzle for the viewer. Two strangers, in a deserted room of an abandoned building, chained to pipes. A dead man in the center of the room. Tapes in their pockets. A tape recorder. A one way mirror. All pieces of the puzzle.

Perhaps the strongest element of Saw is its well-crafted atmosphere. Almost Matrix-esqe in its presentation, the environment rests in a state of squalid decay and abandon. The walls and floor are dirty and broken. The pipes are rusted from floor to ceiling. Water contributes to the sense of molding decay; one can almost taste and feel the putrid air. Effective usage of garish fluorescent lighting and green tinting complement the aura of post-industrial mechanized derelict, making the viewer feel uncomfortable just from the movie’s overall feel. Additionally, Saw’s gruesome and graphic presentation laves nothing to be desired for gore and shock-value.

As the movie unfolds, Adam and Dr. Gordon realize they’re in the clutches of a vigilante serial-killer. Except he’s not quite a serial-killer. In fact, he’s never killed anyone. His job, as the jig-saw master, is simply to invent gruesome and fitting ways for his victims to kill themselves. He targets the ungrateful or those unaware of how wonderful their lives truly are, and somehow intends to give them a new handle and appreciation on life by forcing them to take their own lives. But here’s the catch: there’s always a way to escape, but always at a huge cost. Meticulous in his planning and preparation, he manages to escape the pursuit of the police, leaving dead bodies and washed out shells in his wake.

As his directorial debut, Saw gives James Wan an auspicious introduction to mainstream cinema. His above mentioned control of Saw’s atmosphere is impressive, and the pacing of the movie is superb. Saw never drags, which isn’t to say that the movie is fast faced, but only that its rise and fall from fast-paced action to drawn out dialog sequences is nearly impeccable, placing the viewer well in the edge of one’s seat from scene-open to credit-roll.

The script is fitting of a horror script: don’t sit back and try to analyze it, because finding the plot holes and inconsistencies (and reader beware: there are no shortage) takes away from the fun of the movie. What’s important, however, isn’t that the script is tight or flawless, but rather that the script manages to touch the essence of human horror–to extend genuine fear and disgust and discomfort to its audience. In the vein of horror, expect a non-linear script, flashbacks, and some enjoyable twists in the plot.

Will Saw scare you? I can’t promise. But at the very least it’ll entertain, and hopefully shock and horrify. The inhumanity, the sadism, the mania, the desperation, the futile struggle against unbreakable chains: horror done well.

Photos:
http://www.eateggs.com/photos/05.01.14.los.angeles/

Day 4 – January 2, 2005
In all of Cheyenne, I have only one shoe. I have another shoe, too, but that’s about 350 miles from here, along the Utah-Wyoming border. Sad.

Anyhow. Things are over and done. We switched off drivers, and eventually arrived in Cheyenne at about 3:00PM. I’m not sure if the whole driving through the night thing is something I’d readily recommend, but we made it just the same. Poor Sean– I can only imagine the hell his life is right now

Day 3 – January 1, 2005
Sean’s dad found out that when Sean said a LAN party he really meant a NLA (in L.A.) party. But more on that later.

Today was good—probably really good. We left Chris & Allison’s at around 11:30 (ah—sleeping in, hurray!) and drove to U.S.C. to take a walking tour of the campus for Sean’s sake. We wandered around the campus for all of 45 minutes before meandering our way back to the car. Our visit likely would have been a little longer if not for it being New Year’s Day and consequently everything was closed down. Regardless, it’s a beautiful campus, even in the heart of winter. It seems like it would form such a great academic environment, and I can only imagine that the social life would be kicking.

Leaving U.S.C. we drove to the Santa Monica pier. I should probably take a moment or two to put in a word about my driving, or more specifically my navigating. I’ve always prided myself on having a reasonably good sense of direction. This pride, however, has been gradually undermined and disintegrated over the last six months. The last two days, however, have finally gone the last step in dispelling any notions that I’m a navigational genius; I’m not. Sean started counting my number of U-turns for the day. I believe my total for the day was something to the effect of nine or ten, which for a single 12 hour period is rather impressive. All in all, we probably spent a grand total of two hours traveling in or back from the wrong direction today—the worst of which was probably the twenty miles we drove south on the 605 before I realized that we were south-bound, not north-bound. Over the course of the trip, however, it has yet to fail that when there’s a choice between left and right I’ve always chosen the wrong direction. It’s been painful to trace back and say “well, now we’re back to where we were thirty minutes ago—two minutes away from our destination” and I believe I’ve said that no less than three times in the last two days. So sue me. Sure, I could have looked at the map, but there’s nothing like the sensation of knowing that my sense of direction sucks. Oh well. At least we got to see more of L.A. that way.

I digress. Having found a parking space right on the water’s edge, we rushed to the beach to see the ocean: a new sight for Sean. I think it’s fair to say he wasn’t disappointed. None of us were. The power and the beauty and the vastness of it… set against the tapering backdrop of the Santa Monica’s blue and navy hills, leading the eye to yellow unfathomable eternity, complemented by the muted roar of the water’s repeated attacks against the indignant sands… It’s nothing that words could describe, nor film could capture, nor art could render: it’s a sensation made fuller by it’s defiance of the poet and the artist.

Leaving the beach, we took another Mark’s-sense-of-direction-gone-wrong detour before eventually finding Santa Monica’s 3rd Street promenade: an affluent outdoor mall spanning about 8 blocks, filled with shops of all sorts. Dinner was P.F. Chang’s (as good as ever) followed by some amazing Italian White-Chocolate ice cream and another hour of meandering down the mall.

Our visit to L.A. and welcoming of 2005 was concluded by the walk down the beach from the pier (speaking of which, it’s been renovated and completely cleaned up in the last year since I last visited—it’s really quite a nice attraction now, including a shiny new roller coaster and coffee-shop) to the car. We took off our shoes and each walked along the beach in the near-darkness of an L.A. night, the waves rushing in and over our feet and falling back out to sea. Again, the sensation was beyond words. All I can is that I’m grateful for it—perhaps one of the best moments since I last walked the Coney Island beach.

I write this as we drive through the night back to Cheyenne. Mark’s driving (after a total of 1,700 miles I relinquished the wheel with the hopes of sleeping) and Sean’s asleep in the back. Lord knows he’ll be needing that sleep soon enough—his dad, freaking out in a typical overprotective Rory manner, called mine today or perhaps yesterday, and found out from my dad that Sean was in L.A. with me. Needless to say, going home will be quite an experience for Sean. But all for the better—it’s these sort of experiences that make life beautiful and full. So as we drive down I-15 at 3:33AM, my thoughts float between the astounding darkness of Utah’s plains, the slight shake of my car due to the balance-weight that went flying off my rear-right tire earlier today, Hailey, Mark’s disconcertingly jerky driving style, the Garden State soundtrack playing quietly in the background, seashells, Sagar, home, Bozeman, the Beach…

And I know that life, thought it be absurd and cruel, is beautiful.

Day 2
Mark E
Today was a bit more successful than yesterday– thank god! We got up at a reasonable hour, and drove to L.A. through heavy rain. The rain, in retrospect, was wonderful– it was an incredible experience to see the white-covered hills of L.A. slowly revealed as the clouds lifted away. We drove down Sunset Blvd/Strip, through Beverly Hills and Bel Air, and eventually back to the ArcLight theatre where we saw The House of Flying Daggers, which I generally enjoyed very much.

The theatre itself is worth note: it was every bit a “theatre” in the true sense of the word. Even the seats were impressive– huge, comfortable seats set on spacious stadium seating. The consessions stand served hot dogs and lattes, and we had an “usher” who stayed and made sure people weren’t walking into the show late. The screen was HUGE– about the size of the Lincoln’s, and the sound was as crisp and sharp as the image on the screen. It was VERY impressive.

After the movie we drove around a bit and eventually ended up in the heart of Hollywood, where we had dinner and saw the sights: Grumann’s Chinese Theatre, the Walk of Fame, etc. Having seen the sights, we drove to Sean’s cousin’s house where she and her husband were kind enough to offer us hospitality for the night.

Day 1
Mark E
So this trip is a complete and total disaster. Well, I exaggerate slightly. We rolled out of Cheyenne at about 10:00, and drove steady until we hit traffic and terrible weather about fifty miles west of Denver. For the next two and a half hours, we crawled along I-70 at a pace of oh, say 30mph. Owing to the pleasant company (talking to Sean while Mark watched a movie on my laptop in the backseat) and the loud music, this passed reasonably pleasantly.

*knock*knock*
“Hello?”
“Is Mark* not here any more?” (*- of all names)
“No. We just rolled in about 6:00AM this morning.”
“Oh. Sorry.”

But back to our story. The rest of the drive to Vegas was relatively uneventful. After driving past it once, I finally brought us to our hotel, and attempted to check in. I was glad that my dad had encouraged me to make reservations, due to the fact that it seemed to be a very busy night. Unfortunately, after talking with a desk clerk for ten minutes or so, I began to wish that, when I had booked online, I had made reservations for December 30th, rather than January 30th. Yeah. And did I mention it was a very busy holiday? “There was no room in the inn.” So we went on our way, and experienced / enjoyed the strip. My goodness. It’s impossible to describe. Without actually being there and experience the lights and the glitter and the glamour and the smut and the sights and sounds, it would seem like a Hollywood creation: a dream.

So the conversation above? Yeah. At about 10:30AM some guy dressed in a trench coat and freaky army boots knocks on the door, apparently looking for his dealer named “Mark” who had been in the seedy hotel room before us. Yeah. About that hotel. It was the first hotel with vacancy that we came to after leaving Vegas, and since it was about 6:30 in the morning (and I had been driving since 10:00AM the morning before, with a two hour break to tour the Vegas strip) we decided to go with it. It was… an experience. Eek. Oh well.

Day 0
Mark E
In nine short hours we’ll be on our way to L.A. via Las Vegas. I, for one, am excited for the miles ahead. It’s going to be a geek trip, for sure. Here’s a quick run down of the equipment list:

Canon EOS Digital Rebel (Courtesy of Carter)

Canon Powershot G410

Sansung Digital Camcorder – MiniDV

Dell Laptop

2x 6 pack of Mountain Dew

Countless CDs packed full of MP3s

Sleeping bags

1997 Toyota Corolla (with a full tank of gas and a nasty rattle from the exhaust pipe)

And with that, a couple changes of clothing, we’ll be on our way. Updates and pictures as we go!

Sixty-eight thousand people dead, and CNN’s ratings are way up. Sixty-eight thousand people. Dead. That’s it. Boom. Over. Gone.

And we Americans turn on our televisions to hear stories about the 770 tourists who are “feared dead” and to hear the bullshit stories of hope and triumph aired by the local news stations. Oh, and my mom has the audacity to pray for them. I couldn’t help but hum ironically:

He’s got the whole world,
In his hands.
He’s got the whole wide world,
In his hands.
He’s got the whole world,
In his hands.
He’s got the whole world in his hands.
(a sunday-school favorite)

Why the FUCK are you turning on your television? Whence this sadistic obsession with the images of the ruin? It’s it enough to read that 68,000 people have died, and that death toll is expected to rise as the impoverished nations are ravaged by disease, malnutrition, homelessness and starvation? FUCK your televisions. FUCK your god. He’s got the whole world, in his hands. Good for him. He’s got 68,000 corpses in his hands and here’s the best part: HE LOVES US!!

So do something. Don’t just shake your head at the dinner table and say “what a shame. That’s such a tragedy.” Of course it is. Turn off your damned television and make a donation, or get on the next flight to Bangkok and pick up a shovel, or at the very least do something more than ogle at the spectacle of the loss of thousands of lives. Here’s some links to get you started if you’re able to make a donation:

Red Cross Red Crescent
http://www.ifrc.org/helpnow/donate/donate_response.asp

UNICEF
http://www.unicef.org

World Concern
http://www.worldconcern.org/

I obviously don’t know how to deal with this, but I’m sickened and enraged by the people who derive some form of entertainment from this. But here’s what it comes down to: buck up or fuck off.

If you want to turn on your television and revel in the gory spectacle, fine. Just get the fuck away from me.

So it’s Christmas eve. And life… is good? I guess it goes like Carter put it: it’s odd to be back in Cheyenne. Cheyenne truely is timeless, which is to say unchanging, stagnant, dead. And I feel myself sliding back into “Cheyenne life.” So it’s Chistmas eve, and I still have shopping to do. It’s warmer outside today; it was well below zero last night. Last night? Crazy times. Hell, good times.

The point of this is for me to try to post something upbeat and happy. Somehow I seem to be failing. So let me just say sucks to all this superflous blather and say:
1. I miss some of the people from Bozeman.
2. Until I have a permanent address, Cheyenne will always be “home.”
3. My abs hurt.
4. I’m eternally confused and conflicted.
5. I’m having a good time.
6. I’m… unable to bring myself to type “I’m happy.” Instead: I’m happier now than I’ve been for a long time. I feel like I say that a lot, almost as though I’m trying to convince myself.
7. I have shopping left to do.
8. I want orange juice.
9. I feel like I should round this out with ten things.
10. (your emotion here)

So I guess I post less with slow internet. Dial-up: a perfect hell.

I want to go to bed now, so I’ll just paste a portion of an email I wrote earlier tonight in lieu of some real substance:

Somehow even at my most sober I guess I could say that I feel half-intoxicated– so much of the world around us seems to be reeling and nonsensical. The pursuit of an illusory “god,” the pursuit of material possessions, the pursuit of other people, of ideals, of dreams, hopes… the unspeakable inhumanity present in the world, juxtaposed to overwhelming kindness or the breathtaking beauty of the evening silhouette of the Spanish Peaks. Cities, buildings, people, art, families, pollution, crime. The nagging sensation that there should be more than “the microcosmal reality of day-to-day routine” but no one to tell you what it is. And yet (at times) I find myself feeling inexplicably happy. It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m smiling. Just like being drunk.