Hellobama

I would be remiss as an adult functioning person if tonight I didn't give my nods to the man who had single-handedly (question mark if you count the internet as an entity in and of itself, I guess) changed the face of American campaigning ( youth culture/ redistribution of wealth/ ideological priority/ racial question/ economical reality/ physical health/ campaign finance reform/White House puppies aside from Miss Beazley) in only two short years. Congratulations, Mr. Obama, in finally sealing the title that you have not only stridently labored to earn, but that we have so desperately been seeking to place. I am confident in your abilities.

So uh, puppies?

"Life's no fun without a good scare"

Sigh. Isn't it strange how every few weeks we're struck, either by some unforeseeable catastrophe or stricken by an impromptu private sorrow, by that overwhelming reality of, you know like, grown-upness? With everything going on around us - with this nation on what I truly feel is a generational revolution, I can't help but feel half privileged and half indignant that fate chose to bring me to fruition at such a turbulent time. At the same time though (and this is why I feel "privileged"), I think it's almost inevitable that every culture at its heyday realizes its hubris at some humiliating and crippling moment, and it happens every thirty or so years, or basically third-centennially. Our parents saw the socioeconomic makeup completely make over itself in the 70s; their parents saw America lose half its workforce (but come out a superpower) in the 40s. There seems to be some inherent difference though that is SO hard to put my finger on (TWSS*). Is it that America is finally getting its wrist slapped in the most translatable sector (the economy)? Is it because the war's on our turf now? Is it because, with the thoughtfully ruthless noise of interwebs and blogs and Blackberries (thanks McCain!), we can hardly ignore each other? I dunno. What is going on?

Anyway. Times, they are a-changing, that's for certain. I was just perusing YouTube and for only YouTube explicable reasons I ended up serenading myself on Danny Elfman's masterpiece, The Nightmare Before Christmas. I don't know why (maybe it's because I had already drank some vino, which by the way I indulge in only when there's too much oxygen in the air), but this little diddy rings as aesthetically valid and inspirational as it did when I was seven. Fear... awe... some sort of compulsion to march around in blind obedience to the Pumpkin Throne? How many things can you say make you think THE SAME EXACT THING you thought when you were 15 years younger? Touché. American apocalypse may be upon us, but so are the holidays. And I sure as hell would rather watch a flaming Jack Skellington than another minute of that Pitbull in Lipstick!



* That's what she said.

SUCKS FOR YOU!

(... that's what they should've called it.)

Tonight marked a few firsts for me:

1. The first time I ate at least a quarter pound of bucheron all on my lonesome (thanks, FRIENDS, for being ladies and not helping me polish it off).


2. The first time I came home to find my roommate there before me AND asleep.


3. The first time I threw away not only a food stuff, but an alcoholic stuff! I cannot believe I tossed at least a quarter bottle of my $13.95 bottle of Placido pino grigio. Perish the thought!


4. The first time I sat up straight and paid legitimate attention to an old, black-and-white, mid-century-accented Bryant Park lawn movie. You know, until I got back from a trip to the bathroom and fell asleep.


5. And tying in with such rapt curiosity, the first time I had ever consumed a full Alfred Hitchcock feature. Considering my twisted, dark, and absolutely unforgiving penchant for the "what-if?", I find this simply appalling and unacceptable.
   

Such were my musings after my viewing of the movie Lifeboat. 'Twas a propagandist(?) WWII cross of and Survivor, Titanic, and Lord of the Flies wherein the folks left to their own devices in the middle of Fucked Avenue and Screwed Boulevard must decide what truly matters in this world we call HUMAN life. Do we work in the interest of MEMEMEMEMEMEME or do we put in (or out) for the greater of the common good? Do we sacrifice our most prized possessions, our own body parts, our loyalty, our kin, or (horror of horrors) our own selves for the pure understanding that the survival of just six living bodies is better than that of just our own?

As Hitchcock virgin, I felt that this little project he pinched out for Twentieth Century Fox c/o John Steinbeck (in 1944 - before the landlord of the Twilight Zone became a mainstream icon in pop culture - but wholly private - mental terrorism) was an apt introduction. It has enough psychological mindfuckery to make you wonder why the bosses of HBO's Bryant Park Summer Film Festival would sick it on a group of after-5 drunken 20-somethings looking for a summer Monday release, but not enough evil perversion to trump other, more perverted films. Because really, can you get any saner with this man? My roommate, a true old-timey movie afficianado (her dad can name ever Oscar winner since like 1325) insists that Lifeboat isn't as an appropriate first film as Rear Window, but I aint complainin. Lo, my Hitchcock naïvété welcomes the enlightened insight of those better versed in the man's portfolio.

Holy Singing Old Ladies, Batman!

This weekend I had the immense pleasure of being one of the many Americans that bolstered BOTH of the top two movies at the box office above their competition. Friday night, my friends and I got straight up hammered and saw that film about a crazy psychopath with a painted face who runs around cackling maniacally and torturing people. Obviously I'm talking about Christine Baranski in Mamma Mia!.Not much to note about Mamma Mia! beyond what's expected (guilty pleasure plus Pierce Brosnan's GOD AWFUL singing voice), but I must say I'm a little disappointed with the audience at the 19th Street Regal Cinemas. Granted we were like two giant margaritas and two Bud Lights ahead of everyone else, but we were also the ONLY bitches singin in that theater! Seriously, we brought it on home. I know it's not the Broadway production or anything, but I sort of expected all the memaws to get up and shake it like there's no tomorrow. I dunno - just sayin. And to the two gay guys I sat in front of, I'm sorry for ruining the movie for you. I mean like, ruining whatever Pierce Brosnan didn't. And if anyone's interested, coming home to a drunken screening of Grease 2 makes the perfect double feature experience.

Saturday I had the cosmic luck of catching what seemed to be the only showing left in Manhattan to The Dark Knight. I was so in awe of what Christopher Nolan did to the Batman franchise. I remember when I was in, like, third grade, and my babysitter brought over a VHS of Batman Forever - the one where Val Kilmer was oversexed Batman. It was like, my first "adult" movie and I cannot tell you how differently people approached a superhero flick back then. In 1995 Batman was smothered in color, comedy, and sounds, and no one thought twice about what he really stood for (although there ain't NOTHIN wrong with watching Chris O'Donnell run around in a wife beater... mmm). The Dark Knight was so politically fueled and sociologically charged that it actually incited a conversation about religion between my friends on the N train.

It's such a cartoony question but really - who is Batman? Someone insisted that Batman was Jesus, which I totally disagree with but I can see where she was coming from. Really, why do we need superheros? Is the Christian reverence for Jesus the same admiration we feel for Superman? In this conversation, I mentioned that when comic books became popular (1930s and 40s), DC Comic books in particular, Americans thrived on that morally upright, wholly capitalist, polarized theater of good versus evil. That's the formula for the perfect superhero breeding ground. Unlike in the Marvel Comic books (and before you think I'm turning into the Comic Book Guy here bear with me), DC Comic superheros lived in allegorical fantasy worlds (consider the fact that these men live in places like Gotham and Metropolis, unlike Spiderman's actual New York). Their adventures did sort of emulate the Bible: they were escapist reflections of an ideal society.

Right? Can I get a "hey ya?"

But seriously, Batman ≠ Jesus.

Also, inspired by how hard Heath Ledger rocked our world in that powerhouse of a movie (as Kevin Smith puts it, he "disappeared completely into that role") and rolling along the same history-of-comics train, here's a time line that the LA Times put together documenting the evolution of the Joker - a character that Ledger proved is much more complex than what we've come to envision.

Apocalypto

I think one of my greatest fascinations in this lifetime has been... the end. What will it be? Where will it happen? Will I be there - or worse yet - will my kids be there?  Hopefully le fin is very, very far off in the distant future, because even with things standing as shittily as they do, I think the world's alright.

My aim in this post is not to divulge into an entire existential inquiry.  'Tis to note that (Babylink) Gawker has compiled a collection of fifteen cinematic demises to our fair city New York.  That's right - New York gets her fucking ass whooped, baby.  It's funny - why is it that in most sci-fi or horror movies, when some natural or extraterrestrial disaster (be it global warming, epidemic, or creature) ALWAYS strikes New York the hardest?  I'll tell you why.  Because, as Gawker puts it, "it looks awesome!"  Or, more specifically, it's New York: it's the epicenter of American awareness, and, in a sense, our cultural diplomat.  When the yeomen of the future look back upon the great states of the third millennium, they will look to the super powers (America and Russia and the diametric battle between tradition and progression, I think), and the metropoles that have the best sampling of mass opinion.  Where else would you look?  Kalamazoo, Michigan?  I don't think so, sister.

Curiosity is such a powerful thing.  Everyone wants to know how it's all going to flicker out.  And if anything can stand up to the forces, it's New York.  If New York can't rough it in the face of a threat, who can?  It's strange how fun it is to watch something be defeated, and it's even stranger that we all want to watch our own existence be defeated.  Nothing is more awe-inspiring than witnessing the very nerve center of our world be crushed by an imaginary monster.

In the case of I Am Legend and Planet of the Apes, it's watching the post ass-kicking that's so eerie.  In the case of Gangs of New York , it's actually watching Manhattan kick Brooklyn's ass (we all know that New York and Brooklyn were the original twin cities), and realizing what was buried forever to make way for the life we live now that's so enlightening.  We see buildings engulfed by 50 stories of element, or the Statue of Liberty raped by Michael Bay.  But anyway you watch New York falter, it's still a little captivating.

And here's my most burning question of all: why is it so?  Especially after only seven years ago, we saw the most prominent piece of Manhattan's skyline crumble in a matter of minutes and realized how vulnerable we REALLY are?

PS: Not so burning question: In I Am Legend, if Will Smith is the only bro left on that island, where did he get the gas to power that sports car?  Oooooooh - think about that!

PPS: This has also encouraged me to recommend the few minutes of apocalyptic movies

 that all should watch: def recommend Deep Impact and The Day After Tomorrow.  You can totes skip I Am Legend and 28 Days Later (coincidentally, both apocalyptic zombie movies!), but ONLY AFTER the first fifteen minutes of each - which will blow your mind, son.