The Kindness of Strangers

I experienced a lot of indoor-type culture today.

First, I watched a film called, "Zombeavers."  It is refreshing to know that there are still kids out there who can put together a good, campy horror flick.  The writing is tight and well-conceived, turning on long-standing convention as much as honoring it.  The girls are leggy, too - my God!

Then, I watched a film called, "Rubber."  Rubber fails where it succeeds and succeeds where it fails.  As a calculated sendup of the Hollywood system, there are still contradictions - the beginning of the film dimly claims 'no reason' as the answer to a variety of banal questions posed by a fourth-wall character, which creates a world in which the off-balance story can play out - ultimately, with reason.  The elements of the film that work, such as the in-camera puppetry and visual effects, and careful editing, only make the production meaningful if you realize how clever the effects are in time to appreciate them (no computer doctors here, thank you very much); while the aloof approach to characters and plot, a well-executed mishmash of genre-style writing and directing built of film noir and Buñuelian sensibilities, struggles to keep the film as interesting as it sounds like it should be.  Rubber wants to be more than it is by being nothing at all, and it feels like one long demo reel.  The writing starts inspired, but isn't as deep as it thinks it is and eventually trails off.  It's just a movie, though.

Finally, I settled in to read A Streetcar Named Desire, and tackled the full thing.  There's a reason for picking it up, tied to a project I am trying to focus on.  But, since moving to Los Angeles I've managed to read three significant plays, and get back into Stand on Zanzibar, which I think is one of the most important books I've ever read.  So, maybe I'm getting a reading habit back, and that is important to me. 

Williams, I think, creates a perfect tragedy out of Miss Blanche DuBois, but I only almost feel sorry for her and I don't know what to make of this.  I'm glad she's a fictive character, certainly, because she suffers a terrible fate for somebody who probably doesn't deserve it.  But, the world isn't a kind place, and Williams and I see eye-to-eye in his 1947 introduction of Signet paperback.

Back In...The Saddle?

I have been away from this place for a very, very long time.

Many things have happened to me in a year-and-a-half.  I've grown, a little.  I've loved, and I've lost.  I've celebrated and I've despaired.

My brain continues to work its inexplicable routines, and the only way I have to interpret the messages I receive is to review them in stable moments.  The backlog of forgotten thoughts and instances, however - including this Blog - have become more valuable to me, as stress, pain, and abuse daily burn away my creative ambitions and warp my facets of memory.  Every day is supposed to be a step in a positive direction, another foothold in the long, vertical climb to a better way.  There are many days when this naive promise is more realistically tempered, however.  Like Jim Gaffigan quips, "Eventually, you die.  Then you don't gotta walk up stairs no more."

I've never told anybody about this blog.  I've never wanted people I know to read it.  I'm afraid to share it with many potential eyes, because I don't want Verano to know about it.  She's still in the picture, here, and I've written things that could threaten to invalidate our relationship.  It's a true shame that I can't be as open or as trusting as I should be.  Verano's not very different, though she wouldn't think so - and thus, I examine the failures which we struggle to resolve as a function both of delusion and disillusionment.  The contradictions, both in her and in me, pervade my life on level after level and it's gotten to be that my focus and consistency are absolutely racked.

I decided, recently, that we've got better chances of success when we're not canceling each other out, which seems to be a natural default.  This puts particular emphasis on Verano, because I'm not sure what kind of shot she has anyway.  I can't help but suspect that all of her triumphs have been related to me as she would have them - Miss DuBois has always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Still...I try not to be a pessimist.  For the record, I have been awake for fourteen hours now and with a seismic hangover that tastes like Jim Beam.

I initially abandoned this blog with reason:  my computer became so unresponsive that using it for anything but a paperweight was an exhaustive mistake.  I dropped that computer out of a window, twice (for good measure) and it was great therapy.  By the time I rediscovered my posts, the good folk at Yahoo and Google had consolidated their powers and accessing the account was deemed impossible.

Tonight, with the aid of a smoked-glass telescoping trout and also a bit of luck, I managed to wheedle out the Yahoo password and switch the Blog's administrative deed to the current landlord.

The bad news, then, is that I may be back for good. 

I want to update the title bar and maybe refinish the page face, but for old time's sake, that's something else I'll change later.