Gram

My 9-yr old cousin Mimi sold Girl Scout cookies this past winter, and I went a little crazy. I bought 8 boxes. They were left for me at Gram’s house (that’s what we call my Mom’s mom; it was the way we distinguished the different sets of grand-parents. Now, the two grand-mothers are all that’s left), and since she lives only about five minutes from my work, I went over and spent my lunch hour with her.

Sign me up

Sometimes she’s quiet; it might take her time to get comfortable with conversation, but today, she was set the moment I sat down with her, rifling through my Green- and Blue- and Purple-Boxed cookies. So there I sat, cookies in lap, a glass of orange juice set on a thick paperback about Ronald Reagan, and we talked. At first just about my job and some evening plans for making fettuccine and watching “LOST,” then about Mimi’s visit last weekend for Gram’s birthday. I brought up the “Harry Potter” series, because Mimi’s on “The Order of the Phoenix,” and we’ve made a plan to read “The Deathly Hallows” together. I hope she’s still a slow reader. Gram said she’d thought about reading them, but thought they’d be too daunting, but I convinced her to borrow the first one from me.

Kodiak Moment

Right now she’s 300+ pages into a book about Alaska, and just mentioning it changed her entire countenance. She has trouble standing and often leans far back in her recliner, her voice is usually passive and a little distant. She sat up, picked up her book and started telling me about all the places she used to live that the book talked about; visiting friends from California on little Kodiak island; which led to her fascination with travel and planes, which led to one of my favorite stories she’s ever told me.

When she was much younger, she and her sister Audrey lived in North Hollywood. When their father died back in Montana, their mother moved out to California and the three lived together. She told me how they would drive into Burbank to the airport, sit inside at the restaurant and watch the planes take off. “It was one of the few things that we did just together. Well, we did everything together, but this was just me and my mother. Audrey didn’t come. She didn’t have any interest in it, I don’t know why.”

Going Somewhere?

She told me how she loved planes, loved working for TWA and then later a travel agency. She told me stories of driving my mother and aunt to the Van Nuys airport, just about a mile from where I live now (and right past which I run on sunny days like today), to take a helicopter ride from there. And how neither of her kids seemed as fascinated by the experience as she was. “After we got done, we got back in the car, and your mother got in the backseat and then she threw up all over herself… She didn’t travel well.”

I’ve always meant to bring a recorder with me to capture these stories and I always forget. These are things that need to be preserved, these are memories that deserve to live on. They are those small, perfect little bits of family history that don’t get taxied out enough. Hearing little stories about my mother or about my great-grandmother, who I never met (I don’t think) but was such a vital part of Gram’s life when she was my age.

We talked about grandchildren, how I don’t have any and won’t. How my sister may have them before my brother or me. About high school reunions and their increasing obsolescence. “You go to one or two, but by then everyone has grown up and changed. People change.” My brother’s 10 year reunion is this year. I have no idea if he’s going to it. I have no idea if I’ll go to mine in 2 years. It feels like another lifetime. I still keep in touch with the people I want to be in touch with. More than anything, I think I agree with Gram: “Thinking about it, it just seems so long ago.”

Her stories can’t be told forever. I have to seek them out while I can.

Deep Breath…

“Sometimes you eat the bar and sometimes, well, he eats you.” – The Big Lebowski

The Coen Brothers know what’s up. I’ve been in a cranky mood today. It’s been a long week. I haven’t gotten much sleep. I’ve been an Amish Man over and over and while the reading time has been appreciated, the hours have been long. But I like being on set, so it’s not that. Christmas can be stressful. There’s a lot to do. Presents to buy. Cards to send. Parties and events and this and that, and oops, forgot that other thing.

I’m tired, is the thing. And when you’re tired, you can unknowingly regress to the state of a 9 year old. I’d planned to see a big budget action movie and munch popcorn and get taken away by blue people and their special effects. What happened instead was a hassle to get there and an extra 20 minutes parking and the movie being sold out. We should have planned better. So, we scrambled, were going to see it at a different theater, but after getting on the wrong freeway going the wrong way, I was just angry and pissed off, and anyway the other screening wasn’t going to be in IMAX, so why pay that much extra? I’ll skip the debacle of getting food that followed and just say if you want Thai food in L.A. on a Sunday, don’t call me or I may scream at you.

Now this isn’t in the Holiday spirit, is it? No, no, I know. Did I mention I’m tired? Also, I’ve had a headache for the last 5 hours, undoubtedly a physical reflection of my internal condition.

So what’s to be done? It’s Christmas, I can’t go around being a Scrooge for the next week. That does nobody any good. Well, I pray. And I complain at God for a while and then I complain in my journal for a while and then I complain in a blog for a while. But I apologize, too. And I take a deep breath. And I ask God for help, and I know that He will, and I breathe and try to remember that through my headache. And then I put on Sufjan Stevens’ Songs For Christmas, the 5 disc compilation that’s just great.

Here, have a little hope

I don’t tend to like Christmas music at all. But I really like this. It’s got some original songs and some really good versions of traditional songs. An appropriate one I just listened to again, “It’s Christmas! Let’s Be Glad,” which has some bits of wisdom in it:

Since it’s Christmas, let’s be glad/ Even if your life’s been bad/ There are presents to be had…La la la la la la ah / Since the year is almost out/ Lift your hands and give a shout / There’s a lot to shout about today

The set also includes Sufjan sharing some Christmas thoughts and then, out of nowhere, a little essay/song by one of my favorite writers, Rick Moody? Is this a Christmas miracle? And so I read it while I listen, in the middle of typing this, and I read it looking for something funny to quote from Mr. Moody and instead I end up in tears and feeling so much the relieved and the better and without headache, not just because he’s a great, fine writer, but because he describes my day today and week this week:

What is this thing about Christmas, the paradoxical tendency of Christmas, that the more heartbreaking it is the closer it seems to get to the point? Why is failure and awkwardness so human and so natural at Christmas? Why is it that really unacceptable gifts are somehow perfect, no matter how horrible or insulting or inexplicable? Why is it that having no gift to offer, just completely failing in the gift-giving department, admitting as much, seems closer to the No Room at the Inn concept, as described above? Why is it that anxiety and panic on Christmas seem more human than good-natured fun and loving Christmas? Why is it that Christmas seems like such an appropriate day to hyperventilate, to palpitate, to sweat profusely, to be certain that you are having a nervous breakdown? Why is it that desperation is closer to God?

And now, at least, I can breathe again, and continue on with the season, hopeful and… well, that’s enough isn’t it?

Recently…

Asking for one of these for Christmas

I’ve been very busy recently. I am in the process of re-writing “Trailer: The Movie” – the full length film. This time last year, Adam and I were writing it for the first time. I’m doing the re-writing alone, with his permission, and boy-oh-boy. It’s interesting to read over the storyline for the feature now. It doesn’t really make sense and has a pretty limited scope. So my task from now until probably about January is expanding it to include more media entities. The internet, tabloid journalism, on-set visits, and DVD special features (I am toying with the idea of including a section in the film that is the DVD commentary for one of the films-within-the-film, which itself would make for an interesting moment on the DVD commentary for the film itself (should it ever be made)).

I went just yesterday to Booked Talent, a call-in service for extras. It was interesting. When I went to Central Casting to sign up for extras work (you have to do both), it was like a prison camp. Barking orders, 100 people crowded in elbow-to-elbow, very specific instructions and all sorts of lines to stand in. Today, there were 6 of us. It was laid back, very informal and helpful. I guess with only a few people per day, you can afford to be casual, but it was a welcome change. I had to bring 4 different outfits – business, business casual, athletic (basketball), and normal 20-something clothes. I am available for work as early as Friday, so who knows, you could glimpse me in the background of your favorite TV shows. I won’t be speaking, but that won’t stop me from chewing the scenery all I can.

I’ve been doing a lot of work for It’s Just Movies and also wrote a blog about writing for Tyler’s podcast blog, More Than One Lesson. He was nominated for a Podcast Award for that show, after only a handful of episodes. It’s a huge boost for him. Some day I’ll be on there, talking about who knows what? Until then, you can hear me on another great podcast – Barely Literate. I was on there in January talking about “Shampoo Planet” which wasn’t any good. This time, we discussed David Foster Wallace’s first novel, The Broom of the System which I liked more and more as I looked it over in preparation. I also came across a great piece of prose from one of Wallace’s essays. Here, describing the food at a state fair:

The corn dog tastes strongly of soybean oil, which itself tastes like corn oil that’s been strained through an old gyn towel.

His descriptions are some of my favorites ever. Infinite Jest is currently in the running for one of my favorite books of all time.

Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner

Aside from that, it’s Thanksgiving week! Tomorrow, I’ve got two to go to (one for my Gram on my Mom’s side, one for 25 of us from the two churches that comprise our small groups). Then, Saturday I drive down to Port Huneme and the house my Dad grew up in to have Thanksgiving with everyone on that side of the family. My fridge will be filled with leftovers to last til Christmas. I’m startled how excited I am for all of this. I’m used to spending the holidays with just my parents and siblings. This year, I won’t see them for either, but I’m spending time with everyone in both sides of extended family. It will be very interesting, and I’m looking forward to writing about it all.

Until next week, take care, hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving!

Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

Is there a movie with a better marketing campaign than “Where the Wild Things Are”? It’s only rarely a marketing campaign tries to convey the actual spirit of the movie. It’s so unusual, it’s almost seen as a risk! The movie studio has 80 million dollars invested in this movie. They need butts in the seats. The director, Spike Jonze, comes from music video, though, and in the trailer he makes great use of music and images and title-cards. It’s playful and joyous and stirring and a little dangerous.

For me, this is the must-see movie of the year. There are lots of movies to see in the next few months, but this one is vital. I love movies about imagination and that make me feel like a kid again. I love movies that treat kids with the respect they deserve. I happened upon this short featurette about the movie with author Maurice Sendak and Spike Jonze. It sealed the deal for me. Check it out.

Never Go Home

Student hit by a car; killed.

Not an original headline, but keep reading. There is something about the death of young people that is incongruously fascinating.  In sophomore or junior year, a kid from my high school got in a car accident on a narrow road just outside town. He and I got in a fight in 7^th grade, during a PE football game. He was a pretty cool guy, though. Philip was his name. Anytime someone dies – be it celebrity or a person I knew or just someone I heard about – I have the same silly thought: what movies were they looking forward to that they’ll never get to see? It’s a projection of my own interests, sure, but the larger question is the same. People have hopes and dreams and goals. Even if they didn’t have anything so grand, what tiny things were they looking forward to? Maybe looking forward to seeing a friend who was coming into town, maybe a baseball game they were going to get tickets to.  What if that very day, they’d decided to eat at their favorite restaurant that night? And then they’re dead.

 

 

Falling From the Sky

This is a macabre entry, but it’s going somewhere. After 19 months in an apartment, I’ve moved home for a short time. Solitude is a precious commodity, so simply having to engage in continual conversations is a chore for me. Worse: my father is testing new phones at our house, so all week he’s been calling from his cell phone to see which phones are working. They aren’t all ringing at the same time, so he swaps them out, hoping a new outlet will solve the problems. The ringing comes in waves, along with his commentary and ever-changing hypothesis for success. It’s annoying.

 

In summer, the basement’s the coolest part of the house, so Dad and I camp out there, usually a baseball game on, and both of us on opposite sides clacking away on our computers. Mom punctuates with intermittent questions from upstairs. She yells something down, he yells something back. Stifled muffles all around, which they infer as a signal to yell louder. Dad is doing freelance investigations for insurance companies right now, and here is where the teenage death comes in. Since I was a kid, we’ve had these ethical, insurance claims dilemmas. He’d draw out diagrams for my brother and I, and we would discuss who is at fault.

 

We’ve been discussing the following incident: Two early-20’s college students and their professor are on their way back from some band-related school event. Driving back, they get a flat tire. They change the tire and keep going. A little while later, they get another flat tire. With no second spare tire, they spend a while patching the second flat and proceed. Two miles down the road, the patch gives way. They get off the highway and find a tire center. But it’s Sunday, and the tire place is closed. They call the local police and ask for help, but the police say there’s nothing they can do, and if the group hasn’t found a solution by morning to give them another call. They call a few tire companies, all of whom are closed on Sunday. They even speak to one guy, but he won’t come help them. It’s 6pm Sunday evening. They’ve got cell phones, so they’re calling people trying to figure something out. At 7pm, a car stops and offers to take them to Wal-Mart, 30 minutes back the way they came, to get a tire. The professor goes and the students stay, since there are valuables in the vehicle. So off he goes. Two hours go by and the professor isn’t back yet. The students are milling about on the roadside, and one of them, a foreign exchange student with no family in the country, gets out his trumpet and starts playing. He’s walking up and down the road, just passing the time. It’s 9pm and he’s wearing a black shirt, walking on the narrow side road playing his trumpet. In his statement, the other student noted that sometimes our trumpet player closes his eyes while he plays because he gets nervous. The sound of the trumpet probably blocked out everything else, including voices and approaching cars.

And it was in this way that a 23 yr. old foreign exchange student from the Czech Republic was hit and killed by an unassuming 20 yr old who was driving home from work.

 

Consider also the following pieces of information.

–The professor said that the closed tire center had some tires laying out. He counted four which would have fit his van. He thought about taking one and leaving his information so he could pay the owner later, but he thought it would be a bad example to set.

–The student said that the two of them got annoyed and hungry, and it was out of that frustration that the Czech student got out his trumpet in the first place. In photos of the exact location of the accident, a McDonalds can be seen in the background. It was less than a mile away.

–The 20 yr old driver said that he saw one person on the side of the road in a white shirt. Since the road was narrow, he moved away from that person, effectively accidentally swerving into the other student.

There are stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and who only knows? And we generally say, “Well, if that was in a movie, I wouldn’t believe it.”

Talking with Dad he said, “The whole thing is a series of unfortunate events.” True, though this seems far too dark for Lemony Snicket. It seems more like something out of “Final Destination.” That such events should unfold as they did, each seeming in a way to produce the next, building slowly to a crescendo, and then tragedy. And so many questions bubble to the surface. If the students were hungry, why not walk to the McDonald’s, or the gas station, the sign for which can also be seen in the pictures. They were two hours from home, but they waited in the same spot for three hours. They had cell phones, why weren’t they calling the teacher asking him where he was? What was the teacher doing that took him so long? Why did the students walk on the narrow road when the tire station had a large driveway right there?

 

This is a situation that seems built purely of variables. If just one thing had been different, the outcome could have been avoided. If the group had taken a different vehicle or made sure the van was in good condition, or not gone to the event at all. If they had decided to come back any day but Sunday. If they had stopped at the Wal-mart after the first flat tire to pick up a new tire. If they had all gone to Wal-Mart together after the second flat. If they had stopped the van someplace other than a narrow side road. If the students had gone to get something to eat. If the white shirted student had suggested that the trumpet player not walk in the middle of the road. If the trumpet player hadn’t closed his eyes. If the 20 yr old had taken a different road home from work. But of course, if any of these circumstances were altered, wouldn’t it just create a new series of potential accidents and mishaps?

 

They say that everything happens for a reason. I’ve never really liked that sentiment. It seems providentially saccharine and utterly simplistic. And anyway, how does that work here? Does tragedy have a purpose in mind when it occurs? Or does the purpose come out of the process of dealing with the tragedy? I guess the answer depends on whether you believe that God is malicious or loving. Be aware, as with most things of import, there is a right answer and a wrong one.

 

And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just “Something That Happened.” This cannot be “One of Those Things… ” This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can’t. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance. Ohhhh… These strange things happen all the time.

Christmas Music 2

Well! I have proven myself wrong! What wonders you can find if you just do a bit of searching. Today NPR informed me that Weezer has an EP, Christmas With Weezer (thanks iTunes, I’ll take that) and I never knew The Killers did a Christmas single each year (picked those up too). What with all these plus Aimee Mann, I’ve got more Christmas music than I know what to do with. 

Today, as is our way, my family will go skiing on fake snow, then head over to a family friend’s house for dinner and relaxing. The first year, I fell down nearly every time I tried to do a difficult course on the skis. Last year I fell only twice, and they were spectacularly bad spills – skis 20 feet away from me, poles God knows where, even my gloves fell off. This year, it is my Christmas wish that I not regress. As long as I fall 2 times or fewer I will be satisfied. 

Then, as is my own Christmas tradition, I’ll come home, put on a movie or a delightfully informative commentary (David Fincher films feature some of the most insightful discussions) and wrap presents. I employ quite a lot of Christmas bags and simple tissue paper arrangements. My present wrapping is infantile at best, and it does actually bother me that I am at the same skill level as most 6 year olds, but what’s to be done.

Here’s hoping your Christmas Eve and Day are wonderful and fun and lovely to behold. And seriously, check out the Weezer stuff. It’s good listening.

Christmas Music

I don’t like it. I don’t know why. No, I do know. Aside from the fact that at a given time I have a painful amount of music I haven’t listened to yet and want to, or feel I should, and aside from the fact that Christmas music consists of the same songs over and over and over, the biggest turnoff is a pretty simple one – I don’t care much for the singers. I don’t care for their voices. They are general and bland and overly-smaltzy. It does not help their cause that these schlock-tunes are played earlier and earlier every year. Were I President, or better, Dictator, Christmas music would be allowed from December 10th-December 31st. That is three full weeks, and a generous, gracious dictator I should be thought. 

I grew up in the late 80′s and 90′s. My time was divided equally between playing videogames, playing with my action figures (and watching their corresponding TV shows and/or movies), and playing basketball. Consider Christmas in the house with no cable. All major programming stations featured faceless mass choirs singing songs in low lighting. Super Mario wouldn’t be caught dead here, neither would Raphael, Robin Hood, or Dick Tracy (nor his trusted sidekick, Sam Catchem). Since then, that image has always been associated with Christmas music, and Christmas music has always been associated with the word “AVOID!!!“

But I am a grownup now, and when you grow up, you must away childish things. A few years back my family went to a Christmas concert performed by a large swing band. It was delightful. It was energetic. “AVOID!!!” only came to mind 10 or 11 times the whole night, as opposed to a constant stream of it, shouted at fever-pitch in my mind’s ear. 

But even so, I own exactly ONE Christmas album – One More Drifter in the Snow, Aimee Mann’s Christmas CD. As it turns out, many of the songs are palatable, even enjoyable, when sung by the right person in the right way. And I began to ponder. What I wouldn’t give for a 2-disc, 25 song compendium of Christmas Glory performed by The Decemberists. Or Tom Waits and a single piano serenading me into the silent night. I would gobble up such products. Because they are musicians I trust.

Most Christmas music is boring because most musicians singing them don’t do anything with them. The emotional weight of the song is placed solely upon the shoulders of the lyrics or individual chords, instead of upon this particular musician’s singing of those lyrics and playing of those chords. They shirk their artistic responsibility to bring something to the music, to invest it with some part of themselves. In short, the Christmas music played on radio stations is lazy. And that is death for the active listener.

All in the Family…

I was genuinely, wonderfully surprised tonight. In so many ways. It was nice. My family had a (8-days-after) Birthday Party for me. Mom made Italian Shells (delicious!) and there was birthday cookie cake w/ ice cream. I gave them some presents I’d gotten for them in Toronto. And then it came time for my presents, an experience I’ve come to face with assumed disappointment. I gave my mother a list, assuming that none of them would be unwrapped by me. It was, honestly, a list of things I’d decided to postpone buying until after I got back from vacation, or else had been looking for for weeks without success.

So I unwrap, and there they are. The Office: Season Four – easy to find, just hadn’t bought. Next one: Wall-E action figures of Wall-E and Eve. I had looked for these things EVERYWHERE and had no luck. Had been in the Disney Store at least 5 times, in various cities (including Toronto). Now the two join Clyde Drexler, Alan Rickman (as the Sheriff of Nottingham), NEO, and Jack Sparrow on the wall above my computer. And I am happy. Finally: Rushmore, Criterion Collection – once again, UNFINDABLE by my searches, I had even discussed its rareness with a fellow movie-fan. My parents found ONE SINGLE copy at a movie store and snatched it up. That they even went looking for it was amazing.

More surprises: At my parents wish, we watched “Dan in Real Life,” which got decent reviews, and has Steve Carell, so what the heck. Delightful. Not a brilliant, life-altering movie, but a movie that feels like a warm blanket in a mid-October rainstorm, when it’s good and pouring. It’s about family, and populates its movie not with overblown types, but a truly organic feeling mix of people. It is so relaxed, you feel like you’re watching a real reunion. One you could rewatch and rewatch. A movie that inspires not rapture but eternal fondness. 

Now the good stuff: It was like my family decided to be the best versions of themselves this night. Dad left his awkward comments in his other jacket, and decided to join in the conversation. Mom told engaging stories about helping people at work, and asked great questions about Toronto. Both were eager to actually discuss the movie afterwards. Older Brother, heretofore known to equate an opinion with a shrug of universal indifference explained what his favorite type of movie was…and why (and though it is miles away from me, I was too taken aback to mind much). Younger Sister ended the night quoting from Fahrenheit 451, a quote I happened to love as well. She retrieved the book, we thumbed through it together, and then read a selection for my mother. 

These are small things, but for someone who must admit that he is often ready to leave about 30 minutes after walking in the door, this is one of the best nights at home I’ve had in about a year or two. 

Final miracle: My mother had been trying to get me a ticket to see This American Life host Ira Glass in St. Louis, going so far as trying to reserve me a $120 seat+party afterwards. And here’s the thing. She didn’t get me a ticket (which is for the best, as I likely won’t be in the state at the time), but her effort did inspire her to go online and listen to the show…which she really enjoyed. A better gift, I cannot imagine.