The chorus disappoints, but the opening is pure magic, and enough to make ma crave it every once in a while.
Ever played low-intensity gaze tag with a stranger for an entire evening? Ever wondered if that's actually the case, or if it's just a random glance that's somehow snowballed to become its own, increasingly awkward thing? Ever found out before the night ran its course?
'Cause I didn't.
Today, pretty much out of the blue, I got depressed, because I'm a horrible human being. Well, not because I'm horrible - I'm quite fine with that. To be precise: I got depressed because of something that a non-horrible person wouldn't be bothered by at all.
So, that was fun.
But now le'ts move on to Marina and the Diamonds. Zuzia sent me this a while ago:
Which was, I suppose, as good an introduction as any, if you're into vocals-driven music. I listened to the whole record and it turned out to be really good, if completely different from the above clip. Think less stripped-down and sweater-clad, and more... hrm... wrecking mirrorball. While I was turned off by the most aggressively thumpy numbers (Girls and Oh no), I couldn't help but love the glamorously wasted Shampain - though I have to admit much of the charm lies in the imagery. It's just such a nice bitter survivor snapshot:
Elderly stars slide down the morning sky
Slipping away to find a place to die
I wonder when the night will reach its end
Cause sleep is not my friend
Drinking champagne, meant for a wedding
Toast to the bride, a fairytale ending
Drinking champagne, a bottle to myself
Savor the taste of fabricated wealth
But the album is all over the place stylistically. There's a legitimately beautiful - albeit spunky - ballad (Obsessions), a quirky indie something-or-another* (I Am Not a Robot), a Nellie McKay-esque acid trip (Mowgli's Road)... And towards the end of the album shit suddenly gets gothic. Seriously.
The disparity makes it difficult to pick out any favorites, but seeing as I've just come off my Florence and the Machine phase, and had a brief fling with some bombastic Muse numbers, I currently lean towards the aforementioned gothic finish, built around Rootless. I actually have no idea what that song's deal is, it really is shitballs crazy, but if you herald the imminent arrival of the chorus with fucking bells, chances are we're on the same page.
(Sidenote: is there a technical term for a distinct run-up to a chorus? Like a mini-bridge? A ponton maybe? Because that's often my favorite part. And on this album, both Rootless and Hollywood have awesome ones.)
And if that wasn't enough, it gets followed by Numb, which for the first few full album listen-throughs I thought wasn't even a real song, but rather some sort of Hollywood: Reprise (because of the WTF factor, and the mirrored "golden lie/light" motif). It makes absolutely no sense out of sequence, and might only be palatable after you've been stunned into stupor by the divebomb cathedrals from Rootless. And even then you're not quite prepared for the chorus valkyries warping in. Finally, she tops it of with Guilty, which somehow combines all of the elements found heretofore on the album - 80s synthetics, catchy pop fluff, unabashed theatricality, weird-ass transitions - into... well, something that clicks. At least with me.
Oh, and apparently she's awesome live:
Marta dropped by with two bottles of rose wine in the evening, so work went out the window. She left around 10p.m. and I've been trying to resurface since. Right now it's raining outside, and I'm looping this:
It's not exactly groundbreaking, but it's definitely doing the job. As for what job that is... Who's to know.
I recently saw short documentary called Birds Get Vertigo Too about an aerial acrobat and her rigger, who are a couple. It opens with a shot of the guy shaving in the morning and a question: who gets more scared - the riggers or the artists? He says the aerialists (love that word) cry a lot before the shows, but they won't admit to being scared of heights. The last dialogue between them comes from some rehearsal, where he starts apologizing for being tired, and she explains that she just asked whatever it was that she had asked him about, because she wasn't sure if there was a problem, or if he was just worried she was too high. To which he replies that he was worried she was too high, but that that was just "his headspace".
It ends with footage from the actual show, with her doing her routine on a big silver hoop suspended in the air, and him darting up and down one of the poles as her counterweight. Halfway through, the spoken word background gives way to sounds of muted sobbing, probably recorded before the show, when the girl was getting ready to perform. Eventually they fade as well.
It's a really beautiful, and beautifully constructed piece. The author's name is Sarah Cunningham. It's her first film.
The first one left me mostly cold and a wee bit annoyed. It felt like the lovechild of Wes Anderson and Todd Solondz, filled with frighteningly real and unlikable characters. I appreciated the whole hall of mirrors effect, with various people unwittingly echoing each other's sentiments and mannerisms, but there was nothing there that I could latch onto. I don't come from a broken home, I don't have siblings, and my sympathy compass is totally messed up. It's actually one of the reasons why I was never able to fully immerse myself in Mad Men - I usually empathised with the women, which was a very ungrateful exercise for the most part, and was primarily annoyed by Don Draper. The same thing happened with The Squid and the Whale - the father and the sons irritated me, so I was left with the mother, who didn't really provide an emotional anchor either, seeing as she was equally... three-dimensional.
Cue Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, which I really liked almost from start to finish. I remember reading on Pajiba that the book it was based on is basically unfilmable, and that despite their general good will towards John Krasinski (who wrote the script and directed) they felt it fell short. Well, I haven't read the book, and so find myself paraphrasing Kathleen Madigan yet again: "You don't see a frown on my face, do you? Should have waited for the movie instead, like a good American."
Now... it definitely feels like a book adaptation. A theatre play adaptation, even. The dialogue is actually more of a series of monologues, and all of them are very dense and verbose. Still, the only time I felt the pomposity explode the cinematic framework was when they saw it necessary to amp up an already larger-than-life tirade with some of that trademark indie movie discordant electric guitar and drums... jazz... thing.
As for specifics... the title basically says it all. It's a string of guys talking about their expectations, desires and thought patterns with brutal candidness, held together by a rather rudimentary plot. It works though. The monologues are very compelling (the book must be awesome), and there's quite a lot of talent involved. And by talent I mean fun faces - Bobby Cannavale, Lester from The Wire, Josh Charles (aka the dude who had Lara Flynn Boyle after him and still went for Stephen Baldwin. STEPHEN Baldwin, for crying outloud), Ben Shenkman playing a straight Louis Ironson, and a bunch of Hey, It's That Guy's. And John Krasinski himself, who got to perform the most harrowing of the monologues, and - in my opinion - sold it.
So yeah, if you don't mind your movies not trying to hide they're purely intelectual exercises - I highly recommend it.
Today I was woken up by a call from yssy, who was waiting outside my house and took me out for breakfast and S&S (strawberries and sunbathing) in a nearby park. I doubt I got any tan - after decades of neglect it would take a plasma torch to burn away the alabaster - but bliss was featured prominently.
Tomorrow some cartoon birds better braid my fucking hair. I have come to expect a certain standard.
I hate this blistering heat. I'm completely useless during the day, barely scrounging up enough energy for cooling efforts, and then in the evenings I get inexplicably horny, which is equally bothersome.
But you do what you can to alleviate the situation. Yesterday, I went for short evening stroll, which turned into a very long evening stroll all the way to Filip and Natalia's place. I didn't get winded at all, it cleared up my headache almost instantly, and I was really quite elated until I stopped at their door to buzz them and for the first time felt what several kilometers covered at a brisk pace do to sandaled feet. It wasn't pretty, but the evening itself was. Managed to completely ignore the last 15 minutes of some soccer game and relax in choice company.
And tonight Darek suddenly popped out of the blue saying he was going for a joyride around the city and asking if I wanted to come with. Which of course I did, especially since it was raining. The minute I sat down in the car I felt drunk on life, and started babbling uncontrollably. I don't really know where we went, but at one point I saw a sign saying "Warsaw - 30km", so we must have crossed city limits at least once. The rain was pouring, there were no people around, and things were good, in general.
Which is the thought I'm taking to bed with me. Good night.
After drifting in and out of consciousness for several hours, I finally climbed out of bed at 1 p.m. Took a shower, grabbed a book, and got on a tram to the Morskie Oko park to join Natalia, Filip, Kazia, a cute little dog, and an even cuter baby girl. Plopped down on the grass and proceeded to have the nicest, most ridiculously relaxing day in ages. At one point Filip hopped off to grab some blankets and - get this - bring people home-brewed coffee in one of those "to go" paper cups. He actually called my cell from his place to ask if I take sugar in mine. I'm making a conscious effort not to hyperbolize, but it was amazing.
Around 4 we slowly made our way to Filip and Natalia's place - where we were joined by Szymon - had some delicious Indian take-out (I already warned them that I'll drop by just for the food), drank some wine, and lazily dispersed. I got home almost two hours ago and have since been half-heartedly trying to pull my brain out of molasses, as I really need to get something done by Monday. So far it's mostly been a book and music though.
Speaking of... this is one of those moments where I kind of regret only 5 people ready this thing now. Anyway, here's a little musical riddle - and my soundtrack for today. If you're in the mood for a simple, but really quite beautiful lullaby, give it a try. And then tell me who sings it. It's not a difficult one, so don't expect a huge challenge, but maybe you'll find some use for it on a blissful summer evening of your own.
For the past 2 days I've been doing an express translation of a documentary on how it sucked to be gay in Paraguay during the previous dictatorship. I thought was really well done, and not overly traumatic. It helped that the story was told from a personal angle - the filmmaker was basically just trying to figure out what happened to her uncle (who was found dead in his apartment several years before), and the whole familial and political context was only gradually revealed. Still, rape with a broken bottle was invoked at one point, and it was by no means a relaxing thing, so I desperately needed to unwind.
And unwind I did, scheduling a "lazy day with ice cream and waffles" with Ana. It is Corpus Christi after all (though it turns out neither of us knows exactly what the God-fearing folk are celebrating today). Met up downtown, went for a lazy stroll, plopped down by the river - where it was nice and cool - and talked. Well, to be precise, I spilled family scandals and saucy stories, while Ana kvetched. About students being dumb, about wages being too low, you name it. Fun was had. Then we went to that Mexican place at Plac Teatralny, where the waiter explained to me that a burrito is a tortilla baked in a pancake, and to Ana that the non-alcoholic drink called "Mandragora" consists of rum, lime and sparkling water.
Actually, yesterday I went to a vegan cafeteria, and the guy behind the counter served me rice instead of kasha* and some sort of lentil thing instead of a kofta. I only called him on the rice, cause it was GLARINGLY OBVIOUS, to which he apologized and said they were out of kasha and that he just inquired about my preference out of habit. Still, I felt like I was being punked. And now the tortilla pancake. A pattern? Is someone trying to test how much shit I'll eat to avoid a confrontation with the service sector? Cause man... "buckets" doesn't even begin to cover it.
And in the evening we had apocalypse weather again. This time a bizarre, intensely yellow dusk that made all the colors seem richer somehow. And then it turned to sepia. Still waiting for random people to supply me with images.
Oh, i went through the entire Muse album and only one other song caught my attention, but it did so with a fistful of grappling hooks - been looping it since. If you're into epic, Depeche-y, space opera sort of stuff, take a listen:
Several things. The title: is kind of awesome, and apparently a Club of Rome reference, so the IR major in me rejoices. The voice: I actually kind of hate, pitch-wise. I sometimes listen to people whose voices I'm not wild about (Tori, Alanis), but still, this would usually be a dealbreaker. However, something weird happens when I listen to live recordings, where the lead singer's vibrato is even more pronounced. Somehow this pushes the sound past Annoying, and into Gratingly Bizarre territory, and my brain starts treating it as yet another instrument. Also - I have to give him props for totally delivering live. He belts it all out effortlessly, and with studio quality. It's almost uncanny. Finally - while digging up info on the title, I happened upon a passage that said the opening line - Fear and panic in the air - is likely a reference to Mars, whose two moons are Phobos and Deimos, gods of fear and panic. Which, be it true or not, adds a very nice twist to an otherwise pedestrian lyric.
* how cool is it that kasza is kasha? Is it really that local a thing?
But also, I finally remembered that I actually liked one of the songs sloshing around that cesspit, so I got the soundtrack to track it down. And apparently it is time for me the go up against the zeitgeist and check out Muse, universally reviled as they are. Supermassive Black Hole is just too fucking good.
In work-related news, I'm practicing diplomacy in an attempt to stem the tide of people who hate my guts. I think I've grown much better at it since last year. Fingers crossed.
And Parenthood has officially gone the Brothers & Sisters route. There's hardly been any comedy at all in the last few episodes, and they just keep laying on the melodrama. I also suspect that the "I consider myself too big to fail" speech - the first piece of truly atrocious dialogue the series has served me - was merely an opening salvo.
Cmon, people, look poignant! We're resolving issues here!
Ah well, I'll stick with it until the season finale. Unless that was the season finale, in which case are you fucking kidding me?
Also, reading Kathy Griffin's Official Book Club Selection and finding it better than I anticipated. Light, breezy, kind of informative, and funny without trying to be standup-ish.
Oh, and Mass Effect 2 kicks major Krogan ass. The dialogue sharp, witty and - on occasion - badass, and the voice acting is superb. I checked out the credits and it turns out my favorite NPC so far was voiced by Carrie-Anne Moss, and I still have Adam Baldwin to look forward too. And Claudia Black! Have you ever heard Claudia Black speak?!
Wormholes, man. Wormholes.
