Drinking Bailey's out of a martini glass, contemplating the merits of self-preservation.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sebastian
Winter is here. Beautifully irrefutable, Eastern European winter. I wish the moon was out, it always brings the resonance up a notch for me.
Drinking Bailey's out of a martini glass, contemplating the merits of self-preservation.
Drinking Bailey's out of a martini glass, contemplating the merits of self-preservation.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Books
This one's long overdue, but oh well.
I've finished reading The City and the City a while back, and was really impressed, though it resonated mostly on an intellectual, rather than emotional level. Which was either an inevitable side effect of the way it was constructed, or indeed the whole point of the book. It starts out with a pretty fantastic premise, and then, as the plot develops, the mysticism is gradually, almost imperceptibly chipped away. When you reach the final act, there's almost a sense of disapointment in how... realistic the entire affair has become, but still - there's never a big reveal, any sort of "Ha-hah! And in reality, this is what's been going on". It's still an evolution, and the best part is that things are not revealed as being different than previously described - they're instead simply being described in ever greater detail. The book doesn't change its course, it's the reader who is forced to gradually abandon his overblown preconceptions.
Another cool thing is that the mercurial aspect of the twin cities is carried through the entire novel. At first I felt this itch at the back of my brain, because I couldn't quite place the city on the map. But with time (and information), it turned into another kind of frustration - one born out of being unable to visualize the actual layout of the cities - the way they intersected, and the way their boundaries worked (or didn't).
But the best part, at least for me, was that once I resigned myself to the tedium of truth, everything clicked into place. Again - there's no twist. It's just that everything could be now interpreted differently, in retrospect. And you could actually come to the conclusion that there were absolutely no supernatural elements to the story whatsoever. You didn't have to, but the door was at least half-open. And I absolutely adore such stories, to the point where I cooked up a ridiculously convoluted theory* about The Prestige where you could completely dismiss the Tesla part of the plot. It's also why I really love Like Minds, which I have to admit is a middling film at best.
And now I've moved on to Lords of the Horizons which I was really disapointed with for the first 10 pages, and now can't seem to put down for even a moment. So much hilarious Ottoman trivia!
* unfortunately, it collapsed under its own weight; still like the movie though
I've finished reading The City and the City a while back, and was really impressed, though it resonated mostly on an intellectual, rather than emotional level. Which was either an inevitable side effect of the way it was constructed, or indeed the whole point of the book. It starts out with a pretty fantastic premise, and then, as the plot develops, the mysticism is gradually, almost imperceptibly chipped away. When you reach the final act, there's almost a sense of disapointment in how... realistic the entire affair has become, but still - there's never a big reveal, any sort of "Ha-hah! And in reality, this is what's been going on". It's still an evolution, and the best part is that things are not revealed as being different than previously described - they're instead simply being described in ever greater detail. The book doesn't change its course, it's the reader who is forced to gradually abandon his overblown preconceptions.
Another cool thing is that the mercurial aspect of the twin cities is carried through the entire novel. At first I felt this itch at the back of my brain, because I couldn't quite place the city on the map. But with time (and information), it turned into another kind of frustration - one born out of being unable to visualize the actual layout of the cities - the way they intersected, and the way their boundaries worked (or didn't).
But the best part, at least for me, was that once I resigned myself to the tedium of truth, everything clicked into place. Again - there's no twist. It's just that everything could be now interpreted differently, in retrospect. And you could actually come to the conclusion that there were absolutely no supernatural elements to the story whatsoever. You didn't have to, but the door was at least half-open. And I absolutely adore such stories, to the point where I cooked up a ridiculously convoluted theory* about The Prestige where you could completely dismiss the Tesla part of the plot. It's also why I really love Like Minds, which I have to admit is a middling film at best.
And now I've moved on to Lords of the Horizons which I was really disapointed with for the first 10 pages, and now can't seem to put down for even a moment. So much hilarious Ottoman trivia!
* unfortunately, it collapsed under its own weight; still like the movie though
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Mother dear
I visited my folks today, to check in on them, and to give my mom The Sputnik Film Festival catalogue & assorted merchandise, which Marta benevolently gave me last night hoping she'd get another welcome package today, with her press credentials. Which she didn't. Sucks to be Jesus.
Anyway, it was the regular stuff - a tote bag with the catalogue, a screening schedule and assorted promo trash. I was sitting with mom at the kitchen table, waiting for the soup, and idly rifling through the stuff, when suddenly two condoms fall out from between some cosmetics brochures. My brain went AAAAAAAAAAAA! and I instantly palmed them and slipped them into my back pocket, which was no easy feat. Half a minute later another condom-looking packet appeared, and was also spirited away (I had become a pro by then, apparently). All the while I was trying to avoid thinking that I just almost re-gifted my mother condoms.
Back home I took a closer look at them and it turned out they weren't actually condoms, but hand cream samples, and there's actually some red-headed girl weirdly almost-kissing a middle-aged woman on them (which would make for a somewhat confusing condom wrapper), but trust me, they look the part. And now for some choice quotes (in Polish):
And the weather was great. Very windy, but warm, with heavy, rolling clouds racing across the sky. Perfect for walking, though it did remind me a bit of a cartoon someone told me about: a gray cityscape filled with downtrodden, gray people, and a gray strip across the sky, with the caption "A Rainbow Over Warsaw".
I promised myself I wouldn't harp on about weather so much, because at one point it seemed all I did was weather, music and obfuspeak, but I can't help it, I get such a kick out of just watching the city skyline. Also, tried a little experiment and it's amazing how many different shades you can pull out of those clouds depending on whether you're listening to this, this or this.
Anyway, it was the regular stuff - a tote bag with the catalogue, a screening schedule and assorted promo trash. I was sitting with mom at the kitchen table, waiting for the soup, and idly rifling through the stuff, when suddenly two condoms fall out from between some cosmetics brochures. My brain went AAAAAAAAAAAA! and I instantly palmed them and slipped them into my back pocket, which was no easy feat. Half a minute later another condom-looking packet appeared, and was also spirited away (I had become a pro by then, apparently). All the while I was trying to avoid thinking that I just almost re-gifted my mother condoms.
Back home I took a closer look at them and it turned out they weren't actually condoms, but hand cream samples, and there's actually some red-headed girl weirdly almost-kissing a middle-aged woman on them (which would make for a somewhat confusing condom wrapper), but trust me, they look the part. And now for some choice quotes (in Polish):
(przegladajac katalog mama natrafia na sekcje dziecieca i wlacza jej sie nostalgia, z pelnym zaangazowaniem i wzruszeniem) ... ale moja ulubiona bajka to byla taka szwedzka, Carsson (sp?), o panu z broda ktory mial smiglo w tylku i odwiedzal male dzieci...
(o kompocie, ale znienacka, nowa mysl) Wiesz, bo ja to po prostu robie do dzbanka.It was a nice interlude.
And the weather was great. Very windy, but warm, with heavy, rolling clouds racing across the sky. Perfect for walking, though it did remind me a bit of a cartoon someone told me about: a gray cityscape filled with downtrodden, gray people, and a gray strip across the sky, with the caption "A Rainbow Over Warsaw".
I promised myself I wouldn't harp on about weather so much, because at one point it seemed all I did was weather, music and obfuspeak, but I can't help it, I get such a kick out of just watching the city skyline. Also, tried a little experiment and it's amazing how many different shades you can pull out of those clouds depending on whether you're listening to this, this or this.
Monday, November 1, 2010
AFF, revisited
This one's been sitting on my hard drive for almost a week now. I'll try to wrap it up somehow, but things have gotten a little hazy by now...
***
It’s the last day of the American Film Festival, and I’m not sleepy at all so here we go with another update. Unfortunately, the Internet at our suites went bust yesterday, so I’ll probably post this tomorrow evening at best.
We departed on Friday. I was supposed to meet up with ao, pauli and her suddenly new boyfriend at ao’s place, which meant I found myself on the subway, on a weekday, at 8 a.m., with a pretty sizable travel bag. I was not prepared. Not exactly Tokyo at rush hour, but quite an ordeal nonetheless. Oh, the sheltered life of a languid freelancer.
Once there, we packed ourselves into ao’s Micra and off we went. The drive was pretty uneventful, but also very pleasant. We listened to various mix tapes, including the one from Piaskowa (according to pauli, that was five years ago. Jeez.) with some songs no one but me liked, and others with songs no one else but me objected to. It was kind of funny to realize how easily we (i.e. me and ao) can relapse into this catty back-and-forth which characterized the first years of our interactions, but also comforting to see we both now know to rein it in and pull out of the contested zone once we notice the pattern.
Oh, we also saw a wonder of WTF architecture called “The Highland Inn”, which stood in the middle of the Mazovian plain, and looked like a mountain cottage gone berserk. It was this enormous, baroque… castle, really, except one made from the building blocks of Carpathian mountain cabins. It completely blew my mind, and also – incidentally - reeked of manure.
We got to Wroclaw at 3 p.m. or so, and my companions went to see the Banksy movie, while I saw Sons of Perdition – a documentary about teenage runaways and exiles from this Mormon sect which still practices polygamy. The movie was excellent, and told me that Big Love is ridiculously well-researched. There wasn’t a single element of that reality that wasn’t somehow touched upon in the series, and sometimes the similarities were so striking that I started wondering if the show wasn't based on this particular community (I’m not sure if there is more than one sect, but there are many different communities – the movie focused on the one in Colorado, or Arizona, or both, I forget, but there was also talk of one in Texas). The screening was followed by a Q&A with the directors, which was conducted by a friend of mine who was so competent at what he did (both translation- and moderation-wise) that it made me seriously ponder trying to take a crack at it sometime in the future. Which is saying a lot, since I’m terrified of public speaking.
The day ended at the Kropka HQ with quite a lot of alcohol and a joke about the theremin that made me and Iza have a total meltdown – unfortunately, it requires visual aids. At one point Blazek started a story with the words “There’s this guy on the Internet who criticizes stuff…”, and that became his thing for the duration of the festival – later on he also described a movie as “being about people”. I also remember talking to Asia about something, and then suddenly it was 5:30 a.m. and I was asleep.
On the next day I left my cellphone AND my earphones at the apartment, and was unable to retrieve them despite having both the code for the buzzer thingie and keys to the apartment (I was sure I was pressing “2” when in fact I was pressing “3” on the dial, and the front door key sometimes didn’t work, so I couldn’t get into the building). That was fun. Then we waited for an hour to get served at a restaurant, and ended up having to cancel our order, or else we’d have missed our movies. The ones ao, pauli and her suddenly new boyfriend went to started at 4:15 p.m., mine started at 4:00. They made it.
3 hours of background frustration later, I rejoined ao and we went to see Please Give. Which was fantastic. Catherine Keener is always great, but so was Rebecca Hall, who I’m starting to really like, and – surprisingly – Amanda Peet. Very funny movie, and very, very well-observed.
Afterwards ao went to raid Sunwell, and I tried to join her, but the Internet was down, and my laptop refused to acknowledge the unsecure network ao was leeching hers from, so out I went into the city with my less-than-trusty laptop, looking for hotspots. To make a long story short: I ended up back at square 1 one hour later, sitting next to and her watching her do stuff. Which was riveting. But then we went out to join all the Kropka people, and stayed in Mleczarnia until they threw us out. At one point Blazek got accosted in the toilet by a strange man, who tried to sell him a ticket to the land of eternal bliss using a picture of some poor lady's vadge. True story. And towards the end I unexpectedly had a very serious and honest conversation with Rafal. Or rather, listened to him having a serious an honest conversation with me. It was in equal parts eye-opening and warm-feelings-inspiring.
Sunday was opened with a really good documentary on the Star Wars fans' complicated love/hate relationship with George Lucas (The People vs. George Lucas was the title, I believe), and at 7 p.m. we went to see the one we had all been waiting for - Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. It was glorious. I hate watching stuff I translated, but this time the awesomeness that poured from the screen was so overwhelming that I forgot to cringe at my - supposed or actual - slip-ups. Most of the time, at least. For some reason I have a very strong emotional response to it. To date, there's only been one movie that really made me want to inhabit the world it presented, and that movie was Angels in America. I totally wanted to be a witty gay dude living in picturesque New York. Obviously, not necessarily dying of AIDS. I remember this very acute longing that stuck with me for over a week, completely shoving aside reality, and then lingered for... months, probably. Well, I kind of had the same reaction to Scott Pilgrim. Granted, it was much less powerful, but for a day or two I really wanted to be young and in Toronto. There wasn't a false note in the entire film, as far as I'm concerned. I love absolutely everything about it.
That was the high note. And on the next day there were car problems, tow trucks, mechanics, complications, and eventually - the long train ride home with The City and the City, which I've already covered.
All in all, I'm totally going next year.
Sunday was opened with a really good documentary on the Star Wars fans' complicated love/hate relationship with George Lucas (The People vs. George Lucas was the title, I believe), and at 7 p.m. we went to see the one we had all been waiting for - Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. It was glorious. I hate watching stuff I translated, but this time the awesomeness that poured from the screen was so overwhelming that I forgot to cringe at my - supposed or actual - slip-ups. Most of the time, at least. For some reason I have a very strong emotional response to it. To date, there's only been one movie that really made me want to inhabit the world it presented, and that movie was Angels in America. I totally wanted to be a witty gay dude living in picturesque New York. Obviously, not necessarily dying of AIDS. I remember this very acute longing that stuck with me for over a week, completely shoving aside reality, and then lingered for... months, probably. Well, I kind of had the same reaction to Scott Pilgrim. Granted, it was much less powerful, but for a day or two I really wanted to be young and in Toronto. There wasn't a false note in the entire film, as far as I'm concerned. I love absolutely everything about it.
That was the high note. And on the next day there were car problems, tow trucks, mechanics, complications, and eventually - the long train ride home with The City and the City, which I've already covered.
All in all, I'm totally going next year.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Crosshatching
Back in Warsaw. The festival was great, and I'll try to do a proper post about it, but only after I've gotten some sleep.
On my way back I dug deeper into China Mieville's The City and the City, and I really like what it does with my head. It starts out as a pretty straightforward noir crime novel, but as the camera pans out, you learn it's something much more complex. And you're not really given any sort of systematic backstory to all the weirdness, you have to kind of reverse-engineer the big picture from various everyday practicalities. These hints are delivered so subtly that at first I actually took them for witty turns of phrase.
The fun part is both cities are sovereign entities and it is for example revealed that they were on opposing sides during World War II, and that to this day Ul Quoma is the target of an American embargo (think Cuba). Another neat, and I'm hoping deliberate twist is that you can't pinpoint the city's whereabouts. You are given plenty of context: ther's mention of Balkan refugees, direct flights from Budapest and Istanbul, and Beszel street names sound decidedly Hungarian... but then, the city is a sea port. So whenever you are given another scrap of origin information, you feel this low-level anxiety/frustration as the exact location keeps eluding you - which echoes the descriptions of people "unseeing" its phase-shifted streets.
I read most of the book on the train from Wroclaw to Warsaw, and when I got out of the train station, I couldn't help but look for glimpses of the city I just left - fully realizing how silly it was. I couldn't shake it even on the tram home, and kept comparing the two, noticing how empty Warsaw streets look in comparison.
Between the cities, Breach watched. None of us knew what it knew.
On my way back I dug deeper into China Mieville's The City and the City, and I really like what it does with my head. It starts out as a pretty straightforward noir crime novel, but as the camera pans out, you learn it's something much more complex. And you're not really given any sort of systematic backstory to all the weirdness, you have to kind of reverse-engineer the big picture from various everyday practicalities. These hints are delivered so subtly that at first I actually took them for witty turns of phrase.
An elderly woman was walking slowly away from me in a shambling way. She turned her head and looked at me. I was struck by her motion, and I met her eyes. I wondered if she wanted to tell me something. In my glance I took in her clothes, her way of walking, of holding herself, and looking.
And with a hard start, I realized that she was not on GunterStrasz after all, and that I should not have seen her.
Immediately and flustered I looked away, and she did the same, with the same speed. I raised my head, towards an aircraft on its final descent (...) after some seconds I looked back up, unnoticing the old woman stepping heavily away...To my surprise, they turned out to be quite literal. Without giving away too much, it's the story of two cities (city-states, really), Beszel and Ul Qoma, occupying the same space, with parts belonging to just one (referred to as being "total" from one's perspective, or "alter" from the other's), and a whole patchwork of shared areas. The citizens of both are trained to only perceive their home city, or rather, to fail to perceive the other one, and its inhabitants. Openly and deliberately noticing the other entity is a very serious existential offense (again, trying not to reveal too much), and inadvertently doing so causes great unease:
I policed a music festival once, early in my career, in a crosshatched park, where the attendees got high in such numbers that there was much public fornication. My partner at the time and I had not been able to forebear amusement at the Ul Qoman passerby who tried not to see in their own iteration of the park, stepping daintly over fucking couples they assidously unsaw.
The fun part is both cities are sovereign entities and it is for example revealed that they were on opposing sides during World War II, and that to this day Ul Quoma is the target of an American embargo (think Cuba). Another neat, and I'm hoping deliberate twist is that you can't pinpoint the city's whereabouts. You are given plenty of context: ther's mention of Balkan refugees, direct flights from Budapest and Istanbul, and Beszel street names sound decidedly Hungarian... but then, the city is a sea port. So whenever you are given another scrap of origin information, you feel this low-level anxiety/frustration as the exact location keeps eluding you - which echoes the descriptions of people "unseeing" its phase-shifted streets.
I read most of the book on the train from Wroclaw to Warsaw, and when I got out of the train station, I couldn't help but look for glimpses of the city I just left - fully realizing how silly it was. I couldn't shake it even on the tram home, and kept comparing the two, noticing how empty Warsaw streets look in comparison.
Between the cities, Breach watched. None of us knew what it knew.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
You couldn't get in
It's been quite a while. Guess it's a testament to how... settled my life's become (the word "routine" was quietly put down behind the shed before it had a chance to get a foot in).
Anyway, tonight was unusual and hilarious.
It started out with a delicious dinner at tiny new Sri Lankan place (although they use the name Ceylon, which I thought was politically incorrect - go figure), followed by the Warsaw Film Festival opening gala. The gala itself turned out to be something of a black tie event, with an actual red carpet and stuff, so we - me and... let's call her G, as she always makes a fuss about being featured in online stories - were a bit screwed from the get-go (her moreso than me), but hey, free champagne and people in costume! Yay!
We immediately devised a score system - 3 points for every celeb you spot, 2 points for a pretty person, and 1 point for someone you personally know. G was way ahead of me within minutes ,so I decreed she was cheating (she claimed 6 points for someone she then refused to point out in the crowd, for example, how's that kosher?). It didn't help matters that the first familiar person I saw was someone I didn't really want to interact with - one of those very distant, awkward acquaintances - so I ducked out of sight. G schooled me in the best way to deal with these situations: you avoid eye contact, and if for some reason that fails, you look them straight in the eye, say "Hello!" and walk right past them. And sure enough, that's exactly what they did two and a half hours later when we incidentally locked gazes.
The movie itself was pretty bad. The best part was when halfway through half of the screen was filled with the logo of the subtitle projector - the machine went into some sort of standby/screensaver mode, so several minutes of the huge fucking festival premiere in Sala Kongresowa went without Polish subtitles, while the tech guys scrambled to restart the system (we even got a glimpse of Norton Commander, how old school is that). For someone who knows people who work in subtitling it was the equivalent of a spectacular nip slip.
Afterwards we mingled, bumping into various acquaintances, including G's friend Ewa, who in my cosmology features as probably the only strikingly beautiful girl I know who is also perfectly aware of her good looks. She isn't obnoxious about it, or anything, but it seems like she certainly knows how to get her way. I also met another friend of G... but for that, we need to go back ten years.
It is 2000, I'm 18 and about to apply for uni. I'm taking these weekend preparatory courses in history, organized by the university, and so is W., my best friend from high school. I've always been too intimidated to yell out answers to the teacher's questions in class (omg what if I'm wrong?!) so whenever I knew one, I would mutter it under my breath to W. Now, there was this guy who sat in front of us, and whenever I muttered the answer, he would repeat it to the teacher, only outloud. I shared this observation with W. and at first we both thought that he might just know the same things I do, but we tried it out a few times, and he only spoke up in class after I'd croaked out the answer in my impotent nerdiness. Needless to say, he became our running joke for the rest of the course.
And so, who comes waltzing up to G at the gala? That's right. At first I wasn't sure if it was really him - it was ten years ago, after all - but it turned out he's my age and he majored in something that likely required a history test, so... Yeah, I got a giggle out of it.
Meanwhile, another one of G's friends called (they are legion - let's call this one "DJ friend") that there's some sort of party in the basement of the Europejski Hotel, so we decided to move there. The history prep guy actually works at the festival and said he'll try to get us to the venue in one of the festival town cars if we only pretend that we're some sort of festival guests. He sized us up and decided we should pose as "short film directors" which I thought was spot-on - "director" sounds impressive, and the "short film" part somehow gives leeway in terms of age and general blubbering idiocy, at least in my head. We agreed we'll pretend to be FOREIGN (because of course we did) and poured into the car spewing English platitudes. History prep guy immediately blew our cover by asking us something in Polish, so we spent the next couple of minutes trying to supress a bout of decidedly undirectorial giggles.
When we arrived at the spot, we learned that G's DJ friend would come get us in about 20 minutes. We weren't really sure how to get in there on our own, so we hung out in front of an inoperational automatic door to the hotel, watching equally confused people try to get in and bounce right back. Until suddenly, a girl with two guys walked up to the door and without missing a beat just pried it open with her hands, like they do to elevator doors in movies. We went "score!" and followed her inside, but once we entered the dark lobby, the girl turned around and said "I wouldn't follow me if I were you - I actually work in this place". This initially confused us, so we stopped dead in our tracks, uncertain, but before we could discuss this new development amongst ourselves, one of the girl's male companions apparently felt the force surge strong within him, so he extended his hand towards us dramatically (fingers spread out and shit), uttering with deep conviction "No! ^* Stop!" Ewa, as I mentioned, is very pretty, and probably oblivious to inadvertent Star Wars references, so this bizarre little display merely inspired her to walk right past the dude and into some random corridor. I'm good at doggedly following in other people's wake, so off we went.
Now, the party was supposed to be in the basement, so obviously G led us to a staircase leading up to the next floor. It's good that she did though, because the hotel was quite incredible at night - totally deserted, and really Shining-esque, except the corridors are green, and when you stand in them, the light reflected off the walls makes you look greenish as well. It's very creepy. Hopefully there's even a photo to prove it, but I didn't take it, so I'll have to get back to you on that.
It turned out that we went upstairs to find an elevator that would take us to the basement. Long story short: it didn't work out, we got caught by the security guy and asked to leave. We ended our little escapade just in time for G's DJ friend to appear and "get us into the club" which translated into paying 1/3 less than the regular folks, so not exactly the stuff of glamour fantasies, but at least we didn't have to stand in line. There was also a pretty hilarious "I got in, you couldn't get in" moment, as the DJ got stopped by the bouncer, and did a little "They're with me" spiel (even though we had already actually paid to get in), to which the bouncer replied "Great, dude, but where's YOUR pass?"
The music inside was the thumpy stuff of CSI murder-at-a-club montages. There was some more drama with additional passes to the "chillout room" which to everyone's confusion and dismay was revealed to be the nightmarish club next door, but apart from that, nothing else of note happened. To my surprise, there was quite a lot of talent around (that is what the kids are calling it, right? At least the sleazy ones?) but it was all of that peculiar variety that comes up as white noise on my scanner, so I honestly couldn't tell which ones - if any - worshipped the schlong. And that's sort of demoralizing, even if you're just window shopping.
Unfortunately, the free booze from the reception had evaporated from me around the time of our short film director town car extravaganza, so I soon vacated the premises, feeling a bit like I'd just recaptured a managable slice of the crazy youth I never had.
And now it's fucking late. Good night.
* ^ is voiceover lingo for short pause in delivery
Anyway, tonight was unusual and hilarious.
It started out with a delicious dinner at tiny new Sri Lankan place (although they use the name Ceylon, which I thought was politically incorrect - go figure), followed by the Warsaw Film Festival opening gala. The gala itself turned out to be something of a black tie event, with an actual red carpet and stuff, so we - me and... let's call her G, as she always makes a fuss about being featured in online stories - were a bit screwed from the get-go (her moreso than me), but hey, free champagne and people in costume! Yay!
We immediately devised a score system - 3 points for every celeb you spot, 2 points for a pretty person, and 1 point for someone you personally know. G was way ahead of me within minutes ,so I decreed she was cheating (she claimed 6 points for someone she then refused to point out in the crowd, for example, how's that kosher?). It didn't help matters that the first familiar person I saw was someone I didn't really want to interact with - one of those very distant, awkward acquaintances - so I ducked out of sight. G schooled me in the best way to deal with these situations: you avoid eye contact, and if for some reason that fails, you look them straight in the eye, say "Hello!" and walk right past them. And sure enough, that's exactly what they did two and a half hours later when we incidentally locked gazes.
The movie itself was pretty bad. The best part was when halfway through half of the screen was filled with the logo of the subtitle projector - the machine went into some sort of standby/screensaver mode, so several minutes of the huge fucking festival premiere in Sala Kongresowa went without Polish subtitles, while the tech guys scrambled to restart the system (we even got a glimpse of Norton Commander, how old school is that). For someone who knows people who work in subtitling it was the equivalent of a spectacular nip slip.
Afterwards we mingled, bumping into various acquaintances, including G's friend Ewa, who in my cosmology features as probably the only strikingly beautiful girl I know who is also perfectly aware of her good looks. She isn't obnoxious about it, or anything, but it seems like she certainly knows how to get her way. I also met another friend of G... but for that, we need to go back ten years.
It is 2000, I'm 18 and about to apply for uni. I'm taking these weekend preparatory courses in history, organized by the university, and so is W., my best friend from high school. I've always been too intimidated to yell out answers to the teacher's questions in class (omg what if I'm wrong?!) so whenever I knew one, I would mutter it under my breath to W. Now, there was this guy who sat in front of us, and whenever I muttered the answer, he would repeat it to the teacher, only outloud. I shared this observation with W. and at first we both thought that he might just know the same things I do, but we tried it out a few times, and he only spoke up in class after I'd croaked out the answer in my impotent nerdiness. Needless to say, he became our running joke for the rest of the course.
And so, who comes waltzing up to G at the gala? That's right. At first I wasn't sure if it was really him - it was ten years ago, after all - but it turned out he's my age and he majored in something that likely required a history test, so... Yeah, I got a giggle out of it.
Meanwhile, another one of G's friends called (they are legion - let's call this one "DJ friend") that there's some sort of party in the basement of the Europejski Hotel, so we decided to move there. The history prep guy actually works at the festival and said he'll try to get us to the venue in one of the festival town cars if we only pretend that we're some sort of festival guests. He sized us up and decided we should pose as "short film directors" which I thought was spot-on - "director" sounds impressive, and the "short film" part somehow gives leeway in terms of age and general blubbering idiocy, at least in my head. We agreed we'll pretend to be FOREIGN (because of course we did) and poured into the car spewing English platitudes. History prep guy immediately blew our cover by asking us something in Polish, so we spent the next couple of minutes trying to supress a bout of decidedly undirectorial giggles.
When we arrived at the spot, we learned that G's DJ friend would come get us in about 20 minutes. We weren't really sure how to get in there on our own, so we hung out in front of an inoperational automatic door to the hotel, watching equally confused people try to get in and bounce right back. Until suddenly, a girl with two guys walked up to the door and without missing a beat just pried it open with her hands, like they do to elevator doors in movies. We went "score!" and followed her inside, but once we entered the dark lobby, the girl turned around and said "I wouldn't follow me if I were you - I actually work in this place". This initially confused us, so we stopped dead in our tracks, uncertain, but before we could discuss this new development amongst ourselves, one of the girl's male companions apparently felt the force surge strong within him, so he extended his hand towards us dramatically (fingers spread out and shit), uttering with deep conviction "No! ^* Stop!" Ewa, as I mentioned, is very pretty, and probably oblivious to inadvertent Star Wars references, so this bizarre little display merely inspired her to walk right past the dude and into some random corridor. I'm good at doggedly following in other people's wake, so off we went.
Now, the party was supposed to be in the basement, so obviously G led us to a staircase leading up to the next floor. It's good that she did though, because the hotel was quite incredible at night - totally deserted, and really Shining-esque, except the corridors are green, and when you stand in them, the light reflected off the walls makes you look greenish as well. It's very creepy. Hopefully there's even a photo to prove it, but I didn't take it, so I'll have to get back to you on that.
It turned out that we went upstairs to find an elevator that would take us to the basement. Long story short: it didn't work out, we got caught by the security guy and asked to leave. We ended our little escapade just in time for G's DJ friend to appear and "get us into the club" which translated into paying 1/3 less than the regular folks, so not exactly the stuff of glamour fantasies, but at least we didn't have to stand in line. There was also a pretty hilarious "I got in, you couldn't get in" moment, as the DJ got stopped by the bouncer, and did a little "They're with me" spiel (even though we had already actually paid to get in), to which the bouncer replied "Great, dude, but where's YOUR pass?"
The music inside was the thumpy stuff of CSI murder-at-a-club montages. There was some more drama with additional passes to the "chillout room" which to everyone's confusion and dismay was revealed to be the nightmarish club next door, but apart from that, nothing else of note happened. To my surprise, there was quite a lot of talent around (that is what the kids are calling it, right? At least the sleazy ones?) but it was all of that peculiar variety that comes up as white noise on my scanner, so I honestly couldn't tell which ones - if any - worshipped the schlong. And that's sort of demoralizing, even if you're just window shopping.
Unfortunately, the free booze from the reception had evaporated from me around the time of our short film director town car extravaganza, so I soon vacated the premises, feeling a bit like I'd just recaptured a managable slice of the crazy youth I never had.
And now it's fucking late. Good night.
* ^ is voiceover lingo for short pause in delivery
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Whistling sound
We went to Cambridge and ate huge baked potatoes stuffed with butter and cheese and beans and oh my God my left ventricle just collapsed. Wanted to go to Hitlerton upon Ruhr too, but never made it - we did glimpse Lolworth though. Had awesome balti, played some Civ4 hotseat, swapped spit (by way of inflatable mattress) with our host, saw Tamara Drewe (so British), bought a bunch of pretty awesome books (like this one, and this one). In other words, had quite a lot of lazy fun.
It's strange to think this was the last one of these trips (in this format, at least). Maybe that's where that need for instant gratification came from - knowing that I'm working on a deadline.
I always feel sad leaving, even if I really want to be back home already. It's a funny sort of sadness though, completely divorced from reality. Like a shot of nostalgia for something that never fully materialized. Could be a byproduct of partial idealization. Could be that they don't play movies on intracontinental flights and getting out of my own head was never my strong suit.
It's strange to think this was the last one of these trips (in this format, at least). Maybe that's where that need for instant gratification came from - knowing that I'm working on a deadline.
I always feel sad leaving, even if I really want to be back home already. It's a funny sort of sadness though, completely divorced from reality. Like a shot of nostalgia for something that never fully materialized. Could be a byproduct of partial idealization. Could be that they don't play movies on intracontinental flights and getting out of my own head was never my strong suit.
I love inorganic emotion.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Undelivered
It's tricky when an ongoing thread becomes part of your personal narrative. Once you've used that shorthand enough times, you start expecting reality to follow suit and wait for it to provide you with the encoded experience. As opposed to experiencing it in real time and expanding that code. That's about as close as I was able to get to what I wanted to say.
My narrative is that these little trips to the UK are what's been keeping me sane for the rest of the year, since - short as they are - they constitute my only holidays. The pattern has been established, the mental shortcut made, so I expected heavenly bliss to blast a hole clear through my head upon arrival. Instead two really nice, relaxing days happened.
So yeah, ongoing threads are tricky. But when you drift off for a moment on evening #3 and upon return notice you're looking at the people at your table through a vaguely bliss-shaped hole, you realize that sometimes they become part of your narrative for a reason.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Roses, condensed
Sometimes I really love my job. Probably never more so than over the past week. I was contracted by three different people to translate three different movies, and... well, let's just say Banksy's hilarious mockumentary turned out to be the least engaging of the crop.
Unfortunately, the trailer for the only feature offering of the bunch is a bit lackluster and all over the place thematically, so I'll showcase the last one:
The scripts I translate movies from often aren't 100% compatibile with the finished product - they contain scenes that were later cut, present the dialogue in a different sequence, or in some severe cases are only superficially related to the actual movie. It's a pain in the ass, but there's nothing I can do about it. This time it led to me translating a story that as it turns out never made the final cut. For once, though, I'm really glad it did:
Ok, back to work.
Unfortunately, the trailer for the only feature offering of the bunch is a bit lackluster and all over the place thematically, so I'll showcase the last one:
The scripts I translate movies from often aren't 100% compatibile with the finished product - they contain scenes that were later cut, present the dialogue in a different sequence, or in some severe cases are only superficially related to the actual movie. It's a pain in the ass, but there's nothing I can do about it. This time it led to me translating a story that as it turns out never made the final cut. For once, though, I'm really glad it did:
There was this kid I grew up with, sweetest person you’ll ever meet, and could sing just like James Taylor, had a beautiful voice. His daddy was a Pentecostal preacher and he grew up in the church and ended up marrying a girl whose daddy was a preacher. And he was just surrounded by Jesus and he was a sensitive soul and he didn’t fit in the church. Didn’t fit there, but kept trying and trying until one day he just went to the hardware store and bought him a can of paint. He went to the church, he painted love on one side, he painted hate on the other. And then he sat down on the front steps crying. He just couldn’t find the middle.
Ok, back to work.
Side road
I've been going to sleep around 4-4:30 a.m. and waking up at almost 2 p.m. for the past few days, but today I have a breakfast appointment and had to drag myself out of bed at 10. I was totally zombiefied and had very little control over my thought patterns, so my brain was going off on all sorts of tangents. I got out of the shower somewhat more conscious, but with a very specific, and unshakeable soundtrack in mind.
I popped it on, and as I was pulling on my socks, and the ruckus in my head subsided, I had the oddest bout of nostalgia for that fleeting pocket of quiet before the shitstorm I associate with my school/university days. That stretching of of every second in your rapidly collapsing bubble, when you've already resigned yourself to your fate, but decide it's perfectly within your rights to ride out those last moments of escapism.
I never thought I'd miss that. And actually, I don't think I do. But the wistfulness stands.
I never thought I'd miss that. And actually, I don't think I do. But the wistfulness stands.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
There's not much chance of coming out clean
Sometimes i forget how amazing this movie is. Never for long, though. Never for long.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Gulliver's Travels
(Previously called voyages, until I googled Gulliver to learn how his name was spelled).
Went to a small party tonight, full of circumstantial acquaintances at best. At one point a guy who as far as I know is a DJ and has nothing to do with translations reacted to something I said with "Oh yeah, I heard you're problematic profesionally". When pressed, the most diplomatic answer he could come up with was "Well, I mean, you're demanding." He wouldn't divulge any personal information, so I'm just gonna resent whoever the fuck I want for that little piece of gossip.
I returned home by cab. As I settled into the backseat, the driver asked me if I wanted to take Wolska or Kasprzaka. Disclaimer: I'm the shittiest Varsovian on record. I don't know anything about my home city's topography. I did remember checking the route on google maps before leaving home though, and the name "Wolska" popping up, so I just said that, in a confident voice, feeling very proud of myself.
The trial wasn't over though. After about 5 minutes, the driver went "But do you want me to actually drive into Plac Mirowski? Because then I'd have to take Grzybowska and turn around..." I mulled this over for a moment, and summoning all my cognitive powers, I asked if it was possible he took Solidarnosci, and then took a right turn into Orla, and then another one into Elektoralna (something I vaguely remember my father doing at one point). He went "Ok, we can do that."
It was all I could do to keep myself from demanding that we invade Finland next. I felt like the master of the universe.
There was more. But I'm sleepy, and drunk.
Maybe later. I hope.
Went to a small party tonight, full of circumstantial acquaintances at best. At one point a guy who as far as I know is a DJ and has nothing to do with translations reacted to something I said with "Oh yeah, I heard you're problematic profesionally". When pressed, the most diplomatic answer he could come up with was "Well, I mean, you're demanding." He wouldn't divulge any personal information, so I'm just gonna resent whoever the fuck I want for that little piece of gossip.
I returned home by cab. As I settled into the backseat, the driver asked me if I wanted to take Wolska or Kasprzaka. Disclaimer: I'm the shittiest Varsovian on record. I don't know anything about my home city's topography. I did remember checking the route on google maps before leaving home though, and the name "Wolska" popping up, so I just said that, in a confident voice, feeling very proud of myself.
The trial wasn't over though. After about 5 minutes, the driver went "But do you want me to actually drive into Plac Mirowski? Because then I'd have to take Grzybowska and turn around..." I mulled this over for a moment, and summoning all my cognitive powers, I asked if it was possible he took Solidarnosci, and then took a right turn into Orla, and then another one into Elektoralna (something I vaguely remember my father doing at one point). He went "Ok, we can do that."
It was all I could do to keep myself from demanding that we invade Finland next. I felt like the master of the universe.
There was more. But I'm sleepy, and drunk.
Maybe later. I hope.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Nowhere bound
Had a wonderful weekend which kind of proved that a temporary absence of work can be a blessing when mixed with people and spritzers.
Also, my running water's back. I totally Papa Bear'd this crisis, so I'm extremely proud of myself now. Another morale booster.
Finally, the vague uneasiness surrounding the Breslau Epilogue has dissipated. It's a chapter very neatly closed.
Also, my running water's back. I totally Papa Bear'd this crisis, so I'm extremely proud of myself now. Another morale booster.
Finally, the vague uneasiness surrounding the Breslau Epilogue has dissipated. It's a chapter very neatly closed.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sealed
And so, after a brief delay, the Breslau File has finally been closed. Not exactly a story for the ages, but at least an interesting episode. Complete with time warping and a sort of out of body experience. I have to say that last part was pretty unnerving, but I've been assured that the problem might only pertain to this particular scenario, and not be a systemic issue.
Sorry for the obfuspeak, I don't feel like dragging this thing out into the open, but I'd still like to have a marker for it in here somewhere. And so, here it is.
I still have no cold water in the kitchen. It's been about ten days now. While trying to fix it, I broke my toilet seat. I also have absolutely nothing to do, work-wise, and it's driving me crazy. I was supposed to get this awesome assignment next week, but today I got a call saying "really sorry, but the boss's son is going to get it". It really bummed me out, so I decided it was time for little pick-me-up in the form of a banana milkshake - my go-to comfort food this summer. And the blender died on me.
My world is literally crumbling, it seems.
But tomorrow I'm taking my laundry to my parents'... This was supposed to be a motivational list of the things I'm gonna do tomorrow to turn this trend around, but that's literally all I could come up with. Let's hope it's enough.
Sorry for the obfuspeak, I don't feel like dragging this thing out into the open, but I'd still like to have a marker for it in here somewhere. And so, here it is.
I still have no cold water in the kitchen. It's been about ten days now. While trying to fix it, I broke my toilet seat. I also have absolutely nothing to do, work-wise, and it's driving me crazy. I was supposed to get this awesome assignment next week, but today I got a call saying "really sorry, but the boss's son is going to get it". It really bummed me out, so I decided it was time for little pick-me-up in the form of a banana milkshake - my go-to comfort food this summer. And the blender died on me.
My world is literally crumbling, it seems.
But tomorrow I'm taking my laundry to my parents'... This was supposed to be a motivational list of the things I'm gonna do tomorrow to turn this trend around, but that's literally all I could come up with. Let's hope it's enough.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Breslau Files, Closure Pending
Back in Warsaw. This year, Wroclaw was... weird. Filled with work, and not much else. I think I only managed to leave the office before midnight once throughout the entire festival. And in this case, by before midnight I mean around 11:45 p.m.
Still, inexplicably, I did have some fun. And ate a lot of good food. And experienced some requisite social anomalies.
I also had a Disney moment. On the last day, as I was being gallantly escorted through the empty city to my hotel at daybreak, my companion asked if he could wrap his arm around me. I agreed, he did, and after literally 2 seconds we heard some two drunk girls down the street yell FUCKING FAGGOTS! Cartoon fireworks exploded, the last meatball rolled to the middle of the plate, etc.
Oh, how we laughed.
Still, inexplicably, I did have some fun. And ate a lot of good food. And experienced some requisite social anomalies.
I also had a Disney moment. On the last day, as I was being gallantly escorted through the empty city to my hotel at daybreak, my companion asked if he could wrap his arm around me. I agreed, he did, and after literally 2 seconds we heard some two drunk girls down the street yell FUCKING FAGGOTS! Cartoon fireworks exploded, the last meatball rolled to the middle of the plate, etc.
Oh, how we laughed.
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