WAG Manifesto...
Current mood: nerdy

WAG="Weird Alone Guy." It's a way of life and a philosophy.

WAGs microwave soup, attend free screenings at the public library, go to free concerts, clip coupons, attend (ahem) various "meetings," buy white sneakers, eat drive-through food in their car, and eat- alone of course - at various lunch counters, preferrably places like Denny's, but for hipster WAGs (ahem, takes one to know one) there are safe havens like the Brite Spot and Cafe 101.

WAGs come from a grand cultural tradition of Individualism and Existentialism. Edward Hopper's lunch counters perfectly capture the WAG ethos, as do literary works such as Notes From The Underground, Remains of the Day, films such as Umberto D., Sunset Blvd., In a Lonely Place, The Conversation, Taxi Driver, Naked, About Schmidt, and most of Clint Eastwood's movies. Unforgiven reminds us that the American West was ruled by WAGs. The Weird Alone Ranger. Million Dollar Baby is a WAG orgasm. Eastwood even sits at an Edward Hopper-ey lunch counter at the end eating a piece of lemon meringue pie. WAGs are always very specific about what they order, and ensure that the check adds up correctly.

I've always romanticized my own WAG-dom. I used to drive a cab in Boston (that most WAG of jobs) and WAGged it up in the middle of the night at diners all over the town. The best being the Virginia diner in Roxbury where all the cops and truck drivers hung out, affectionately referred to as (read with THICK Boston accent) the "VAGINA DINAH." On my mom's side of the family all of my uncles were truck drivers, so I think I may have gotten a romantic cowboy vibe from them.

Now I happily call my friend Mark when I'm sitting at the Denny's lunch counter and say, "Dood, I'm WAGging it up so hard right now!" He'll call me when he's at a Norm's in Arizona. We joke about our WAG-dom all the time. He jokes that his Taurus is a WAG-mobile, and he's right. There are so many fuckin' WAGs in my apartment building, it's scary. My WAG romanticism is all kind of bullshit, really...I've never been LESS alone in my life. Now I know that I'm not alone even when I AM alone (if you know what I'm sayin' ;)).

I think the WAG ethos is a part of the grand paradox/dialectic of being an American. "We live, as we dream, alone." We exist as individuals, but as part of a group. Every voice counts, but in only in the context of a society: state/federal...it's a constant struggle, but we know we need one another, we need community. We value our individuality, but the only thing to do about the inevitable human fear of being alone is to joke about it. It's probably a goofy romantic male stance I'm ready to give up...I'd love to hear all of your thoughts...

2:28 PM - 33 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

Lyrics, Country and otherwise...

So, Ben Lee Handler's "Ye Olde"-themed birthday party was (almost surprisingly) amazing...the talent show aspect was great...I'm just totally impressed that everyone showed up and made a valiant effort to share their wit and talent...I sweated my ass off in my "Lancahot" costume...I won't bang on about an event that not everyone was able to attend, but I will post lyrics to two of the songs I preformed, because Prof. Wendy requested them, so I had to drag them out from the OS9 desktop anyhoo...

Uhm, in "Country Lyrics," the line "chickens come home to roost," was not-only inspired by post 9/11 frustration (fuck was it THAT long ago?), but a reference to The Roost, the legendary hang out of which Richie recently blogged...

TIE MY SHOES:

IT’S TRUE
WANT YOU TO TIE MY SHOES
PLEASE TUCK ME IN, BUT WHEN YOU SUCK ME IN
UNDER COVERS I’LL HIDE

IT’S COOL
WIPE MY MOUTH WHEN I DROOL
RIP THE BAND-AID OFF, TAKE CARE OF THAT COUGH
NOW DRIVE ME TO SCHOOL

IT’S TRUE, WANT YOU TO TIE MY SHOES (2X)

I’M BLUE
DON’T KNOW WHAT COLOR TO CHOOSE
I FORGET TO EAT, AND WITHOUT A SEAT-BELT
I DRIVE LIKE I’M COOL

IT’S FAIR
‘CUZ OF THINGS I AM SCARED
PLEASE HELP ME TO LIVE, BUT THE MORE YOU GIVE
THE NASTIER I AM IN RETURN

IT’S TRUE, WANT YOU TO TIE MY SHOES (2X)

PLEASE HAVE A BITE
I CAN’T FINISH THIS
IT’S OKAY
I’M FINE WITH WATER
I WON’T ORDER ANYTHING
I’LL WATCH YOU EAT

TIE MY SHOES
GET DOWN AND TIE MY SHOES
I GOT SOMETHING TO LOSE
SOMETHING TO LOSE
TIE MY SHOES
IT’S WHAT YOUR GONNA CHOOSE

GET DOWN AND TIE IT

COUNTRY LYRICS:

COUNTRY LYRICS ARE DIRECT
BUT I LIVE IN THE CITY
I NEVER ASK FOR DIRECTIONS
I FIND EMOTIONS SILLY

THE GUY JUST SINGS ABOUT HIS PAIN
WITH AMUSING
TURNS OF PHRASE, AND I’M
SO AFRAID, OF HER
COUNTRY MUSIC PHASE

IT’S NOT HOW YOU SAY IT,
IT’S WHAT YOU SAY,
A STORY’S NOT WHAT IT’S ABOUT
IT’S THE THINGS THAT HAPPEN

I CRY TO MOVIES ON A PLANE
AND IN MY SEAT
I REMAIN, UNTIL WE
TAXI THE RUNWAY, AND WE
COME TO A COMPLETE STOP

THIS MUST BE THE PROOF
THAT THE CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST
THIS MUST BE THE BOOST I NEED
‘CUZ ALL THE CHICKIES, NEED THE FEED
THIS MUST BE THE PROOF
THAT THE CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST
THIS MUST BE THE PROOF

IT’S NOT MY FIRST BARBEQUE
HEY I SHOULD USE THAT IN A SONG
AND IF WE BOTH THINK THE SAME THING
NEITHER OF US IS WRONG

THE GUY JUST SINGS ABOUT HIS PAIN
WITH AMUSING
TURNS OF PHRASE, AND I’M
SO AFRAID, OF HER
COUNTRY MUSIC PHASE

IT FEELS LIKE OUR LAST NIGHT, AND MY FIRST BARBEQUE
IT FEELS LIKE OUR LAST NIGHT, AND MY FIRST BARBEQUE

11:34 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Human Nature Film:Grizzly Man, Herzog's Goodfellas=GODHEAD!!!!
Current mood: awake

I literally can't believe the "back and forth forever" for MAYAEWK...whew, it stirred up a lot of shit too...but I'm so in love with the following movie, that I'm purely psyched to blog, even though I saw it almost a week and a half ago...

Maybe I'm insane and cinema deprived, but my excitment and enthusiasm for Herzog's Grizzly Man restores my faith in the whole enterprise. Watching G-Man is the inversion of the viewing experience I had Speilberg's War of the Worlds (AKA: Ham of the Eggs, Jank of the Jankocity) There recognizing the filmmaker's auteurism was ultimately unsatisfying. Here knowing Herzog's work makes watching this movie a pure fucking delight, highest-level aesthetic goodness. Anyone who knows Herzog even just a little will appreciate that this film is the PERFECT VEHICLE for all of his thematic interests and concerns. Form meets content meets contentment. It's so tight and concise and entertaining. It's Herzog's Goodfellas, really. And with an improvised guitar soundtrack by Richard Thompson...twin cult figures of equally high level status...godhead.

Herzog tells the story of insane naturalist Tim Treadwell, a failed Aussie/LA actor/Nate Kato-ish/addict/unrealized homosexual weirdo (RIP). Believing he was SAVING from poachers and lackluster conservation attempts, he astonishingly lived amongst these enormous and frightening creatures for 13 years until they finally got sick of his bullshit and gobbled them up. During this time, Treadwell made carefully choreographed video diaries - somewhat amatuer versions of that obnoxious crocodile guy on TV. What's so AMAZING is that from the first shot, a painfully long take where Treadwell testifies to the camera while bears blithely roam around not far enough from him in the background (he looks like some clown who snuck into the bear cage at the zoo) a Herzog connoisseur is reminded of all of Herzog's early documentary work where a crazed Werner testifies to the camera as either an island is being evacuated for a volcano erruption or a great skiier is doing an acrobatic leap. It's almost as though Herzog himself fucking staged it: it's too perfect. But even more eerie is the sense that Treadwell had planned for Herzog to make this documentary. Apparently, Treadwell shot all of this footage over 13 years, but didn't really show it to anyone. It's almost as if he knew his death was coming along with this posthumous doc...

But nothing is staged, this film is as close as the 21st century gets to Train Coming Into The Station. Herzog constantly reminds us of the indexical nature of film by letting this crazy guy's footage play out as if to say: "can you believe this is happening in front of the camera?" There are beautiful bear face close ups where Treadwell's hand gradually creeps in from behind the camera and gently pats them on the nose and we're forced to say "oh shit, he was standing right there." As any good documentarian, Herzog lets the camera roll proving the old doc theory that the best moments happen after a filmmaker would instinctively turn the camera off. The camera painfully rolls as interview subjects run out of things to say and awkwardly look away revealing their true feelings about the story. The best moment being when Tim's ex-lover/friend receives his old watch and puts it on her wrist...her ability to keep it together for the camera evaporates. There just aren't a lot of cuts in this movie...which, in the age of jank digital Morgan Spurloch docs, is highly refreshing.

Apparently Herr Herzog cut this film in NINE DAYS, which is astonishing, given that there was over 100 hours of Treadwell's footie for him to comb through. But Herzog related to knew EXACTLY what story he wanted to tell and he does so simply and concisely. It plays like a great essay. His signature dramatic-almost-laughably-tuetonic-accent voice over is never intrusive. He's interested in Treadwell's Fitzcaroldo/Aguirre-ish decent into madness. He milks all of Treadwell's footage for the juicy parts where Treadwell freestyles about his life, or rants about the injustices of the National Park system. In the voice-over, Herzog even makes the connection between his subject and Klaus Kinsky (who Treadwell looks suspiciously like).

Herzog seems committed show the limits and impossibilty of the film medium itself. The best example is Land of Silence and Darkness, a film about a woman who is deaf, dumb, blind, and can only communicate through a tactile language where she touches peoples hands in certain patterns. Herzog lets his camera linger on her tactile language conversations as if to say fuck you to the audience - there is NO WAY you could experience what she's experiencing: it's beyond the two dimensions of sight and sound. (SPOILER ALERT) When Herzog listens to the audio of the videotape Treadwell made while he and his girlfriend were being eaten by bears (astonishingly, and forgivingly the lens cap was left on) he does so in front of Treadwell's ex-lover who has never listened to it. He finally turns it off and says to her, "You must NEVER listen to this...DESTROY the tape." It's a shot of Herzog listening to this recording we can't hear, and his reaction evokes a reaction from the ex-lover interview subject who cries. It's totally moving, and totally Herzog...we're just sad voyeurs to all of this...but, like any good cinematic use of off screen space (why'd we have to see so much of the jank aliens in Ham of the Eggs?) it makes the moment all that more powerful.

In this transcendental vein, the centerpiece of the film is a balletic, but totally horrifying, violent fight between two bears. Again, Herzog lets it play out and, knowing humans like to ponder a car wreck. As Thompson's steel string riffs lash out, the bears hold each other and bite. It's the film's love scene, glossy fur shimmers in the sun as these enormous creatures grapple so fucking scary and wonderous...mesmerizing.

I was lucky enough to see a preview screening where Herzog was at, and he was able to explain his point of view. He and the subject differed greatly on their view of nature. Herzog sees nature as violent, cruel, unforgiving whereas Treadwell imposed an unrealistic - and all too human - POV on nature. He wanted to understand it's injustices, and be there to save it. Weird Treadwell cries when a fox dies, and gets freaked-out that a bee would die as well. One of the best interviews is with a Native American museum curator who believes that Treadwell, by living among these beasts, didn't respect the boundary between humans and nature.

Given that I'm a stage in my life where I long to live in reality ("what's REALLY goin' on?), Herzog's philosophy resonated for me here. Hmmm, let's see, a great white hope of a guy forcing a solution by occupying a hostile environment in the name of saving it while not really understanding it's inhabitants? Sound like a war our country is engaging in? Does this willful sense of not facing reality - bears are DANGEROUS dood - sound all too much like magical thinking about life that I've engaged in? That all people engage in? It's the plight of the human condition, and the root of insanity. Yup. In making nature film while upholding doc traditions, Herzog makes his ultimate movie about human nature.

Whoa...I got that off of my chest...in the coming weeks as people see this, I want to know what you think...PS: I fucking love bears, if I was a gay man, that's the community I'd belong to (what, now with the beard and all) but, I just totally love everything about bears, bearhugs, lumbering around...mauling...eating honey...caves...hibernating...I'll stop now....

1:04 AM - 15 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Please Read: "I've Got Cattitude" (AKA: "You've Got Video Art"
Current mood: annoyed

Oh.....¦®..or should I say: ))<<>>((...;) In either event, IMHO, the only thing more cloying, annoying and CONFOUNDING than watching Miranda July's cutesy/indie/arty Romantic comedy Me and You and Everyone We Know is that I can't stop thinking about it. I long to text message "macaroni," and write words on my Puma toes. (Not really, but...) My friend Richie Williams was right: this film is obsession-worthy and PERFECT fodder for a myspace blog rant.

ARRRRGGGGHHH. What better place to purge about movie where emotions become emoticons? Yup, art grad student July comments on a world (Glendale, CA north of Echo Park, to be exact) where signs, symbols, images and words frustrate desires and promote longing. In the classic performance art tradition, here human behavior is reduced to ceremony and ritual and the representation of a "thing" is more important than the "thing" itself. As I was watching, I couldn't help thinking (and I wanted to text message Richie who sat two seats down from me watching it for the SECOND TIME [wirgo?])"is this the representation of a bad indie art movie, or is this REALLY a bad indie art movie?"

Along these lines lithe July gets to have her flourless vegan cake and eat it too. Mirrors, simulacrums and recreations abound. There's a (very bad) scene where a museum curator, Nancy played by an impossibly frumpy Tracy Wright (ohhhh FUCK, I just looked at the website, more on that later) reviews the work of an artist who has perfectly, Jeff Koons/Sherri Levine/George Stoll-ishly recreated her office coffee mug featuring a cat and the caption, "I've Got Catittude." Here lies the problem with the whole fucking movie: Ya, that's clever fer sure but that character (as Richie pointed out) would never have that mug...there's no grounding in any psychological reality for anyone...every character (even the kids) ends up being quirky and cutesy and we've seen it all a BAZILLION times in indie movie land and it turns out feeling like happy Todd Solenz, or worse (the literally happy Todd Solenz) Napoleon Dynamite. Are the movie's phrases "macaroni" and "))<<>>((" the new "Vote For Pedro?" The answer is yes. :)

But I digress. Aside from Solenz, I want to point out that I appreciated a little nod to David Lynch as well. Bookending the entire film is this "image" of a bird on a tree. Richard (badly performed by Jonathan Hawkes who has blue eyes that perfectly match July's), while in mid-divorce from his non-white wife looks out the window and sees a chirping bird perched on a tree branch. This TOTALLY recalls Blue Velvet, and at times July looks like Laura Dern, in fact. At the end of the movie (but not the sunrise coda) with July's assistance, he places a painting of bird (that has been defaced by his "son" Robby - or is it the "sun" of previously mentioned end) on that very same branch. This is at the moment where July's character Christine finally consumates her unmotivated romantic obsession with Richard. Yes, the only way humans can connect (these dayz) is when image replaces reality.

Speaking of not connecting, Richard's other son "Peter," bi-racial "peter" gets fellated by two inexperienced teenaged girls practicing. It becomes an alienated, disembodied sex ritual reminiscent of Harvey Keitel jerking off on the side of a teen girl's car in Bad Lieutenant (weirdly, the late-Sarah Petit's favorite sex scene). Uhm, for not just the obvious reasons, this is probably MAYAEWK's the most memorable moment. It does somehow summerize post-modern internet sexual behavior. "Peter" can't distinguish between the girl's mouths, and while they're doing it, he can't look at them and must stare at a snapshot of his broken family. Later, when Peter types out a series of ",,,...::::;;;;;" and utters the eponymous, "that's you and me and everyone we know" it has an undeniable resonance for us internet abusers and myspacers. Okay, so we're reduced to semi-colons. Yes, and the proposed "colonic" exchange of poop between Robby and what turns out to be Nancy (whaa..whaaa) through a series of misunderstood internet chat sessions, well...who hasn't been there, proposing scatalogical acts with unknown age-inappropriate parntners. Poor Robby is "Robbed" of his innocence (and I could have sworn that Nancy was a black-clad lesbian art person...you know, like the ones from the L-Word?) See, at the end of the "day," (remember, the "son" rises in the end) for all of its post-modernity, it feels reactionary and anti-sex.

Uhm, is the movie about how we're all sexually alienated supposed to be un-sexy? Is the movie that shows that we don't know how to act supposed to be badly acted? More than likely, the bad acting is a result of July's over-direction. That's what it feels like. You know how everyone in a Woody Allen movie acts like Woody Allen. Well, everyone here acts like "oh gosh-golly what's really goin' on?" deer in the headlights, I'm so broken and awkward quirky and sad July. Okay, it must be said. She uncannily resembles a number of Matrushka-wearing myspace grumpy brunettes...she's two degrees of seperation and so a part of everyone's second-tier friendster network...(see, like the movie says, "Me and You and...")...and for that...I give her a big ";)"

However...arrrrgggghhhh...I thought this movie was ultimately shiiiiite...and I want to hear everyone's opinions...PLEASE REPLY...especially with alternate titles: Here are my favorites:

You and Me and Everyone That Shops at Matrushka...
American Apparel Beauty...
As Good As It Gets in the Glendale Galleria...
Fifty First Dates at the Glendale Galleria...
You've Got Video Art!...
Glendale! (as in Woody Allen's Manhattan)
Unhappiness (as in Todd Solenz)
No Sex, All Lies and Video Art
Sleepless in Glendale...
Pretty Video Artist...

8:51 AM - 25 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains

.....I finally saw this cult gem, being dragged by some friends to a sadly under-airconditioned New Beverly Cinema yesterday (ahhh, just like the days of my childhood: The Brattle, The Central Square The 733)...it's fantastic...a totally odd/bittersweet movie, after school-special-ey, but, a MUST SEE nonetheless. Yes, it's where The White Stripes stole everything...but here's my take:

It cements my little theory that, whereas much of early English punk was about societal alienation and class oppression, American punk/indie rock is mostly about relationship/psychological oppression. Yes, young Diane Lane was from a working class home, but as her mean Aunt Linda testifies (a weirdly baby-faced Christine Lahti) young Diane's proto riot girl Corrine and posse had never been appreciated or encouraged as children...and that's why it's great she started a band... all about the individual, all about "expressing yourself..." It's about feminism and girl power too, which all seems American too...

Sure there are exceptions to this rule, of course, The Dils and The Dead Kennedy's, but did those bands define American punk? (The only great American band to sing about politics (for me) was the Minutemen.)
Compare Clash lyrics, or Crass, or The Sex Pistols to Minor Threat (yes, years later, but among the most definitive American punk bands) who sang about condemning alcohol and never growing up...even Black Flag songs, Jealous Again, Nervous Breakdown, X (not my favorite) Nausea, etc. These songs fit the theory.

The other thing is, the eponymous Stains sound so like nineties indie rock...uhm...does anyone remember Scrawl?

That's my big thought for today...and seemed wildly appropriate for a myspace blog...because it's about a movie I should have seen 23 years ago, which is when I should've been on myspace...but they hadn't invented the interweb as we know it yet...

Of course, I'm dying to hear feedback on this theory from rockers wasting time...I'm sure many have thoughts and opinions...wow.....I just blogged...

rockit

7:22 PM - 6 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment