It sometimes seems that the older one gets the more life begins to lose its flavor. Nothing is ever as good as it used to be any more. You can watch the movies you once loved, but they just don't have the magic any more. But the true masterpieces - like fine wine - only get better with age.
The first time I saw The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly I was probably 13 or 14 years old. I saw it on the tv on a Saturday afternoon when I had nothing better to do, and it kind of looked like a piece of crap, but somehow it was awesome in spite of itself.
I definitely didn't have the right kind of eyes to see it properly at the time. My first impression was that it was real ugly. It is a strange American Western filmed in bleak, nondescript locations in Italy. The photography looked like it was peed on and left out in the sun to dry. Many of the actors in the film seem to be inexperienced locals. The dubbing sometimes doesn't line up with the picture. I'm pretty sure a lot of the extras aren't even saying the same lines, or even in the same language as the crude sounds coming from the speakers. Even the instruments on the soundtrack seem to be out of tune, or maybe broken.
The film begins for a good 15 minutes without any dialogue, and there doesn't seem to be any significant plot until a good hour has gone by. It's just one brilliant scene after another. But where is it going? I had no idea until it was all over.
All in all, the film seemed like some kind of hot mess. It was refreshing to a 13 year old who was tired of all the glossy hollywood westerns. It seemed like something that was thrown together without the refinements of movie executives, and test screenings, and focus groups, etc. I liked it.
But the older I get, and the more films I have seen, the more I can appreciate the savage genius of this film. I don't think anything about it is accidental. I look at the same dusty landscapes, in that same nasty, brown light and see something that is far more beautiful than anything that ever happened in Monument Valley. I now see that all of the things that look like flaws are just what makes it special. The ugliness, and the decay, and the out of tune guitars all lend it a sort of rare credibility in the world of westerns. The more I know about photography, the more I know that it must have been a bitch to make this movie look the way it does.
The actors are all perfectly cast. Clint Eastwood (who no one knew before) plays a particularly complex anti-hero who you want to root for even though you aren't quite sure what he stands for. Eli Wallach plays an even stranger anti-anti-hero that can always make me laugh and cry at the same time, even when I don't know why. And most of all, Lee Van Cleef plays one of the most infuriating villains I can recall. It is truly beautiful, and quite disturbing how much Van Cleef seems to get off on this character.
The story is sort of a Western Oddysey. Fate puts these three characters on a mythical quest for gold, but they are constantly beset upon by strange circumstances along the way. They confront the most unusual obstacles. For instance, there is a large scale civil war battle, commanded by a drunken captain, that prevents them from crossing a river until they figure out how to deal with it. It's probably the largest and most expensive scene in the film. I can't picture any other western that goes to the lengths of creating such an epic scene that doesn't really have a whole lot to do with the rest of the plot. The filmmakers also, apparently, built a cemetery that seems to stretch as far as the eye can see in every direction just for one scene in the film. (I googled it. The cemetery is not real.)
The film is shot and cut in a way that would seem to challenge regular audiences, and yet it is somehow the 4th most popular movie of all time according to IMDB.com with an average user rating of 8.9 stars out of ten with 206,317 votes.
So today, I decided to watch it whilst cleaning the house, and although I have seen it at least 25 times, I certainly did not regret it. A true masterpiece the likes of which was never seen before, has not been seen since, and will not be seen again.
I just had to share that. And now I leave you with my list of top 7 one-of-a-kind movies that could never be duplicated in spite of all efforts to the contrary. These are the movies that reach a sort of intangible perfection when everything just seemed to come together in a way that can't be explained by simple luck.
1. Apocalypse Now - This film is so completely brazen in its artistic vision that no one in modern hollywood would even be allowed to attempt something so completely ridiculous. Not to mention that it would probably be the most expensive movie ever made if it was subjected to modern economic realities. I look at this film and am convinced that Francis Ford Coppola created, and fought his very own war just so that he could film it.
2. Raiders of the Lost Ark - The very people who made this film have attempted to recreate it 3 times since. All three of those sequels are a dismal failure compared to the original.
3. The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly - 'nuff said.
4. Jaws - I can't explain it. Either you know what I mean, or you never will. It is what it is.
5. Alien - If you ever have the chance to see this in the theater, you will be terrified. Thousands of horror thrillers have been made in its image since, and they all suck, including it's own sequels. It's the real deal.
6. Solaris (1972) - Few have the patience to deal with this movie, but if you can take it you will be rewarded. A science fiction masterpiece that goes all the way.
7. Amelie - A chick flick that even the most hardened dude can get behind. If it doesn't make you cry joyful tears than you have no soul.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Drive
"I don't have wheels on my car. That's something you should know about me." - The Driver
I haven't posted much about movies lately, or really about anything at all, because we seem to be in a seven year drought of creativity. I feel like there has been a general mood of non-excitement all around me. The vibe is decidedly mellow. (Although I did have a really great first anniversary last weekend. I just don't feel like getting personal in my blogging these days. Let it suffice to say that Rachel is great at making my life interesting, but that's about it for the excitement in my life in these dark times.)
I always get in this mood at the end of summer where I want to fight against the slowing tide. I start to feel guilty about all the things I was going to do, but never did. But lately I have been feeling like I should just go with it. I should take advantage of the rare time I get to do nothing at all. So today, when my Manager called and told me that I was cut for today, I told myself that it was okay to just sleep in. I gave myself no expectations for this free day.
A couple of drowsy blinks after that and I found that it was 1:30 pm. I woke up. I took the dogs outside to poop. I yawned several times and scratched an itch on the back of my left thigh. I walked around the house and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at the food in my fridge for a considerable amount of time. I did not eat any of it. Then I decided I should do something I used to do all the time, but almost never do anymore: go to a random movie in the middle of the afternoon with all the other daytime perverts.
First I was going to go see The Killer Elite, but soon realized that it was not actually showing yet. So then I thought I might go see Straw Dogs just out of morbid curiosity. I can't quite grasp why that remake has happened. But even I couldn't will myself to confront that. Not on a Thursday anyhow. So I looked at the movie app on my phone and decided I would go see Drive.
It must have been about 2 minutes into the movie when I started to cry tears of regret for all the terrible movies I have had to sift through in recent years to find this shining pearl of rare, and unmistakable beauty. That may sound like a quick judgment to you, but trust me. When it's right, it's right. When you have dedicated as many years of your life as I have to sitting in sweaty movie theaters with all the wrong people, watching terrible things and trying to understand what it all means, there is an instant recognition of greatness. It just has a certain smell to it.
A great movie is something magical. It is much more than the sum of it's parts. If you don't have that magic it can't be faked. It doesn't matter how many Oscar winning actors are in it. It doesn't matter how big the budget was. You can make a $300 Million dollar monstrosity of a film with Sigourney Weaver, Michelle Rodriguez, and a bunch of three-dimensional blue people who have sex with their pony tails, and it will still put me to sleep in less than 40 seconds.
I have started to believe that I am the problem. Maybe I've seen too much and just don't like movies any more. Maybe nothing impresses me any more. I have been accused of movie snobbery many times. Many times, indeed. But than a movie like Drive comes along and proves to me that the magic is still there after all.
Drive is about a guy who drives cars. He works in a garage by day, fixing up cars. Sometimes he does stunt driving for B-movies. And by night, he is a driver for hire. He doesn't ask questions. You tell him a time and place, and he will be there. If you watch the previews you might think it's kind of like The Transporter. But it's not.
It stars Ryan Gosling, who is quickly becoming the younger Hollywood actor with the most interesting career. I don't think Drive will make a lot of money. Even though Ryan Gosling gives one of the best performances I have seen in a long time, I can almost promise you he will not win any awards for it. And yet, for some reason, he decided to do this film anyway. His career is definitely on the rise. He didn't have to do a weird art film like this, but he did. This is the sort of movie that would usually have a mediocre, unknown actor in the lead. One might argue that it doesn't need someone with the talent of Ryan Gosling. But I disagree. It ain't easy to play a guy who says almost nothing but still keep the entire audience at the edge of their seat for 100 minutes.
So I give a special thanks to Mr. Gosling for coming down from his comfy romantic comedy perch to do something dangerous. I shouldn't be surprised though. This is, after all, the same guy who starred in a movie about a guy who falls in love, and has an innocent, platonic relationship with a sex doll.
Besides Gosling, this movie also gives us a really disturbing, and not even remotely funny performance by my favorite comedian, Albert Brooks. I was very disturbed, especially because it was Albert Brooks. What is this world coming to? I'm sitting in a darkened room watching Albert Brooks do scary things now. Nothing can be trusted. Nothing is safe any more.
I'm not sure what else, besides the acting, to praise in this movie. I'm not good at explaining why a certain scene is good at making me feel a certain way. I just know how it makes me feel. This movie made me feel all kinds of wonderful things that I haven't felt at the movies in a long, long time. It took me for a ride. I liked it. With that said, I don't really recommend this movie. If the preview made you want to watch it, you should probably rent The Transporter instead. This movie is not what it seems. It's way better than that, and you probably won't like it. Maybe it is my snobbery talking, but I just know that it takes the right kind of eyes to appreciate art of this magnitude. Too many times have I tried to share these things with people only to have them tell me that they hated it, and I must be screwed up in the head to think it's a good movie. But I know what I saw. I can't wait to see it again.
P.S. Movie geek trivia: The "special thanks" section in this film's end credits thanks Alejandro Jodorowsky. I don't expect anyone who reads this to know who that is. But take my word for it. It's sufficiently weird that it has had me thinking about it all day long.
P.P.S. I think I have a title now for the mysterious photo series I have been thinking of doing all year, and which I have spoken almost nothing about to anyone. I haven't even written it down, but it's definitely building. I think I will call it 'Survivors'. And there will be blood. Oh, yes! There will be. My mind is sometimes a scary place.
I haven't posted much about movies lately, or really about anything at all, because we seem to be in a seven year drought of creativity. I feel like there has been a general mood of non-excitement all around me. The vibe is decidedly mellow. (Although I did have a really great first anniversary last weekend. I just don't feel like getting personal in my blogging these days. Let it suffice to say that Rachel is great at making my life interesting, but that's about it for the excitement in my life in these dark times.)
I always get in this mood at the end of summer where I want to fight against the slowing tide. I start to feel guilty about all the things I was going to do, but never did. But lately I have been feeling like I should just go with it. I should take advantage of the rare time I get to do nothing at all. So today, when my Manager called and told me that I was cut for today, I told myself that it was okay to just sleep in. I gave myself no expectations for this free day.
A couple of drowsy blinks after that and I found that it was 1:30 pm. I woke up. I took the dogs outside to poop. I yawned several times and scratched an itch on the back of my left thigh. I walked around the house and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at the food in my fridge for a considerable amount of time. I did not eat any of it. Then I decided I should do something I used to do all the time, but almost never do anymore: go to a random movie in the middle of the afternoon with all the other daytime perverts.
First I was going to go see The Killer Elite, but soon realized that it was not actually showing yet. So then I thought I might go see Straw Dogs just out of morbid curiosity. I can't quite grasp why that remake has happened. But even I couldn't will myself to confront that. Not on a Thursday anyhow. So I looked at the movie app on my phone and decided I would go see Drive.
It must have been about 2 minutes into the movie when I started to cry tears of regret for all the terrible movies I have had to sift through in recent years to find this shining pearl of rare, and unmistakable beauty. That may sound like a quick judgment to you, but trust me. When it's right, it's right. When you have dedicated as many years of your life as I have to sitting in sweaty movie theaters with all the wrong people, watching terrible things and trying to understand what it all means, there is an instant recognition of greatness. It just has a certain smell to it.
A great movie is something magical. It is much more than the sum of it's parts. If you don't have that magic it can't be faked. It doesn't matter how many Oscar winning actors are in it. It doesn't matter how big the budget was. You can make a $300 Million dollar monstrosity of a film with Sigourney Weaver, Michelle Rodriguez, and a bunch of three-dimensional blue people who have sex with their pony tails, and it will still put me to sleep in less than 40 seconds.
I have started to believe that I am the problem. Maybe I've seen too much and just don't like movies any more. Maybe nothing impresses me any more. I have been accused of movie snobbery many times. Many times, indeed. But than a movie like Drive comes along and proves to me that the magic is still there after all.
Drive is about a guy who drives cars. He works in a garage by day, fixing up cars. Sometimes he does stunt driving for B-movies. And by night, he is a driver for hire. He doesn't ask questions. You tell him a time and place, and he will be there. If you watch the previews you might think it's kind of like The Transporter. But it's not.
It stars Ryan Gosling, who is quickly becoming the younger Hollywood actor with the most interesting career. I don't think Drive will make a lot of money. Even though Ryan Gosling gives one of the best performances I have seen in a long time, I can almost promise you he will not win any awards for it. And yet, for some reason, he decided to do this film anyway. His career is definitely on the rise. He didn't have to do a weird art film like this, but he did. This is the sort of movie that would usually have a mediocre, unknown actor in the lead. One might argue that it doesn't need someone with the talent of Ryan Gosling. But I disagree. It ain't easy to play a guy who says almost nothing but still keep the entire audience at the edge of their seat for 100 minutes.
So I give a special thanks to Mr. Gosling for coming down from his comfy romantic comedy perch to do something dangerous. I shouldn't be surprised though. This is, after all, the same guy who starred in a movie about a guy who falls in love, and has an innocent, platonic relationship with a sex doll.
Besides Gosling, this movie also gives us a really disturbing, and not even remotely funny performance by my favorite comedian, Albert Brooks. I was very disturbed, especially because it was Albert Brooks. What is this world coming to? I'm sitting in a darkened room watching Albert Brooks do scary things now. Nothing can be trusted. Nothing is safe any more.
I'm not sure what else, besides the acting, to praise in this movie. I'm not good at explaining why a certain scene is good at making me feel a certain way. I just know how it makes me feel. This movie made me feel all kinds of wonderful things that I haven't felt at the movies in a long, long time. It took me for a ride. I liked it. With that said, I don't really recommend this movie. If the preview made you want to watch it, you should probably rent The Transporter instead. This movie is not what it seems. It's way better than that, and you probably won't like it. Maybe it is my snobbery talking, but I just know that it takes the right kind of eyes to appreciate art of this magnitude. Too many times have I tried to share these things with people only to have them tell me that they hated it, and I must be screwed up in the head to think it's a good movie. But I know what I saw. I can't wait to see it again.
P.S. Movie geek trivia: The "special thanks" section in this film's end credits thanks Alejandro Jodorowsky. I don't expect anyone who reads this to know who that is. But take my word for it. It's sufficiently weird that it has had me thinking about it all day long.
P.P.S. I think I have a title now for the mysterious photo series I have been thinking of doing all year, and which I have spoken almost nothing about to anyone. I haven't even written it down, but it's definitely building. I think I will call it 'Survivors'. And there will be blood. Oh, yes! There will be. My mind is sometimes a scary place.
Monday, August 8, 2011
I Need Some New Inspiration
I haven't been doing much photography lately. I have some strange photos that need to be released from my mind, but I'm not quite ready yet. So last night I went and photographed some silly kids at the Zombie walk in SLC. Along with trying to get some silly pictures, I was also using this weirdness to reflect on other dark themes that I am thinking about lately. It was good times, and reminds me that we all could use a bit more weirdness in our lives. Or at least I could use some anyway. I'm not sure what it is that draws me to these kind of things. I have an unnatural fascination with the end of the world. And although Zombies are mostly pretty lame, they do symbolize the ongoing de-evolution of humanity rather well.
Of course, photographing zombies is no easy task. People pretending to be dead looks nothing at all like actual dead people. It ends up being cheesy, which isn't necessarily bad. Zombies are, after all, somewhere near smoked gouda on the cheese scale. Therefore, I threw myself into this crowd and had a good time trying to capture some authentic zombie moments.
I posted some on my photo blog, but I felt I had to omit one of my favorites for conceptual reasons. And that is why I have decided to post it here instead. I love this picture because this girl looks so completely not dead. She is way too happy to be remotely believable as a zombie. It makes me laugh, but is still kind of disturbing. Maybe even more disturbing than the other ones. The look of child-like wonder in her eyes is priceless. It's like someone is about to hand her a new baby kitten, right after she finished eating the last one.
I apologize. That last sentence was a horrible thing to say, and not quite accurate to the real scene. In fact, she was in reality looking at a human baby when I took this picture. That's the truth. No animals were harmed.
Of course, photographing zombies is no easy task. People pretending to be dead looks nothing at all like actual dead people. It ends up being cheesy, which isn't necessarily bad. Zombies are, after all, somewhere near smoked gouda on the cheese scale. Therefore, I threw myself into this crowd and had a good time trying to capture some authentic zombie moments.
I posted some on my photo blog, but I felt I had to omit one of my favorites for conceptual reasons. And that is why I have decided to post it here instead. I love this picture because this girl looks so completely not dead. She is way too happy to be remotely believable as a zombie. It makes me laugh, but is still kind of disturbing. Maybe even more disturbing than the other ones. The look of child-like wonder in her eyes is priceless. It's like someone is about to hand her a new baby kitten, right after she finished eating the last one.
I apologize. That last sentence was a horrible thing to say, and not quite accurate to the real scene. In fact, she was in reality looking at a human baby when I took this picture. That's the truth. No animals were harmed.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
A Better World?
"Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind carries me across the sky." - - - Ojibwe saying
At this moment I am very small. I am no more than 4 inches tall, and shrinking by the minute. I am almost gone. There will be nothing left for you to see, and yet the relentless beating continues on. I stare into the face of rage, eyes aglow with vengeance.
"What you need to ask yourself is, 'do I want this job?'"
It seems like a trick question. I feel confused. I have to say yes, but my heart is beating, "No! No! No!" How did I get myself into this contradiction? I glance over to my boss who is standing in the corner looking intently at his shoes. It is not either of our finest hours for sure.
The truth is, I don't really want this job at all. I always say I do when people ask. I put the best face on it. What I really, really want is to have a job that pays me a decent living so that I may support my family as best I can. That is what I feel will make me happy. But life is no longer cheap. Maybe it never was. All I know is that the world has a way of carrying you along on a path, and it seems very difficult at times, perhaps even futile, to kick against the current.
Is this fate? Or are we all living the lives we chose?
There is a crushing weight of responsibility that I feel, and it makes it seem like I usually have no choice at all. I continue to do what I must. These are the thoughts going through my head as I stare into those burning, red eyes that make grown men cry.
Have you ever found yourself fighting a fight that you can not win?
The beating continues.
"Tell me, please, why I should keep you, because if it were up to me you would be done."
I guess I should explain myself here. It was a bad, bad day. I had an accident. A small accident in the grand scheme of the universe, but I work in a job that can not afford mistakes. I made a big mistake. I blame no one but myself. I feel plenty bad about it already, but nevertheless I must stand and bear this tongue lashing with humility and grace. I am a leaf on the wind. If it were up to me, I would rather be talking to Anton Chigur right now.
I have made a lot of mistakes in my life. I make mistakes constantly. I'm only human, but maybe I'm even more human that some others. It seems I blunder through life making the best choices I can, but every choice narrows down my future choices until I get to a point where there seems to be no more choices but to jump in the current and let it take me where it will.
Because of choices I made long ago, I now find myself working in a miserable job that gives me very little fulfillment, only because it will one day give me a decent paycheck. I'll never get rich from it, but I will be able to live comfortably with the things I need, and some things that I want. That's the lie I have been telling myself for years, that it is better than the alternatives.
What I do is I drive a truck that is packed with boxes, and I must get rid of them one at a time until there are none left. I run, and run, and run all day long. I almost never stop to take a lunch break. If I stop to pee I have to run that much faster to catch up again. It's a lot of responsibility, a lot of pressure, and one day a lot more money than I'm making now. Is it worth it? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not sure any more. But what are my alternatives?
Truthfully, I have no idea what the alternatives might be. I have, for years, assumed that there were none. That has often been my excuse. I have a degree in photography. It is a field that people are notorious for not wanting to pay for. On the other hand, there are people who are highly successful at it without even so much as a degree to stand on. Beyond photography, I really don't have a lot of marketable skills to back me up. 11 years at the same company has provided me with nothing that would be useful to other companies. It has given me a range of talents that are very specific, like memorizing thousands of zip codes, playing a literal version of tetris at 250-600 pieces per hour, yelling at people, cursing, etc. These are things that don't necessarily look good on a resume. But I am smart. I am a hard worker. I am good at adapting to a wide range of situations. I think I work well under pressure, and with all kinds of scary people. I am not completely useless, am I?
Maybe there is something more out there waiting for me. It's also true that maybe there is not. I know that I have the power within myself to stay on this career path, and succeed. I am sure that it will get easier over time. But do I really want that? I feel that I have hit rock bottom with it now. I must move forward from here, and do the best I can to continue to ensure my own security, and the good of my family. If I'm going to stay, I need to embrace it completely because that is the way to get better. And I can't keep on feeling sorry for myself. I am living the life I chose.
But I am now more motivated than ever to look beyond my comfort zone. I want to find a way out. I want to believe that it is possible to make a decent living, and be happy. Therefore I must also open my mind to the other possibilities that maybe I have been ignoring in favor of a seemingly safer path. I know now that there is no safe path. There is nothing you can do that life can't find a way to screw with it. Life is chaos.
On a lighter note, now that I have written a bitter, and negative diatribe, I should tell you about the ways in which I have chosen wisely, and the ways in which I am fortunate. I have chosen a beautiful wife who always supports me, but also pushes me to be better. She believes that I have a choice, and that I can do better. She sees potential in me that I do not.
I have two kitties who always kiss my face and give me comfort when I am sad and lonely. They don't care what I do for a living. They would be perfectly happy if I did nothing at all but lay around with them. That's how they roll.
I have two dogs that feel like my children. They definitely keep me on my toes. But they also give me unconditional love. They are always happy to see me. So what if they sometimes eat my ice cream. It's a small price to pay.
I have great friends and family who have always accepted me for who I am, even when they thought I was wrong. Those are the people that I choose to be around. 1 true friend is worth far more than all the others.
I am even fortunate to have a job at all. Even a job you hate is better than no job at all. You can't ignore that truth in this day and age.
I feel better already.
"At the top of the mountain, we are all Snow Leopards."
At this moment I am very small. I am no more than 4 inches tall, and shrinking by the minute. I am almost gone. There will be nothing left for you to see, and yet the relentless beating continues on. I stare into the face of rage, eyes aglow with vengeance.
"What you need to ask yourself is, 'do I want this job?'"
It seems like a trick question. I feel confused. I have to say yes, but my heart is beating, "No! No! No!" How did I get myself into this contradiction? I glance over to my boss who is standing in the corner looking intently at his shoes. It is not either of our finest hours for sure.
The truth is, I don't really want this job at all. I always say I do when people ask. I put the best face on it. What I really, really want is to have a job that pays me a decent living so that I may support my family as best I can. That is what I feel will make me happy. But life is no longer cheap. Maybe it never was. All I know is that the world has a way of carrying you along on a path, and it seems very difficult at times, perhaps even futile, to kick against the current.
Is this fate? Or are we all living the lives we chose?
There is a crushing weight of responsibility that I feel, and it makes it seem like I usually have no choice at all. I continue to do what I must. These are the thoughts going through my head as I stare into those burning, red eyes that make grown men cry.
Have you ever found yourself fighting a fight that you can not win?
The beating continues.
"Tell me, please, why I should keep you, because if it were up to me you would be done."
I guess I should explain myself here. It was a bad, bad day. I had an accident. A small accident in the grand scheme of the universe, but I work in a job that can not afford mistakes. I made a big mistake. I blame no one but myself. I feel plenty bad about it already, but nevertheless I must stand and bear this tongue lashing with humility and grace. I am a leaf on the wind. If it were up to me, I would rather be talking to Anton Chigur right now.
I have made a lot of mistakes in my life. I make mistakes constantly. I'm only human, but maybe I'm even more human that some others. It seems I blunder through life making the best choices I can, but every choice narrows down my future choices until I get to a point where there seems to be no more choices but to jump in the current and let it take me where it will.
Because of choices I made long ago, I now find myself working in a miserable job that gives me very little fulfillment, only because it will one day give me a decent paycheck. I'll never get rich from it, but I will be able to live comfortably with the things I need, and some things that I want. That's the lie I have been telling myself for years, that it is better than the alternatives.
What I do is I drive a truck that is packed with boxes, and I must get rid of them one at a time until there are none left. I run, and run, and run all day long. I almost never stop to take a lunch break. If I stop to pee I have to run that much faster to catch up again. It's a lot of responsibility, a lot of pressure, and one day a lot more money than I'm making now. Is it worth it? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not sure any more. But what are my alternatives?
Truthfully, I have no idea what the alternatives might be. I have, for years, assumed that there were none. That has often been my excuse. I have a degree in photography. It is a field that people are notorious for not wanting to pay for. On the other hand, there are people who are highly successful at it without even so much as a degree to stand on. Beyond photography, I really don't have a lot of marketable skills to back me up. 11 years at the same company has provided me with nothing that would be useful to other companies. It has given me a range of talents that are very specific, like memorizing thousands of zip codes, playing a literal version of tetris at 250-600 pieces per hour, yelling at people, cursing, etc. These are things that don't necessarily look good on a resume. But I am smart. I am a hard worker. I am good at adapting to a wide range of situations. I think I work well under pressure, and with all kinds of scary people. I am not completely useless, am I?
Maybe there is something more out there waiting for me. It's also true that maybe there is not. I know that I have the power within myself to stay on this career path, and succeed. I am sure that it will get easier over time. But do I really want that? I feel that I have hit rock bottom with it now. I must move forward from here, and do the best I can to continue to ensure my own security, and the good of my family. If I'm going to stay, I need to embrace it completely because that is the way to get better. And I can't keep on feeling sorry for myself. I am living the life I chose.
But I am now more motivated than ever to look beyond my comfort zone. I want to find a way out. I want to believe that it is possible to make a decent living, and be happy. Therefore I must also open my mind to the other possibilities that maybe I have been ignoring in favor of a seemingly safer path. I know now that there is no safe path. There is nothing you can do that life can't find a way to screw with it. Life is chaos.
On a lighter note, now that I have written a bitter, and negative diatribe, I should tell you about the ways in which I have chosen wisely, and the ways in which I am fortunate. I have chosen a beautiful wife who always supports me, but also pushes me to be better. She believes that I have a choice, and that I can do better. She sees potential in me that I do not.
I have two kitties who always kiss my face and give me comfort when I am sad and lonely. They don't care what I do for a living. They would be perfectly happy if I did nothing at all but lay around with them. That's how they roll.
I have two dogs that feel like my children. They definitely keep me on my toes. But they also give me unconditional love. They are always happy to see me. So what if they sometimes eat my ice cream. It's a small price to pay.
I have great friends and family who have always accepted me for who I am, even when they thought I was wrong. Those are the people that I choose to be around. 1 true friend is worth far more than all the others.
I am even fortunate to have a job at all. Even a job you hate is better than no job at all. You can't ignore that truth in this day and age.
I feel better already.
"At the top of the mountain, we are all Snow Leopards."
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Vita Ipsa Loquitur
I fear sometimes that I am becoming a boring person. I never have anything very interesting to say here these days. And I used to be so crazy and weird. But what happened. I seem to have lost a lot of my old weirdness. Not to say that I am no longer weird. I just used to be weirder.
If you wrote your own autobiography, what would it be about? I always wanted mine to be so legendary that it would be banned from high school reading in most states. It would be the kind of story that ruined people's lives forever, an epic chronicle of biblical proportions. I think it would be called "Vita Ipsa Loquitur: The Doomed Man's Travelogue In Black and White".
As you can tell from the title it would be a light-hearted, and inspirational sort of tale, a hero's quest of sorts. It would have to be filled from cover to cover with adventure, romance, and all kinds of swashbucklery in general. I imagine it as a cross between Homer's "The Odyssey", Bram Stoker's "Dracula", and the film "It's a Wonderful Life". And, of course, it will be 100% true.
Can you grasp that? I think it would start out something like this:
Prologue: The Black of Night
"Vampires?" The captain asks dubiously. "I doubt it. Not this far north. The climate wouldn't suit them at all."
"You may be right", I reply half-hearted. Nevertheless, I did meet one last night. He showed me things that would not soon be forgotten, and I knew he was not finished with me yet. I look out over that same bleak horizon where I saw Captain Sveinsson's burning ship, Urd, succumb to the fathomless deep not quite a fortnight agone. Now it is only the white-hot sun edging ever closer to it's inevitable demise. A cold wind is blowing off the Atlantic Ocean, and I sigh heavily in resignation. "It's lookin' to be a cold one."
"Yes, my friend." There is a long pause as we both consider the gravity of the situation. I look down at my grandfather's compass that hangs around my neck, long since broken. The moments pass heavily by until the captain finally breaks the silence. "This man that you spoke with, this vampire, perhaps you brought him with you. Perhaps he has troubled you for a very long time."
"Perhaps."
"And you never did tell me how you came to be here yourself?"
"That is a long story", I say, "And I don't care to tell it right now", I answer his next question before he can ask it. Truthfully, I don't know the answer to the questions. How did I get here? And why? Looking back at it, I can't make any sense of it myself.
"Very well. I understand." He shrugs it off. "It doesn't matter. We will find our way back soon."
I am not as hopeful in that regard. I still have this one problem, this great big loose end, this thing I came here to do, and I know there is no going back until it is done. Not for me anyway. I am not sure what I would be going back to, for that matter. I reflect darkly on these things as the sun begins to slip below the waves taking all remaining color with it. I am not afraid, only anxious to get to the next horrific twist of the knife.
I run my fingers through my long, thinning hair. It is falling out faster every day. I don't have much time left before I will be too weak to fight it any more. Tonight might be the night. Am I ready? The Captain shudders as though for a moment he knows my mind, and all the ugly things that lie in it. He starts to say something, but is interrupted by the sudden, atavistic booming of the drums. Every night that same terrible rhythm that will haunt my dreams for years to come.
I am certain now that the captain and I are the last civilized men, forgotten on this God-forsaken island amidst a sea of unrelenting madness, and the savages are just waking up. Things will start moving quickly now. We must cling desperately to the last vestiges of our neglected faith.
"Hafðu augun opin, vinur minn."
"Aye, Captain."
"Please, call me Snorri." He pulls out a tall bottle and offers it to me.
"Why not?" I consent. I hand the bottle back. We soon finish every last drop of it between the two of us.
"You know, my friend, one good thing about this place?"
"Tell me!" I beg. The drink is already twisting my sense of space and reason. The esoteric, animal part of my brain is beginning to take hold as we succumb to the darkness, even as the distant voices of the newly damned begin to scream in terror.
"The night lasts only four hours."
But alas, I know all too well that four hours can be a very, very long time.
So there you go. I just need an advance from a major publisher to begin for real. About half a mil would probably cover it.
If you wrote your own autobiography, what would it be about? I always wanted mine to be so legendary that it would be banned from high school reading in most states. It would be the kind of story that ruined people's lives forever, an epic chronicle of biblical proportions. I think it would be called "Vita Ipsa Loquitur: The Doomed Man's Travelogue In Black and White".
As you can tell from the title it would be a light-hearted, and inspirational sort of tale, a hero's quest of sorts. It would have to be filled from cover to cover with adventure, romance, and all kinds of swashbucklery in general. I imagine it as a cross between Homer's "The Odyssey", Bram Stoker's "Dracula", and the film "It's a Wonderful Life". And, of course, it will be 100% true.
Can you grasp that? I think it would start out something like this:
Prologue: The Black of Night
"Vampires?" The captain asks dubiously. "I doubt it. Not this far north. The climate wouldn't suit them at all."
"You may be right", I reply half-hearted. Nevertheless, I did meet one last night. He showed me things that would not soon be forgotten, and I knew he was not finished with me yet. I look out over that same bleak horizon where I saw Captain Sveinsson's burning ship, Urd, succumb to the fathomless deep not quite a fortnight agone. Now it is only the white-hot sun edging ever closer to it's inevitable demise. A cold wind is blowing off the Atlantic Ocean, and I sigh heavily in resignation. "It's lookin' to be a cold one."
"Yes, my friend." There is a long pause as we both consider the gravity of the situation. I look down at my grandfather's compass that hangs around my neck, long since broken. The moments pass heavily by until the captain finally breaks the silence. "This man that you spoke with, this vampire, perhaps you brought him with you. Perhaps he has troubled you for a very long time."
"Perhaps."
"And you never did tell me how you came to be here yourself?"
"That is a long story", I say, "And I don't care to tell it right now", I answer his next question before he can ask it. Truthfully, I don't know the answer to the questions. How did I get here? And why? Looking back at it, I can't make any sense of it myself.
"Very well. I understand." He shrugs it off. "It doesn't matter. We will find our way back soon."
I am not as hopeful in that regard. I still have this one problem, this great big loose end, this thing I came here to do, and I know there is no going back until it is done. Not for me anyway. I am not sure what I would be going back to, for that matter. I reflect darkly on these things as the sun begins to slip below the waves taking all remaining color with it. I am not afraid, only anxious to get to the next horrific twist of the knife.
I run my fingers through my long, thinning hair. It is falling out faster every day. I don't have much time left before I will be too weak to fight it any more. Tonight might be the night. Am I ready? The Captain shudders as though for a moment he knows my mind, and all the ugly things that lie in it. He starts to say something, but is interrupted by the sudden, atavistic booming of the drums. Every night that same terrible rhythm that will haunt my dreams for years to come.
I am certain now that the captain and I are the last civilized men, forgotten on this God-forsaken island amidst a sea of unrelenting madness, and the savages are just waking up. Things will start moving quickly now. We must cling desperately to the last vestiges of our neglected faith.
"Hafðu augun opin, vinur minn."
"Aye, Captain."
"Please, call me Snorri." He pulls out a tall bottle and offers it to me.
"Why not?" I consent. I hand the bottle back. We soon finish every last drop of it between the two of us.
"You know, my friend, one good thing about this place?"
"Tell me!" I beg. The drink is already twisting my sense of space and reason. The esoteric, animal part of my brain is beginning to take hold as we succumb to the darkness, even as the distant voices of the newly damned begin to scream in terror.
"The night lasts only four hours."
But alas, I know all too well that four hours can be a very, very long time.
So there you go. I just need an advance from a major publisher to begin for real. About half a mil would probably cover it.
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