The Boutros Boutros Follies

Start Talking: Tyler Evans

2010-03-25T10:47:00.003-04:00

Every episode will have a different person sit in front of the camera as I announce their character name and a brief description of them as if they were a guest on my program via satellite, except the person has absolutely no idea who they are playing or what I am going to ask until the words come out of my mouth. At which point they have to, simply, Start Talking.

Guest: Tyler Evans

Watch other Episodes of Start Talking:
Timmy Cassese
Jonathan Roumie
Melissa King
Jeremy Frost
Matthew Schwartzer
Matt Kaplan
Michael Bernstein

-Peter Rinaldi

Vic Chesnutt "Flirted With You All My Life"

2010-01-04T19:00:00.003-05:00

Thank you for this great lesson Mr. Chesnutt. Maybe now I'll start listening to you.

"Flirted With You All My Life" - from his latest and last album - At The Cut, by Vic Chesnutt.

PLAY

SIN-E-FILE (Remembering the 00s)

2009-12-31T23:08:00.008-05:00

Gotta get it in.

As the seconds literally tick away on 2009, I am realizing that the best film I have seen this decade is one that came out just as the decade was beginning, but which I just viewed two months ago on DVD - Bela Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies (2000). I watched it hot on the heels of, by far, the most significant movie going experience of my entire life- Tarr's Satantango at MoMA. Am I just hot for this guy or is he really THAT good? Let me put it this way: First there was Griffith (birth) then there was Godard (change) now there's Tarr. Everything else is, more or less, by- product.

I have no desire to own these two films on DVD, nor will I watch them again in that format. The state of Tarr's art relies heavily on immersion, and, generally, that simply cannot fully happen right now in my "home theater". So, as a result, I think it wouldn't be exaggerating to say that I actually haven't really seen Werckmeister Harmonies. And I won't until I do on a big screen. Rather than suffering through a series of bumbling words written in an attempt to describe why this film is great, just trust me and go see it when it comes back around (Which it does). I will let you know when it comes.

There is another film that I watched 6 times on the big screen, and just because it came from a relatively large studio and has Hollywood stars in it, that doesn't diminish my appreciation for the work that is done in it and the totally satisfying experience that was created. I am speaking of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. This is one of the only films that I can share an affinity for with large numbers of the Hollywood movie-going audience. This makes me happy. I don't really know why. Charlie Kaufman gets my vote for the CineMan of the Decade.

But really, this was the decade of the small film, the personal film, the "no money" film; films that come entirely from one brain or that are pretty much made entirely by one person. Coppola's "fat little girl in Ohio" vision has really come true. Here is a short list of some titles to discover or remember when everyone else is talking about Avatar. Spread the word about these significant motion pictures. Feel free to add to the list.

(in no particular order)
-Tarnation
-I am a Sex Addict
-Dear Zachary (A Letter to a son about his father)
-FrownLand
-The Windmill Movie
-Quiet City
-The Brown Bunny
-The Cats of Mirikitani
-Funny Ha Ha

-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs C

2009-12-31T19:38:00.009-05:00

Bedbugs C

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

It's come down to this in time made troublesome
by our own hands and minds. Fighting inside
the maelstrom again, raging and stunned by
a charred, flourescent-lit future of potentials
unwanted by on a cold day in March I'm
reminded of the best and worst kinds of love.
Not as a concept but something out of the
stories and real, if temporary. As she throws
sticks I smiled, delaying the inevitable.
Then she was gone. But the best and worst of
trying and joyous times still represented one thing:
the music in the basement- is the language of
spies, and, forcing clear thought, everyone
realizes it's a welcome distraction but a
distraction nonetheless. Too deep under
bridges lay my ambition. Layers of regret
grown on one's face like moldy beards.
But in a nanosecond of clarity allowed,
green ribbons notwithstanding, I
decide the house and record cannot hurt
me without my consent.

I sit down and create. Undistracted. Noises
ignored. Friendship and romance delayed. And
things get done. Ideas bloom. She wanted
to be in the mountains, one day I hope to
find her again- but a complete being
this time. Daily I force the footwork
until it sprouts other ideas, and...
MOTIVATION. Doing the creative work,
truly, prioritized, turned off the phonograph. I don't
even know where it is. It could return at
anytime but I do not let it. I'm young again.
A blank page before me will soon be filled-
with what? Doesn't matter. What I forgot
to say was....

-Adam Barnick

END CYCLE TWO
100 chapters completed

The end.

Better Living Through Absurdity -The Ass End of Asinine

2009-12-31T18:57:00.005-05:00

So the year is coming to a close. In a matter of hours, 2009 will be over and 2010 ushered in. And for my part, all I can say is, thank god. What a shit fucking year. I can't recall when I've felt so tired when I contemplate all that happened in a year...but when I mentally review this one, I just want to stop every few seconds to reach for a bottle of bourbon and a tally sheet. The "pro's" column looks decidedly grim, I must say, though at least it isn't entirely empty. And of course with 2010 upon us, the glut of catastrophic doom-and-gloom prophecies regarding the year 2012, star of the blockbuster apocalyptic world-ending extravaganza of the same name, will begin to fall fast and heavy, though with less horrific appeal than acid rain, and far less amusement than frogs. When I hear about some of these things, I confess that a line from the song 'Dogma' by KMFDM pops into my head, "We all just want to die a little bit." While that may seem extreme, let's face it, if we're not currently embroiled in a conflict, we're making movies about being embroiled in conflicts. If said conflicts are of the standard man against bomb against man carrying bombs against robots with bombs against god against god with bombs against life against man kind of deal, well we then make movies about being embroiled in conflicts with aliens, murderous plants, zombies, redneck mutants, giant insects, irrational robots, aborted-then-reconstituted fetal tissue, rats and other vermin, people with an array of sports-themed masks, guys with Grim Reaper fetishes, hookers with cybernetic body parts, maleficent energy masses, conscious and bloodthirsty bodies of water, junkies, gamers, ravers, non-organic food products, religious organizations, elderly people with grudges and much, much more. I went to see the movie Paranormal Activity and what did I get as a bonus? A glut of trailers which were all for movies which pretty much spelled out "YOU ARE FUCKED." From post-apocalyptic fare like The Road, to alien abduction fodder like The Fourth Kind, (Close Encounters ripoff anyone?) to "We'sa all gonna die!" tripe like The Crazies (George Romero, can't you stop these people?) It seems that the more we're watching ourselves die in ever-complex and fantastical ways, the happier we are. If it isn't a probable scenario like bio-warfare or the wrath of global warming, it's a fantastical scenario like alien invasion or the wrath of god. (Yes, that was intentional.) I am including a trailer for a movie I happened to stumble upon...and I have to say -what seems initially like some new-fangled tween or teen movie like Harry Potter or Twilight, is actually a seriously creepy trailer in a lot of ways -take note of the creepy, midgety little scythe-wielding and masked bastard...talk about trauma-inducing!

http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/fadingofthecries/

So, in light of the coming darkness, I've taken a few moments to reflect on some of the more amusing aspects of this past year, culled as always (and perhaps alarmingly) from my personal life and experiences...

1. Things my mother says

My mother is a never-ending source of joy for me. Though we went through a really rough patch in our relationship, we weathered it and came out with a much better appreciation and understanding of each other -and a shared love for comic book and science fiction movies. My mother is known for saying bizarrely random or ridiculous things, immediately followed by laughter as she realizes what she's just uttered -here are a few examples:

"So did I tell you that someone left a monkey in the dishwasher and it died?"

"What are your thoughts on the original Nutty Professor movie with Jerry Lewis?"

Me: "I have some news that will make you happy -they just finished filming the Wolverine movie."
Mom: "Oooh really -what's it going to be called?!"
Me: "I don't know Mom -here's a hunch though, maybe...Wolverine?"

You see what I'm talking about. She is also known for sending me emails regarding parts of movies that she remembers and she's trying to figure out what they might be -here is an example of that:

Hi Therese,
Thanks for sending-my computer-dial up is soo sloow that I will have to open it at work!
Can you help me?
I am trying to remember the scene in the Harry Potter movie where Harry is in the house that I think was his parents and the wallpaper has faces in it and they talk and come to life-I think-do you remember that scene and what the wallpaper was saying?
Also, going back a little farther, do you remember the first or second (or 3rd) Harry Potter where the tree outside the school tries to capture Harry or maybe it is Hermoine?
And, another strange request-do you remember the movie-I think it is the Matrix but I am not sure, where, I think it is Neo wearing black is in a very modern apt and gets out of an elevator and the scene is a very modern-posh lobby?
Thanks so much!
Hope all is well!
Love,
Mommyxxx

For the record, I sent her a bunch of clips that were Matrix-related but she said none of them were right -apparently my sister eventually helped her figure it out so at least that part of her query was answered.

And, despite the fact that my mother isn't a big fan of extreme violence or gore or sex, (she was a little upset that District 9 wasn't what she expected,) after telling her about the movie Repo Men coming out, and saying it was something she probably wouldn't see, she asked me in a kind of quiet voice, "What's the name of it? I think I'll go see it." Yeah -my mom is going to go see Repo Men. Kick ass.

I am definitely looking forward to another year with my mom and hopefully to getting to see her more than I've been able to in the past -if anything, it always makes for a good story!

2. The year of the first date

I went on on more first dates (and subsequently, last dates) this year than I think I've ever been on. The result...nothing that could be called a 'relationship' but a good many anecdotes regarding the process. A few of the more notable ones are...

You know you're going to have an awesome evening when the sentence, "So my band has this song called 'Raging in Excrement' " comes out of your date's mouth.

Pre-empting the drowning of the sorrows...date shows up, hands me two bottles of wine, goes to put parking permit in his car, doesn't come back.

The inconsistency of such things as, "You're everything a man could want in a woman -beautiful, smart, sexy, funny, charming -just everything a man could ever ask for. And if you lost 20 lbs, you'd be everything I could ever want too."

And of course, the always appealing first-date line, meant to let you know that your date has more than just a friendly interest in you..."So, I say you take me back to my place and I can ram the shit out of your pussy. How's that sound?"

God only knows what awaits me next year -but if it's anything like 2009, I'll probably start hoping that the Mayan calendar prediction of doom might be off by a couple of years. Sometimes, I truly do feel that a natural disaster epic catastrophe would be preferable to continuing to slog through the plague-riddled, poxy whore of a minefield known as "dating."

3. Edumacation

So I graduated this month -I have an official degree and enough combined coursework to equal three degrees and two minors. I am pretty proud of this accomplishment and I'll be heading into a MA program in summer. But it does give one pause, when meeting with advisors, and after looking over all of your classes taken and credits earned, the best they can come up with is, "Well, it's a pity that all of your coursework seems to be in non-essential fields." Really? Really?! I'm willing to let Criminology pass (despite the consistency and inevitability of crime,) and Film (since I'm a film scholar and not a filmmaker) but since when is English is a non-essential field? ENGLISH? Non-essential?!?! In America? Land of the "speak our way or forever hold your peace?" English -the language we assume will magically be spoken to us no matter where we might venture in the world because after all, as any American can tell you, it's the only civilized language out there! I'd say English is definitely essential -at least for a few more years until all of our street signs and maps and textbooks and great works of literature can be rewritten in text-speak. I'm essential for a little bit longer, dammit!

I think the final blow to my literary soul was from my father, who has always been an avid reader and has always encouraged my habit -he informed me that he got a Kindle...a KINDLE. AN ELECTRONIC BOOK. A DIGI-BOOK. Fuck you, environmental conservationists -I want paper -I want rustling and the smell of glue and the acrid tang of ink and the ability to write notes in margins or stick notes in-between certain papers...I don't want to have to scroll down to hit an arrow key when I want to turn a page -I'm still traumatized by the death of my Speak 'n' Spell!! Unless you're doing a lot of traveling and don't want to pay for a tonnage of books, a Kindle is not necessary. Paper should not be relegated to just something we wipe our asses with. Cherish your books people -and every chance you get -steal from libraries.

So there you have it -just a little bit of a recap of things that happened this year. I have thought about making resolutions for the coming year but really, I dislike the pressure and the faux accountability and pseudo-good intentions that come with it -I might as well just say that I am resolved to make it through the year, with minimal property damage, no unwanted pregnancies, no shotgun weddings and no cannibalization of babies. Unless it's warranted.

I wish you all the best, and please - be safe if you are engaging in year-end celebrations, including parties, bar-hopping, concerts, coitus with unfamiliar people, coitus with familiar people, family gatherings, over-priced food offerings and all of those other things which seem like really awesome ideas when you're liquored up and the countdown has begun, but which, upon waking up in the new year, just seem like a really horrible way to kick things off. Think twice...think once more for good measure -and then, make sure you've got enough money to post bail.

As for me...I'm spending a quiet night in with the kitties, movies, coffee and popcorn...while I wait eagerly for January 22nd, when Legion comes out and I can watch the world get god-fucked by a horde of angels who are after a pregnant chick guarded by Paul Bettany, Dennis Quaid, some underwear model guy and a hell of a lot of illicitly-procured firearms. Nothing says "Welcome to a New Year!" like the age-old struggle of good versus evil at a roadside diner in the middle of a desert with a demented ice cream man and an artery-chomping grandmother!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Bedbugs XCVIX

2009-12-31T10:52:00.004-05:00

Bedbugs XCVIX

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Working out the wickedness and black stains on
all our souls we keep from country and tell them
what happens on the next page, higher ups! They'd
panic less, if done! Time is so short..if you
decide it's that way. Isolated, so you don't have
to be. Go live your inauthentic gameplan you ordered
out of a catalog. She stopped caring who I am years
ago and I let it take years of love, of discovery,
of pages filled with words of knowledge and perfect..
whatever. Focus. The music won't go away, staying
up late to watch life unravel won't help. Just ignore
what you hear and sit at the desk daily and
fill pages. This is it. This can fix things.
I whisper to an office cellmate and we do.
The next day, the world is in color. Fantastic, pain-free
plans for all of us sounds like the right idea. Just
do the brave footwork others refuse. This may be it..
but when I wake upon day 3, I'm in a basement
from years ago. The record's there, not playing anything.
Swatting nails into your emotional patchwork as it
mesmerises and distracts others who are trapped here. Eager
doctors and needles are waiting. What do we
do? How to we..they're taking over, my hand starts
straining and the creative urge is sifting away..this
is almost the end..

The last chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-On a cold day in March
-as shethrows sticks
-is the language of spies
-too deep under bridges
-green ribbons
-she wanted to be in the mountains
-what I forgot to say was...

-Adam

MMIX (The Greater Good)

2009-12-30T04:04:00.007-05:00

Found Footage

No Sound
Goodbye you decade from hell.

Bedbugs XCVIII

2009-12-29T22:47:00.002-05:00

Bedbugs XCVIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Simultaneously gaining and losing
strength but I'll lose in the end
bat a second glance at a past failure
and you're done, kid. Intensity wings
strapped on back as a miscalculation
she should have been more sanitary get out
of my mind! Find out where I can and
how to get back on track with lives and
history and elements that could maybe
wipe out this horrible lonely place I'm growing
old in. Professional victims watch ticking
clocks while trying to drive and look back
simultaneously. Knowing feelings remain
won't five and two make disorientation.
Lie down but not for long. The song plays in
the basement but I know how to ignore it!
I think. Help me be my true self,
somebody! Are they becoming free?

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-tell them what happens on the next page
-isolated, so you don't have to be
-she stopped caring who I am years ago
-staying up late to watch
-fantastic pain-free plans for all of us
-swatting nails into your emotional
-this is almost the end

-Adam

Bedbugs XCVII

2009-12-28T23:33:00.003-05:00

Bedbugs XCVII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Coming to consciousness faster than ever
before as someone raises the world volume to
try and defeat me. Tell me your name once
more- probably rhymed with apathy. Step away.
Met her when she was 8. How old was I?
Will they even recognize me? They have been successful
for a long time. I tried but did not try enough.
Inspiration returns as I swim to the surface.
Future can be bright.. snapping sounds
in one's head. Try to focus. Self loathing
friends yearn to dish distracting advice.
Vision blurs a bit. Now what? Tell me who
are all of you?

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-bat a second glance
-wings strapped on back
-she should have been more sanitary
-professional victims
-knowing feelings remain
-five and two make
-are they becoming free?

-Adam

THE PARALLEL PATHS OF YALE AND ARLO

2009-12-28T23:12:00.005-05:00

2. On and On and On

An "Arlo" Story

by Brian Hughes

It’s a brisk and clear winter’s evening in New York City. Patients are being picked up and dropped off in wheel chairs outside New York Presbyterian Hospital. A man of slight build, unkempt black hair and bushy dark beard, sits on a bench just outside the main entrance – sobbing. This man of thirty years is Arlo. He rests his head in his two hands, and with elbows resting on his knees, lets the tears flow; with shoulders bouncing up and down, Arlo tries to catch his breath as passersby gawk; and just when Arlo thinks he has pushed out his last tear, more come – unexpectedly.
The scene keeps playing itself over and over again in his mind: how many times did his mother-in-law say it, with that winning smirk:
“It doesn’t matter … because if something happened to Noa, that would be the end of me Arlo. You wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of me. I’d swallow all the pills down right away.”
“Mom! Stop that! You’re nuts,” he remembers Noa saying, in what seems like a film of someone else’s life; because what is happening right now, this suffering, can’t really be happening.

***************************************************

Some of the best times he and Noa shared together were the glorious days of nothingness in their spacious one bedroom apartment. Arlo thrived on doing nothing; it was a trait he took advantage of and deplored in himself.
Waking up, they would stay in bed a little longer, dreaming about the children they hoped to have, volleying possible names back and forth:
“I’ve always loved ‘Hayden’ as a boy or girl name: What do you think of it?” Noa asks, as Arlo happily rubs a callous spot on the bottom of her foot – a spot that – when scratched – brings her enormous pleasure.
“I see Hayden as a girl’s name … it’s feminine. I just don’t see it as a boy’s name. ‘Hank’ – now that is a masculine name! That is one tough son-of-a-bitch.”
“Sounds like he spends his days hugging a beer in some dive bar. Awful. I should cut my hair: Is it getting too long?”
“No – it looks fabulous, what are you talking about?” Arlo says as her runs both his hands through.
“Shit – we have to pay bills tonight Sleepy.”
Noa called Arlo “Sleepy;” it was her nickname for him. Noa playfully envied Arlo’s ability to go to sleep at the drop of a dime – anytime, any place - while Noa fractured her sleep, mostly getting up to pee three or four times each morning.
Noa and Arlo are lying side by side, holding hands and staring at the ceiling as if it were a canvas in which they could paint their hopes. Arlo happily admits to himself that it feels good to finally feel like an adult when it came to his finances, his new friendships, his job, and especially his soul; it was a long time coming, and Arlo feels it’s finally okay to feel good about it – to bask in it’s well earned glory.
“You’ve done this for me, Noa. Since I have met you, I feel as if the shackles of bachelor-hood, of fear, have been blown right off. I look forward to fatherhood, to the challenges, and I look forward to sharing them with you.”
“Aw … Sleepy …”
Arlo feels child-like, hugging Noa a little further down, snuggled inside her, her arms around his shoulders. There is a security of content there he has never quite enjoyed nor known before.
“What are we going to do today?” Noa asks.
“You mean other than bills?”
“Well, yeah …”
“Absolutely nothing of consequence. We should just stay in, order in, the weather is shitty, watch a DVD, play backgammon, do some reading, catch up on some shit – you know, all of that: What about it? Does that sit well?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
There is a lot Arlo has to do. He desperately needs to catch up on some writing, clean up the bathroom, do the laundry; but after all the years of doing nothing and feeling guilty about it, there is very little guilt now, for in these moments in time, he is sharing the nothing with someone special.

*******************************************

Karen, Noa’s sister, is sitting at her mom’s hospital bedside, as Arlo enters the room. The onslaught of tears have washed the makeup from her wrinkled face. Both sets of eyes are red and swollen. Arlo stands against the wall, one sweatpant leg crossed in front of the other, staring at his mother-in-law, as she fights each breath. Neither acknowledges the other visually.
“Doesn’t she love me? Am I not worth living for?” Karen just stares hard at her mom, who has all sorts of tubes coming out of her. “She has grandchildren who want her in their lives and she goes and swallows these pills ; am I supposed to lose a sister and a mom?” Karen starts to sob, clutching to her damp handkerchief. Arlo embraces her around the shoulders. “What are we going to do without Noa? What are we going to do, Arlo? It’s so painful. I never imagined my baby sister would go before me - and with all my health issues. Why Noa? Why? Why? Why? Why?” Karen buries her face in Arlo’s tan corduroy jacket.
“I can’t think - my mind is just blank. I never realized life could be this sad. I don’t know what I’m going to do without Noa either,” Arlo says, unable to hold back his tears. “I waited so long to find her and she is gone like that. I don’t know what I’m going to do, I just don’t know what I am going to do,” Arlo says, energy fully depleted. Tank empty and gone, caressing Karen’s head.
“It’s not fair, I want her back. I want my sister back. It’s not fair…”
“It isn’t, I want her back to. It’s so painful.”
Arlo kneels down and embraces his sister-in-law, both breaking down, as machines click and beep and a game show host dole out the prizes on a small television hanging off the wall.

*********************************************

An 80s station is playing some classic tunes. Arlo sits on the floor in front of the couch – staring off – sobbing, sniffling, snot pouring forth. He wipes his face and nose on his t-shirt. He doesn’t give a rats’ ass about anything right now. Nothing gets in the way of the overwhelming numbness of loss: late bills can’t disturb it, his passion to finish his book is as helpful as used toilet paper; not even music, a faithful brother to Arlo in distressed times his whole life, can ease the ache that pains his heart.
The phone rings – threatening to wake him to his present reality – but he wants nothing of it, throwing a shoe and knocking it from the stand. Fuck the phone. Fuck everyone. Death to everyone! Arlo does not care anymore - for Noa is gone. He is having trouble remembering all the times they shared together, many joyous occasions; the specifics, the particulars, have faded, and this angers him – punching the rug with his fist.
“There will never, ever be anything like Noa Needleman. She will not grace this earth again and I can’t bare it. It was all so original. How her unique quirkiness brightened up the room. Man … so many people loved her. So many. All of them are in pain tonight, but not like my pain. It could never be like my pain."

**********************************************

Noa is sitting on the floor of their dining room, in her favorite pajamas, sorting through milk crates of presents from her “gift closet.”
“When are you going to stop buying presents for people? At some point, I think, you have to start giving them out,” Arlo says. “There is actual dust on them.”
“I know … I know … I have a problem,” Noa says with a smile, “whenever I see a cheapy gift that I know suits one of my friends, I have to pick it up for them.”
“Then you forget you have them!”
“I know! I’m such a spaz!”
“You’re my spaz, and I wouldn’t want you any other way,” Arlo says as he gets down on the floor and hugs her around, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead.”
“Thank you Sleepy.”
“I can’t keep from kissing you, especially in those precious pajama’s of yours.”
“A elf came up to me today and said that you were going to rub my feet tonight; is that true?”
“That elf must be reading my mail.”
Noa gives a big, goofy smile – the one Arlo fell in love with at The Bowery Ballroom three years back.
“Yes of course I will rub your cute little feet, Arlo says”
Noa applauds rapidly and smiles.

****************************************************

Rabbi Ableman talks from his desk at The Little Israel Synagogue:
“The Jewish way of dealing with death is one part of a larger philosophy of life in which all persons are viewed with dignity and respect. Our people believe that, even after death, the body, which once held a holy human life, retains its sanctity. Our sages have compared the sacredness of the deceased to that of an impaired Torah scroll which, although no longer useable, retains its holiness. In Jewish tradition, therefore, the greatest consideration and respect are accorded the dead. Jewish funerals avoid ostentation; family and visitors reflect in dress and deportment the solemnity of the occasion; flowers and music are inappropriate; embalming and viewing are avoided; and interment takes place as soon as possible after death.”
“So what you are saying is that I can’t bury her with her favorite stuffed animal and with her favorite sweater, and her two favorite albums and..” Arlo begins to become fraught.
“Calm down, Arlo …” Karen says.
“Jewish law prescribes burial in plain white shrouds to demonstrate the equality of all.”
“Noa, as far as I’m concerned, was not equaled with anyone. She was completely and entirely individual, and the world will never see her like again!”
“We accept our equality and humility in the face of death. Thus, we avoid ostentation and adhere to the same simplicity and dignity for the rich and the poor, the influential and the powerless, the famous and the little known. We face death without masquerade son. The hallmark of our practice is dust to dust.”
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it is, Arlo,” Karen says.
“Then why don’t we cremate her.”
“Bite your tongue!” replies Karen.
“It is against Jewish custom to desecrate the body,” the Rabbi says. |
“But what if I have it in writing that she wants to be cremated?”
“She never said she wanted to be cremated! Stop this right now Arlo! We are having a traditional, Jewish burial and that is it.”
“When was the last time you were in a synagogue? Huh? In all the time I was married with Noa, the only time she went to temple was because of circumstances that were not her own. This whole thing is a sham. No one in your immediate family is religious.”
“Rabbi, would you please excuse us.”
“I hope you’re not planning on burying her on Long Island. I strictly forbid it! Noa despised Long Island.”
Karen and Arlo storm out onto the sidewalk.
“Why are you being a pain in the ass? Aren’t we suffering enough?”
“I don’t want to disrespect Noa. She wanted to be cremated …”
“It’s not happening Arlo – get it out of your mind.”
“I will find it, and if she has it in writing, you won’t have a leg to stand on. A leg to stand on!”
“Aren’t we in enough pain? Are you paying for all of this? Who is?”
“I have Noa’s bank account and I can pay for it all myself.”
“Arlo, be reasonable. Noa was bot mitzvah’d. She wanted to put your kids through Hebrew school. She has a strong Jewish side and it will not be denied.”
“I will find it in writing. I will find where she wrote it down. I will.”
“You’re a shit, you know that? A real shit.”
Karen briskly walks back into the synagogue.
“I can’t do this. I can’t make it. I can’t go on without Noa. I can’t. I don’t have the strength,” Arlo says as he crouches at curbside and begins crying.

******************************************

Arlo walks into their apartment and drops his bag. The welcoming lights of the apartment house across the way beckons him. He keeps the lights killed. Grabbing his binoculars out of the dresser drawer, he zeros in on some locals, carrying on with their lives. I doubt any of these people are suffering through the pain I am right now, while they read their books and do dishes and fumble through laundry bags. I could really use a pair of tits right now. I need a woman to come out of a bathroom completely naked, thinks Arlo as he passes from one window to the next with his voyeur glasses. I will stand here, I will wait, for I have nothing to do, and I have nowhere to go. I am here, with nothing to do, with nothing to love, with nothing to receive love. I am an empty, full-bodied vacuum waiting on you to show me your fucking goods. Come out now, out of your bathrooms, out of your bedrooms, and expose your flesh to me. The real me is the me standing before this window, clutching his cock, waiting for you to disrobe before my binocular eyes.
And then the voice on top of the voice says: how can you engage in this mindless, callous activity, when you have suffered an unspeakable loss? Have you no soul? Arlo drops the binoculars at his side and clutches his face with his hands; a guttural yell follows as he drops his body onto the couch.
The apartment, every corner, contains a memory, a story, every frame and hook: There is the framed Ketubah commemorating their blessed wedding, the tall cd tower from which they plucked the music that soundtracked their lives together; and the tiny, Fisher Price figures created to look exactly like Robert Smith and The Cure, along with the unstable banister that Arlo was just too lazy to fix. I don’t want anything to do with a funeral, with anything, with anything at all. I just want to go, leave – be where no one knows my pain, where I can perhaps start over. How can I start over? She has sustained me and now she is gone. What am I to do? What? Arlo clutches the throw pillow to his face, dampening it with his tears. I have to find where she wrote about being cremated. Yes. I have to do that, there is no time left.
Arlo begins with the small alcove that acted as her home office: spiral notebooks and folders containing receipts, bill stubs, newspaper clippings; Arlo looks through them all, flipping page after page, scanning – nothing. He lifts up pads, looking behind books, sifting through post it notes attached to the wall – nowhere. He turns, feels for his chin, and remembers the lock box she had. He is sure her wishes are stowed away in that little metal box, but where is it? Arlo looks under the bed first, knowing full well it would never be under there. He snatches the step stool and climbs up into the upper shelves of her clothes closet, pushing and parting t-shirts with his hands – scouring behind Noa’s fetish for shoe boots.
I don’t want to be near anyone I know; I know that is selfish, but my heart hurts so bad, that I just want to be in a room alone for as long as it takes – like a withdrawal. I keep playing in my head the moments when she knew she was going to die, that I couldn’t be there to protect her, to hold her, die for her, with her. I don’t know how I am going to deal with me being alive and Noa not being alive. I don’t believe I have the courage to kill myself – maybe. It’s so painful. I just feel as if I’ve been squeezed into this tiny cage of pain, unable to move my arms or legs. I don’t know what to do. I weep openly in public; it is uncontrollable.
And everything is happening so fast – so fucking fast! A few days ago we were talking about what we would name our children, and now I have no plans, no wife, no nothing at all. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. I would rather slowly suffer on the electric chair than have to endure this.
Arlo pulls on the mattress and lets it slip to the carpet – nothing under there. Next the box spring, tearing into the fabric, he finds nothing inside, underneath or around it. He cries. He has destroyed the box spring. Now he has no bed. Great.
In the cupboards above the microwave, Arlo pulls down the can of peas, the boxes of pasta to get behind them, searching, the sauce shattering glass and red stuff on the linoleum: couscous thrown over his shoulder, and walnuts and vegetable oil. Nowhere in the cupboards does Arlo find a document stating Noa wanted to be cremated.
With a roar, and one arm, he lays to waste the dining room table, with its glass vase and dieing flowers, bills, dirty food plates and yellow stickies with important information scrawled all over. It’s over, nothing lasts, the fruit tree, the vase, Noa, nor the apartment. It all dies, it all suffers and hurts, and Arlo is going to have his physical say with whatever stands in his way.
Does it say anything about cremation on the orange plastic bottles in the medicine cabinet? No – well, trashed to the floor it goes. The toilet seat, the medicine cabinet, nor the mirror is spared Arlo’s brutality, as he smashes a bottle of perfume against it.
Taking a kitchen knife to the fluffy, forest-green couch, he searches the inner lining for his answer and comes up with nothing still.
And by the end of two hours, Arlo sits a defeated soul, bereft of Noa, yet left with all the materials of everyday life shattered and collapsed around him.

*********************************************************

Mourners pay their respect by sitting Shiva with Arlo and the rest of he and Noa’s immediate family. They all eat solemnly, mirrors covered up - while Arlo stares off on autopilot, thanking mindlessly those whom have paid their call. He has no desire to head back to work, to be a “sad story” amongst his co-workers, friends and acquaintances. All he wants is to just be a satellite gliding through vast space, not stopping anywhere – circling, drifting. That is his only desire right now.
Maybe I have to go against my core beliefs, he thinks, watching mourners mourn, but not really mourning; perhaps I have to start believing in heaven. Maybe, just maybe it is true. Maybe I’ll see her again there.

Arlo finds himself standing upon the broken steps that lead to the gymnasium of his old Catholic grammar school. A graveled parking lot stretches out behind him. Blue, red and green lights shoot through the crack in the large, metal gym doors, as pop music thumps beyond. Opening the doors, Arlo finds a school social in full swing: seventh and eight graders dancing about, drinking punch, playing practical jokes on one another, and standing mystified before the DJ. Arlo walks the perimeter of the gym, just like he did in the old days – forever a wallflower. It doesn’t shock him at all that he’s walked right into his past, with Ronald Jefferies hanging out with Billy Taben, and the ever popular Jamie Reynolds dancing with sweet Clara Delfinio; and the hall monitors, who were probably mostly dead by now, watching over everything. Miss Scoyak is there – the first teacher Arlo was ever hot for. And the look on Arlo’s face is one of marvel, as he crosses his arms and stands in the shadow, watching all his old classmates dancing with goofy determination. And little Arlo, chubby and self conscious, hangs with a few of his other nervous buddies, happy not to get involved, yet deeply yearning to be popular, to be dancing with the cute girls. Arlo can hardly look at his younger version without squirming. What a site? But on this night, little Arlo will get his chance to be popular for just a little while.
Noa – in her ever graceful, adult form, walks to the center of the dance floor, arms outstretched – beckoning the young tyke to step forward. Little Arlo suddenly has very little fear, as he slowly saunters toward her arms. It’s impossible for little Arlo to envision anyone prettier in the whole entire world. With just a few feet between them, little Arlo leaps forward and allows himself to be enveloped by her comforting arms. A peaceful smile arises on Noa’s face, trying to hold back tears as she smooths the younger Arlo’s hair.
“It seems we stood and talked like this once before,” cries little Arlo.
“It’s going to be okay … shhhhh … it’s going to be okay, Arlo,” Noa says, little Arlo sniffling and squeezing and crying little tears. “You’ll be okay. It’s going to be fine. Shhhh.”
Arlo’s fellow students spread out, grab each other’s hands, and circle the couple, caroling them to a Neil Young ballad.

Read part 1 (a "Yale" Story) - Designed To Die here

Bedbugs XCVI

2009-12-27T23:17:00.002-05:00

Bedbugs XCVI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Fight it. You're so close to a simple truth uncovered.
Ignore what you hear and create your own stimuli.
Stuck in the mud today are most others- dizzy spells
begin if approached. Run! Anywhere!
The chain pointless junctures punctured like the rib
basement no longer houses the minds of men who are
able to turn away. Wind's picking up.
We're wasting and spanning time, in black and white
spinning wheels for years. Resist. Waiting for a
good line is no excuse! It's so cold..resist.
They look comfortable but they are not. The footwork.
That's it. All that can save you. That's it!
Challenges ahead? Welcomed.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-tell me your name once more
-met her when she was 8
-will they even recognize me?
-inspiration returns
-future can be bright
-self loathing friends
-who are all of you?

-Adam

Bedbugs XCV

2009-12-15T22:15:00.002-05:00

Bedbugs XCV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

The voices told us sit back in our chairs,
everything would be all right. I do, this time.
Omnivores gather at dawn, my mind coughs out.
What was before seven? If we stay here, we die.
All now dead. Even the gibberish here is shallow. Aging
mentally when you say the word don't tell her you love
her again was the other thought I had upon waking.
Angering a false god is on the to-do list.
Will I ever get back where I wanted to be?
Will anyone consider walking that path
with me? Presented for your approval are my sins.
In just weeks- is that music I hear?

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-stuck in the mud today
-pointless junctures
-basement no longer houses the
-we're wasting and spanning time
-waiting for a good line
-the footwork. That's it.
-challenges ahead? Welcomed.

-Adam

Five installments remain in the Bedbugs series,
which will end on New Year's Eve.

Bedbugs XCIV

2009-12-15T21:55:00.002-05:00

Bedbugs XCIV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Help me get back on track! Why do I need help?
Nobody owes me and my mind, nobody can
stop it, I'm told and it's long overdue. Try to
stay on the road, where's my cut of the income?
Propelled to the a force to behold on stage blasts
through layers of flesh and regret and we have the
proper image now, like it or not. It's in sight.
The horizon-overcast inside, twice if not a million
times. Adjust thought if needed, encouraged. We
are lost again. She doesn't mind. I'm anxious. Now what?
Don't let them hurt you again. Exorcise what's ailing you.
Simple solution? One hopes and prays. No matter what so
very soon now, it ends.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-omnivores gather at dawn
-if we stay here we die
-aging mentally when you say the word
-don't tell her you love her again
-angering a false god
-presented for your approval
-is that music I hear?

-Adam

Better Living Through Absurdity...After the Hiatus of the Ridiculous

2009-12-08T12:47:00.003-05:00

Like pancakes when you wanted a steak...I happen when you least expect it. Or something.

So, you know how people get drunk and they call friends or former lovers - or friends that they wish were former lovers, or those numbers that are in their phone with names that sound vaguely like former friends, lovers, former friends of lovers or that person they met that one time at that one party that they think was kind of cute and they kind of seemed into them but they can't really peg who they are or why they are even in their phone or if in fact they are a real person and not a figment of bathroom stall fantasies -anyway, they call at really inappropriate times like 3am, and they say really inappropriate things that you always kind of knew they thought but never wanted to hear voiced out loud? And they ask you questions that they answer themselves or that don't even have answers or that you wouldn't ever want to answer because you know it's a horrible trap. And they ask you why, you know, you and they, you know, never, you know, you know, right? And then they manage to simultaneously give you a backhanded compliment and a thinly veiled insult at the same time, and at some point they also call your taste in other people into question, while lamenting the fact that all of the people they've hooked up with are crazy, inadequate, poor, crazy, slaggish, inadequate, crazy, and to quote, "fuckin' whack." And throughout this debacle of a confession, their voice slowly begins to turn mushy, like a marshmallow melting over an open flame, a gooey, saccharine mess of ick that you just want to escape from but it's clinging to you like it's going to embed itself in your pores and worm its way into your marrow and slowly take over your soul, and this is when the "I love you's" start...or, if they're being honest, the, "I really just want to fuck SOMEBODY because I'm drunk and feeling inadequate and crazy and poor and crazy and you were the fifth person I called but the first two don't count because I'm not gay and anyway, I thought of you first but it's not my fault your last name starts with a B, and really isn't the point that you're awake and I'm awake and I'm too drunk to do anything but lie here and drool on my phone in the hopes that you'll get out of bed and come over to my apartment that I share with four other people who probably like you more than they like me, and you'll take me in your arms and tell me I'm the best ever and you'll ignore the smell of stale macaroni, wilted bouquets and wet paper, and we'll go on the tilt-a-whirl and eat cotton candy and...hey who's this sexy lady telling me I need to hang up and dial an operator? Why would I want to call anyone else when I could listen to her dulcet tones informing me that I've totally made an ass of myself, been rejected and I'm too imbecilic to figure it out, but in such a soothing and pleasant way, that the sting of having my 3am attempt for sub-par pseudo sex declined for the fifth time, is erased, leaving a contented blur of operator-lady-induced-euphoria in its wake.

Those people.

I don't do that.

I get jacked up on cold medicine and go without sleep for 24 hours and lose my voice and THEN I call friends at the perfectly respectable time of 10:30am and I tell them how I know I'm sick, namely because it's 23 degrees and snowing and I think it feels like a balmy spring day, and the fact that I looked at my cat and said, "It's okay, Mommy's just a bit 'wooOOOoooo'" while twirling my finger around, and the fact that I walk around the house asking myself questions and I answer all of them with, "'Ave a banana." And that I just wanted to share this part of myself with them, the sick, vulnerable, creaking and borderline homicidal part of me that sounds like aliens came down and ripped out my voice and my dignity and left behind something that sounds like a rusted tin can, a burning orphanage, a piece of corrugated cardboard soaked in turpentine, a bag of hot nickels and a bottle of bottom shelf rum that even the poxiest of dockside whores would say tastes like swill, along with the remnants of a really bad acid trip, Andy Warhol and Diane Sawyer's love child and rejects from a do-it-yourself taxidermy project...because I LOVE them, and I wanted them to know. And I also hope that they remembered to pick up laundry detergent at the store. And then, in a sad, weary tone, I close with the frank and honest admittance that I'm not fit for human conversation. Or consumption. Possibly contortion. And as I say goodbye, with a bit of wonder in my voice I inform them that my fever has broken.

This way -I can totally look them in the eye the next time we meet. Which will be probably a year or more from now, maybe never, since I'm not so jacked up that I didn't remember to call people who are at least a 5 hour plane flight away from me!

(sorry Adam)

Peter's Film Viewing Journal (Beeswax)

2009-11-18T16:49:00.008-05:00

An attempt to write my random and initial thoughts for every film (of note) that I see, especially retrospective selections I have viewed on the big screen, with little editing and lots of brevity and focusing on thoughts/reaction, not criticism; taking the tone of "notes to self".

Beeswax
2009
Directed By: Andrew Bujalski
Screened @ Symphony Space in NYC

Finally saw Beeswax at Symphony Space. Nice theater, the Leonard Nimoy - they have what kind of amounts to a long couch in the middle of the space. We had it to ourselves. Melissa took her shoes off and pretty much laid down. Felt strange to get that comfortable in a theater. But that's what was cool.

There is too much to say about this film and I simply don't have the proper means of expressing it properly. I really feel like people don't fully understand what Bujalski has done here.

I feel like I watched a movie without performances, which make them, in actuality, absolutely incredible performances. Particularly the Hatcher twins and Anne Dodge, who I think should get some supporting actress, end of the year nods, but won't, because as I said - It doesn't feel like she is performing AT ALL. There were some scenes that I was simply astounded at the tone and level of reality. But what was really amazing for me was the way that Bujalski was able to slide in and carry out the narrative completely "under the radar"; so much so that people might actually not even realize that it was "written". This, to me, is an incredible accomplishment.

Melissa, had an interesting reaction to the film. She said she didn't like any of the characters except the Asian girl (Atietie Tonwe) that came in in the end of the film just for a moment. She felt like she was the only person that was different from the others, that all the other characters where exactly the same and that she suspected that Bujalski would have molded her into being like the others if he had more time with her, but because she was only in it for a moment, she had her own personality and that none of the other characters did.

She didn't like any of the characters, thought they had no "real reaction" to anything that was happening, and hated that there was no resolution. "But I was engaged throughout the whole thing," she said. I asked her why. She took some time and said, "I don't know."

When I was in film school, in the mid 90s, I spouted on about how I thought the next step to strive for in performance would be one in which the actors are totally not even talking for the camera in any way, that they are just talking only for each other, to the extent that the audience could actually think they are not even trying to be heard by the mic. I felt that this would lead to a greater reality in the film, so long as other convention tools were not discarded. (I have, since then, tried this to some extent in my own films) People totally didn't get what I was talking about. But now I feel like the evolution of Bujalski's films has lead to this film, which is, in a way, what I was dreaming of back then. As an audience member this is very exciting to me.

-Peter Rinaldi

Peter's Film Viewing Journal (The Resnais-ties Festival : Part 1)

2009-11-11T12:49:00.005-05:00

An attempt to write my random and initial thoughts for every film (of note) that I see, especially retrospective selections I have viewed on the big screen, with little editing and lots of brevity and focusing on thoughts/reaction, not criticism; taking the tone of "notes to self".
Alain Resnais (pronounced like the name"Rene") is a filmmaker I have come to admire only recently, having seen the incredible Last Year at Marienbad, for the first time, in a theater earlier in the year. That expereince, combined with my appreciation for his first non-documentary feature Hiroshima Mon Amour has sent me looking for more of his work.

Resnais is one of the lucky filmmakers who have their significantly lesser known films available on DVD in America. A number of films he did in the 80s have been put out from Kimstim in a box set called Alain Resnais, a Decade in film. I decided to view some of these to get an idea of what he has done in the latter part of his career. (I caught his newest film Wild Grass at the New York Film Festival in September. It was wild indeed. Need to see that one again before I can get my head around it)

Love Unto Death
1984
Directed By: Alain Resnais
DVD

When I was watching this one, I kept thinking about Fassbinder. Not because they have the same style, but because they both share a very similar combination of playfulness and command of the cinematic language.

He does an interesting, bordering on annoying, thing in this film - he separates almost every scene with a shot of stars shimmering and a musical interlude. It is strange but sometimes very nice.

He does a nice job of eloquently addressing love's relationship with death. The acting is top notch and on an equal level. A really nice surprise.

Melo
1986
Directed By: Alain Resnais
DVD

As much as I have grown into someone who has a large problem with films that do not act like films (by this I mean ones that rely too much upon story, or ones that rely too much on dialogue thereby acting more like literature or plays than the visual medium of film) I also despise when something is dismissed simply for these reasons.

This film, Melo, is taken from a play and adapted by Resnais himself (very rare for him to write his own screenplay apparently) and he has no problem in shooting it like he were shooting a play on the stage- long takes, all interiors, very artificial looking sets. It kind of shocked me that this master of the film form should abandon all that technique this time out. It almost felt like an experiment, one to see if he could shoot something and make it feel completely NOT like a film.

If the acting would've not been as good as it is, this would have been interminable. And yet, I couldn't be pulled away from it. I still felt like I was in the hands of a master. What a filmmaker! Even his disasters are interesting and spellbinding.

More to come...

-Peter Rinaldi

Peter's Film Viewing Journal (Il Grido)

2009-11-10T01:47:00.004-05:00

Peter's Film Viewing Journal (The Touch)

2009-11-09T00:21:00.004-05:00

An attempt to write my random and initial thoughts for every film (of note) that I see, especially retrospective selections I have viewed on the big screen, with little editing and lots of brevity and focusing on thoughts/reaction, not criticism; taking the tone of "notes to self".

The Touch
1971
Directed By: Ingmar Bergman
Screened at MOMA, November 8th 2009

I am not a big Bergman fan. In fact, I tried to watch Wild Strawberries a little bit ago and couldn't get far at all. Not really sure what bugs me about him. But MOMA has this Film Preservation program every year where they screen the films that have been lucky enough to get restored or preserved that year. One of these films this year was The Touch, Directed by Ingmar Bergman from 1971, not a very well know Bergman selection at all. It stars Elliot Gould, for Heaven's sake.

You can see why this one didn't really rise out of the' obscure' status. Another somber adultery premise, with Bibi Andersson as a seemingly happy mother and wife and Gould as an eccentric archeologist with whom she has a strange, intense affair.

There were a tremendous amount of annoying people around me at this screening. Two old women behind me kept clicking their tongue against their teeth at the screen to create the universal sound for disapproval or shame. The woman next to me kept talking to herself, "Wow." or "Why is she doing that?", so often it was alarming. If I had been captured by this film, I would've given these freaks a piece of my mind, but the fact is I was finding it hard to get into this one. The camera was doing a lot of wacky things. Strange zooms, quick pans. The editing was also erratic and almost experimental. Not so sure what Bergman's other films from this period are like, but this one was strange.

I was really there for what followed, an hour long doc on the making of The Touch called, simply Ingmar Bergman. This was really great because it showed the director at work in long takes and up close. You really got an idea of how this man worked. There is a nice sequence where he tries to explain to Andersson why the pants that she is wearing are not going to work for the scene. It goes on in real time for, like 10 minutes. Maybe this would be boring to someone else, but it was fascinating to me. I can watch a great director at work for hours and hours. So it was very interesting to see an up close making-of doc right after seeing the film. On the way out a stranger just said to me out of the blue, "It feels like just worked on this movie for months, doesn't it?" I agreed.

-Peter Rinaldi

Peter's Film Viewing Journal (Metropolis)

2009-11-05T00:09:00.005-05:00

I'd like to try to write my random and initial thoughts for every film (of note) that I see starting today, especially retrospective selections I have viewed on the big screen, with little editing and lots of brevity and focusing on thoughts/reaction, not criticism; taking the tone of "notes to self".

Metropolis
Dir. Fritz Lang
1927
Screened at MOMA on November 4 2009

I am embarrassed to say that I had never seen this legendary silent film. I am not sure why. But I jumped at the chance to see it on the big screen. Unfortunately I found myself extremely fatigued suddenly right before the film was to begin. So much so that I actually closed my eyes and dosed off. I don't recall ever doing that in a theater.

So needless to say, I was struggling to stay awake during the beginning of the film. But I soon regained control of myself. I was a little surprised about this film. I was expecting, having heard so much about it over the years, to be constantly bombarded with expressionistic and futuristic sets and designs. This wasn't so. It was very much seeped in a "silent drama" essence.

Lang is an amazing filmmaker. There is no way you can approach his stuff, considering the time period, and not leave in awe. But, just like with his Mabuse, The Gambler film, I really found it hard to follow a lot of the time. Could this be because I was half awake? Maybe.

I really responded to the expressionist moments in the film, and not so much the futuristic aspects. That was surprising. But the bottom line is I need to see this classic again, with some energy.

-Peter Rinaldi

2009-10-07T15:56:00.002-04:00

October 2, 2007

SIN-E-FILE (Remodernist Film)

2009-10-05T03:50:00.005-04:00

I have the sin of the cinephile - Jean Luc Godard

I am very honored to have a short essay in the new MungBeing Magazine (a wonderful online publication) about my good friend Jesse Richard's Remodernist Film Manifesto.

The Remodernist Film Movement calls for a new spiritually in cinema. If interested, I suggest you read Jesse's Remodernist Film Primer, the Manifesto, THEN, my essay.

-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs XCIII

2009-09-17T21:24:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs XCIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

After a long blackout I am awake. I am here,
I am present. Many have been lost
and abandoned and burned out and never returned
to help. Ideas, or friends? Gather both
and lost in the tunnel is where I often
am found, reported, measuring what makes a man
has become a full time job. How to stop
wasting time? Concentrating on it is needed
to be discarded and slain, not mastered.
I remember our first date. I remember our
third anniversary of the day you left. Do you
hear music? No, I hear panic. Both
are familiar. Tell them both before you leave
and then succeed by being manchildren
behind a good man's back. Anxiety
growing as things darken. Someone has started
a new song. Can you help me with any
dilemma? Here's the thing. Nobody owes
you shit. And with that, you are free to make
your own road. And you can truly make it.
That red streak in your hair is beautiful.
Finish line is in sight.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-Nobody can stop it, I'm told
-where's my cut of the income
-a force to behold on stage
-we have the proper image now
-overcast inside, twice
-exorcise what's ailing you
-very soon now, it ends

-Adam

Six Word Theater

2009-09-17T12:19:00.002-04:00

Click here for the previous entry.

Inspired by the challenge of telling a story in six words,
I attempt to polish my skills by writing a six-word
story or phrase whenever I can.

Feel free to "continue the story" or start your own
in the comments.

Today's entry:

Found love; lost the instruction manual.

-A.B.

THE PARALLEL PATHS OF YALE AND ARLO

2009-08-29T21:41:00.008-04:00

1. Designed To Die

A "Yale" Story

by Brian Hughes

“This is a real show stopper folks: high, tin ceilings, fluted plaster cornices, pocket doors, raised-panel wood accents, etched glass, custom window treatments, and gleaming pine and hardwood floors,” says a snazzy dressed real estate agent, wearing suspenders and Tom Ford glasses.

“Is there central air and heating throughout?” asks a twenty-something prospective buyer, as he and several couples are escorted around an elegant, pre-war brownstone, on the Upper West Side, New York City.
“Yes, in fact, it’s a relatively new central air and heating system. Let me escort you to the second floor,” says the broker as he guides them up the staircase. “As you’ll see, we have a huge, master suite with skylights, ceiling fan, recessed lighting, his and her California closets, and a full bath with a deep whirlpool tub with separate shower.” The couples nod and smile in approval as the broker opens the master bedroom door. The prospective buyers look on in puzzlement: a mirror and bureau adjacent to the king size bed, has been converted to a makeshift shrine, accented by framed photos, burning candles, incense and two, stuffed toy gorillas. The focal point of the shrine is a middle-age woman with tight, red curls and a slab of gray hair. The broker begins to close the door. “Well, that was the master bedroom, and as you can see …”
“Excuse me, Sir, but I’d like to take a look inside the master bedroom,” says another potential buyer, a gentleman wearing an ascot.
“Why, of course.”
The gentleman walks in. Couples follow behind him. They peruse the spacious bedroom. A preppie resembling a “Kennedy” opens a double-swing door. An avalanche of stuffed, toy gorillas fall to his feet. A few giggles are heard.
“It’s awfully cold and musty: Did someone die in this room?” the gentleman with the ascots asks, pointing toward the shrine.
“No. Not in this house. No,” says the broker, looking down at his watch.
A young woman, flush with rosy cheeks, round, pleasant eyes, and wide hips, makes her way into the master kitchen. She is embarrassed to find a thin man stirring sauce at the stove.
“Oh! Excuse me … I am sorry. I should have known someone was in here. My nose led the way.” The man doesn’t look at her, but carefully sprinkles oregano while churning the sauce. Slash-mouthed with high cheekbones, the man seems entirely unapproachable and morose. Around his waist is tied an apron saying “Margo’s Kitchen.” Unable to get any type of response, the prospective buyer looks about the kitchen, “Do you live here?”
The man turns his head, and with swollen, blood-shot eyes, says, “Can you please direct all your inquisitions to the real estate broker. That’s what I pay him for. Now – if you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh … okay … yes, I’m sorry,” says the rotund woman as she backs out of the kitchen. The man picks up a clear, plastic baggy and scoops out a fine, powdery, gray substance with a teaspoon and dabbles it inside the sauce. He stares after it as it falls.

**********************************************************

The broker walks into the kitchen, hands in pocket. The young man eats his pasta and carefully reads The Bhagavad-Gita.
“Hey, Yale.” Yale refuses to look up. “Could you do me a favor? Is it at all possible to act less strange?”
This gets Yale’s attention.
“We are trying to sell this wonderful brownstone, Yale. 4 million dollars, do you understand? I need your help. Potential buyers are getting creeped out.”
“Do your job,” Yale says with menace.
“Could you please remove the shrine for the next open house?”
Yale stands, sauce on his mouth. “I am suffering! What is your excuse? I will suffer and mourn as I see fit. You conduct your job as you see fit. Don’t tell me how to mourn. You do your job, and I’ll do mine!”
“Okay, Yale. All right. Just asking for a little help. Forget it. I’ll call you tomorrow.” The broker storms out of the kitchen

*********************************************************

Yale sits upright and with straight posture on a bar stool in front of a Maggiolini style round table. He crazy glues into place a series of Star Trek, Franklin Mint, glass chess pieces onto the board with delicacy. They are becoming frozen in mid play. Yale stares down at the pieces but is slowly losing composure. His hands begin to quiver as tears begin to well up in his eyes. He places his hands at the side of the stool and grips on tightly as if he were going to be propelled into the air. A smattering of horns are heard in the distance, but the lonely chill of the townhouse shatters out the cacophonic world as Yale screams:
“How could you … you …? Fuck! How could you? You make a move and … and … and you fall over – and that’s it? This is how all our memories and love ends? In a flash you bitch! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!!! Yale shakes the stool from both sides as it tips over, sending Yale to the floor. He lifts the stool, and throws it into a mirror, making a thousand pieces of it. He slams the walls with open palms, “Cunt, fuck, cunt, fuck, cunt, fuck, motherfucker!!!” Yale kicks the wall, then crumbles against it, face buried in his open hands. His tears and runny nose garble his words: “You would just never listen … to me, to anyone … you just couldn’t live right …”

*********************************************************

Yale walks carefully down the steps of his brownstone carrying a huge box of stuffed gorillas: amusement park gorillas, raffle-winning gorillas, Build-A-Bear gorillas, you name it, all of different shapes and sizes. With one heave, Yale tosses the lot of them into a colossal, metal garbage bin parked outside, bursting with furniture, paintings, rugs, household appliances and memories. Yale steps up onto the bin and looks inside, giving everything lying in there one last look over. There is nothing worth saving anymore. He steps back down and brushes the dust of his golf shirt and khaki pants. He doesn’t know what to do, other than walk. His mind is refusing to think. Has no need to think. He feels like walking as if a small child controlled his movements, as if he were a battery-operated toy. He walks into a Catholic Church. Like so many times before, he’s hoping for something, an answer, an epiphany. Unloading a stack of change, Yale lights every votive candle available in the vestibule. Above the bank of candles is a statue of Mary. Mary and Yale share a solemn look.

A porter with a walrus mustache and a broom stands behind both of them. “What, you trying to burn the whole church down?” says the porter with a chuckle.

Yale turns morosely to the porter. “No,” he replies, and saunters off into Nave.
Walking down a side aisle, past grayness, stone and maroon pews, Yale turns his collar up and stares at the Stations of the Cross. The Ninth Station: Jesus Falls For The Third Time. Yale considers himself lucky as he looks up at the picture of the suffering Christ. Technically he has only fallen this one time. Losing some pets and relatives he didn’t care for all that much could hardly be called a “fall.” Poor Jesus Christ, Yale contemplates, as he walks past the alter, choosing the closest pew. Yale sits for some time – staring straight ahead toward the alter, toward the Presider’s Chair. After a time he gets the attention of the porter, who stairs at Yale from behind a stone column. Feeling nothing but a chill, Yale gets up and walks out of the church, all the candles in the vestibule having been extinguished with his passing.

Yale lets the street lights guide him through an aimless walk, still feeling nothing, yet seeing images of Margo painting her toenails and making toast. Everyday stuff performed by a being like no other, a being that will never grace the face of the earth again. One foot in front of the other without so much as a plan. Margo is gone. That quick. Without a warning or preparation. All the clichés you can think of are just that until the hot spotlight shines on you something fierce. Most of the time it’s just news on television, and you manage to avoid it, but eventually - it catches up with you. Yale was not prepared. Yale’s ego supplied a most beautiful distraction all these years. Now he couldn’t find his ego with a GPS system. All this time – wasted. Why couldn’t he prepare for this moment? Why had he thought, like so many, that he was invincible, that this day would come – but not now.
The frustration and pain is funneling to the top of his head like a tornado as he drops to the concrete floor, writhing in anguish – shaking, convulsing, cheeks blowing in and out, in and out. Beating his face and torso with closed fists, he churns across the cold pavement, passersby stepping out of the way, scurrying away, avoiding this person’s pain with indifference germane to city existence. A patrolman’s car pulls up onto the sidewalk just in front of Yale. Cops approach Yale carefully, hands hovering over their steel.

*********************************************************

A mental health professional sits across from Yale, assessing his situation. The room is quite sterile accept for the framed family portraits resting next to an outdated computer atop a beaten up desk. Yale is slumped, tired, bored.
“Are you taking any anti-depressant medications?”
“No.”
“Have you ever stayed at a mental facility for any length of time?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
Yale pauses.
“No.”
“Have you ever contemplated suicide?”
“No.”
“Have you ever thought of killing someone else?”
“No.”
“What are you feeling at this present time?”
“No.”
“I said ‘What are you feeling at this time?’”
“I said ‘no’.”
“Okay … why no?”
Yale pauses again.
“No.”
The mental health professional sighs and takes some notes while looking over her paperwork. She loves what she does, but assholes like this test her patience.
“Your social security number?”
“No, no, no, dash, no, no, dash, no, no, no.”

*********************************************************

Yale is on the telephone. The townhouse is almost completely empty, save for a few pieces of furniture purchased by the new owners.
“Yes, I have it,” Yale says. “I am looking to arrive tomorrow morning. I’m still not certain how long I’ll be staying. The journey is … shall we say… uncertain …” Yale shakes his head, looking up to the ceiling, a hint of a smile – his first. “Thank you very much. I look forward to meeting you.”
Yale walks to the center of the main room, hands comfortably inside the pockets of his drawstring, khaki pants. He gets one more sniff, one more sensory perception of the place. An overstuffed camping backpack awaits his attention.

********************************************************

Yale sits on some rocks at the base of the East River, on the Brooklyn side, Manhattan Bridge overlooking him. He removes the clear, plastic baggy of fine, powdery, gray substance he had in the kitchen. He sticks his nose to the mouth of the baggy and sniffs; then turning the bag upside down, he empties the powder into the river. Yale scrunches up his knees and takes them around with his arms, crying, watching the swirl of powder as it shines against the lights of the bridge.

Five Word Festival

2009-08-27T16:20:00.003-04:00

Inspired by Six Word Theater

Comedy:
Boy touches girl. Girl leaves.

Romance:
Boy touches girl. Girl comes.

Horror:
Boy touches girl. Girl Bleeds.

Tragedy:
Boy touches girl. Girl laughs.

Children's
Boy touches girl. Girl's 'it'.

-Peter Rinaldi

Julie & Julia by Frank Palmcoast

2009-08-10T01:03:00.002-04:00

When he's not watching, with beads of sweat, his fellow, legally blind, senior citizens parallel park, Frank Palmcoast is catching seven dollar movies at the local multiplex from sunny Pompano Beach, Florida. He's retired, he's angry at the world, he can't spell to save his life, and he hates Hollywood almost as much as Hillary Clinton, but that will not stop our irreverent, dementia fightin', AARP card carrying everyman from giving us a fresh take on all things Hollyweird. Besides, how can he pass up that marvelous senior citizen discount?

*****************************************

Can Julie and Julia withstand the heat of Palmcoasts' kitchen?

*****************************************

This flick is about two chicks with similar sounding names doing food. Just note how desperate Palmcoast is, having to see Julia Child's bio. Honestly, I had two selfish reasons in seeing Julie & Julia, one, I have often enjoyed Beef Bourguignon and secondly, I have the utmost hopes that this will inspire Mrs. Palmcoast to new culinary heights. This movie is charming and brought to life by the shear genius of Meryl Streep and it sure takes a professional to play a professional. Pardon me, but Streep looks a lot like Susan Boyle when she's done up like Julia Child. Tucci, Julia's husband, is brilliant and for me, one of the best character actors Hollyweird has to offer. Upon seeing this movie, I suspect many will go out and buy a cookbook and I hope my wife is one. Hollyweird had to get political with the line"If I were a Republican, I would have fired you" and all the uunnecessarytalk about McCarthyism. I was happy to see that all the sex was confined to marriage. Over all a well cooked meal and when the movie was over we all had a tremendous appetite for something to eat. Bon Apetit!
The Palmcoast

SIN-E-FILE (Hash)

2009-08-06T01:14:00.005-04:00

-Was "away" for a while. Sometimes that is not a bad thing.

-Funny People should've been called "Slightly amusing 2-dimensionals".

-In the new book Action!: Interviews with directors from classic Hollywood to Contemporary Iran, regarding Manderlay, Lars Von Trier says:

"If I were to criticize this film, it is that it is too smart. Story-wise everything fits too well. It's superficial in that sense. I blame myself for doing things for the smartness of it, instead of for what I really feel. It's not the kind of director I want to be."

He may have touched on something I was having such a hard time articulating lately. Most modern filmmakers wouldn't beat themselves up for doing something for the "smartness of it". If anything, they would be proud of it. As a result, we have superficial "smartness". I would rather see failed sentiment. But for some odd reason, "smartness" is often knee-jerkingly championed. We need to demand more from our artists.

-Bujalski's Beeswax opens at Film Forum Friday. Let's hope he continues his careering away from "smartness".

-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs XCII

2009-07-23T14:36:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs XCII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Rows of former sentients and they are clustered here,
all of them drinking and pretending it's their purpose and that
it isn't another form of electronic poison that manages to
pretend to know. Thoughts are jumbled..fight it, there are
few chapters left. Still fantasizing of her even when denied
the experience to keep one's self safe. Opinions are shouted
from the hilltop to satisfy no one here to hear it or understand
she isn't planning to come back. An apology would fix many
a thing but in the meantime purpose must be one's main
purpose. Team effort means everyone doing what the one
who walked outside the lines and beat the fear or faked it
told them or encouraged them to do! Ambition; rust
is spreading on it. Try to challenge me to something else
while I can breathe. We're nearly back on track, keep
fighting..not much further left to travel.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words

-lost in the tunnel
-measuring what makes a man
-concentrating on it
-tell them both before you leave
-anxiety growing
-can you help me with
-finish line is in sight

-adam

Bedbugs XCI

2009-07-23T13:29:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs XCI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

You've meandered long enough and now the bell is tolling. You
can get back to where you wanted to be and it will be like nothing
happened victory is at hand but distraction is far too willing to be
your lifetime companion until you turn grey. We're coming in,
Hell's coming with us. Does that mean we'll accomplish something?
Swim up to the surface of the real fucking world, discern what's important
and live more authentically than allowed. Three doctors in red
are waiting. Scrawl something down to satisfy them. Is anyone
out there even going to read it? Write something subversive
and check. You come and work for me and we'll defeat this
world together, even if you don't really exist. With me, for me,
not against a matter of defeats and deceipt which is all
too common in your level of paint it before it's too late
and see how where it went wrong, erase; focus will help us
escape out of thoughts and into actions. I can't take
another needle. Swim up, run fast, try and don't
look back again..

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-all of them drinking
-still fantasizing of her even when denied
-no one here to hear it
-team effoft
-rust is spreading on it
-challenge me to something else
-not much further left to travel

-Adam

Bedbugs XC

2009-07-22T20:57:00.002-04:00

Bedbugs XC

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Honest story, dishonestly told. I can't peel myself off the
floor this week. None of those appearing are villains,
they're just people. Except for her, and her. Him too.
Riverbed dry is where my head's at. Need water and a
seashell to put my ear up to and I can hear them all wishing
I'd simply create. Thought you would save me is a phrase
that's stuck, wish I didn't hear..but I caused that trouble and
own up to it, even after the one who said it died.
Cheated on us anyway and brought back no proper
insights or ideas. Opening a random tome while check on page 82
pops into my brain. The page is delightfully blank.
Whose office is this? I don't belong here. Escape before
there's grey hair. 60 years of study hall isn't needed.
WAKE UP!!!! Not a cue for you to send me a warning,
nor a promotion. Thankfully I do wake up, the plot resumes
properly tomorrow; I clarify everything once more.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-victory is at hand
-we're coming in, hell's coming with us
-discern what' important
-come and work for me
-paint it before it's too late
-where it went wrong, erase
-don't look back again

Bedbugs LXXXIX

2009-07-22T20:48:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXIX

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Tell me again of how you misled many times the
careless and casual who wandered into your nest, thinking
they'd find something synonymous with love instead of
what you're famous for. I would split all their heads. Knowing
routine that is acted out at 78rpm she's turned the record off
because all of your are cutting the violence out of your diet
and trying to distract me from my life and purpose with your
apathetic siren songs. Trouble who gave you that scar isn't any
of my business. Mental pornographic endeavors wasted away
under interlaced images that aren't registering on any
printed fashions I know of color got darker outside
and I can tell it's coming for me and hoping I clear it up and wake
up and own up to all my mistakes. Who sounds like rain outside
hiding above the floor in plain sight, traveling back to when she
geniunely meant her smile to be a smile instead of a weapon. Don't
be afraid; you can go anywhere.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-riverbed dry
-and I can hear them all
-thought you would save me
-cheated on us anyway
-check on page 82
-not a cue for you to send me
-clarify everything once more

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXXVIII

2009-06-27T18:16:00.005-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXVIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

We've waited and wondered and stood atop this hill
until it began to turn to mud and ash, but we held
our positions, ruining your happiest day would all
I'd be thinking about if I didn't have these goals.
Left behind, locked in the room nobody'd hear me
in..looking at that same tattered picture glued to the
wall next to me..what differentiates this from any
other cubicle/cell/state of mind, pleasure taken in
only the two weeks the faceless man allows you.
Don't fall for it! Walk out when he's not looking, and
without his features he's never really seeing for himself.
Outside and looking down, worried but captivated
by the view. Two years, tops..but still you're fighting.
As it should be. The good times are nearly here, still
time to fix the city in your head if you think you've
got the proper material to rebuild. Applause broke out
the moment you actually gave it your all. Tune it out anyway.
Surgical rooms before me have no shortage of willing donors.
Avoid. Avoid. Run. Or simply don't go in. I am
h0lding my position like only a few others have. She somehow
picks up on this. How long it's been is unimportant.

-misled many times
-she's turned the record off
-who gave you that scar
-mental pornographic endeavors
-color got darker outside
-sounds like rain outside
-you can go anywhere

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXXVII

2009-06-26T21:07:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXVII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Age is forcing one of us and all of us
to choose solid paths, it seems.
Take a deep, healthy breath and
lean in to the brothers buried him
with all his secrets. It was no
secrets in this town, they thought.
It was a decision. That alone
she will sleep with you, you think
as her memory flashes by, but
it's not true unless she needs something.
Ambient. Noises think it over before
you earn it. You'll probably take five years.
Curious about what you said
when we were killing together. Overcast
again, and this time indoors.
Who can read my thoughts? It truly
won't hurt for long.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-ruining your happiest day
-pleasure taken in
-two years, tops
-still time to fix the city
-applause broke out
-surgical rooms before me
-how long it's been is unimportant

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXXVI

2009-06-26T20:57:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXVI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Trusted advice given down by the riverside:
never depend on anyone else for
happiness or money or she'll get hers but only
if she knows somewhere
she did wrong. It's cooling down and
we are, for your happiness and mine,
beginning to focus. Clarity hitch
up to the dream once more and meet
old friends on the path. Soon it will be like
no time has passed. You'll forget the record and its-
no scarcity to be found! Kill that thought and
embrace an abundant one.
Come closer- still think of ya from time to time
as my spine distorts- is that noise
coming from outside?

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-the brothers buried him
-no secrets in this town
-she will sleep with you
-think it over before
-curious about what you said
-overcast again
-it truly won't hurt for long

-adam

"Aaron Bacon" Promotional Video

2009-06-25T08:57:00.004-04:00

A look at the short film Aaron Bacon, based on the true story
of a young man who was abused and passed away at the hands
of untrained staff at an unlicensed 'rehab camp' in the wilderness of Nevada.

Aaron Bacon premiered last week at the Shanghai International
Film Festival and will premiere in the US very soon.

Aaron Bacon is written and directed by Nick Gaglia(Over the GW).
Promo video was directed and edited by Adam Barnick.

THE TAKING OF PELHAM 1 2 3 by Frank Palmcoast

2009-06-15T10:51:00.002-04:00

When he's not watching, with beads of sweat, his fellow, legally blind, senior citizens parallel park, Frank Palmcoast is catching seven dollar movies at the local multiplex from sunny Pompano Beach, Florida. He's retired, he's angry at the world, he can't spell to save his life, and he hates Hollywood almost as much as Hillary Clinton, but that will not stop our irreverent, dementia fightin', AARP card carrying everyman from giving us a fresh take on all things Hollyweird. Besides, how can he pass up that marvelous senior citizen discount?

*****************************************

A fellow native of the Bronx, Palmcoast was eager to sink his manchops into this latest "Hollyweird" remake.

*****************************************

Recently saw the original masterpiece on TV and I thought hollyweird must be thinking,"let's make another remake and make a lot of money" The original was written by a Brooklynite and the new version by hollyweird,west coast and the British, not the same. Robert Shaw as a mercenary out plays Travolta's stock broker and although Denzels performance was good, could never match Mathau's real New Yorkers acting. For me the unnecessary use of the "F" word by Travolta was like a thirteen old trying to impress his peers! This was not the train wreck I was expecting but it certainly looses it's third rail juice before it reaches the station. Jerry Stiller today at 88 looks better than when he was in the original and 53 years old!
Hollyweird should concentrate on making remakes of original bad movies and leave classics like this alone. Two suggestions: screw David Letterman, go see a movie and don't forget to bring home a gallon of milk!
The Original, The Palmcoast!

SIN-E-FILE (...no lies)

2009-06-09T02:45:00.006-04:00

"I have the sin of the cinephile" - Jean Luc Godard

This posting originated on the Film of the Month Club blog, where this month's film ...no lies is my selection. As such it is my duty to write an introductory post. Which is what follows.

(If you are about to read this having NOT seen the film ...no lies, I would advice you do so before reading further. Watch it below)

In 1972, Mitchell W. Block was working as the Line Producer on Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets. This left him little time to complete a full-scale film of his own, which was required to get his MFA from NYU. As he writes in The Truth about NO LIES, he thought he “should do a work that would be ‘easy’ to make. Limited locations, interior practical location, a short shoot, few actors, low shooting ratio, no period costumes, no score, etc. Keep it really simple.” The result is sort of a cinematic miracle.

In the spring of 1995 I was in a similar situation. I was a film student at the School of Visual Arts in New York. I had just completed my third year project, a film that seemed to polarize the class and faculty. Having had little money and not enough sufficient time to devote to a full scale production, I conceived an idea that involved basically a woman against a wall.

I showed it to my boss at the time, documentary filmmaker George Nierenberg. When it was over he didn’t have a lot to say about it, instead he starts to scan his towering piles of VHS tapes in his living room. “You have to see this documentary”, he tells me. “Documentary” is what he calls it. He doesn’t tell me anything more.

When ...no lies was over, I was so shaken by it that I hadn’t noticed the credits. George and I started talking about it. When it became apparent to him that I hadn’t seen the end credits, he told me what they said(the woman played by Shelby Leverington, etc.) and I didn’t believe him. He replayed the tape. Okay, “The filmmaker put that there so as not to embarrass the woman”, I concocted. There was no way this was acted. I couldn’t believe it. Once I watched it again, knowing now that this was, indeed, a performance, I was blown away.

Is it really necessary to go through the process of thinking you are seeing a moment captured on film that occurred in reality, and then, at the end, realize that it was manufactured like most films? How much does this play in its potential appreciation? This can be a point of discussion, but, regardless, it is how I experienced it, so it is, in turn, how I presented it to people when I showed it, on a VHS tape copied from George's.

I showed it to everyone in my life. “I have a documentary to show you. It is only 15 minutes.” I don’t remember all of the reactions but once in a while, it knocked someone out. What was it about this film that impacted us?

When the Film of the Month Club started, I dreamed of being able to present ...no lies, but I knew that it wouldn’t be worth it if we didn’t get Mitchell Block involved. I reached out to him and he graciously granted my request to put the film online so it would be available to us and he agreed to an interview.

In our interview, which I will post later in the month, I tried to find out from him if he intended to trick the audience from the beginning or did he realize, after it was made, that he had a fiction that looked impeccably like fact. After all, there is nothing in the film that leads the audience to the understanding that what they are about to see is real. Block doesn’t outright lie, like other fake documentarians do, by presenting written or spoken documentary style, fact-like information (like Peter Greenaway’s The Falls). Even so much as a date at the beginning would imply non-fiction. Some, however, might consider the title to be the written info that puts the viewer in the mind-frame of “fact”. So, can Block really be called a trickster simply because of the title? What is even leading us to believe that Block’s intention is to fool the audience at all?

Well, ...no lies played at the 1974 Flaherty Seminar, a place where people generally expect to see a documentary. It caused controversy and discussion on what “real” is in film and the emotions wrapped around such notions. If Block didn’t conceive the film as a trick, it certainly was one now. As George Nierenberg and others have theorized, there are three “rapes” that occur with ...no lies; the offscreen rape of the woman, then the figurative one inflicted on her by the “cameraman”, then we, the audience are taken advantage of by Mitchell Block. I would take this a step further and say that Block can’t do the act alone. In my case, Nierenberg himself helped in the violation by calling it a documentary, the Flathery Seminar too. Perhaps if you simply found this film somewhere and watched it, you wouldn’t feel like it was trying to trick you into thinking it was real...or would you? Wouldn't you just think, if you appreciated it, that the actors were just doing their jobs well?

Let’s forget for a moment about Mitchell Block’s “trick”. This film is (and is about) a performance. Shelby Leverington. Once this performance was made know to me as such, it became, in my mind, one of the greatest I had ever seen on film. Nuanced and complexly structured so as not to appear so, I can write (and just might) a moment by moment analysis of it. Its success does not rest simply on the fact that people think it is not a performance; its authenticity runs much deeper than that. She manages to haul her character through varying emotional terrains with no sign that the “vehicle” is on pre-laid tracks, and in such a limited amount of time. Mitchell Block is also planning on giving us the added honor of viewing the “Rehearsal Tapes”. Would it be weird if I said I am thinking about NOT viewing them? I don’t think it's right. Like reading a first draft of a masterpiece; rewarding on one hand, and forever damaging on the other. As a filmmaker, I am tremendously interested in the work it takes to get to something this successful. But as a viewer, in this case, I'm obsessed with this performance, not with the process.

Last year, ...no lies was accepted into the National Registry, an honor bestowed on only a handful of films from each year. Here’s what the press release said:

Done in faux cinéma vérité style, Mitchell Block’s 16-minute New York University student film begins on a note of insouciant amateurism and then convincingly moves into darker, deeper waters. Opening with a scene of a girl getting ready for a date, the camera-wielding protagonist adroitly orchestrates a mood shift from goofiness to raw pain as an interviewer tears down the girl’s emotional defenses after being raped. One of the first films to deal with the way rape victims are treated when they seek professional help for sexual assault, "No Lies" still possesses a searing resonance and has been widely viewed by nurses, therapists and police officers.

Yes, the film has had a life as a tool to train police officers and others to better assist rape victims. Block has marketed the film for such public service use since its release. A police captain actually asked Block for the name of the officer who interviewed the woman in the film. To reprimand him in some way? We can assume, I suppose. Did he not see the credits? What about the pretty obvious cut? The looped bit of dialogue? Maybe there is a mysterious quality in their performances that reached something that, even if they gave a bow at the end, some would not waver in swallowing as some kind of truth. Mystically, Ms. Leverington speaks a truth for victims that can't speak, or have been hushed. Is this the "fact" that we want to believe?

Indeed, in many ways this film is a lie, but can you think of a film that has this much truth? That is, I think, what makes great film art. And ...no lies, to me, is just that. And I'm excited to know what you think.

-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs LXXXV

2009-06-04T19:55:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Observation from this room of wood and stain
and green haze: the lesser ones tell everyone
and the true pioneers keep to themselves and
simply get it all done. I find a new one's picture
and from somewhere, I hear that 'that smile
will be for you one day.' I hope more than one day, indeed.
It can't not improve just ask enough people to help
or remind you to keep at it! Why is everyone in the
building crying? Something is running at me but it's too
dark to make out- I wake up, finally, and I bet others do too.
My real room. Pleasant but the dream texture
lingers as it rains and clouds devour each other outside;
atmosphere to spare indeed but what time is it and what
is my purpose now, now that I can write it? Avoid all
temptations for easy shortcuts, pick up the needle
and start again is all too easy for these listeners.
Earning failures today may help more than you think.
I rub the rust from my eyes and clarity returns
bit by bit.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words

-never depend on anyone else
-she'll get hers but only if
-for your happiness and mine
-hitch up to the dream once more
-no scarcity to be found
-still think of ya from time to time
-is that noise coming from outside?

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXXIV

2009-06-04T19:37:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXIV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Who is listening besides the two of us? I have to admit
I don't even know if you're just waiting for your
turn to talk. Who's holding that string at your wrist?
Stop looking back they repeat, like the skipping
record I thought had been left behind in the fog
and the basement's memories. Could enjoyable cast
lined up as a diversion from purpose, or to help
pretend I'm not on this walk alone? I've accepted it;
now the illusions should follow suit. She will sooner
or later face what she's done; did you hear that?
You will, hopefully someone will be there to laugh.
My time is truly coming..keep fighting the fog park
on the right where it's safe. Everything is safe in
between the lines. That's not what we're built for
though. Nothing on the radio but several lies of omission
and I've heard that sickly sweet song before. I sadly
know the words. I pretend I didn't write it.
When do we get to wake up? Notes left in here-
-it got better today, tomorrow you'll notice.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-the lesser ones tell everyone
-that smile will be for you one day
-just ask enough people
-atmosphere to spare
-pick up the needle and start again
-earning failures today
-clarity returns bit by bit

-adam

GRACE- red-band trailer

2009-05-28T22:11:00.001-04:00

POE(e)TREE

2009-05-25T22:01:00.001-04:00

I wish

you found peace

in the things

that I

do.

Bedbugs LXXXIII

2009-05-25T17:28:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Can you breathe?? Do you still want to?
What will you give it up for? Sights, sounds of
ambition at the bottom of an oily pool is where I usually
end up after one note sustained carries me up
but just for a bit! Focus..we'd all pay for it if it
was sold. Euphoric on the anniversary of creativity
emerging like a rash; despondent from it being
so many years since it was vibrant and pulsating.
The story will surface. Keep looking for it. It's you,
not the process or the result. Fix all of it. Someone
you don't know is upstairs. It's about time it all began
but turn off the age sign that's broadcasting in your head.
You'll pay and won't even realize it, three twins(?) are
smiling at me, like something out of the 40's, she is
out there, looking as well. Someone who will make you
forget, happily, who you thought was the best you could
find given circumstances you were told to make up.
Relax. Sunday blues are done, write the ending happy
if that's how you want it.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-who is listening besides the two of us
-stop looking back
-enjoyable cast lined up
-did you hear that
-park on the right where it's safe
-lies of omission
-it got better today, tomorrow you'll notice

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXXII

2009-05-18T20:21:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Embrace change and tell me what
you want, not need. Privately
or sung from rooftops premiering
in time for our lives to begin.
Getting darker out, but strangely warmer.
Tapping on the wall for another's actions
come into play at last before the
room was empty a minute ago, either
way we were left behind. Knowing
the way out, talk to this girl before
I do. Someone is trying to communicate.
They will leave the answers behind and eventually
compromising silence between
the sounds of a point being made
with no one to hear it. Seasons
flash by as I can see through the
fog and know that important things
will soon come to a close. Telling
branched and arthiritic, it's still progress
and kept fanning the flames of ambition
even when everyone in the neighborhood
knows the sun is setting. However, a new
smile will replace it.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-at the bottom of an oily pool
-one note sustained
-euphoric on the anniversary of
-it's about time it all began
-you'll pay and won't even realize it
-she is out there, looking as well
-write the ending happy, if that's how you want it

-Adam

Angels and Demons by Frank Palmcoast

2009-05-17T15:32:00.005-04:00

PALMCOAST IS BACK!!!!

**********************************************************

Our senior film critic is back and eager to sink his dentures into all things "Hollyweird." This week - Angels and Demons, the prequel to The DaVinci Code, starring Tom Hanks and directed by Ron Howard.

**********************************************************

Should be retitled, "Silence of the Lambs Meets Jesus"! This movie was waaaaay to long but don't wait too long to see it because it won't be in theaters that long. One might ask oneselves, is the book better than the picture but on the other hand would you prefer to die in a pool or in the ocean"? This flick deals with religion and I must say, it's godawful. Tom Hanks plays Professor Langdon with less passion than the scenery. This movie is a bad version of National Treasure with a Catholic twist.Before anyone gets there cassocks in a twist, since this movie takes place in the Vatican, I must confess I did not read the book. What's with the bags under Hank's eyes, perhaps he should consult with Joan Rivers and find out who are plastic surgeon is. I liked Tom's hair better in "Cast Away".The best part of this movie was watching the trailer of "The Taking of Pelham 1,2,3" and bathroom breaks during this movie are not only allowed but encouraged. The basic problem with this Angels and Demons is in order to get to the final forty minutes you have to endure the first ninety minutes and I consider that cruel and unusual punishment!

The Palmcoast is back!

SIN-E-FILE (Robert Altman)

2009-05-15T03:35:00.007-04:00

"I have the sin of the cinephile" - Jean Luc Godard

Listening again to the late great Robert Altman's commentary track on his early masterpiece McCabe and Mrs. Miller (far and away my favorite Western), I realize I usually don't enjoy hearing the director talk about his own movie on the commentary track. Often he or she is either not forthcoming enough or can't help but sound totally pretentious.

There are exceptions. Coppola's are sometimes more entertaining than the film (Finnegan's Rainbow) and Scorsese's can almost pass for an objective film historian's. But Robert Altman's track on MaMM is absolutely fascinating and educational beyond measure. Unfortunately, he shares track time with the producer of the film, David Foster, who is incredibly self-aggrandizing and boring as hell. But luckily Altman has the majority of the time. Altman's tone lacks pretension and importance, he sounds just like a guy passing on information and ideas(and that's just what he is!). I want to share an interesting bit:

"The dialogue in these types of films, it seems to me, is part of the character of the actors and it's not the words that are important, it's not what words are said because that's too related to theater where you're trying to advance plot by the words. When you have close-ups of people and faces that you can push up right into the audience, it's just better that the words just come from the moment or from the actors themselves, I feel. "

Some films are more "film-like" than others. If one reads this statement and thinks that Robert Altman doesn't respect the script or doesn't believe in "storytelling", that would be a misconception. It's just that Altman, like the other truly great film artists, tells the story with images and sound, which is what separates film from its brother (literature) and sister (theater) arts.

Do check out McCabe and Mrs. Miller if you haven't. And if you have, then I recommend you listen to the commentary. It's interesting and a lot of fun.

-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs LXXXI

2009-05-13T21:17:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXXI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

I jump in head first and it's considered bravery. Never mind
there's sharp objects at the bottom, the newspapers will only
want to know of the initial actions. Trust what price is needed
to turn and consider the best actions when you will catch up,
don't worry. He doesn't want to see you in person ever again.
Thereby making the relationship modern. Meet in the air,
all of them will be there and for fuck's sake stop applying
so much thought! Keep it's not over for that one in the corner,
trying to understand the proper actions befitting an artist;
since when is there a fucking list to follow? I'm sure
glad it doesn't apply to me. Making the best of a handicap
is another phrase to describe my thinking. I would like to
have it make sense, before it's too late around these parts,
I think in fact I do understand it.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-premiering in time
-for another's actions came into play
-the room was empty a minute ago
-talk to this girl before I do
-seasons flash by
-branched and arthiritic, it's still progress
-a new smile will replace it

-Adam

The Boxpress NEW Music Time Show with Brian Hughes

2009-05-09T14:23:00.005-04:00

This week Brian plays a cavalcade of new music from a variety of artists.

Play NEW podcast #7

White Lies "Death"

Robyn Hitchcock and the Venus Three "Saturday Groovers"

If you think you might want to listen to some more of my podcasts - please click below:

Show #1: Variations on the classic song "Fly Me To The Moon."

Show #2: "Perfect: Part 1"

Show#3: "Perfect: Part 2"

Show#4: "Last Songs by 5 Great Artists"

Show#5: "Perfect: Part 3"

Show#6: "The Story Songs"

Show#7: "Bob Dylan: Part 1"

Show#8: "Perfect: Part 4"

"New" #1: King Khan and The Shrines/ O'Death

"New" #2: Dr. Dog / Caribou

"New" #3: Ed Harcourt

Show#9: "Death Before Fame"

"New" #4: MGMT/ Cold War Kids

Show#10: "Songs from Woody Allen Films"

Show#11: "ELVIS"

"New" #5: The New Pornographers/Honeyhoney/Counting Crows/Your Vegas

Show#12: JAZZ 101

Show#13: Halloween

Show#14: Bob Dylan: Part 2

"New" #6: Flobots/ Duffy/ Antony and The Johnsons/ TV on the Radio

Show#15: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Suicidal Sinatra: Part I"

Show#16: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Suicidal Sinatra: Part II"

Show#17: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Ecstatically Sinatra: Part I"

Show#18: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Ecstatically Sinatra: Part II"
Show#19: Springsteen: 2005-2009

Show#20: James Bond themes

Six Word Theater

2009-05-05T10:07:00.003-04:00

Click here for the previous entry.

Inspired by the challenge of telling a story in six words,
I attempt to polish my skills by writing a six-word story
or phrase whenever I can.

Feel free to "continue the story" or start your own
in the comments.

Today's entry:

Tasted gunmetal.
Indecisive.
Reconsidering...
Don't SNEEZ-

-AB

Bedbugs LXXX

2009-05-04T10:04:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXX

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Are you ever going to stop doing this? Can't take
baffled at your level of comprehension at face value
to matter when we all show up and hope you're putting on
the real face, not the one you want people to see.
She waited for you until they left in disgust. Clouded head lets
a decade pass and then decides to take action,
when the world's left town. Knowing that theykeep
me out of the line of fire puts me in a place only for their approval.
You will say the lines I've given you, when it's your turn to
have a life, you can write it. I need her close to me
regardless of tension. That weight on my shoulder
is worth it even as things draw to a close. Who put rusted
texture on the wall behind me? I probably did during a
blackout, postoperative intention playing the field at last.
Back in the woods, I was told an old woman's voice can
be perceived, sounding like a record scratch..I can't be the
sole receipent -do you hear it too?

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-jump in head first
-what price is needed to turn
-you will catch up, don't worry
-all of them will be there
-it's not over for that one in the corner
-making the best of a handicap
-in fact I do understand it

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXIX

2009-04-29T20:37:00.005-04:00

Bedbugs LXXIX

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Match the makers of merriment and mercy
that are hiding behind the back
door keeping all the secrets to
themselves. Stay dry out there
even if you're required to be drowned in
it. Resume intellectually not the brand
they improvement by centimeter isn't
understood by the top people. Know this as
the seasons change that time's little
understanding of where she had me
interested, until her narrative began.
Guiding the stories with words not understood.
Paint that hides a couple of scars is
still a temporary solution. Find transparent
on the first note could help everyone hiding
in the basement understand. Wait for
the low tone to match the body shape.
We're all in this quest together! Still
beautiful, in a manner of speaking.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-baffled at your level of comprehension
-she waited for you until they
-keep me out of the line of
-only for their approval
-rusted texture on the wall behind me
-playing the field at last
-do you hear it too?

-Adam

SIN-E-FILE (Bo Harwood)

2009-04-28T22:37:00.010-04:00

"I have the sin of the cinephile"- Jean Luc Godard

I am working on an article about Michael Ventura's excellent on-set diary book Cassavetes Directs: John Cassavetes and the Making of Love Streams, which has totally shaken up all my assessments of this incredibly mysterious and significant filmmaker, and might be the best book on the actual process of filmmaking that I have ever read. I interviewed Ventura over the phone a few weeks back and some of the stuff we talked about has sent me back to the film itself (which is hard to find on DVD in this country) and Ventura's companion documentary, I'm almost not crazy (also, sadly, hard to find). Its been a rewarding and daunting endeavor.

One of the aspects of the work that I am rediscovering is the music. Bo Harwood worked with Cassavetes for 15 years, starting in 1971 with Minnie and Moskowitz. Harwood composed music for the films and wrote and recorded songs (some co-written with Cassavetes) that are both heard in the background as source music and prominently featured. Harwood claims that often Cassavetes used the "scratch track" version of his compositions, rather than let Harwood refine it and re-record it with an orchestra. Some of these scratch tracks were actually recorded in Cassavetes office, with just piano or guitar, and ended up in the final film. Cassavetes appreciated the purity of these pieces and felt like that certain something wouldn't survive the refinement process. This, at times, frustrated Harwood.

Cassavetes applied this approach to many areas of the filmmaking process. Often times using non-professional actors, and even non-professional crew members, and simply riding the wave of sincerity and spontaneity, forming it into his own kind of truth. It takes actual "directing" to do this kind of filmmaking; a constant conscious conducting of moments, accidents and chance. Ventura does an amazing job of documenting this in the book, as it was happening.

Harwood was one of these "non-professionals" that was hired by Cassavetes to do a job that really shouldn't be trusted to a novice. On A Woman Under the Influence the sound man was fired and he asked Harwood, who was already working on the music, to do the sound recording job as well. Bo had never recorded sound for a movie before. Ever. John knew this and didn't care. Bo did it. He has worked as a sound man in movies and TV ever since. There are numerous stories like this. How did Cassavetes know it would be alright? One of the many mysteries about the man.

Watching Love Steams again, and hearing the strangely poignant music of Bo Harwood used so effectively by Cassavetes made me wish there was some way to have access to this music. Over the years I have come across other people who were very excited by this music as well, who were also lamenting its inaccessibility. So, on a whim the other night, I found Bo Harwood's email online and reached out to him. I expressed my appreciation of his work and asked what the possibilities were of somehow, someway having access to it. He was gracious enough to answer. I don't think he would mind if I share part of it with you.

"...Over the years, it never really occurred to me to 'put out' a CD of our music probably because I've just always thought the music is where it belongs. But for some reason, during this last year, I have received a lot of email from people who really appreciate the music and wonder where they can get it. One of these people was Jeffrey 'Luck' Lucas in San Francisco who spurred me several months ago to put something together. So I went to work. The CD has a few improv sessions of John and myself which was how we began our song writing together. Most do not know that John and I wrote a lot of really nice songs that only a hand full of people have heard. The CD has other selections that are more familiar, some raw songs, some fully orchestrated cues. Most of my time has been writing a 26 page history section covering the 15 years I worked with the man. I never get tired of talking or writing about John. I've been invited to a screening of "A Woman Under the Influence" at the San Francisco Film Festival on the 26th. I'm meeting Jeffrey then and been asked to play at a club he's billed at to play some of my new stuff. It'll be a terrific 3 or 4 days and hopefully Jeffrey's record people will take an interest in my CD 'booklet' project..."

What's the chances that a music industry on life-support would take interest in such obscure material? Perhaps such niche work is the only stuff that has a chance in the marketplace. Regardless, this is exciting news for lots of fans. I guess, short of sending record people his way, we have to keep our fingers crossed.

-Peter Rinaldi

Goodbye Bea Arthur

2009-04-25T21:13:00.002-04:00

We here at the BBF are saddened at the passing of one of the truly great funny ladies the world has known.

Journey To Published (6)

2009-04-21T21:28:00.008-04:00

This video blog will chart the progress Brian Hughes will be making to get his novel The Boxpress Manifesto published.

Here's Part 6 of the journey...

SIN-E-FILE (The World of Apu)

2009-04-20T02:09:00.005-04:00

"I have the sin of the cinephile"- Jean Luc Godard

After five months of intense mental suffering, eight undeserved Oscars and countless arguments with fans, I have finally received the antidote to Slumdog Millionaire.

The cure for this diseased piece of cinema has come in the form of a truly classic film that I took in the other night at the Walter Reade Theater, one that I had seen before years ago, made a mental note of its greatness, and yet still, somehow, it remain buried in my mind. Thanks to the Film Society of Lincoln Center, I rediscovered this incredible work. It is the last film in Satyajit Ray's Apu Trilogy, The World of Apu.

Both take place in India, but that's not really why a comparison was formed. What annoyed me most about Slumdog was that it was billed as a love story, when, in fact, it is significantly lacking in cinematic evidence that the characters actual love each other. What is really sad about this is that it doesn't take much to establish a romantic flame between two people in a movie. It is also depressing that most people actually didn't mind that there was no real romance in the film. To these people, when a character says "I love her", apparently that's enough.

Well, not only is that "not enough" for me, but I actually find it incredibly insulting as a filmgoer.

That's why when one sees The World of Apu, it becomes abundantly clear how love can be conveyed in a film. But what is so amazing about Ray's film is just how much we are invested in this relationship considering how simply and efficiently this story is presented to us. This, frankly, is what separates a mediocre filmmaker from a master. The main character, Apu, goes from being alone, to being in love, to being alone again after having loved, and the complexity of these three states is tangible to the viewer and not just alluded to. It is a visceral experience that's produced from the intricately drawn characters and the story. In Slumdog, the experience is also visceral, but it is produced from the overpowering music and conventional cliches and devices, resulting in a fleeting feeling.

How depressing and embarrassing to have a film from 50 years ago offer me a more lasting and significant experience. What does this say about our times? Our "art"?

I hope I am overreacting. I really do.

Here is a clip from The World of Apu that's on Youtube. Naturally, it is just plain wrong to watch a short clip from this wonderful film. But maybe it will spark your interest and you'll check out the whole thing.

-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs LXXVIII

2009-04-16T06:15:00.001-04:00

Bedbugs LXXVIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Don't tell me you're sorry! Don't tell me you understand!
You don't even believe this sign of the coin exists because
you were told it didn't before I met you. The pretty one
got over him and brought a lot of sundown sooner than expected.
A vacation of clarity is required to properly gauge the
texture anticipated to build a place that can block the
phonograph's music out. Against all costs, it must be left
behind even if a pretty face tells you to listen! Tell me brighter
out west than here, do you think? Any time away from it will help.
Heal....please. Willing the wounds to stitch themselves. Better
than summoning infections that don't show up on any of
the masked doctor's charts. Talkative, I think she's not
which makes me nervous, why do I have to do it all?
Make me wish for it even as I'm out of body, and noticing near
where I live, they are gathering. They don't show up under
a flashlight, but they are there moving but not walking
like we do. Seventeen of them waiting in the field
and I think something's upstairs.. do I wait until I return to
handle this? Do I give up? Who is that in the house?

-Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-Stay dry out there
-improvement by centimeter
-she had me interested, until
-paint that hides a couple of scars
-transparent on the first note
-low tone to match the body shape
-still beautiful in a manner of speaking

-Adam

The Story Slice: Part 6: Heather So Long

2009-04-16T00:13:00.007-04:00

This is the continuation of a story that began here:

Part 1: Maureen (1)

Part 2: Maureen (2)

Part 3: The Takeoff

Part 4: Colleen

Part 5: Alex

by Brian Hughes

Cahil was listening to Barry’s Manilow’s “Somewhere Down The Road” on his iPod in the hotel café – staring at internet pictures of Heather and her man, at least fifteen years her senior, from her MySpace “Mexico Vacation” album, feeling bad for himself, clutching his blackberry, her speed dial number at the ready. He knew Alex was right, that he should just forget here, for whereas Alex and Maureen and Colleen where just libido fantasies, Heather was more. Dangerous. Forget it, he told himself over and over. Work on the Brenda Burgundy piece, you have her interview tonight … it could be a career defining piece for you, over and over he was telling himself, but he pressed the button just the same. She answered:
“Cahil! How are you?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time? I can call back.”
“No, no … what’s going on? What brings you out to Los Angeles?”
Cahill filled her in on his career and how it was moving along steadily. He didn’t mention his engagement, nor his wedding.
“I have to be honest with you … Colleen said you had come to town and I was hoping you’d call because … I don’t know … I feel we should talk and catch up.”
“Really … well, great! Are you available for coffee this afternoon?”
“This afternoon … let me look at my schedule …”
Why did she want to speak with him? What did she have to tell him?
“No … I think I’m good … yeah,” she laughed, “I think that would be great! Yeah … yes! Let’s hook up.”
“Cool! Awesome.”
“Do you want to meet at the Coffee Bean where we last had java?”
“Sure! Perfect!”
There was a silence. Heather actually sighed.
“I’m glad you called Cahil. So glad you called.”
“I’m glad I called as well. So, I’ll see you at three?”
“Yes … perfect.”

It became nothing but positive love songs on the way back into the valley: “Love Lift Us Up (Where We Belong),” “I Just Fell In Love Again” by Anne Murray, “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” and “You’re My First, The Last, My Everything” by the grand daddy of soulful love, Barry White; And Cahil was singing too … oh, he certainly was. Fuck Brenda Burgundy and her cocaine and her entourage and her problems. Fuck her, fuck everything, Cahil thought as he stopped at a roadside shop to pick up a basket full of lavender products – Heather’s favorite aroma.

Cahil’s left leg went up and down as he sat at a window seat, basket on the table, customers ordering coffee, unaware of the movie-like moment happening in his life. When he gazed upon Heather getting out of her vehicle in the large mall parking lot, reaching for her purse in the back seat, it was like a gleig light shone only on her and blocked out the entire shopping madness of Ventura Boulevard. His heart began to race. He at once felt an anchor of sadness, that this would never work, and a joy that brought tears to his eyes. He looked up and around and across to let air into them. He could not believe the eruption of emotions in the first split moment of seeing her; after the years of wondering what this moment would be like, it had finally arrived.
Heather’s shoulder went up in unison as she made eye contact with Cahil, and the shoulders lifted her face into a warm smile as she walked over and they embraced.
“I am dumb struck as to how amazing you look,” Cahil said
“Oh … not really …”
“Yes really! What have you done? Your waist is the smallest I’ve ever seen it!”
“I go to the gym a lot and lay off the carbs.”
“Remember all the diets we’d try, all the new ones that would land on the best seller list?”
“Oh, yeah … we’d compare notes.”
“Yup.”
“And the music we’d play in the stock room.”
“It was all Britney and Christina for me back then.”
“And I’d play you some brooding songwriter, like Neil Young or Bob Dylan.”
“And The Doors.”
“Naturally, The Doors.”
Heather wanted green tea. She reached for her Manga designed, Velcro wallet, but Cahil wasn’t having it. Everything was on him today.
“What is this basket,” she beamed.
“It’s for you. It’s all for you. You still love lavender, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course … but you shouldn’t have.”
“There’s so much I want to talk about, I don’t know where to begin.”
Heather smiled, and when she smiled, her small oval lips crept up her mouth and exposed her dimples. She looked down for a moment and took in a deep breath.
“Why don’t you begin with why you came out here?”
Cahil chuckled and looked out the window. It was an open invitation to jump in and cut to the chase. Why had she smiled when she said that? She knew, didn’t she, Cahil thought, she knew he had come out west in the hopes that she would dissolve everything and take him in her arms.
“Well, I came out here because I was given a tremendous opportunity to interview the hotter than hot R&B singer, Brenda Burgundy.”
“Really?” she asked.
“No, that’s not the reason. I should get us some tea. What kind do you want again?”
“Breakfast.’
“I can’t tell you how great it is to see you in person again, in person and not in pictures.”
“It’s great to see you too, Cahil.”
Cahil bought the teas and sat back down, staring at the table before them.
“Is there anything wrong,” Heather asked.
“No, no, of course not, not at all. I couldn’t be happier. Heather, listen, I want to catch up and talk and all, but I have to say what’s on my mind…”
“Okay,” Heather said with trepidation.
“Okay … wow … I don’t think I’ll be this nervous when I speak with Brenda Burgundy, hahahaha ….okay … here goes … Heather, I, I love you very much, I, I, have been just stuck, I, I have been unable to think of anyone but you since I came back to New York and I look at your pictures on MySpace and on Flickr and on Facebook, and I can’t shake your image, and, and I don’t dare talk to you, or instant message you, because I know it will lead me down the wrong path…”
Heather had her hand over her mouth, tears swelled in her eyes.
“I don’t know, Heather, its been a problem with me my whole life, I’ve let great women slip through my fingers, and I guess, before I enter the next important stage of my life, I had to come out here and see you one last time to tell you how I feel, how I will never forget you, never forget seeing you enter the stockroom that time we met. I never told you how I felt in person and its been knowing away at me like a chancre. When I see you with guys in your pictures, my heart hurts, I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to un-Facebook you, un-friend you? Of course not, how would that look?
“Don’t say anymore, Cahil, you don’t need to say anymore,” Heather said with a laugh. “This is amazing, AMAZING, how life works …”
“What?” asked Cahil.
“Well … I haven’t forgotten you either. Every time I see images of New York City, or movies shot in Manhattan, my heart longs for you. I always thought that I would never see you again and that the brief time we shared together would be a just a pleasant memory.”
Cahil’s eyes had begun to tear as well. “Can I hug you, Heather?” Cahil felt her ample breasts press against him. “It’s so wonderful holding you close like this.”
Heather removed a tear from her cheek and nodded enthusiastically. “I think I love you Cahil, I really think I love you.”

The cell phone had a message on it. Cahil stared at the lavender basket in front of him. How could he have missed a phone call, not possible. As far as he could tell, the reception was just fine. It was Heather:
“Hey Cahil, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it, something just came up at the last minute and I have to take my nephew somewhere. How long are you in town for? Let me know – it would be great to catch up. Hope you’re well. Later.”
Cahil stared blankly at the empty seat in front of him, a seat made warm by Heather the last time they had a cup of coffee together. It would remain cold. Cahil drained the last of his coffee and walked out of the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf – leaving the lavender basket behind him.

The Brenda Burgundy interview went well enough, all except for the burn marks left in Cahil’s flesh. Brenda took great, sadistic pleasure in putting cigarettes out on Cahil’s exposed skin. And when he returned to his palatial New York City apartment, a three bedroom bought solely by his wife Janeen, Cahil couldn’t help but think that he deserved the burn marks and much, much more. Having failed in his attempted debauchery of nailing three girls from his “bookstore job” past, Cahil had nothing more to come home to than a devoted wife, who – not only draped a welcome banner across the apartment door, but had cooked his favorite dinner and purchased the scented candles he so thoroughly enjoyed from Bed, Bath and Beyond. It was more than Cahil deserved and he knew it, as he clutched Janeen in his arms and kissed her profusely.
“Let me see your burn marks,” Janeen implored.
“They’re nothing really to look at.” Cahil tossed off.
“We’re going to sue that bitch!” Janeen said as she inspected Cahil’s arms. “Terrible. Terrible. She can’t get away with doing that to my fiancé. I’ll rip her vocal cords out and feed them to her.”
“Now, now …”
“I mean it!”
“I know, I know … say, are we going to look at more reception possibilities tomorrow.”
Janeen softened and smiled as she and Cahil pressed their foreheads together.
“You bet we are, hon.”
“I can’t wait. I love you.”
“I love you to.”
Cahil and Janeen kissed long and warm, embracing each other completely.
Cahil was glad to be back, back to the steel and girders and realness that sustained him, gave him strength and kept his wavering mind focused. The daydreams were dead. For the longest time, the girls and the regrets lived in his fantasies. Now with microscopic precision, they had been dealt a stealth and fatal blow. What was left was what he knew would always, in the end, endure.

Bedbugs LXXVII

2009-04-12T19:52:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXVII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Attacking me in order to take the focus off yourselves.
Can't spell God right even with a mile long devotion. Why
spine showing through your shirt should entail a greater risk
than being upfront and truly looking in the goddamn mirror;
her anger's always fear that the same song brought on
again and again; tell nausea every afternoon fighting against
the threat of loss, age, and being like the rest.
Find what you sought tomorrow and collaborate with the
best of them gathered out there in the forest waiting
for the idea that fixes everything. Tell the others
no secret to what I do really, many shouted that
while being condemned. Clarity slowly returns
as does purpose, whether you want it to or not.
Always frightening in a manner of speaking.

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-the pretty one got over him
-sundown sooner than expected
-brighter out west than here
-talkative, I think she's not
-make me wish for it
-seventeen of them waiting in the field
-who is that in the house?

-Adam

The Boxpress Music Time Show with Brian Hughes

2009-04-09T22:25:00.003-04:00

Show #20: James Bond Themes

Celebrating the popular theme songs from the classic James Bond films, Brian plays the famous and not so famous tunes associated with the series, and offers some trivia as well.

Play podcast # 20

If you think you might want to listen to some more of my podcasts - please click below:

Show #1: Variations on the classic song "Fly Me To The Moon."

Show #2: "Perfect: Part 1"

Show#3: "Perfect: Part 2"

Show#4: "Last Songs by 5 Great Artists"

Show#5: "Perfect: Part 3"

Show#6: "The Story Songs"

Show#7: "Bob Dylan: Part 1"

Show#8: "Perfect: Part 4"

"New" #1: King Khan and The Shrines/ O'Death

"New" #2: Dr. Dog / Caribou

"New" #3: Ed Harcourt

Show#9: "Death Before Fame"

"New" #4: MGMT/ Cold War Kids

Show#10: "Songs from Woody Allen Films"

Show#11: "ELVIS"

"New" #5: The New Pornographers/Honeyhoney/Counting Crows/Your Vegas

Show#12: JAZZ 101

Show#13: Halloween

Show#14: Bob Dylan: Part 2

"New" #6: Flobots/ Duffy/ Antony and The Johnsons/ TV on the Radio

Show#15: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Suicidal Sinatra: Part I"

Show#16: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Suicidal Sinatra: Part II"

Show#17: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Ecstatically Sinatra: Part I"

Show#18: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Ecstatically Sinatra: Part II"
Show#19: Springsteen: 2005-2009

Bedbugs LXXVI

2009-04-05T12:15:00.003-04:00

Bedbugs LXXVI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

I'm ready, I think. Greater men have endured far more. How
can we face our fathers with our weakness? My ride should
have been here by now. The bartender whispers at me to
'break me gently' but I probably made that up. Get home,
wake up, painkiller it till you feel like someone who'd
enjoy 9 to 5. Animals don't look like that is a random
opening thought. Where did that come from? I will
find a way to turn the clock back farther than any
man has dared to attempt. If you're crazy, get out of
my way. Only room for one maniac in my head, and he's
been there for 3 decades and a little bit of change.
Noise upstairs constantly doesn't help, real or imagined.
Go for a walk again until the scraping stops or
I'll kill whoever it is. Miss me, I've whispered constantly
to passersby. It will eventually catch with someone.
I finally get the splinter out of my foot, it looks like a
phonograph needle.. My only hope is to talk it over
with someone who cares..

-Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-can't spell God right
-spine showing through your shirt
-her anger's always fear
-nausea every afternoon
-find what you sought tomorrow
-no secret to what I do
-frightening in a manner of speaking

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXV

2009-04-05T12:01:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Corner turned whether I like it or not. Can’t go back and
hear that song again no matter how well you know
all the words. The bar rats are upset too but they’ll
move on to the next glass and burn it out of their
cerebellum. Mute since it started, now what? There was a
path you were on before this fractured. Why make a difference tonight?
Because someone has to. Understand that impression in the side
of the wall didn't come from violence. It was just a mistake, I bet.
Never gave me your note with answers on it like I asked. The
last one was just as fucking stupid. All of us would like to turn
the volume down and maybe rest and try to understand. Will we?
Can't tell, last call is always in an hour. I should escape for
at least one month. Go where I'm the only ghost.
What color I found under it doesn't matter but the
bartender, who I pretend has an eye for me, knows
I need to hear on Earth "there is no scarcity here."

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-my ride should have been here by now
-break me gently
-animals don't look like that
-noise upstairs constantly
-go for a walk again until the scraping stops
-miss me
-talk it over with someone who cares

25 chapters left in Bedbugs' second (and probably final) cycle..
-Adam

Bedbugs LXXIV

2009-04-01T12:16:00.002-04:00

Bedbugs LXXIV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Stop pretending you understand. Outside the seasons are shifting
with each eyeblink and you can't pretend they're laughing with you
when they're obviously trying to leave permanent marks. Heard
gave up Lent for Lent which was all he'd try and focus on while
the chapters count down. What happens at the end? Why do you
need to know now? Trying to manage stalking anyone who will wait
with the persistent friends backstabbing friends because you can't
find your own voice, your own passion, and someone who approves
of it. Never left the house but pretends to know how to run things
and truly live. Life experience, I saw something about that on
television once, she said. And then calls ME afraid.
Metal texture that shines off the back of the wall that's absorbing
rain while we forget how grateful all of us should be, right?
I will pick it up and try to set an example before the record
starts up again and it becomes an 'effort.' Leaving all of us
behind is your best favor. Since nature won this battle.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-mute since it started
-why make a difference tonight
-impression in the side of the wall
-never gave me your note
-rest and try to understand
-what color I found under it
-there is no scarcity here

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXIII

2009-03-31T10:53:00.002-04:00

Bedbugs LXXIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

I have failed. My pulse is my only consistent accomplishment
and one day I will screw that up as well, only once. Too
expensive to keep up in a manner that will remove context
for safety and leave all of us out in the cold, as lonely
as we truly are. Stop inventing gods and girlfriends
to keep you company. Enjoy the silence of present time.
The whole room is successful and you're off missing it
because you needed time to 'not feel nervous.'
They're fucking scared too! Deal with it! No point in pining
for the ideas of just one more time with her; no point.
she needs to grow up to a place where ambition tastes
fresher than I hoped when I woke up. How do I get back
to a positive square one? Knew I was awake in the first place.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-gave up Lent for Lent
-stalking anyone who will wait
-friends backstabbing friends
-metal texture that shines
-I will pick it up
-leaving all of us
-nature won this battle

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXII

2009-03-31T10:45:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

They took me here and left me. I can't think
my way out but I delude myself with drugs
to make me think I can perceive clearly. Take it off
slowly this time, knowing and getting turn it back eight
years so I can make all the right decisions.
I wait for me until I say it's safe! Somebody has to
change; it's quiet, snowing less here all the time.
Maybe tomorrow I can walk right out of the office,
the marraige, the fantasy. He squirms when I remind
him his life sucks. I can't perceive what's necessary
but they sure can scare me. They know where we live.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-too expensive to keep up
-remove context for safety
-the whole room is successful
-just one more time with her
-she needs to grow up
-tastes fresher than I hoped
-knew I was awake in the first place

-Adam

Bedbugs LXXI

2009-03-31T10:37:00.004-04:00

Bedbugs LXXI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Awake. Before I remember what's happened
there is bliss. Then I remember I'm scared and
alone and behind on all things and the rattles
kick in. Before you were born I was two years away from
insanity. Doesn't help to tell that or know that or
perceive accurately I can't trust anyone. The tape is
completely blank, if you mean the one of accomplishments. It's
raining again but it will be brief. Dust is kicked up
on the porch and all heads are fractured in an
imperceptible easier to see when it's daylight knowing
I'm the only one looking. Lies of omission were her little
way out of saying 'it's my fault.' What to do the next day?
They made me this way is the world's other favorite. Help me know
warmth of friendship and we'll go from there, providing you
return a phone call. Don't challenge me on it.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-take it off slowly this time
-turn it back eight years
-wait for me until I say
-snowing less here than at home
-he squirms
-can't perceive what's necessary
-they know where we live

-Adam

'Aaron Bacon' teaser

2009-03-26T21:10:00.004-04:00

The new film from Nick Gaglia, who we interviewed here about his
previous directorial effort, "Over the GW." Coming this
Spring; look for a BBF interview upon the film's release.

Inspired by the book, "Help At Any Cost" by Maia Szalavitz,
"Aaron Bacon" is based on the true story of a precocious kid
who dies at the hands of malpractice and abuse in a tough-love
wilderness drug-treatment program.

Six Word Theater

2009-03-07T21:52:00.002-05:00

Click here for the previous entry.

Inspired by the challenge of telling a story in six words,
I attempt to polish my skills by telling a six-word story
or phrase whenever I can.

Feel free to "continue the story"
or start your own.

Today's entry:

His life story: Half a couple.

-AB

SIN-E-FILE (Gene Siskel)

2009-03-02T00:14:00.000-05:00

"I have the sin of the Cinephile" - Jean Luc Godard

Gene Siskel died ten years ago last week.

It is really easy to be cynical about film critics in general and Siskel and Ebert in particular. They were (and I guess Ebert still is) the most famous ones when I was growing up, approaching perhaps celebrity status. Their attention tended to lean heavily toward Hollywood movies, but when I was a kid, there was nothing but Hollywood movies in my world, so Siskel and Ebert were the height of my high culture. When I was lucky enough to catch their show "At the Movies" (it seemed to be always in syndication, from day one, and therefore always moving) it was a great thrill for me. I really listened to them and took seriously their likes and dislikes. It was the only thing in my life that took movies seriously. I didn't even have friends that were serious about movies until I went to film school. Gene and Roger were my first film buddies.

This is why I always say that the loss of Gene Siskel is, to me, the saddest loss of anyone that I have not met. I really missed that guy, for a long time. Even though I was long out of film school, and as far from a Hollywood mindset as could be, when he died I was still enjoying him tremendously as a personality and a film lover.

I'll never forget when he named "Babe 2" the film of the year. What a crazy choice. For some reason it didn't make me loose respect for him, it made me think the guy had balls for choosing something that spoke to him, despite what others (even Ebert!) might think of such a radically un-"film-of-the-year"-like choice. He had lost that pretension. He was working from the gut.

What really got me was when he was in the hospital for the second or third time, and they went on with the show anyway. Gene phoned in his reviews and they played his voice and had pictures of him on the screen. Movies were that much a part of his life. It was really inspiring and sad because he never did make it back on the show for real.

I can't look back on my young film going life without thinking about Gene Siskel. In a large way, he and Ebert cultivated my early appreciation of films. I am eternally grateful and I remember fondly Gene Siskel.

-Peter Rinaldi

The Boxpress Music Time Show with Brian Hughes

2009-02-24T21:56:00.003-05:00

Show #19: "Springsteen: 2005-2009"

Brian details some of the outstanding work Bruce Springsteen has written from Devils and Dust (2005) to his latest release Working On A Dream. This will be a first part of a series (not to be played consecutively) showcasing Bruce's most important work starting with the present and moving backwards to his first studio album, Greetings from Asbury Park.

Play podcast # 19

If you think you might want to listen to some more of my podcasts - please click below:

Show #1: Variations on the classic song "Fly Me To The Moon."

Show #2: "Perfect: Part 1"

Show#3: "Perfect: Part 2"

Show#4: "Last Songs by 5 Great Artists"

Show#5: "Perfect: Part 3"

Show#6: "The Story Songs"

Show#7: "Bob Dylan: Part 1"

Show#8: "Perfect: Part 4"

"New" #1: King Khan and The Shrines/ O'Death

"New" #2: Dr. Dog / Caribou

"New" #3: Ed Harcourt

Show#9: "Death Before Fame"

"New" #4: MGMT/ Cold War Kids

Show#10: "Songs from Woody Allen Films"

Show#11: "ELVIS"

"New" #5: The New Pornographers/Honeyhoney/Counting Crows/Your Vegas

Show#12: JAZZ 101

Show#13: Halloween

Show#14: Bob Dylan: Part 2

"New" #6: Flobots/ Duffy/ Antony and The Johnsons/ TV on the Radio

Show#15: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Suicidal Sinatra: Part I"

Show#16: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Suicidal Sinatra: Part II"

Show#17: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Ecstatically Sinatra: Part I"

Show#18: Celebrating Frank Sinatra's Birthday: "Ecstatically Sinatra: Part II"

SIN-E-FILE (Heath Ledger)

2009-02-24T01:04:00.005-05:00

This might come off as being a little strange. I don't usually videotape myself for blogging purposes. I find that kind of thing revolting most of the time. But something came to me that I wanted to get out and I wasn't able to write it this time. So, rather than talking to the camera, which I don't think I can do, I used my roommate as an ear and I just videotaped a little rant in defense of Heath Ledger getting the Oscar. These thoughts resulted from the numerous ramblings that I was running across that expressed the opinion that he didn't deserve it and/or he wouldn't have received it if he were alive.

Bedbugs LXX

2009-02-21T12:20:00.002-05:00

Bedbugs LXX

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

All of it might end with being shot twice, in the story
that doesn't have a preference for how the page's
decay is set up. I, waiting for an ending, fail to realize
it's up to me to write it. Making excuses for blank
pages as the music starts up again, somewhere.
However he will appear in your work isn't revealed
in time. Can I save myself or the people I love if I don't
really know who they are, self included? Stark black and white
doesn't work when my eyes are blurred and gray is all
that comes out. Assistance could not publish the truth in time
even with the fact knowing I'd be here, you still came which
was impressive. I have to get outside before everyone comes
back and makes my clouded thoughts permanent.
Running outdoors, nobody's about. The park is dark and empty.
But I can hear someone calling me in the woods.
Back to before square one..

Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-before you were born
-the tape is completely blank
-easier to see when it's daylight
-lies of omission
-they made me this way
-warmth of friendship
-don't challenge me on it

-Adam

Better Living Through Absurdity...the Return of the Smack

2009-02-19T14:12:00.004-05:00

So it's been a very long time since I did a Better Living Through Absurdity. And frankly, it took me a fair bit of pondering to figure out why that was -after all, this is ME dear readers -absurdity flocks to me, the ridiculous rejoices in my presence, and the weird, wacky and what-the-fuck always seems to swirl around me, no matter how much of a mundane personality I might try to cultivate. After much wondering at this state akin to writer's block, I realized that the true issue was that I hadn't really been able to process much of what had been happening in my life so therefore, I wasn't able to see it from a laughable standpoint. Following my eight month break from dating and a series of...disastrous...no...perhaps ill-fated is better...attempts at relationships, I found myself once again on the receiving end of a metric fuckton of discourtesy, inconsistency and idiocy. For all that I complain that I give far too much of myself without ever getting anything in return, I have to amend that to admit that I DO get things in return -of course, it's generally the more unappealing, baffling and at times, downright horrifying parts of people -but hey, perhaps some day I'll figure out how to "re-gift" all the craptasticness that has been bestowed upon me. For the meantime however, I'll attempt to give you as brief a summary as possible without forgetting to include any particularly amusing bits. Fair warning, this post might not be as lighthearted as some, but you may all consider this a sort of backlog and know that in the future, only verifiable posts of a laughable nature will be made.

Let's see, where to begin.

Well there was...

fuck that.

You don't need to know all the gory details -suffice to say, my sex life has been so-so, my relationships such as they are have been fraught with a complete lack of intimacy, a more-than-usual amount of shrieking headaches, a rather hefty dose of...performance issues (not on my part,) an appalling lack of courtesy and respect and a general and overall increase in a "thanks but no thanks" mentality (on my part.)

I'm currently on a dating site. It's provided ample opportunity even if I can't say it's provided many stellar results. Still and all, it's better than nothing. And I try to maintain a positive attitude about it because I know full well that if I walk into it with a mixture of dread and apprehension and a certainty of failure, then it all becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. So -eyes open, legs closed. I forge ahead.

As we are all aware, last weekend was Valentines Day. I can say with almost absolute certainty that I don't even need to give the rant about it being a corporate holiday and how if you're in a relationship you should celebrate every day in a loving fashion and not just one applicable day out of the year, how if these people really were truly all madly in love and lust they'd be home copulating with a fury that the Greeks themselves would admire....blah blah blah. See -I didn't think so. Truth be told, I'd love to celebrate Valentines Day. I'd love to have some cheesy, schmaltzy night on the town with excess amounts of cocoa-based products, sneakily intimate little gifts and suggestive conversation...yeah -I'd love to make it my bitch. But fate has not marked me for such a thing. After all, I'm the lucky girl who's ex gave her flowers on one occasion...and what an occasion it was. He'd worked a job out at this victorian manor in the middle of a nature preserve -the place hosted weddings and receptions and fancy dinners and whatnot -and he'd gotten home super late. When he woke me up, I remember looking at the clock and thinking, "2:30am you ass -as if it's not enough I'm still pissed at you for driving my car while drunk the other night, now you wake me up at this hour and it's a safe bet it's not for sex. Jerk."

-A: "Hey baby, I brought you flowers."
-Me: (thinking he might be drunk again because he would never say that phrase of his own free will) "Really? Where?"
A: "Here, see?"
Me (having a moment of chastisement thinking that perhaps I'd misjudged him) "Oh those are really lovely!"

They were too, at least from what I could tell in the dark -a large bouquet with a fancy ribbon and a crystal vase. And I began to have one of those moments of happiness that are doomed to be all too brief and quite likely to be totally accidental. And then it hit me, and in a highly suspicious tone of voice I said, "Wait a sec -didn't you work a FUNERAL RECEPTION tonight?!" For the first time I note that the fancy ribbon is black -a fancy black. A funeral black. Wealthy funeral, sure - but still.

A (in fine form and completely oblivious to the thin, black and quickly corroding ice he was on) "Oh don't worry hon -they'd already thrown them out!"

Me (in tired tone of voice, resigned to the fact that this guy was ever going to be an insensitive and imbecilic lout that would never give any holiday it's proper due because he just couldn't be bothered) "Just put them in the kitchen and I'll deal with them in the morning."

So see, I'm right to feel like I'm jinxed before the race begins -of course there are times when it's a bit like putting the cart before the horse before it's even attached to the horse...but it's also never really proven me wrong. The nicest gestures in my life have come from friends -my fellow BBF'ers taking me out for my birthday and indulging my book fetish, the people who let me call and ramble, at times in a most incoherent and bizarre fashion about all manner of things, the people who send little messages that remind me that not everyone in my life is a facking git who needs destroying...and they never blame anything on the booze, the alignment of the stars, the full moon, their dog, their parents or the fact that I've got large breasts and a penchant for low-cut shirts. They simply accept. And it's because of them that the body count has remained fairly low.

Anyways, THIS Valentines Day, I did indeed have an interesting time starting at just around midnight (Friday night/Sat morning) when I kept hearing this odd sound out in my hallway. At first I thought one of the kitties was snoring because sometimes they do that or they let out these breathy little sighs. But it kept happening -and when I glanced over at the cats, they were all staring at the door. So now I was very confused and very irritated. (I have a tendency to get that way if little noises keep niggling at my consciousness -plastic bags rustling being one of the things that will drive me to the point of batshit insanity.) Finally I decide to look out my peephole. Much to my dismay, consternation and revulsion, I discovered the source of the noise. A large black man, pass out in front of my door, fully exposed. After checking once more to make sure that the wine wasn't playing tricks on me, I texted my building manager Luke saying only, "Luke -there is a man passed out in front of my door. He is...shall we say...exposed. Please help."

I waited inside my apartment and then I heard the vestibule door open and Luke came up the stairs -the first thing he said was, "Oh sweet fucking Jesus." I watched from the peephole as he and his boyfriend and the upstairs neighbor attempted to wake the guy up -who is apparently my across-the-hall neighbor though from that angle it was hard to tell. Finally they got him up and in his apartment and shut the door. Luke comes back out and I finally open my door and go into the hall to talk to them. The upstairs neighbor started snickering and pointed at my shirt which was an old time advertisement for Rye with a picture of a bottle with a smiley face and arms and legs...verrrrry appropriate. At one point Luke says, "Man, did you see how out of it he looked when he got up -he kept staring at me all strange-like!" and I laughed and had to remind him that the guy woke up with his pants down surrounded by three gay men...that's enough to give anyone pause. We finally disbanded and I went inside to call Adam who had been texting me -I had to relay the story to SOMEONE!

Valentines Day evening -nothing too special -went to my usual place, got a lot of free booze, got flirted with by the new doorman who obviously was only doing it for two reasons -one, he's one of those naturally flirty "I like making everyone feel special -like they might actually have a chance" type people -and two, because he realized that I was friends with the owners and staff and obviously a regular. He kept doing this thing when I'd go out to smoke, telling me that I should have a camera following me around everywhere and that I looked so regal smoking -and then he did the Madonna "Vogue" thing like he was miming taking pictures...lame. I also got to babysit the VERY drunk friend of the bartender (he kept asking me if he was pathetic...you have no idea how good I was for not saying, "Yes, yes you are -pathetic, hopeless and frankly, a BORE!") And some guy who had been part of a group of people I'd chatted with earlier in the evening while we were all smoking hugged me goodbye and kissed me -and all I could think to say when he walked off was, "I just shared his DNA!" Wine and whiskey shots will do that to me -mistress of the keenly bizarre observation.

So thus ended my V-Day.

After sending out a text stating that if I had to deal with one more happy couple I'd start drinking battery acid and starting fistfights, a sentiment that met with a great deal of encouragement.

Now you've gotten a bit of absurdity and I've got to be off to class -I'm taking a "Politics of Punishment" seminar (sounds way more kinky than it is) and I've got a presentation to do. I am however working on the next BLTA already -a foray into my recent experiences with chiropractors and acupuncture. I'll leave you with a little tidbit from that...

My acupuncturist, who as it happens is a lesbian, was taking my pulse and she mentioned that my pulse was rather high. Without thinking I just say, "That's because you're touching me."

Did I mention I'm also mistress of the poorly-worded explanation? No -well, there's your proof.

More soon poppets!!!

Bedbugs LXIX

2009-02-16T22:44:00.004-05:00

Bedbugs LXIX

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

As a matter of fact, I do take responsibility. You brough
your own problems to the tabke without my help!
I realize severe mental frostbite caused by an unwinnable
argument. Particularly because everyone left.
I go home and try to get back in the game I promised
I'd return to. Breathing in and out was practiced.
What is my next move? Knowing it's going to be
a decaying at the gym, only ten years, twenty years
lost. Who will notice besides me? Get over it and
the victim act perfected will be ignored even if
I love the one doing it. Still wished I'd helped answer
the question of 'why me?' she can't stop saying. Then
maybe her record would stop and she could play outside.
No wonder I'm lethargic. Who's on the phone right now,
doesn't matter. It was never for me. I think.. am I right?
What is right? Probably the opposite of what I'm doing.
I wait. I'm my own distraction.

-shot twice, in the story
-waiting for an ending
-he will appear in your work
-stark black and white
-could not publish the truth in time
-knowing I'd be here, you still came
-back to before square one

-Adam

Bedbugs LXVIII

2009-02-16T22:32:00.005-05:00

Bedbugs LXVIII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

The lights were put here to make you and anyone else
who ended up here handy. Rusty glass protecting a row of
ideas and inmates existing hand in hand with trust and
perseverence and temperatures dropped in seconds upon
agreement. There's no time to leave like the present and
who made that noise? It resembled the records in my
head and scared me..I may replace this head. If that's the
answer, he's very ill and should not be trusted or entrusted
with matters of the mind and heart. When will the
sentences come back together as I stand before the
podium and wish I could see the audience purposely
kept in shadow for reasons unrevealed to me.
Creativity is coming back, I'm promised. The lost
years will be made up for, says the doctor as he pours
himself a drink. My last hope? We could stay here forever
and see if it works who owns this today? Stop interrupting
me. bring me back a few years, or return me TO
those years. First one in nailed it.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-Severe mental frostbite caused by
-decaying at the gym
-only ten years, twenty years
-the victim act perfected
-still wished I'd helped answer
-who's on the phone right now
-I'm my own distraction

-Adam

SIN-E-FILE (The Neglected)

2009-02-09T04:47:00.006-05:00

"I have the sin of the Cinephile" - Jean Luc Godard

I decided it was time to finally view a number of films that are indisputably considered classics of world cinema that I had embarrassingly neglected. Some of the selections are so embarrassing that I can’t even make them public.

It’s not so embarrassing that I haven’t seen Wild Strawberries, is it? Actually, I did see it, in film school. But I don’t remember it at all. I probably fell asleep when it was screened. Not to say I was bored with it, I just was overworked. So I decided to start with this Ingmar Bergman classic.

I think I should first say, before I go on, that I ended up not watching this film. I watched about 5 minutes of it. I shut it off. Actually, now that I’ve admitted that, I see no point in going on with this article. How could I?

But wait, perhaps it is interesting why I shut it off.

Ingmar Bergman made exceptional movies. You may not be a big fan, but no one can really deny his ability to tell a story on film. He was a master. And I think when I started to sense his mastery, started to smell, if you will, his command of what was being presented on the screen, this is why I shut it off. It held no interest to me because I felt hands sliding in underneath my bottom and I felt like I was lifted into the safe arms of Mr. Bergman, where he was about to cradle me and tell me his story. This time waking up, not in a film school classroom, but in a crib.

Most people, I think, need to feel those safe arms around them, need to recognize that smell before they can even begin to take in a film. For me, in that moment, and perhaps for ever more now, I was repulsed by it. I'm not sure what's wrong with me. But there most certainly is an ailment that I am inflicted with.

The first decade of this new century is almost in the books. We are no longer children, right? We’ve grown, haven’t we? Take your thumb out of your mouth and answer this. (And don't talk back to me, I'm a sick man) How much longer are we going to talk about Slumdog Millionaire?

-Peter Rinaldi

Six Word Theater

2009-02-04T14:48:00.002-05:00

Six Word Theater

Click here for the previous entry.

Inspired by the challenge of telling a story in six words,
I attempt to polish my skills by telling a six-word story
or phrase on select Wednesdays.

Feel free to "continue the story"
or start your own.

Today's entry:

'Tell me why
you don't communicate.'

-AB

Bedbugs LXVII

2009-02-01T13:50:00.003-05:00

Bedbugs LXVII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

I wish I saved you and could pull apart the layers of sounds
that damaged your head. Marked ahead of time and knowing the
best way out doesn't matter if you can anticipate
knowing everything up front. I try to clear the mental garbage
but then all I can hear is the basement's music again..it's faint
but it's there. The best way to understand me is to simply
try and try several times. Be patient..the temperature is
dropping because someone else is in the room. I who left
this here don't feel any need to reclaim it. There's no way out;
outside the cabin is a purpose you weren't meant for, boarding
up the windows seems like the best way to get back to your
original plans light but not lazy, a feeling and emotion and color
brings clarity to the piles of words I sift through to find
one not often used that can say a lot..tell me who to love.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words

-rusty glass protecting a row of
-temperatures dropped in seconds
-he's very ill and should not
-we could stay here forever
-who owns this today
-bring me back a few years
-the first one in nailed it

-Adam

Bedbugs LXVI

2009-02-01T11:46:00.002-05:00

Bedbugs LXVI

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

Bring it directly to the mouth of the cave and understand as
many things master of none as you can because it doesn't
read the proper way in any language. Waiting where it's warm
won't manage to impress anyone living in the hills, the cities
where you can't keep the pain bundled out. Endless illness
is imprinted in the toxicity I'm thinking through.
Who thinks it's a good idea? She means well, I promise this time
she's only thinking of sleep while you can because tomorrow
is an anxious aftermath that needs clearing out before
winter indoors and outdoors claims all of us.
I wake up and thoughts are ten percent straighter. Not
enough to survive though. Someone is waiting in that darkened
car across from us. He hasn't moved in days.
Am I the only one who can see him? It picks up this year
and nobody understands but I welcome it. It can't get
worse, I knew it was here.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-marked ahead of time
-knowing everything up front
-the best way to understand me
-who left this here
-outside the cabin is a
-light but not lazy
-tell me who to love

-Adam

BEST FILMS OF 2008, TAKEN, and THE VISITOR by Frank Palmcoast

2009-01-31T23:47:00.004-05:00

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Special treat Palmcoast fans! Our veteran, crack film journalist not only reviews Liam Neeson's return to mainstream cinema, Taken, but also offers up his top films of 2008 and a capsule review of the Oscar nominated - The Visitor.

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FRANK PALMCOAST'S TOP 10 FILMS OF 2008

Here is the Palmcoast's picks for the Ten Best Pictures for the year 2008 AD and in their order of importance: #1, Slumdog Millionaire. #2, Grand Torino, #3, Rightious Kill, #4, Yonkers Joe, #5, The Wrestler, #6, Doubt, # 7, The Bucket List, #8, Wild Hogs, #9, You Don't Mess with The Zohan and Last but not least #10, Rambo. Number Ten, Rambo reminded me of when I was in Nam fighten those commies and for everyones information, as we speak they are working on Wild Hogs 2 for 2009. It doesn't get any better than that!

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If you have has enough of these depressing Academy Award films you will be rescued and not by Bourne or Bond but by Liam Neeson. There are slim pickens this time of the year, no big block busters but you will be rewarded by this classic action flick. In Taken, Neeson is a revenge seeking missile as a kick-ass action father hero.Having recently seen "Quantum of Solace" this Liam guy puts the new Bond to shame.The rage, the determination, the vengeance of the father was cheered on by the viewers of my show. Even the torture of the very evil guy and the shooting of a woman in the arm demonstrates to this critic, "desperate times , call for desperate measures and sometimes the answer to violent people is violence, perhaps we can learn from this.The so called critics want Benjamin Button movies and Palmcoast's wants"mess with the best and die with the rest".Taken reminds me of say Jack Bauer's saving his daughter, then I feel sorry for the terrorist. A relentless thriller that never ends. This movie is without a doubt preposterous in every way and you know what, I loved it. My two favorite lines from this flick, "I will find you and I WILL kill you and If I have to I WILL tare down the Eiffel Tower". I would give this movie 3 thumbs up but I only have 2. Most movie critics as well as our congressmen have lost their creditability! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

***************************************************

Just caught The Visitor on On Demand, Movie & Events, All New Releases. Found it interesting, extremely subtle and engrossing. First time for me to see the work of Richard Jenkins. The story line really impressed me and most timely. It affords me a new and different outlook on what's going on today and the many injustices that must occur. More people should see this picture.

Bedbugs LXV

2009-01-25T18:10:00.005-05:00

Bedbugs LXV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for the previous Bedbugs.

We here at BBF Central apologize for the tardiness of Bedbugs lately-
its creator was on an all-encompassing project; three chapters of Bedbugs
will debut this week in order to get back on track with weekly
Thursday installments. I'm sure the single-digit fans were worried,
but rest assured we will continue a little while longer.

Tell me a reason why since you didn't bother to
ten years ago. Each one will be good for a laugh in your
high contrast, victim-providing world. Don't publish it.
There's nothing good about it. I though I would have been
the one to save you too, but you were too busy hooking up
with your own twisted destiny that I can't be part of.
Lifting each one better dressed than the last manages to
blur the contrast in my retina twice in operfect sync. Last
warning you can get at this hour is the one that you've had on
you all along! Treat me like the angel I hope to be and you
might get a response. I hope to give one. I want to observe
and experience the outside. Forty to go? Unsure. Ask
the man on the phone. He will say something if you ask
him something! Try it when he calls. What's that sound?
You will catch up, can smell things in the next room that
I didn't bring home with me. Nightmarish? Hardly.
Just a slow sad crawl to the finish line. Nobody will
be there when you're done, infections are spreading.

Next chapter's seven phrases/groups of words:

-master of none
-waiting where it's warm
-she means well, I promise
-sleep while you can
-winter indoors and outdoors
-it picks up this year
-I knew it was here

-Adam

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE by Frank Palmcoast

2009-01-21T20:40:00.007-05:00

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Palmcoast ventures into very unchartered territory - India of all places!!!! Let's see what our senior reviewer has to say about the sleeper hit of 2008.

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Slumdog Millionaire is a Million Dollar winner. The male lead Jamal Malik is the new Forest Gump.Bollywood meets Hollywood. I'm thinking of changing Hollyweird to Toiletwood.This flick simply stated is Oliver Twist and Great Expectations revolving around a TV show "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire unfortunately without Regis. Having seen the road conditions in Mumbai, I'll never complain about traffic conditions in America. This picture is exiting and suspenseful right till the very end.If any one has spoiled kids, take them to see this flick and show them how much of the third world kids live. After seeing Bombay, Pompano Beach is looking REAL GOOD! At times, Jamal and Latika reminded me of Stalone and Aaaaaaadrian. Before seeing this film Grand Torino was my choice but for me Slumdog Millionaire is a SLUMDUNK for Best Picture of The Year. Yes, Yes for Oscar and that's my final answer!

SIN-E-FILE (Not-Ten Films of 2008)

2009-01-19T23:35:00.010-05:00

"I have the sin of the Cinephile" - Jean Luc Godard

When will critics finally stop the madness of making top ten lists of the best films of the year? I have either been reading critics’ top ten lists or reading critics making fun of top ten lists, who then make their own lists. But rarely do they actually refrain from the temptation of making one. (As of now, the only top ten list I anxiously await is Frank Palmcoast’s.)

When you really think about it, not only is it silly to place one film above another for whatever reason, (What possibly could place #9 above #8?!?!?!) but it is true madness to compile a list when you haven’t seen every single film of that year. And, honestly, what critic has seen every film that came out in 2008? It’s like crowning Miss America when some of the girls haven’t even made the stage yet. I remember reading one critic’s review, from a significant weekly paper last year, of There Will Be Blood. The critic loved it and was lamenting the fact that his “Top Ten Films of The Year” list had been published just one week before he saw P.T. Anderson’s epic, otherwise he would have placed it in the #1 spot!!!

As the Oscar nominations are announced later this week, and some people actually start to believe that the five films that are selected are actually the five best films of the year, I thought I would do my part to acquaint you or to remind you of the best work that I have SEEN SO FAR that happened to come out in 2008, without telling you too much, so as not to ruin your viewing experience.

Happy-Go-Lucky – Mike Leigh crafts real characters hand-in-hand with his actors, and the drama (or comedy) is born out of them. This makes for truly satisfying cinematic experiences. And this one is by far my favorite. Sally Hawkins and Eddie Marson are brilliant. Makes you smile without insulting you for even one second! SO RARE!

Synecdoche, New York – One man’s crazy, unfiltered, noncommercial, epic vision brought to life with a $12.4 million budget. This DOES NOT happen. See it now on the big screen. Kaufman will never get final cut again, folks.

Let The Right One In – Those who call this a horror film are incorrect; there is no “fright” in it. It is disturbing in an interesting, stylistic way, not in a…well…“disturbing” way. It is, however, not only a fascinating vampire film with an abundance of superb filmmaking and perfectly subtle performances by children, but it stayed with me for some time after the credits rolled.

Also: Man on Wire, Rachel Getting Married, The Wrestler

Don’t Believe the hype: Slumdog Millionaire, Silent Light, Frost/Nixon, Gran Torino, Revolutionary Road

-Peter Rinaldi