eleanor zissou: “bye steve.”

steve zissou: “don’t say that. even if it’s true, don’t say that. it’s too painful.”

eleanor zissou: “what do you want me to say?”

steve zissou: “say, ‘bon voyage.’”

eleanor zissou: *walks into the ocean and throws hand up* “bon voyage.”

Whoo! This one was hard. I am such a movie lover – how to narrow it down? Well, here goes:

10 Favorite Movie Moments

1. Amadeus: My all time favourite movie – that I have bought at least 4 times and yet don’t possess a copy of…something is very wrong with that…

In Grade 6 we watched this movie and it literally changed my life. Discovering Mozart’s music was a tremendous gift.

The opening scene of Salieri’s suicide attempt where he is being rushed to hospital through the snow while Mozart’s Symphony No.25 in G Minor is playing interspersed with the ballroom dancing and light music (I don’t know what that music is – do any of you?) gives me goosebumps everytime. In fact just thinking of it is giving me goosebumps!

Most haunting are the closing credits with Tom Hulce’s laugh superimposed over Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor. I’m tearing up writing this!
This movie was pure genius.

2. Out of Africa: Second favourite movie. I loved this so much. I remember watching it on video — back when you had to rent the machines! and crying my eyes out. I wasn’t even a tween yet! Everything is so beautifully filmed and Robert Redford is his best “I love you – but you can’t hold on to me” character. (or is it?) What can I even say about Meryl Streep?

My favourite scene is when they are flying over the water/landscape and that gorgeous music is playing and Karen reaches up her hand and Denis takes it. (sadly I felt that the conclusion of BSG would have been better without that ripoff/homage – but I digress)

3. Hamlet – the 1990 version starring the great Melvin Gibson — sorry, I just can’t ever see him the same way again. Not without hearing “sugartits”. What a buffoon.

I loved his scene in the library with Polonius and the “words” discussion. Despite my love of Kenneth Branagh’s work, this is my favourite version of Hamlet.

The best scene/s to me are Helena Bonham Carter’s once Ophelia is mad. So heartbreaking.

4. LA Confidential – Oh I love this film. I saw it 3 times in the theatre if you can imagine! The 1st time I was having one of the worst days of my life and this film lifted me right out of my skin. Exactly what I needed.
 This still is my favourite scene. I knew it was going to happen but I had no clue why – this is one of the very few movies where I didn’t think while watching. A rarity for me.

The 2nd time I saw it the audience was small and an older lady shouted out “Holy Sh*t!!!” big breath in “Oh my God!!” when this scene happened. Soo funny. I wasn’t the only one fully absorbed!

5. Persuasion – my very favourite Austen movie or book. Mmmm Ciaran Hinds…Ahhh Captain Wentworth.
My favourite scene is when Capt. Wentworth sends Anne away with his sister in the buggy because he has noticed the walk has tired her. There is so much unsaid – the scene is fraught with emotion.

I also love Anne’s boldness in asking him to stay for the rest of the concert, towards the end of the movie. But…she does not look as well for a pic on the blog.

6. Pulp Fiction – Loved the dialogue in this film. Don’t get me wrong – it’s so violent and ugh the language. I couldn’t watch it now I don’t think. But at the time I loved it – -though I did threaten to walk out if Bruce Willis did anything with that chainsaw!

The interactions/dialogue between Jules and Vincent Vega were my favourite thing about the movie – and the lines have stayed with me. Best exchange in the film: ——-
Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don’t eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain’t Jewish, I just don’t dig on swine, that’s all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don’t eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I’d never know ’cause I wouldn’t eat the filthy motherf*cker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That’s a filthy animal. I ain’t eat nothin’ that ain’t got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.
Jules: I don’t eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn’t go so far as to call a dog filthy but they’re definitely dirty. But, a dog’s got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we’d have to be talkin’ about one charming motherf*ckin’ pig. I mean he’d have to be ten times more charmin’ than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I’m sayin’?

That and: “when I got finished, the towel didn’t look like no goddamn Maxi-Pad!”

7. Remains of the Day – gorgeous film. Again with the whole ‘left unsaid’ component.

The scene that stands out for me is when Mr.Stephens father is serving tea outdoors and there is a drop dangling from his nose. He’s spent his life in service, he’s clearly too old to continue but what is there for him? That scene crystallized the dilemma facing Miss Kenton and Mr Stephens – and all of the servants, it was the end of an era, an entire way of life (hopefully!) perfectly.
The pic is from one of the best parts of another movie that didn’t make this list! Who knows the reference?

8. Room With a View – another all time favourite film.
I think the best scene is when Lucy and her brother and George are playing tennis while their Mother and Aunt look on from tea. Sigh. What a lifestyle.

To think when I watched it I couldn’t stand Cecil and look at the brilliant career he’s had!

9. The Life Aquatic – I love all of Wes Andersen’s films. They slay me.

This I think might have some of the best lines.
Examples: When they burst in and find Jeff Goldblum playing cards with the kidnappers and he says “Steven, are you rescuing me?” and then says to the kidnappers “Fold.” and is shot.
When they arrive at Steve’s home and his wife greets him by saying ” Your cat’s dead.” and he replies, “What? Which one?”
When pirates board their ship and threaten one of the crew members and Zissou’s response is “Don’t point that gun at him, he’s an unpaid intern.”

But my favourite from this film is when Zissou falls down that winding staircase and looks up and says in a defeated tone “did you get that Vikram?” to the documentary film maker that’s been following them throughout. What a riot! Of course, anyone falling down is pretty damned funny if you ask me!

10. The Usual Suspects – best scene: when Verbal Kint walks out of the police station and slowly straightens up and as he does so the police officer/detective realizes that the story he was just told was made up from the things in his own office. Brilliant.
Hey – Kevin Spacey made it on this list twice….too bad he hasn’t made anything great lately. God he was scary in 7! Wait – so did Helena Bonham Carter. Hmmm…how about that.

What are your favourite movie moments?

Trilhas sonoras são sempre prazerosas de se adquirir quando carregam boas lembranças à experiência do filme.

The Darjeeling Limited (veja o trailer), último longa lançado por Wes Anderson (Os Excêntricos Tenenbaums e A Vida Marinha de Steve Zissou), é um desses ótimos exemplos. O filme é muito bom, uma aula de direção de arte e direção, e, como todos os filmes de Wanderson, tem uma trilha escolhida com precisão.

Além de clássicos muito bonitos e muito tocados como Play With Fire, do Rolling Stones, e três músicas do The Kiks (This Time Tomorrow, Strangers e Powerman), tras outros clássicos que as gerações mais novas não tiveram facilmente o prazer de conhecer. Elas seguem abaxo. E aqui, um link da Amazon para escutar e, quem sabe, comprar o disco, porquê vale a pena (quem ainda não assistiu o filme, o faça antes de qualquer coisa).

Peter Sarstedt – Where do you go to (my lovely) (1969)
 

Joe Dassin – Les Champs-Elysées (1970)

 The Rolling Stones – Play With Fire (1965)

 post: Gustavo

Lembro que a primeira vez que ouvi Seu Jorge, não fazia nem ideia de quem ele era. O filme A Vida Marinha com Steve Zissou não passaria de mais um dos filmes que não fariam diferença dentre os vários que já assisti/assistirei em minha vida a não ser por um fator. O personagem Pelé dos Santos, interpretado pelo Seu Jorge, passa o filme tocando re-leituras de músicas do David Bowie e, antes que eu dê qualquer opinião, creio que uma opinião do próprio camaleão deve valer mais que a minha:

Se Seu Jorge não tivesse gravado acusticamente minhas músicas em português, eu nunca teria a oportunidade de escutar esse novo nível de beleza musical que ele deu à elas.

E realmente, é basicamente isso. Violão, voz, sem muitos efeitos de estúdio, tudo muito “seco” mesmo, mas muito bem feito. Nesse CD, Seu Jorge faz o que sabe fazer melhor, que é soltar o vozeirão e tocar bem o seu violão.

Esse é um dos CD’s pra se ter na prateleira e ouvir sempre que estiver descompromissado e, porque não, velejando no seu próprio barco?

01. Rebel Rebel
02. Life on Mars?
03. Starman
04. Ziggy Stardust

05. Lady Stardust
06. Changes
07. Oh! You Pretty Things
08. Rock N’ Roll Suicide
09. Suffragette City
10. Five Years
11. Queen Bitch
12. When I Live My Dream
13. Quicksand
14. Team Zissou (bônus)

Depois de ouvir esse CD, reforcei mais ainda a opinião de que o Seu Jorge não é um artista datado. Esse som que ele faz seria bom de se ouvir pra qualquer ouvido de qualquer época.

“You really scared me. I didn’t think I would see you ever again and when you asked me if you could see me tonight, I thought for sure you were coming to tell me goodbye.”

We had parked behind a church in Emigration Canyon with no real view of anything but a dumpster. I’m not sure why we were there, we simply opted to stop driving around. I had no reply. I starred straight ahead with a sort of glassy, blank look.

“But I was so glad that you asked to see me…. so glad!”

I gave half a smile, still starring ahead. I was thinking about how serious this was, if I was going to hurt him, if I was going to mess up, if he would hurt me, and the three hour on-and-off conversation I had with The Other Man earlier that day in which, for the first time recently, he got an emotional reaction out of me. Would I throw this all away for The Other Man again? I didn’t think so, but what if he never left me alone. What if he insisted with his charm once again, taking the chance at seeing me face to face? Would I fall apart or would I have the same disregard I seemed to have with him over the phone when I asked him to Stop! and told him I had to go.

“You…” he paused. “I’m just going to say it! You look absolutely amazing. I love your hair. Your eyes. Stunning.” I gave him a sideways glance with a laugh and a raised eyebrow, “You’re kidding?” I asked. My hair had been rained on, leaving the roots a greasy headed mess and my split ends became insta-fluff. He liked the curl. My eyes seemed dark, to me, as if all the makeup had rubbed away and settled into a barely visible powdery line defining the circles under my eyes. I’m getting old.

“You’re amazing. You need to stop blaming yourself, stop shooting yourself down.” I never really thought I had a problem with that. I am not cocky, but I definitely have no lack of confidence. Where is this coming from?

“I need to ask you something without it seeming self degrading,” I said. “About the football game… I mean… I know how things are for you right now and I understand. It’s not about the fact that you have 3 or 35 more days until your divorce is final, it’s just… have…” I knew where I was going with this, but had no idea how to say it. “Have you ever considered the fact that if I suddenly drop into your life the day you’re divorced, people are going to wonder just how long I’ve been around?” The idea didn’t bother me. Afterall, I’d been The Other Woman for nearly two years now. “I understand the straight jacket nature of your parents and I commend that. But you said your Mom is very outspoken. She’ll love me but she won’t approve of some things – like my tattoos. She’s that A-Typical Utah Mormon which is fine, but I guess what I’m saying is if you have to go-backsies on the football game next weekend I understand. There will be other games. Don’t feel like you have to because you already invited me.”

“Why because my divorce may not be final by then?”

“Well yea and just because it’s soon, in general, final or not.”

“I don’t really care what other people think. Come. I think you should take my car for the day and pick me up after school and we should go together. Come.”

I looked away again, “I think you should think about it.”

“Why? Done! Come… I’ve thought about it.”

I made no reply. I simply wondered why I was already planning on being disappointed by this. Why was I not letting myself deserve this? Was it really about me and how I felt about myself? No. I know I’m more than worthwhile. Why was everyone else getting to me? Since when did I care what other people thought? I guess it all comes down to being tired of fighting against the grain. I’m tired of having made so many leaps, strides, accomplishments and still being told by everyone who supposedly knows me that it’s weak, that I need to do better, or that it doesn’t add up or mean anything at all.

I tried to leave early, telling him at 11:00pm that it was time for us to go home, to lead a healthy lifestyle. I looked at my phone to see the time and instead saw a message from Steve Zissou, “I love you.” I read it outloud. I don’t know why. He had never said that before. I didn’t reply. I went back on subject, easily forgetting the message and I mentioned the irony of having dropped the habit of daily prayer and scripture reading all because I was spending too much time with a Mormon boy. Dancing around the subject and his level of comfortability with it, I “joked” that we should just read together so we can spend more time together. I truly felt that way. He had just finished explaining to me about how he felt more spiritually weak than he ever has when I am trying to be stronger than I’ve ever been. I had told him about my long conversation with The Other Man and he had mentioned an awkward lunch with his ex wife, going over bills and separation notices. He liked the idea and still, our goodbye lasted until 1:00AM before the two of us raced side by side down the highway until our respective turnoffs went in opposite directions.

He emailed me by 1:30 that he had lost his phone. I didn’t receive the email so he spent the better half of the night driving back to Salt Lake City to see if he had dropped it. I found the phone in the car this morning and met him at work to drop off his phone this afternoon.

I was arranging packages and organizing things in the car when he walked up. To my surprise, he owned the passenger side door and got in. He gave me an overwhelming kiss, leaving me in nothing but smiles and a complete loss of memory for whatever it was I was doing. We went to lunch, sitting on the same side of the booth snuggled together. He wore dark gray slacks and a black, long-sleeved shirt. He looked gorgeous. The fall sunlight brought out the hazel in his eyes and the black shirt complimented his dark hair and yet he insisted he couldn’t take his eyes off of me, telling me three times that I looked absolutely adorable today. How did I get so lucky?

My lunch hour quickly became a two hour lunch which is bad timing when going up for a review by the end of the month, but what do I care? We sat in the sun and the warmth felt nice although it was not as chilly as the night before. I thought about giving a disclaimer to what I was about to say, and instead came right out with it although it was entirely off subject. “I just told my friend I’m not moving to Texas and almost immediately my phone started blowing up.” Everyone in Texas seems to know, instantly, and they are all curious as to what happened.

“So you didn’t get that job?”

“No actually. It’s not about whether or not I get the job anymore which is funny because I did nothing but harass that recruiter for eight weeks. I spent my own money to fly out to see her and I haven’t talked to her since.” He laughed.

“So you’re not going to move then?” We hadn’t really ever talked about it at all. I suppose the idea of moving went out the window the day I met him, but only in hindsight can I even begin to understand what was a beginning and what was an end.

“Nope. I’d rather be here with you.”

He smiled that gorgeous, shy smile of his and I melted. “I feel like the luckiest guy in the world right now… right here… next to you.”

“Does it freak you out that I want to stay for you?”

“Not at all.” He kissed me on the nose and fed me one last bite of lunch before we left. I was driving and it’s about time I drove someone around. Having a car for even a moment is nice. He still opened my door, drivers side. Getting in, I leaned across and opened his always greeted with a kiss as if it were simple routine of getting in the car, like putting on your seatbelt.

I didn’t want to let him go other than knowing that I’d seem a few short hours later. We whined like children for a brief moment about how late I had to work and that there was no way I could leave early. He said he may sneak away and come to my office. We’re planning on going to school after work to study together. I don’t even have very much work to do it seems and yet I always have enough to be done.

I feel happy. I feel organized. I feel motivated like all is as it should be.

The Other Man texted me throughout the weekend. “What are you doing? I like hearing from you. Have a good weekend.” Any update I made to any website, any facebook, any social networking account was met with a quick text reply.

Friday was amazing for me. Tommy Gun and I had planned our second date after we first met the Tuesday before for perhaps the only lunch hour I’ve had in a year that had any real distinct purpose in lasting far more than one measly hour.

Just a few days earlier, I had been standing to the left of my parents Love Sac whiel Steve Zissou played a video game on our big screen. It was my first date with Steve and we were spending it with the family when, originally, we had gotten together simply so he could help me work. I needed the use of his car. I was joking with my brother about the dating site I had signed up for. I stood, calling out names for the various ab-showing thugs and gang bangers that were “winking” at me on this dating site. There were a few that could be good catches, but who really would know. In the midst of my loud, prude joking I scrolled to a name I had seen most every time I had logged into the site over the last twenty four hours of sheer curiosity. “39 winks in 24 hours,” I bragged. I stopped the phone from scrolling and moved back to, “Tommy Gun!” I insisted. “I LOVE that song.” I had named myself after a Clash song so it seemed highly appropriate that I should find myself involved with another Clash member. Without hardly looking at the details of his profile, I sent him a wink while laughing out loud. Little did I know that when I met Tommy Gun for a lunch I nearly cancelled that Tuesday afternoon, that this drop dead gorgeous man would step aside from his VW Jetta, his black hair beaming in the sunlight as a perfect contract to his light, hazel eyes. Oh hello! I thought. He was obviously an old football player and entirely opposite of anything I was use to already. This could be a good thing, I thought. He opened my door as we nervously danced around each other in the aisle between the cars. The next two hours were history. I nervously blabbed about myself, reminding myself unsuccessfully to talk less with my hands and maintain some degree of eye contact. This guy was out of my league.

None the less, he picked me up from home on Friday afternoon and together we made the hour long drive up the canyon for a small town mountain festival. He looked over at my often while driving, but we never made eye contact. Each glance gave me the mixed intoxication of blush and mystery. I was curious what his plan was and how anyone would pick me up from living at my family’s house and drive me a hundred miles out of their way, nearly 160 from their own home and not ever say a negative word about it.

“This is Tommy Gun,” I said as I entered my parents house greeting my brother and a friend of ours who had brought her children up for the local festivities. Everyone shook hands while I still starred at the ground, or the ceiling, or the fly on the wall. What was wrong with me? Without even glancing at him, I made our first real body contact since we had met. I grabbed his arm. Not his hand or even his elbow, but right above the wrist, guiding him downstairs where I showed him every mans dream – the PS3 Gran Turismo racing console. Sold! We sat together and played one, quick round before being invited back up for dinner.

At dinner, he served the drinks – precariously balancing a stack of seven Pepsi cups and one, giant Mountain Dew. That would be for me! My phone began to buzz and vibrate. The Other Man was texting me. I left the phone wide out in the open for everyone to see, regardless of what he had to say before I finally gave the phone to the kids to play games with. The kids were quickly bored and disappointed, the texts came too often, too quickly to win a game of Tic-Tac-Toe. Steve Zissou began to text me to, “Is it wrong that I miss you?” Oh boy! I thought. I left them all unanswered.

We left what is possibly the only standing Pizza Hut resteraunt left and ventured downtown for Swiss Days. Wandering around the festival, looking for my brother and friend, Tommy Gun and I ran into an ex of mine, The Director – someone I hadn’t seen in 2 1/2 years. Tommy Gun handled The Director with a smile and a shake of the hand. The Director stepped through his handshake to give me a hug. Smiling and starring, he seemed in awe that I would even talk to him. The conversation quickly turned to awkward mumbles after joking about the surrounding festivities and the people in attendance, as if we weren’t all voluntarily one of them. We said our goodbyes, gave our back-patting hugs and turned the other direction where Tommy Gun took my cue with open invitation to grab my hand and walk with me.

The remainder of the festival was spent in the kids pin, watching the four little ones bounce on what seemed like an anchor of blown up variatinos – spiderman, princess, creepy house, big pink thing. Watching Jayson run against the tight, elastic rope of an anchored parachute was all too entertaining as three of us leaned forward, video taping the hilarious event with our iPhones. He stood as I leaned over, smacking one of the girls with a hug and a kiss. As I came back to standing position, he wrapped his arms around me as if it were the most familiar hold and kissed me on the cheek in front of God and everyone. I blushed. I melted. I was had as I watched him root on the boys as if they were his own.

Leaving the tent, I chased Justice and Jewel through the field, dodging the locals who were boring enough to go home. Why was everyone leaving? So what if the place closed? I stopped just short of catching Jewel when Tommy Gun ran up behind me. We smiled and laughed with each other before wrapping up in each other’s arms again to trip over each other’s feet all the way back to the car. I wore his red, crewneck sweater as we drove. I kneaded the material, looking at the tag and the cut while thinking to myself Why does this guy like me? ME? He had nice things. Not that I didn’t have nice things too. I was a Benz sporting, True Religion wearing rockstar myself but The Other Man was the closest to class I had ever come.

We held hands as he drove a smooth 95mph down the canyon, racing my brother who managed to pass on the right hand shoulder as if we all might die if we didn’t make the movie in time. That’s my brother for you. Movies are serious business. We got to the theater just in time to see The Gamer, which acts as a tribute to every major cyberpunk film that has debued over the last two decades. The movie was anything but shy and so was Tommy. He ran his hands over my legs, between them, around them, through them, over my hands, between my hands, and back to my knees. The movie was a true test of character as was the drive down. Neither of us ever flinched. Something that seemed so insignificant suddenly made us perfect for each other. I was the entire opposite of his ex and he was the entire opposite of any Mormon boy I had ever dated.

Afterwards was a mix of not knowing what to do. My brother went one direction, leaving me on what seemed to be my first and most comfortable date with anyone I had ever known. I realized I lost my wallet as the two of climbed over folding chairs, purusing the aisles of the theater to find the only real asset I had left to my name. On the way home, I was suddenly sick. I leaned over with my head in my knees and sighed out loud as my vision began to fade. I pleaded and prayed that I would not throw up in his car. I had no idea what was going on. He drove slowly, insisting on keeping the ride smooth as he lay his hot hand on the back of my neck – rubbing and reassuring. Now at home, he held me in his headlights as I seemed to collapse in his hold. I could have slept their forever. I carried on meaningless conversation, hardly thinking of what I was saying. I was only concentrating on avoiding any goodnight kiss not because I didn’t like him but because I had just spent the last four days with Steve Zissou and I felt for sure Tommy Gun was too good to be true.

I excused myself, falling into bed like a ton of smiling bricks. It was nearly 2:00am and this was so unlike me. For weeks I had been the early to bed, early to rise type of girl with nothing better to do than study. Now who was I? I was having fun and that was all that seemed to matter.

I turned my phone on and for fifteen straight minutes it vibrated what seemed to be a hundred missed text messages and calls. I stuffed the vibration in my laundry basket to muffle the sound as I fell asleep, dreaming. By 7:30 the next morning, Steve Zissou was ready to go. We were going snowboard shopping. It was the weekend premiere sale, something that no one could miss and 7:30AM was the perfect time to go. I went in my pajamas and spent the next five hours completely silent, using the excuse of sick and tired while I kept to my own thoughts as to what I would do next.

I didn’t wake late because I was up before hitting my snooze button at least two times. I felt like a stranger starring back at myself within the steam of the mirror. I look the same but I barely recognize myself. I have a sub conscious attempt to make myself have an emotional connection to something. I think of the night before – devoured by hugs and kisses. I love that. I do. I cooked while Steve Zissou worked. I worked. I love the interdependence. Steve insists on talking about things that I need to talk about and tend to ignore. We lay on the couch and he asks me about what I want, if I want to stay in Utah or if I’m going to leave. He asks me what is best and how I feel. I have a lot to say but no answers. But it’s not perfect. We ate dinner silently the last two nights. He said something about how I’m an amazing cook and there was once, entirely out of context, that he told me I was simply beautiful. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything at all. We talk business and to-do’s. It’s what we have. I found myself rolling my eyes and muttering yeesh outloud at one of his firecracker moments where he goes from this perfectly content, adult human being to someone who seems absolutely irrate over unnecessary problems. And there’s a thousand places to fall in between those two. I can tell he’s highly insecure despite being entirely capable. I know the outline of his story although he’s never explained. I can tell and I’m sad that we have that much in common, about that, in the past. But rather than sympathize with what I do know, I have the attitude that there’s so much more to life than remembering the past – resenting and hating. Sometimes I wonder if he knows how reactive he is or if it even matters? “I feel like I’m falling into my past,” he said. “With your ex fiance?” “Yes.” To often, he let’s the words slip that he hate’s Mormons, that he has too many of “those people” in his life as if he forgets that I am one. I asked him about it last night, about where that boy went who tailgated at my apartment for two hours, talking about the love and respect he had for his ex who was also Mormon. He said he doesn’t care what I do and he’s in support of it. But he said it tongue in cheek, in the same context as, “It’s not my problem that there are so many stupid people in the world.” And I wonder why we’re even hanging out or how this could be anything more than a physical attraction. I wonder if subconsciously he’s just another project. From outside of my own skin, I watch myself take him on, motivate him, compel him, discuss with him, appreciate him, and dedicate simply because he deserves it. I watch my own surprise and the way I emotionally cower when he matches my ability to go through the motions of love and care by being absolutely genuine in wanting to help me with something I’m struggling with. I’m not use to that. I don’t know that I can handle someone on my side, in fear it will tip this boat I’ve been sailing for so long. We ate at 9:30. I hardly got anything done. He looked good in his workout clothes. We had jumped on the trampoline together and now, after six days, we moved around each other in his house as if it were our mutual home – doing dishes, serving drinks, wiping counters, moving in and out of the office and around each other. By 10:00 I was half asleep on the bed and ready to go. He told me to gather my things and somehow, I never made it out the door. Half asleep, I barely noticed him move aside the pillows and cover me with blankets, wrapping himself around me as well. By a quarter to midnight, I was pushing him, insisting that I had to go home. He wanted me to stay. He watched me in the silhouette of the moonlight as I gathered my things, reached in the dark for my laptop and started my way out the door. He finally followed. The dog came with us and rested his furry chin on our arms as we held hands. The drive home is always silent. I always feel like he’s mad at me for leaving which is probably not all his fault. The more time we spend together, the more I realize just how foreign it is to me to have someone be in a relationship with me..

Getting home from Texas was worse than I expected. I expected home to come across as a relief at least in the form of a comforting bed and stable familiarity. Instead, I was met with overwhelming drama and negativity almost immediately. I was told there were no more cars to borrow, no way of getting around, that I would have to depend on my Aunt to drive me anywhere I needed to go but that she just got a job and couldn’t be “on call” all of the time. I then had to pay $600 to my totaled car for nothing other than having it parked at the mechanic who has had it now for a month. The car was then towed to the dealership who, to this day has not even acknowledged the existence of the car. Six weeks with no car and morning after morning of life-bashing negativity as I arrive to work later and later and later, pissing off everyone around me, I almost lost it.

I had the impression to text someone I had recently met. We will call him Steve Zissou. I had deleted Steve from any of our usual contact simply because I was overwhelmed with the idea of being liked and decidedly loyal to my upside down situation. I decided against it now.

I went to bed early my first few nights at home. I lay in bed, contemplating my life as I starred at the ceiling, waiting for sleep. I felt ok, but what did that mean? Before going to Texas, my Dad had reassured me that whatever would happen that weekend was sure to be a blessing. At the time, he had no idea. I didn’t really know what to expect either. In hindsight, I was trying to logically derive what the blessing might be. Does this need to happen in order to have everything I want or is this ultimately not what I want at all?

I texted my new friend when I had only been home two days. I vented my frustrations over the negativity in my life and how my job was on the rocks if I didn’t get out that weekend and do my very best to get all of the marketing done throughout town. He saved the day. By Friday afternoon he picked me up, drove me 45 miles to my best friends house to pick up my mail, sort it, and then begin my work. I quickly quit. I didn’t feel like pushing someone else through my schedule of stress. Instead, we took his dog to my brother’s house in the mountains where six of us played video games, barbequed, and watched a movie. He got along perfectly with my brother, like old friends as they talked cars and web design. Sometime after midnight, I began to fall asleep, snuggled up to the dog. Draco was my new best friend. I felt welcomed as he seemed to acknowledge me as the favorite in the house. Torn between his dad’s side or mine, the dog finally lay between us. As I slept, arm around the body of the dog, I felt the presence of someone wrap his body around me, arm over my head. The feeling was comfortable. At the idea that the feeling was not even remotely familiar to me anymore, I thought I might cry. Instead, I let it happen. I lay within the concaves of his firm body as he continued to talk with my brother and I felt the dog breath – in out, in out, in out. Sometime near 3:00am, I stood knowing that I had melted into a mess of tired, worn looks. I stretched out my hand and insisted we go home. At home, I gave him one of my best hugs – standing half asleep and comfortable in his hold. I was surprised at myself and surprised at my level of comfortability with this person I had been avoiding now for a month and a half. In these last two years, I had let no one touch me. Even the most familiar friends or innocent family members were quickly thrown to the back of the room for even the slightest acknowledgement. And here I was, snuggled up to someone who’s chin fit perfectly at the top of my head.

Steve slept in the next morning while I sat at home working on reports that I had procrastinated from the day before. Some time after noon he picked me up to finish my work. Together we drove around town hanging posters and distributing stickers. Although I had done this before, truly with only one other individual, it still seemed unfamiliar. I wondered why it didn’t bother me. I took him to dinner as a thank you for all his extra efforts in helping me before we picked up my brother, went home to let the dog out, and then met with friends for a movie. Inglorious Basterds, what kind of girl does he think I am now? This is my kind of movie.

I was surprised when he stepped over three people to sit next to me in the theater, insisting on wrapping his hands around my naked leg as I shivered in my only pair of shorts. I don’t usually look like this. The idea of being liked for my body is usually uncomfortable for me, instead, my only worry was the awkward feeling of sitting next to my brother as an adult while someone else was wrapped around my left side. This was unfamiliar to me. This had never happened. I chose to relax and enjoy the movie.

Afterwards, the three of us went to an old venue, one I call home that’s filled with familiar faces at all times. My brother and “new friend” seemed impressed as I blazed through the back stage door, displaying a strong sense of doyouknowwhoIam confidence. The two boys followed me to the front where I delivered gifts to everyone who worked there, hugs, and air blown kisses before the three of us all were stamped as “band” for free entry. I felt a small ping of pride when I turned to see my ‘ex best friend’ from growing up, someone I had come to this venue with several times as a kid, and she seemed pissed at the idea that I stole her attention and didn’t need anyone’s permisson or money to get into this concert. Do you know who I am?

I enjoyed the music and bragged about the environment, pointing out familiar faces to my brother before M put his arm around me, looping his finger through one of the belt loops in my shorts. At first, I instantly stiffened. I wasn’t use to this. My mind raced as I stood, silently trying to keep my balance from leaning into him, attempting to be my own, separate person somehow. I realized that all that was shocking wasn’t necessarily how it felt so much as how it didn’t feel. I didn’t feel the same overwhelming excitement as I do for M* and yet I was completely taken back by the public display of affection and his sense of pride for being with me. Me? Really? Why? I wasn’t use to it. As I thought back on my life, I couldn’t remember if there was ever a time I felt that. Briefly, for about six weeks of my life back in early 2005. That was the only time. The rest of my life was filled with dating band boys who always needed to appear “available” and relationships who chose to hide me as if I was anything to be ashamed of. As I realized that, I started to have feeling in regard to it all. I couldn’t quite define how it was that I felt. I ignored him, but I didn’t want him to leave.

Later that night I gave him another long hug goodbye after driving a hundred miles out of the way to drop my brother off at his house. As I walked to the garage door of my house, I realized I was locked out. As my phone was flashing the battery icon, I had to make a quick decision. My Aunt was not answering her phone and at any minute my battery would die. I called him back and went home with him.

I questioned myself with surprise as one moment my mind was reeling with the idea of how could I be here? now? why? and then the next, I was climbing into “my” side of his bed wearing his gym shorts for pajamas. I checked my phone one last time before it died. I had an email from him. I was surprised. I hadn’t heard from him at all. My phone’s screen went black as the battery died, the mental impression of his email still vivid to me on the screen. I put my phone down, let it go, and laid back in bed. Somehow I didn’t expect that he would touch me, that he would snuggle up next to me, or even acknowledge that I was in the bed at all. As soon as my head hit the pillow, he tucked me in with both arms around me. I closed my eyes tightly as if the back of my eyelids would reveal some answer. I didn’t feel weird. The last time anyone attempted to do this I wound up on their bathroom floor, crying and avoiding them for the rest of the night. I fell asleep quickly but slept lightly. His every move sent me tossing and turning, but I never shoved him away.

His demeanor quickly changed Sunday morning when I told him I needed to go home because I wanted to go to church. Part of me wanted to stay. I was comfortable and I hated going home. Part of me new that he needed time away from me and he wanted me to go. He finally took me home. I asked if I should just grab my things and before I finished asking, I regretted it. He insisted I just do my own thing, that he was busy. I didn’t want to feel like I had already worn out my welcome. I got ready and put on a dress, but never went anywhere. I had no ride to church, no way of getting there. My thoughts were overwhelmed with a completly blank feeling. I didn’t know what I was doing, what I wanted, or why I was doing this. I began to drown myself with work, attempted to take a nap, and tossed and turned my thoughts like pancakes until my Aunt opened my bedroom door, asking if I needed anything. Against my own feelings of needing to stay away, let it go, and not get involved with anyone again, I asked if she could give me a ride back to his house. I felt only half way invited and wasn’t sure about whether I was welcome as she drove me up to his front sidewalk.

I met five of his friends and instantly clicked with them. I was impressed by my ability to hold a conversation, acknowledge other people’s lives rather than talking entirely about myself, and fitting in and not freaking out about the fact that he wasn’t constantly by my side. I was just another friend to him during the barbeque. I didn’t expect more. In fact, I suspected I was not even his “date” to the barbeque if he had such a thing but moreso the backup plan. Somehow, that was more comfortable to me. I was use to that kind of scenario. As I sat back in the lawn chair, watching the boys jump on the trampoline in an attempt to train for snowboard season, it started to sink in hard and fast as to exactly how all of my previous relationships had molded me into being able to accept the corner I’ve stood in for the last two years.

By the end of the night, four of us sat on the couch. I had been playing the guitar before he took it from me and began to seranade me. I was impressed by his voice and his boy-like ability to play the guitar. He was no rockstar. I liked that. I don’t need any more rockstars in my life. He looked at me often, making the point that he was singing for me. Before he had even finished his first song, I stood and said, “My rides here.” I was surprised that he was disappointed I was leaving or that I found another ride besides him. Everything confused me as I gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder in place of a hug, hugged Megana nd Kyle, and let myself out the door.

I went home late and quickly fell asleep. He was already texting me. I felt missed, but was still missing the overwhelming feeling I’ve had before. With him. I wondered if the feeling only came because everything I felt for him was based on hope. It’s been a year since we had any direct connection, face to face. I almost don’t remember how it was. I feel as though I was in a six month relationship and a one year breakup. Now, in hindsight, all I remember is being alone and having a love affair with the pretty picture in my head. The rest was over so long ago, it almost doesn’t count.

I’m spending Labor Day weekend on a boat.  Boats are pretty awesome for recreation, and totally make great vacation spots for limited periods of time – especially if you’re with T-Pain.

But what about people who opt to live on a boat?  These people have a whole blog about it.  I had to hit the “page down” button seven times just to get through the most recent post about having a baby on a boat.  Apparently living on a boat offers a shit-ton of free time.

These trends aren’t as likely to be noticed if you don’t live in a coastal or lake-centric community; but I do, so here are my observations.

In my experiences between the time I was old enough to drive and into my early 20’s, I’ve noticed a specific trend among people – dudes in particular – who live on boats: they’re lurpy losers.  These are guys who have somehow inherited worn out boats, but can’t afford an apartment and no one likes them enough to be their roommate.  They invite their buddies over on weeknights (because none of them have real jobs) and they entice underage girls to show up under the pretense that Smirnoff Ice will be served.

In addition to my anecdotal evidence, there are plenty pop-culture nods to these aquatic sleezeballs.

Leon Phelps, The Ladies Man

Famous for his appreciation of Courvoisier and kinky sex advice, I’d definitely listen to his late-night radio program.  However, the rotating bed and zebra-print linens on his houseboat are quite the turn off.

Steve Zissou, Captain, The Belafonte

When a very pregnant reporter comes on board, professing that she grew up with Zissou as her hero, Steve tells his B-squad captain, “Not this one, Klaus” essentially claiming a pregnant woman young enough to be his daughter as his next conquest.  

Gob Bluth, President (in title only), The Bluth Company 

Classics like “A magician never reveals his… I SUNK IT! I SUNK THE YACHT!” and using topless girls as misdirection in his magic tricks make Gob far from the ideal boating candidate.  He also thinks Portugal is in South America, so there go his navigation skills.

Pirates

 They may be good-looking and ethnically diverse, but common sense should tell you to steer clear of those whose Facebook interests would likely include raping, pillaging, and plundering.

The Navy 
 

‘Nuff said.

I’ve got some ideas about what I would want to do with this site. None of them are currently feasible tasks. Damn.

So – I’d believe that the main reason for this blog is to gain revenue. Somehow. Eventually. Hopefully. But probably not. This blogging’s not as easy as I thought. In addition, I’m mostly web-illiterate. Whaaaat? But in retrospect, there are also other reasons – possibly odd ones, as to why AngerBRAWG was conceived. 

One reason for starting this blog was to be “hip”, to say in the least. The realm of blogdom has exploded recently, and we’re trying to catch the wave. We’re poor surfers, though, straggling on the edges. Take the Friendster guys, for instance. Total has-beens? Yes. But they got to strut their stuff all over South California, “wrapped up like a douche” in glam-y clothes and snakeskin boots. Consider them the “First wave”, shall we? They’ve already wiped out.

The Second wave consists of people like, for instance, “Tom”, from Myspace. Yes, Myspace is a tad bit antiquated, BUT it’s still living on, unlike Friendster. Their wave is nearly over. Now, the people of the “third wave”… The Facebook guys ride dead-on-center with the Twitter guys, at the highest point of the wave. But others, like Maki of DoshDosh, and the guys at “The Smoking Tire” (Formerly known as “Garage 419″), are at the edges. Not quite as large, but still large enough to have quite a fanbase. 

Now along comes people like us, John Doe/Mike Hunt and Joe Schmoe/Jack Miauf. Poor surfers at best, some better than the others, scrambling over each other in an attempt to reach the top – and by god, I hope we catch this wave.

[Intermission : Oh YES, I just finished converting "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" into iPhone format. A guide on how to do so coming up later.]

I wonder though, how far we’ll make it. Society makes us robots; we aim for mediocrity. It can be compared to walking five minutes to a McDonald’s over taking a 20-minute car drive to Souplantation. In this sea of bloggers, we either fall into order or take a different approach. I guess that “different approach” falls into the category of “Viral stuff”. (Sorry, I couldn’t think of a better term to use other than “Viral Stuff”)

Another reason for blogging: To be discovered. I’m one out of over 6 billion people. The chances? Close to nil. But HEY, I’m still willing to do it. 

Part of the reason why AngerBRAWG hasn’t thrived might be due to the lack of viral material. The twitter user “shitmydadsays” has existed for about a month, and already has 100,000+ followers. I can’t think of anything other than things that anger me. 

Oh, right. People don’t give a shit…

This is an ode to one of our all-time favourite films. Ever! We love The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Love the Adidas Zissou’s. Love the uniforms. Love the styling. Love the red beanies and thigh holsters. Love the stitched-in ‘Z’ on their sweaters. Love the claymations. Love Bill Murray. Love Cate. Love Wes. Love Klaus the German. Love the Filipino pirates. Love Seu Jorge. Love the Bowie songs in Portugese. Love the soundtrack. Love that Devo track. Love the the dissected set build of the Belafonte. Love the panning choreographed shots. Love The Life Aquatic encyclopaedia set. Love the oil-painted portraits. Love the correspondence stationary. Love the fine details such as the Team Zissou ring. But most of all, love the dry humour, strange characters, bizarre situations, witty dialogue and almost everything in/about the film.

If you have never seen The Life Aquatic, please add it to your to-do list. For us.

Pictured are a few of the puppets I’ve sewn in the past, eh, maybe two weeks? I had two free days during finals week, and three free days last week and I tried to make the most of a little bit of uninterrupted time to crafty time. Summer classes started this week and it appears that it’s going to be a little intense, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to squeeze in time to keep sewing and get some of the consignment orders I’ve been working on finally sent out.

I got these new tags printed up recently and have set to work cutting and folding them. They’re actually postcards from overnightprints.com and the quality is fantastic, and much much cheaper than Kinkos color copies which were breaking the bank! Now for the sorting, stapling and labeling… I swear, I think I need an intern

So my shop would lead you to believe that I’m a fan of Wes Anderson. And I totally am. I love the detail he puts into every aspect of him movies– from the intricate sets (the Tenenbaum house! The Darjeeling train!) to the strange and unforgettable characters, each with fully fleshed out backgrounds and quirks. However, I’m maybe not as huge a fan as my shop would lead you to believe… I found Darjeeling gorgeous, thought Life Aquatic, though funny, could’ve been better, Tenenbaums is one of my favorites, Rushmore was great, but Bottle Rocket, well, I’ve tried twice now, but I guess I just don’t really get it.

Anyway, what I think really inspires me to create puppets from these movies is how much thought is put into what each of Anderson’s characters wear. There are lots of movies that I think are great and would love to make puppets for, in theory, but clothing is so important in conveying a character in puppet form, and most movies don’t embrace the uniform the way West Anderson character’s seem to. His characters just seem to fit what I do.

And, on that note, I would like to debut my newest creation– Cap. Steve Zissou:

Life imitates art:

full disclosure: co-worked inspired this joke

'Steve Zissou' Edition of 100 Size: 10.5 x 13 Inches $20 Each

Here is Autumn&Eve, they are wicked. Check out the Autumn&Eve gallery to see some of their other cool prints. The Steve Zissou print is 10.5 x 13.5 Inches printed on a heavyweight, lightly-textured white stock. There is a limited edition of 100. Each print is numbered/signed. I love the usage of the sea foam and aqua blue, very apropriate for the subject. The artwork is shipped in a protective, bend-proof mailer.

Nascido em Julho. Por coincidência ou mero acaso, o nome dele é Júlio.  Mas não use esse meu argumento comparativo como referência, conheça o como Júlio Taubkin, aquele cara do Massaroca, o diretor de fotografia, o que faz vídeo dos colegas em pleno work-time, ou como o twitteiro que se perde em uma linha.

+++

Conta isso de um estudante de química mudar para as artes audiovisuais, fotografia, cinema, tal qual foi contigo?

– É uma coisa que parece bem óbvia quando se é um estudante de engenharia química. Para quem não gosta, é uma carreira insuportável. É muito difícil, intelectualmente mesmo, a matemática é complexa. Ou se tem um retorno pessoal nisso (tipo gostar de fazer contas), ou se muda de área. Agora, cinema é bem técnico, também. Tem muitos cineastas meio engenheiros nesse mundo. É tudo muito caro, e a precisão é fundamental para não se desperdiçar horas preciosas. Sei lá, espero que meu passado quase engenheiro me ajude para alguma coisa nesse mundo (…)

O que tu acha que aconteceria com o oposto: um cineasta no intuito de ser químico?

– Acho que tem muito cineasta por aí que se dá muito bem com químicas, em geral. Só não sei se é uma boa idéia deixá-los muito perto do laboratório de farmacologia.

Costumo me afeiçoar um pouco com os vilões – cinema, novela, teatro, livro, seja lá o que for. Não que seja por maldade, só acho mais interessante a cabeça dos maldosos. Bonzinhos são previsíveis na maior parte das vezes. O que tu acha?

– Acho os vilões previsíveis, engraçado isso. Depois que você conhece um protagonista, isso é, conhece o objetivo dele, sabe que o antagonista tem o objetivo de impedir o progresso do protagonista – previsível. Por outro lado, um protagonista pode ser impossível de se conhecer completamente até o final da história, daí quem é o antagonista? A Vida Marinha (com Steve Zissou) e Sangue Negro, são ótimos exemplos.

Tu acredita em horóscopo?

– Abdiquei, nas sábias palavras do meu primo.

Exatamente agora tá tocando ‘Good Friday’, Cocorosie (culpa do shuffle mais bizarro dos últimos tempos). Tu costuma ouvir as irmãs Casady?

– Err (…) Será que eu aproveito que o papo é por email e trapaceio um pouco? Vou atrás de ouvir, prometo!

Aproveitando, então, o que não sai da tua playlist?

– Bob Dylan. Difícil não ter nada das décadas de 60/70 tocando quando estou no controle do iPod. Quando era adolescente, metido a intelectual, só ouvia clássicos do Jazz, especialmente Beebop. Depois me enchi de tanta complexidade e agora curto até coisas que abominava, como Creedence Clearwater Revival. Temo estar chegando perto de gostar de Phil Collins.

Pegando como exemplo um episódio do ‘Massaroca’ que diz em certo momento que somos viciados nessa rotina urbana e, apesar das reclamações sem fim, esse nosso vício nos tornou presos à metrópole. Pois, dessa maneira, temos um paradoxo: conhecemos os defeitos da vida na Paulicéia, gostamos dos benefícios, e (talvez) vislumbramos uma vida longe daqui. Tens alguma teoria pra isso, e como funciona com o Júlio Taubkin?

– Só conseguimos ver os defeitos daquilo que conhecemos. Não conheço outro lugar do mundo como São Paulo. O importante é coexistir com os inevitáveis defeitos, o que, no nosso caso específico, é tirar um sarro deles. E o Júlio Taubkin ainda não se refere a si mesmo na terceira pessoa. Ainda (…)

De todas as verdades de Chuck Norris, qual deve prevalecer numa segunda-feira, às 9 horas da manhã, quando se acorda atrasado para o trabalho?

– ‘Ninjas want to grow up to be just like Chuck Norris. But usually they grow up just to be killed by Chuck Norris.’

Book update version 3.0.

Found a gold mine at a couple of the “up north” thrift stores. Out of all the books shown – none were over $2 each.  I found what I believe to be 3 of what HAVE to be the main influences for one of my favorite movies of all time, Wes Andersons’ “The Life Aquatic w/ Steve Zissou.” I mean check out those shots of Cousteau, the yellow helmet with the antennae, the baby blue diver suits, the red stocking caps, the sea lab research facility, fricking great!

Also scored some more old books with great illustrations in them, some vintage books on mammals and animals, Swedish people, a book on one of my favorite painters Mark Rothko (note: do not try to explain Rothko to your suburban parents, but if you are in NYC, just take them to the Guggenheim and the MOMA and let them experience them in person, so much easier to explain then.) I find myself defending a lot of minimalist/modern/pioneering painters which is frustrating sometimes. Some folks will rub the old “I could’ve done that” bullshit on you. Well, then… Why didn’t you? This artist is famous because they did it first. So grow up and respect it. People have been known to drop to their knees and pray/weep/smile in front of Rothko’s paintings. Find me someone who does that in front of a Norman Rockwell painting and I’ll show you a retard.

Final note/tip while we’re on the topic of art: when I attended art school a few years back supplies were extremely expensive, art school IS extremely expensive. I can’t imagine it’s getting cheaper any time soon. To all the ramen-eating art students out there, hit up a thrift shop. I’ve never NOT seen shelves full of new or hardly used sketch pads, paper, supplies, etc. I picked up the one above for $1.00 it apparently used to be belong to a gal named Sue Holmstrom. Thanks Sue!

More soon -

Luke and Owen Wilson are fantastic in the Royal Tenenbaums.  I honestly think they would be better off if they kept their movies to Wes Anderson type films; it’s more flattering for them and proves they have deeper ambitions and talent than Legally Blonde and Drillbit Taylor (at least Luke had enough sense to stay away from Legally Blonde the Musical).  Especially for Owen, he really dominates the field when he play characters like Ned in The Life Aquatic.  Him and Billy Murray: classic.

WHAT I’M WATCHING ON DVD:

“The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou”

Read my review HERE.