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Michael Parker's Journal
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Wednesday, August 30, 2006 |
As the technical writer for my company, I have had the opportunity to work with the graphic designer and illustrator, Mike Tea, since the beginning of the year on installation guides, packaging, brochures, etc. I supply the content and editing and he makes everything look like a million dollars.
Last week, I was introduced to his exceptional illustrations that he's developed for outdoor magazines, primarily climbing-oriented publications. I was so taken by one of his two-page magazine spreads in Climbing 2006 (displaying the shadow of a climber amidst the backdrop of an orange-bronze sunset and reddish-brown castle rock formations familiar to Utah’s national parks), that I just had to spotlight his work for my journal and readers.
Mike ’s illustrations and design work have been visible in the climbing industry for nearly a decade, appearing in publications for such outdoor sports clients as: Parametric Technology Corp., Armada Skis, Sorenson Media, Climbing Magazine, Metolius Climbing, Peterbilt Motorworks, Black Diamond Equipment, Alpinist Magazine, and Dynastar Skis.
Good illustrations accomplish a few things: 1) They can capture the attention and interest of a browsing reader so that they stop and read the article or ad. 2) They enhance the story’s plot and/or meaning; they are the silver lining. 3) They can stand on their own; tell their own little story. Mike’s illustrations accomplish all three.
As an artist, Mike believes in creating new types of images by "blending traditional illustration techniques with digital media."
And yes, if you are in search of an illustrator, Mike is always looking for a new creative outlet for his illustrations.
Check out Mike’s work at his website.
10:02:06 PM  | |
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Tuesday, August 29, 2006 |
What if I have an addendum at the back of 40 dedicated to great quotes about themes in the story, i.e. "shadows"? Two nights ago, I posted a quote from Macbeth. Tonight, I'm introducing you to one from Herman Melville's Moby Dick:
Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance.
11:26:40 PM | |
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Sunday, August 27, 2006 |
I've been working on the new banner for the website featuring my novel 40. While I was at it, I developed an illustration of the main character, Mark Byatt. I may incorporate it into the banner.
If you have been reading along, you will know why I cast him in the shadows.
Other than this, I've been working on a post that will spotlight a friend's illustrations; new poetry for the Lyssa Strada site; the upcoming segment of 40; and a list of my favorite songs right now.
Tonight, I leave you with a famous quote from Shakespeare's Macbeth:
There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
11:24:20 PM | |
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Friday, August 25, 2006 |
Ann Coulter met her match in Kirsten Powers last night on FOX’s Hannity & Colmes. Specifically, Kirsten slammed Coulter for saying that 1) Bin Laden was irrelevant; and 2) our efforts in Afghanistan are going "swimmingly." Coulter couldn’t vocalize a response; she became flustered; she was irrate that Kirsten wouldn’t give her time to respond, even though seconds before Ann smiled away as Hannity wouldn’t let Michael Brown get a word in edgewise. So, Ann throws a tantrum not unlike my twenty-month old son throws when he doesn’t get his way. On a LIVE show! Poor, poor Ann. She’s so picked on. [evil laughter]
And this Kirsten Powers? She's sharp. The newest voice of reason on cable. Someone give her a job.
10:51:44 PM | |
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Thursday, August 24, 2006 |
A continuation of my novel 40. This falls after the post 40: Vegas.4.
My head ached as if it had been hit with a blunt object. My equilibrium was fading. I could sense it by just blinking my eyes. And though it seemed I had slept forever, I was groggy. But my stomach growled from a ferocious hunger. Who knew how long it had been since I’d eaten? I looked at the bed, at all of the unfamiliar objects I had thrown out of my bag. I decided I’d clean up, drink my mocha, and hunt for my identity tomorrow, after a good night sleep.
I walked into the bathroom and collapsed on the open toilet. I urinated while I massaged my temples. I then walked to the sink and automatically reached behind the faucets for my toothbrush. It was there. Likewise, I instinctively reached for the toothpaste and found it awaiting me. This familiarity comforted me. But as I brushed my teeth, I noticed an unsettling sight as I looked at my face in the mirror. A line of stitches spread out from under my hairline on the top, right-side of my head. Running my fingers over their course tracks, I realized the wound continued on midway across my skull, hiding under my scruffy hair. I accidentally pressed on the wound. A sudden and sharp ache overtook me. I bellowed and crouched, holding onto my knees. I then stumbled to the bed, holding my head with one hand. I quickly gathered the items on the bed and threw them back in the bag. Tossing the bag against the wall, I then slid the suitcase off the bed.
Maybe the hot drink will help alleviate the pain, I thought. I lumbered over to the desk and grabbed the mocha. The volcanic-looking peak of whipped cream had melted into nothing more than a rolling hill. The residue of its majority had left a white creamy mote sitting at the base of the mug. I picked it up and began sipping it. It wasn’t as hot as I thought it would be so I gulped it down, finishing it off. Something in the drink coated my esophagus and clung to it for a few seconds. I began walking over to the sink to swallow some water when the light in the room became most unbearable to my eyes. I stammered toward the door to turn off the lights. But as soon as I started, the room began losing its moorings. I felt my muscles relaxing. There was a presence of numbness creeping up from some cave deep inside me. The sensation felt like going under before an operation. I quickly turned and lurched for the bed when suddenly I was being pulled backwards into a dark hole, spiraling down. I don’t recall ever reaching the bed.
11:11:31 PM | |
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I have been meaning to do this for awhile-- update the poetry links in the navigation panel. And may I tell you how annoying McAfee Security Center is! I'm ready to uninstall it. For some reason, starting tonight, it wants to scan my computer every time it blocks a cookie.
8:10:35 PM | |
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Friday, August 18, 2006 |
I want to pass on the news that I've been spotlighted by Mor Chang's wonderful Asian-American Poetry site today. This is a great honor to me, being in the company of such personally recognized poets as Barbara Jane Reyes, Lee Herrick, Nick Carbo, and Timothy Liu, all of whom I have read and admire for their skill.
I join a compendium of notable poets previously spotlighted by Mor, including: Allen McGill, Amy Uyematsu, April Ma, Bao Phi, Barbara Tran, Bryan Thao Worra, Burlee Vang, Cyril Wong, David Mura, David Tneh Cheng Eng, Dr. Bhaskar Roy Barman, Dr. Jes, Duane Locke, Ed-Bok Lee, Elma Diel Photikarm, Eugene Gloria, Ishle Yi Park, Jeanne Leigh Schuler Farrell, Ka Vang, Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai, Lee Kuei-shien, Linh Dinh, Margaret Tsai, May Lee, Mong-Lan, Noukou Thao, Oliver de la Paz, Pos Moua, Prasanna Kumari, Ruth Wildes Schuler, Sesshu Foster, Sherry Quan Lee, Shin Yu Pai, Sumeia Williams, Tiel Aisha Ansari, Uma Asopa, Vasanta Athilat, and Victoria Chang. I am definitely the student in this league of seasoned poets.
You can check out my mug shot, bio, and new poem "The Summer Monsoon" by clicking here.
Thank you Mor for this honor! I'm in awe of it.
7:04:30 PM | |
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Thursday, August 17, 2006 |
I can’t say enough about the value of quality cinematography in great films. If it were a loaf of bread, cinematography would be the yeast, the catalyst that raises the film from average faire to significantly meaningful.
In a film review earlier this year, I explained that the cinematographer, guided by the director, is the interpreter of the story – their vision becomes our eyes; and the emotions they wish to awaken in us often are born at the very moment they so cleverly intended.
Cinematography is truly an art of impressions -- giving insight to the story through symbols and expressions, while attempting to evoke just the right emotion to make the connection between eye and heart complete and rewarding. Masterful photographers manipulate atmosphere, pace, motion, angle, lighting, distortion, and color to give a sense of meaning to everything we see. Such power. Such responsibility. Under the right hands, and behind a visionary eye, the final product resonates with the viewer long after the final frame fades.
Here are a list of just a few of my most favorite films showcasing outstanding cinematography:
- David Watkin, Out of Africa
- Janusz Kaminski, Schindler's List
- Stuart Dryburgh, The Piano
- Janusz Kaminski, Saving Private Ryan
- John Seale, The English Patient
- Vittorio Storaro, Apocalypse Now
- Chris Menges, The Mission
- Conrad Hall, Road to Perdition
- Zhao Xiaoding, House of Flying Daggers
- Christopher Doyle, Hero
- Pawel Edelman, The Pianist
- Robert Elswit Good Night, And Good Luck
- John Toll, The Thin Red Line
- Richard Greatrex, Shakespeare in Love
- Michael Coulter, Sense and Sensibility
- Dean Semler, Dances with Wolves
- Sven Nykvist, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- Tony Pierce-Roberts, A Room With a View
- Allen Daviau, The Color Purple
- Miroslav Ondricek, Amadeus
- Sven Nykvist, Fanny and Alexander
- Billy Williams and Ronnie Taylor, Gandhi
- Chris Menges, The Killing Fields
*Check out the list of Oscar winners for this category in Wikipedia.
Speaking of cinematography, I would like to introduce you to the upcoming Brazilian film House of Sand, directed by Andrucha Waddington. Just looking at the magnificent photography in this trailer makes me wonder if it is a possible nominee for this category.
House of Sand, one of this year’s most critically acclaimed films (check out Rotten Tomatoes if you don't believe me), tells the story of Áurea, who, in 1910, is taken along with her mother in 1910 to a far-away desert of Maranhão (northern Brazil) by her husband, and after his passing, is forced to spend the next 59 years of her life hopelessly trying to escape it. The film stars the real-life mother and daughter team: Fernanda Montenegro (best actress nomination for Central Station) and Fernanda Torres.
10:27:34 PM | |
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Wednesday, August 16, 2006 |
During the Sundance Film Festival this year, the Washington Post journalist William Booth highlighted Al Gore’s documentary An Inconvenient Truth.
The opening of his article is great:
Has ever a little indie film faced a greater hurdle? Imagine this sales pitch: Babe, it's a movie about global warming. Starring Al Gore. Doing a slide show. With charts. About ‘soil evaporation.’ Improbable? Perhaps. So it's all the more amazing that "An Inconvenient Truth" had its world premiere at the Sundance Film Festival on Tuesday night before an enthusiastic audience that gave the former vice president and his movie a big standing O.
As you will see in this trailer, An Inconvenient Truth is based on a slide show that Gore himself assembled, according to Booth, as he "traveled the globe with his bar graphs, staging event after event for small, invited audiences. Free of charge. And he's presented one version or another of this slide show, by his own estimation, a thousand times."
And if you haven’t heard about the topic of the film yet, which would surprise me as there are even multiple spoofs of it on the web, let me break the suspense now:
"Earth's glaciers are melting....each year sets new heat records....The accumulation of carbon dioxide and other pollutants of the industrial age are increasing temperatures." As film-goers witnessed watching the disaster film The Day After Tomorrow, Gore’s stats argue"that global warming may soon lead to catastrophic sea level rises, which could inundate cities such as New York (flooding the former site of the World Trade Center), producing scary nonlinear runaway spasms of extreme weather (bigger, badder hurricanes and typhoons), global pandemics and, depending on where you live, torrential rains or decade-long drought."
The official Sundance Film Festival guide calls the documentary a "gripping story" with "a visually mesmerizing presentation" that is "activist cinema at its very best."
I don't know about you. But I am very interested in the topic of global warming. And, very interested to see it. (And yes, maybe I am biased. After all, I voted for Gore in 2000.)
9:19:25 PM | |
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Tuesday, August 15, 2006 |
I was quite nonplussed today when I opened my CNN.com and saw Paula Zahn’s happy-joy-joy face above the caption reading: "Are our laws strong enough to keep us safe? We look at whether personal safety means sacrificing our civil rights."
Hello! Are pigs flying? Has the cow jumped over the moon? Did Castro land on the shores of Florida and take over the country?
If there are a couple of things I’ve learned about the media the past five years is that they have been a tool for this administration and the ruling party to test controversial subjects and direction through talk shows. (And it seems I recall hearing on NPR that before topics get suggested in our newspapers and on our talk shows, that the think tanks have already parsed out the talking points of the subject.)
So even though Paula Zahn introduces it as just one of those innocent coffee break or water-cooler topics, it more than likely has eight hairy legs to stand on, a red hour glass on its belly, and the incisors needed to transmit some nasty venom.
What exactly is Paula Zahn asking? Well, that’s a great question and the crux of it pertains to civil rights. You know, those rights that define America as "the land of the free...." If I focus on the last sentence alone, notice that it doesn’t say specific rights, nor does it say "a few" or "some of" our rights. This leaves one to think that "sacrificing our civil rights" means the whole lot, the entire 52 deck of cards. Call that bad writing, or editing.
Wikipedia, the third most wonderful tool on the web, behind Google and Dictionary.com, describes civil rights as the following:
...the right to get redress if injured by another, the right to privacy, the right of peaceful protest, the right to a fair investigation and trial if suspected of a crime, and more generally-based constitutional rights such as the right to vote, the right to personal freedom, the right to freedom of movement and anti-discrimination laws. As civilisations emerged and formalised through written constitutions, some of the more important civil rights were granted to citizens. When those grants were later found inadequate, civil rights movements emerged as the vehicle for claiming more equal protection for all citizens and advocating new laws to restrict the effect of current discriminations.
Now. Walk yourself back through those pillars of civil rights and list the ones you want to live without. Do any of them really provide "safety," as Paula Zahn’s show was going to prove or disprove? Or, rather, do you believe that these rights are the fabric of America? Hell, aren’t they really the evidence of a civilized nation?
There have been theories in governments throughout history that believe two things: 1) that individual freedoms are a plague. 2) that the citizens don't really want them and shouldn't be trusted with them.
Let me introduce Eric Hoffer, who analyzes both ideas in his book ,The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements. I'd like to suggest a quote regarding this second point: Hoffer writes that to the "barren," "insecure," and "frustrated, freedom from responsibility is... attractive....They are eager to barter their independence for relief from the burdens...[S]ubmission by all to a supreme leader is an approach to their ideal of equality."
And this is the point I see when I look at Paula Zahn’s ad today--it's an implication that we feel so INSECURE as co-owners in this great American project that we should entertain the thought of giving up our responsibility and share of its welfare. It's absurd to even bring this up, unless her point was to completely refute the idea of sacraficing our civil rights. Yet, I highly doubt that because I know these times and I know the media and besides, her ad didn't paint that picture.
So, to answer Zahn’s question, let me pose this one: "Would America be America without its equality of rights?"
***
P.S. One last thing: I found a great quote in the beginning of Hoffer's book that could be in reference to this admininstration and their bungling of everything--from the economy to the energy crisis to the national deficit to the war on terror. From Genesis: "And slime they had for mortar."
10:55:33 PM | |
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Monday, August 14, 2006 |
A continuation of my novel 40. This falls after the post 40: Vegas.3.
A sudden knock at the door startled me out of my trance. I spun about and faced the door. It’s nondescript whiteness, for some odd reason, threatened me. Absurd, I guffawed, then began walking to the door. As I passed the mirror, I realized I wasn’t wearing pants. I ran to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer where I remembered seeing the pair of jogging pants. Another knock sounded, followed by a deep voice intent on being heard. "Room service."
As I slipped on the black jogging pants, I ran over to the door and peered out of the keyhole. A young man dressed in a white and black hotel uniform was standing at my door. He immediately moved toward the handle of the door in a manner that appeared he was going to open it. I stepped back and noticed that I had failed to use the deadbolt. Why hadn’t I locked that? I always use the deadbolt.
I quickly opened the door. The young man jumped, as if he was surprised I opened the door. I noticed his hand return something to his pocket. I wondered if it was a key.
"Hello...Mr. Byatt." he blurted loudly, forcing a friendly-like tone. "I’m...Bailey, your hospitality room server....."
He quickly wheeled the cart into the room, stopping in front of the bed.
"Excuse me....Bailey?" I replied quizzingly. "I didn’t order anything."
"Ummm....." he began, shuffling about the trolley until he found the receipt. "You did call in, sir. Here’s the phone order."
"A phone order, eh?" I said as I took the receipt from him. Bailey reached over and touched the area where the date/time stamp was recorded. Sure enough, I had ordered at 10:07 PM, July 27, 2006. "Impossible." I uttered, completely befuddled. "That was just two hours ago."
I looked to Bailey for a reply. He was artfully glancing at the mess on the bed. Realizing I noticed, he immediately apologized. "Sorry, sir. I don’t take down the orders. I just deliver what they tell me too."
"Of course," I acknowledged. "But don’t you think I would remember placing this order just two hours ago?"
Bailey didn’t reply right away. He scanned the room and shuffled nervously. Then, as if a light came on in his head: "Let me call the supervisor...." he said, quickly pushing a button on the cell phone attached to his belt and pressing a button on the stylish bluetooth earpiece attached to his ear.
Bailey walked away toward the door, as if he didn’t want me to hear his conversation. "Tom?" he said. "This is Bailey. Can you hear me?....Byatt doesn’t want his drink.....Yes....Mark Byatt in room 2308...he says he doesn’t remember making an order......Yah....I know.....OK....Uh-huh....I’ll try....Later, dude."
Bailey turned back around and smiled at me. "Mr. Byatt. Don’t get alarmed when I tell you this but you have been ordering this drink for the past six nights. I have been delivering them each night and at the same time. "
"Six nights?" I blurted, without realizing the questioning tone might reveal my predicament.
"Yes, sir," Bailey replied.
"And it’s a drink, you say?"
"Yes, sir. I was told this was your favorite."
"My favorite?" I questioned. "And what would my favorite drink be?"
"Mocha with a fresh dollop of whipped cream, sprinkled with cinnamon and chili powder." Bailey moved over to the cart in a swooping motion. I admitted that I was very aware of a hunger eating at my innards, and that I would go ahead and drink it since he went through the hassle of getting it here.
I watched as Bailey created my so-called favorite drink. He turned over the large white mug and then picked up the medium-sized insulated flask. Shaking it intensely for a few seconds, he opened the flask and poured the mocha into the mug. He then picked up a narrow aluminum steel vial. "This is a most delicious chocolate syrup," he mentioned as he poured a generous amount into the steaming mug. As he stirred the drink, the smell of coffee and chocolate immediately overtook me. My stomach, as if it suddenly woke up, growled. Bailey then picked up a sealed container and opened it. He picked up a spoon, dipped it into the container, and shoveled out a heaping mound of whipped cream. As the mound of thick cream dropped into the mug, mocha came up and over the rim and down the side. It left signs of brown rivers, like dry river-beds. He then picked up two shakers, one in each hand. He shook them furiously like a medicine man performing a final ritual that would return one’s health or call back the soul of a dying man. The whipped cream was instantly speckled with spice.
"There you are, sir." Bailey said proudly, bowing and laying his palms open in front of the drink as if it were something to be worshiped. "You’re evening cocktail."
"Wow!" I said. "I’m impressed. Thanks, Bailey. Sorry about earlier.....I....I’ve been having this migraine and I haven’t really been myself."
"That’s okay, Mr. Byatt," he said, as he started walking over to the door. "I understand."
"Hold on," I said, running over to the bed. "Let me get you some cash."
Picking up my wallet, I opened it and reached in to grab a few loose bills. I started leafing through the top bills when I promptly started seeing hundred dollar bills, a total of nineteen. I froze in my tracks. My hands shaked and began sweating. I glanced at Bailey. He was looking my way. Had he seen the cash? He smiled but soon after broke it off. "Are you alright, sir?"
"Yes," I replied, quickly pulling out a five dollar bill and putting the money back into the bill fold. I walked over and handed the five to Bailey. "Thanks again."
"No problem." Bailey replied. "If you need anything at all, even if it is from a store, just give a holler."
"Ok," I said, chuckling. "I’ll remember that."
Bailey opened the door and walked out. I immediately shut the door and bolted the deadlock.
11:56:53 PM | |
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Just a note: I edited my last 40 post. It reads much better. It isn't so clunky. I fixed the tenses. And it better describes what I had envisioned on the streets. Take a minute to read, if you want to. Another post coming very soon.
8:43:00 PM | |
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Thursday, August 10, 2006 |
A continuation of my novel 40. This falls after the post 40: In Continuation. (Edited second and third paragraphs so they aren't so cluncky--wanted the phone message to be more abrupt. Also rewrote the ending to be more visual about the people Mark sees on the street.)
I am from Oregon. To be precise, 443 N. Albany Road in Grisham, Oregon, a city I had never walked in, let alone knew existed. I eyed the phone number listed and I grew anxious because I was already getting off the bed and walking over to the phone. Throwing the driver's license down next to the phone, I picked up the phone for the second time this evening and began punching numbers. If Janet or one of the kids answers the phone, I thought, I’ll treat it as a simple "how are things going" type call, making a point to say "I just wanted to check in to say... I hope all is well." But what if no one answers? What if..... I didn’t even want to tread in that direction.
After four rings, there was a sudden click. I froze in anticipation, nearly hearing Janet’s voice. But the voice was not Janet. What I heard was an aberration of my own voice, sad and empty, as if it were coming from a soulless man who had fallen in upon himself, into an abyss where the threads of light are broken into tiny fibers and suddenly swallowed. Or, perhaps, I was nothing more than my own shadow that found refuge in the long shadows of eventide and night.
"This is Mark Byatt," the shadow said. "I can’t come to the phone. Leave a message if you want. I can’t promise I’ll call back."
I didn’t leave a message. I hung up the phone and stared out onto the Vegas cityscape. Sidewalks in every direction were alive with the movement of people barely recognizable. In the moonless night, on the side streets behind the casinos, humans lost the features on their faces; and their arms and legs slowly became swallowed into the blackness the further they were from the torso. But the people walking into the burn of a billion casino lights lining every entrance suddenly grew grotesque, as if the lights were revealing the monster inside each one--eye sockets stretched below sharpened cheek bones, eyebrows devoured eyes, noses grew beyond the face or drooped below lips that grew fat and red on women or long and thin on men as if they had been sewn shut.
Despite the horror of what I saw, these people were together, mingling and touching. They were alive with a purpose, direction.
It was surreal. The window kept out all noise from the city. And these walls kept out any sound from the rooms surrounding me. I had never felt so solitary.
11:54:03 PM | |
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Wednesday, August 09, 2006 |
Last year, the documentary film March of the Penguins took home the Best Documentary Oscar. This year, I think penguins are taking another Oscar home, this one for animation. Introducing Happy Feet, about a little Empire Penguin called Mumble who has a gift for dancing. Go ahead, check this trailer out and tell me if it just doesn’t bring a smile to your face! To view other extremely enjoyable trailers for the film, go here.
The film sports an impressive list of actors -- Elijah Wood, Robin Williams, Hugh Jackman, Nicole Kidman, and Brittany Murphy.
Release date is not till November. Time won't go fast enough, I assure you.
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Monday, August 07, 2006 |
Entertainment Weekly has just compiled a list of the most surprising summer hits of the last decade. Who do they list?
There’s Something About Mary
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
The Sixth Sense
The Blair Witch Project
The Notebook
Napoleon Dynamite
The March of the Penguins
The 40-Year Old Virgin
Fahrenheit 9/11
The Inconvenient Truth
Read what they have to say about each film here.
Now, I will be going to see "The Inconvenient Truth" ASAP. Of the other films on the list, I recall the fury of folks racing out to see "The Notebook." Not only did the movie make an impact, but the book saw a revival of sales from the film as well. I wished the script was less saccharine. Enough said. Read my review here.
I also took time to write a review for the Blair Witch, here, my #5 favorite film of 1999.
You can read my comments about Napoleon Dynamite here, my #6 favorite family film of 2004.
Who did EW miss? I would highlight 2003's little-film-that-could Whale Rider, from New Zealand, starring the petite powerhouse of an actress Keisha Castle Hughes. Though it didn’t reach the numbers that these others enjoyed at the box office, Keisha’s performance was so memorable that she ended up with acting awards from the Critic’s Choice Film Awards and the Chicago Critics Association. But most impressively, she became one of the youngest actresses to receive a nomination for Best Actress. Her competition you ask? Try Diane Keaton, Samantha Morton, Charlize Theron, and Naomi Watts. Read my review of this film here.
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Sunday, August 06, 2006 |
Here is another upcoming film with great potential, Children of Men, the new film by director Alfonso Cuarón, who directed the audacious, sexy, and yet endearing Y Tu Mama Tambien, the stylish Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, and not so well-known but nonetheless remarkable Great Expectations and The Little Princess.
Children of Men is adapted from the P.D. James novel of the same name. In a dystopian society in a not too far distant 2027, man’s hope wanes and chaos rules because humanity can no longer procreate and science cannot find the reason or a cure. Then Theodore Faron, a former activist turned bureaucrat, is abducted and agrees to work with his captives to transport a pregnant woman to the sea where a boat awaits her to take her to a safe shelter. The fate of the world lays in this journey to save this woman and the unborn child.
Children of Men stars Clive Owen, Michael Caine, and Julianne Moore.
9:43:05 PM | |
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Thursday, August 03, 2006 |
A continuation of my novel, "40." This segment is not in sequence with the two previous posts.
I was standing in the master bathroom at home with a towel wrapped around my waist looking into the mirror at my face that was covered in shaving foam. A thick mist hung in the room so densely that I could barely see the wall the color of blood red that I had painted on a whim and I was continually reaching out to wipe the mirror because it was fogging every few seconds. As I shaved above my cheeckbone, I realized the razor left a long red line and before I could put the razor down blood began flowing easily out and so freely that the flow was a fine rivulet that traveled down to the left of my chin and dripped off of it as consistently as a faucet left barely on. Each drip fell onto the white porcelain, spattering and leaving miniature drops around the larger nucleus. "Shit" I said aloud and quickly grabbed the hand towel hanging by the sink. I hid my face into it, using my left hand to put extra pressure on the cut.
After a few minutes, I removed the towel off my face and looked into the mirror. I caught a swirling motion in the mist as if someone was stirring there so I turned toward the door. The door never opened or at least I never heard it open. But Janet suddenly materialized wearing her typical morning uniform of flip flops, jogging pants, and a form fitting v-neck tee. "Oh God, you’re here!" I exclaimed, dropping the bloodied towel.
Reaching out, I grabbed her and brought her into me. "I can’t tell you how excited..." I began saying as I hugged her tightly. But I stopped when I realized how ice cold she was.
"You’re absolutely freezing," I said, taking her hands and rubbing them between mine. "Where have you been?"
"A magpie is dying on the lawn," she uttered without much emotion, as if she were sleepwalking. Her silvery blue eyes, which always dazzled me, seemed to look through me.
"A magpie is dying right now, on our lawn?" I remarked questioningly.
"It’s trying to survive," she reiterated. "Two other magpies are pecking it to death."
Janet’s hand firmly grasped hold of mine. She began walking toward the door. "You must see it fighting for its life."
I followed her through our bedroom I had not seen in years, past the impressionistic painting of Venice we purchased at a summer art show in the city. She led me down the long hall, past the pictures of our kids who all sported our smiles. We walked into the living room where immediately I could see the magpies through the windows which stood from the ceiling to the floor. The dying magpie was flailing about on the grass, which was littered with black and white feathers and clumps of down. It’s white underside was bloodied. Stringy entrails were starting to show. Two other magpies hopped around the wounded bird, taking turns striking it with their long yellow beaks, bloodied from the strikes. They struck as fast as snakes. At each strike, the dying magpie cawed sharply and loudly, in an unsettling and otherworldly fashion. I stood dumbfounded. Janet stayed nearby, motionless.
When the bird finally went limp, the two attacking magpies dived in and began tearing it to pieces. Janet said, walking to the door, "I’m going to gather the bird and the feathers before the children see." But before she could get to the door, she seemed to disappear and out of nowhere, there was a great rushing sound of a thousand wings and thousands of magpies flew into the yard from every direction. As they were in the act of landing, they all spread their wings and the length of all their wings covered the space round about them and the sky suddenly turned black as a night that held its own galaxy of speckled stars.
I suddenly awoke, staring at the hazy ceiling that made me feel as if I were under the ocean again. Trapped. This had only been a terrible dream.
11:27:20 PM | |
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The Departed is another candidate for my list of films of the year. It is a crime thriller that follows the story of two men from opposite sides of the law who work undercover for the Boston State Police department to infiltrate the Irish Mafia. Violence ensues when it is discovered there is a mole in their midst.
The Departed is directed by one of the most acclaimed director’s in American film, who has never one an Oscar for it) Martin Scorsese (Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The Last Temptation of Christ, GoodFellas, Cape Fear, The Age of Innocence, Casino, Kundun, Bringing Out the Dead, Gangs of New York, and The Aviator).
It stars Jack Nicholson, Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio, Alec Baldwin, Mark Wahlburg, and Martin Sheen.
7:55:33 PM | |
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I’m starting a series in which I will post the trailers for the Films that appear likely candidates for my top ten list of the year and Oscar’s Best Picture nominations.
Today, I begin with the critically-acclaimed film Babel, directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu (Amores Perros and 21 Grams). Babel begins with a tragedy striking a married couple on vacation in the Middle East but envelopes two other stories occurring simultaneously in Mexico and Japan. It stars Brad Pitt, Gael Garcia Bernal, and Oscar winning actress Cate Blanchett.
7:40:15 PM | |
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Wednesday, August 02, 2006 |
True Majority has put together an impressive ad in commemoration of Hiroshima Day. View it here.
6:26:27 PM | |
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