e.e. awesome

Not to get all bohemian with a couple of poetry postings in the same week, but I recently tracked down the e.e. cummings poem that Cameron Diaz reads (paraphrases?) in honor of her sister's wedding in the film In Her Shoes. It was really the only part of the movie I liked. Ain't it beautiful?

"i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)"

- e.e. cummings

Summer in the City

In an effort to catch up on classic movies I've missed, I rented Dog Day Afternoon. Wow. What a brilliant film. The realistic writing, believable performances and tension-building direction were all terrific. No wonder it was nominated for so many Academy Awards. Unfortunately, it only won Best Original Screenplay. I hadn't realized the film was also based on a true story, which adds to its impact.

While Al Pacino does a bang-up job as a desperate bank robber, his slow-burning sidekick John Cazale really steals the show with his quiet, perspiration-drenched turn as Sal.

In many ways the film made me recall Spike Lee's terrific Inside Man. Dog Day Afternoon was referenced in the recent release literally and structurally, although Inside Man was bigger, shinier and noisier. Both films are gritty, often funny and masterfully made. Evidently crime does pay when it comes to the cinema.

Rumination

"This human being is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all.

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."

- Rumi

Poll patrol! Poll patrol!

Eight things the new American Idol Taylor Hicks and the Commander in Chief of the United States of America have in common:

1. Use of "down home" delivery to disarm audience.
2. Sweeping success on respective election days despite questionable ability.
3. A frightening level of conviction.
4. Amazing ability to stay "on message" (e.g., "Soul Patrol!" and "Axis of Evil!").
5. Hair color.
6. Both have appeared in public with a smiling, but stymied brunette by their sides.
7. Neither of the above-mentioned women will admit to being anything but lucky, oh so lucky.
8. America will live to regret bestowing power upon both men.

Report from the popcorn gallery

Clean
The film that garnered Best Actress for Maggie Cheung at Cannes last year was terribly tedious. At one point, I felt as if I was watching her character's recovery from drug addiction/life rebuilding process in real-time. I'm not even sure why her portrayal was deemed best of the year, except she did have to cry a lot and look frazzled and pale. I thought she was much more impressive in In the Mood for Love where her stoicism spoke more eloquently than any crying jag could.

The Family Stone on DVD
Is there anything nice I can say about it? Well, Claire Danes' hair looked amazing throughout. That's about it. This was one of the most contrived messes I've ever seen, further tarnished by two slipshod romance plotlines. I didn't buy the two couples who linked up mid-film for a second. Oh, one other nice thing I can say: Paul Schneider has a handful of charming comic moments in his small role--mostly reacting to the craziness around him. And SJP can no longer play the PYT, but I don't know how to make her stop. Some people will embrace this film as a heart-warming family tale, but some people also enjoy all-you-can-eat buffets (read: salty Salisbury steak and sweaty Jello).

Cupcake canoodling

Hi, Cecilia. You look happy. What's up with you? You met someone new? Yeah? You met an eclair in the pastry case? I didn't know you went for European types. Aren't the French kind of grim? Sure, he's tall, dark and handsome, but doesn't he seem a little pompous--all fluffed up with filling?

I mean, us cupcakes keep it simple. Cake batter and buttercream on top. You know what you're getting. All-American, hard-working, independently contained in an accordion paper cup. We know our place.

Hmpf. Well, with the glow you're giving off, I really can't criticize. I just remember how that Napolean blew you off and broke your heart. OK, I've gotta roll. Stay sweet.

All the President's G-Men

The following is an excerpt from a recent Harper's Weekly column:

"It was revealed that the National Security Agency, with the assistance of AT&T, Verizon, and BellSouth, has secretly stored the phone call records of tens of millions of Americans. 'It's the largest database ever assembled in the world' said an anonymous whistleblower. A poll found that 63 percent of Americans feel that it is acceptable for the NSA to build such a database."

"It was reported that the United States was analyzing phone call records of reporters from ABC News, the New York Times, and the Washington Post to determine the identities of CIA employees who leak information to the press. 'It's time,' a federal law enforcement official told a reporter for ABC News, 'for you to get some new cell phones, quick.'"

Something tells me that the aforementioned 63 percent are thinking, "What's the harm? If I'm not doing anything wrong, who cares if the government looks at my phone records?" They're not realizing that it doesn't matter if a citizen isn't actually doing anything wrong, it only matters if the government chooses to interpret that a citizen is doing something wrong. Say, oh, I dunno, like a CIA whistleblower leaking dirty little secrets. Something tells me Dubbie and his crew would call that wrong with a big fat W. And then comes the spin that when information like this is leaked, it empowers the enemy versus what it's really doing--protecting Americans and their constitutional freedoms from an administration on a grim power binge.

Big screen, small screen, blue screen, tall screen

Movie of the week:

Three Times directed by Hou Hsiao-hsien, who is apparently a critical darling despite his films' lack of distribution. It was a spur of the moment pick and I'm glad I saw it, even though two-thirds of its three-part storytelling left me a little cold. The film stars the very-easy-on-the-eyes pairing of the remarkable Shu Qi and the as-stoic-as-he-needs-to-be Chang Chen in three different tales of romantic yearning set in China in different time periods: 1911, 1966 and 2005.

The 1966 segment about a couple who meets in a billiards room was my favorite by far with its sweet story, sparse dialogue, long sweet moments of nothingness, romantic color palette and evocative music. Very Wong Kar-wai. The second segment about a concubine longing for romantic rescue was treated as a silent film and was more lovely to look at than substantial, although once again music was used masterfully to heighten moments. The third segment about lonely souls as divided by technology as they are connected by it was lackluster, but interesting visuals like the "fluorescent light in the hallway" scene made it occasionally diverting. I'm definitely intrigued enough to seek out his other films.

As I waited to buy my ticket, a couple at the ticket window was talking to the box office attendant. The male half of the duo asked if the movie they were about to see was good.

"It's supposed to be good," said the attendant.

As the couple turned away from the window, the guy mumbled, "They're all supposed to be good" in a very wry, Paul Reiser way.

The rest of the story? It was Paul Reiser. Booya, booooooy!

TV show of the week:

Can't Get a Date on VH-1. It's hard to believe another reality-based, dating-related show could fit into the already fractured cable TV world, but there it is and this one's a keeper.

The show starts out with a person who has been unlucky in love and does a quick rundown on what they might be doing wrong, from the way the dress to their pathetic pick-up lines. I've only seen two episodes, but both subjects were so charming in an everyday way that they won me over easily.

A smart-ass, but caring host who participates in the form of a voiceover serves as the connection between the audience and the subject as the subject talks to the camera. It's a really cool device that feels intimate somehow.

In the most recent episode, a 31-year-old New Yorker named Will talks about his lack of confidence with women. He partly blames his dating troubles on his childhood spent in 15 different foster homes. In one of the homes, the foster mother secretly put her foster kids to work licking envelopes for a direct mail business. Will said he couldn't taste salt for a year afterward. After all that, the guy deserves a date for Pete's sake (and my TV viewership affection).

The rest of the show is basically a retread of the Queer Eye formula, making over the subject's home, clothing, hair and attitude with various trips to salons, martial arts sessions, counseling sessions and practice dates. So far, I've only seen happy endings. I mean, if you could've seen Will cry when they showed him the "before" pictures of his tornado-messy apartment after his transformation, you would've been won over, too. So if you ever flip by during your remote control ride, give it a try.

This Week in NictateLand

Most pleasing foods: boba tea and grapefruit. Not in tandem, mind you.

Mos pleasing discovery: that the 20-year-old American soldier I "adopted" enjoys Wes Anderson and Sofia Coppola films, not the Adam Sandler oeuvre I predicted (although he might dig Punch Drunk Love, now that I think about it). My demographic pigeon-holing was so wack, yo.

Most embarassing indulgence: two nights in a row of America's Next Top Model. Made me miss my Tyra impressions in improv class.

Most disappointing Netflix trio ever: Irma Vep, The Last Kiss, The Happiness of the Kutakuris. I found all three to be annoying and hit "eject" mid-film, although I did enjoy watching Maggie Cheung speaking English.

Most pleasing delivery: a belated birthday box bedazzled in pink polka dots. Bitchin'!

Most anticipated event: sleeping in this weekend until completely unreasonable hours.

We're here, we're queer, but don't pay us no never mind

One of the refrains excusing unethical behavior in the satirical film Thank You for Smoking is: "Everyone's got a mortgage." Basically, the reasoning is that a person will be willing to bottom out politically, ethically and morally if it means his or her bottom line gets lined with bling.

Evidently, conservative lesbians have mortgages, too, as evidenced by Vice-President Dick Cheney's daughter Mary's new book in which she explains why she continued to work for an administration with an anti-gay agenda.

This Vancouver Sun article does a nice job holding a mirror up to the hypocrisy. Below are some quotes from the article, along with sarcastic asides supplied by moi.

"In a memoir published Tuesday, the 37-year-old lesbian describes a proposed constitutional ban on same-sex marriage as a 'gross affront' to gay Americans and reveals she almost quit the Republican campaign after President George W. Bush's endorsement of the legislation two years ago."

Almost quit. Almost. My gosh, almost quitting must have been so hard on her. What did it feel like to almost get a cardboard box to pack up her executive desk toys, tucking them alongside her titanium Starbucks commuter flask and velveteen lumbar pillow within the confines of her corrugated square of protest? Almost is sooooo not acutally, though. So not actually.

"But in her book, Cheney reveals she refused to attend Bush's 2004 State of the Union address after reading a draft copy of the speech that spoke of the need to defend the sanctity of marriage."

Oh, honey. What sacrifice! That empty seat at the address venue must've spoken volumes to those assembled. Much more so than the fact your derriere was in your office chair the rest of that week and weeks to follow.

"When Bush later endorsed a constitutional amendment to expressly forbid gay marriage, Cheney 'seriously considered packing up my office and heading home' to the house she shared in Colorado with her longtime partner, Heather Poe."

Seriously considered? Seriously?! Holy dermatologists! I can't imagine the endless Botox treatments that will be required to plump out the forehead creases that that serious consideration caused. Ahh, the ever-lovin' humanity of it all.

"It 'gave me a knot in the pit of my stomach to think of my candidate for president endorsing the federal marriage amendment,' she writes."

Plop, plop, fizz, fizz and a hearty huzzah for altruism via indigestion. Noble, indeed. Completely ineffective, but noble.

Sorry, ChenChen. I have to concur with Mr. Aravosis on this one:

"'She is a little late to the party,' said John Aravosis, a Washington gay-rights activist and political blogger. 'For the longest time, Mary wouldn't speak. Now she gets a million-dollar book advance and suddenly she is speaking. It rings a little hollow.'"

Insidiously hilarious

The scene-causing Improv Everywhere group run by Charlie Todd in NYC create and document clever, irreverent and funny "missions" with a loose network of undercover agents.

A recent mission: a cell phone symphony pulled off by checking backpacks and book bags in at the counter at a major used bookstore and then coordinating callers to make cell phones tucked inside the bags ring in a certain sequence.

Some quotes from the mission report:

"The first step was to divide everyone up by cell phone brand. In addition to creating a cacophony of 60 phones going off at once, I also wanted to have different sections play at different times, like a symphony. Instead of the 'string section,' we would have the 'Samsung section.'"

"The crowd divided into brands and each group tried to find a common ring tone that all of their phones had. The Nokia group had the 'Nokia Tune,' Motorola folks had 'Hello Moto,' etc. Those without common ring tones would either partner up with someone who did, or partner with someone else without a common tone. Agents began to pair off and trade phone numbers, deciding who would enter the store and who would be a caller."

Less elaborate schemes have fueled big-budget action movies.

This April, 80 Improv Everywhere agents showed up at a Best Buy dressed in the company uniform of blue polo shirt and khakis. They were to loiter in the store, neither shopping or claiming to be an employee. If a customer asked for help, they were to try to answer the question as best they could. They even used the store's own demo cameras to record the proceedings.

Here's the Best Buy mission report. My favorite quote from the incident:

"Security guards and managers started talking to each other frantically on their walkie-talkies and headsets. 'Thomas Crown Affair! Thomas Crown Affair!,' one employee shouted. They were worried that were using our fake uniforms to stage some type of elaborate heist. 'I want every available employee out on the floor RIGHT NOW!'"

Pluck, mettle, moxie

When I heard about it after the fact, it seemed to me to be a casting misstep to invite Stephen Colbert to be a featured speaker at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. Didn't the booker watch the The Colbert Report and realize how many sacred cows Colbert has slaughtered on his show?

Sure, it may be tradition to poke fun at the old prez at these dinners, but something tells me past roasting has taken the form of some Jay Leno-esque softballs. Considering the alarming state of world affairs, Dubya's dismal approval ratings and the administration's stubborn unwillingness to accept any form of criticism, taking the role of a hardball roaster at this time and place would required cajones of teflon-coated steel. Enter Stephen Colbert--possessor of just such wash-n-go wedding tackle.

For links to video clips and a full transcript of his speech, you can go this Daily Kos post. I laughed aloud several times when reading it. Colbert (and his brilliant writing staff) pulls no punches on subjects as diverse as the First Lady's reading initiative to global warming, all while standing 10 feet away from his tight-lipped target--the man Jon Stewart aptly nicknamed "the owner of the world."

Here are some quotes:

"I stand by this man. I stand by this man because he stands for things. Not only for things, he stands on things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message: that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound -- with the most powerfully staged photo ops in the world."

"Now, there may be an energy crisis. This president has a very forward-thinking energy policy. Why do you think he's down on the ranch cutting that brush all the time? He's trying to create an alternative energy source. By 2008 we will have a mesquite-powered car!"

"But, listen, let's review the rules. Here's how it works: the president makes decisions. He's the decider. The press secretary announces those decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make, announce, type. Just put 'em through a spell check and go home. Get to know your family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in your head. You know, the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the courage to stand up to the administration. You know - fiction!"

Happy Lamby

During my first seven or so years, my mom would make me a lamb-shaped cake for every birthday. Same went for my younger sister's cumpleanos. I'm not really sure where the tradition sprang from, but it was probably due to the fact it was the only cake mold she owned. I'm guessing it was an Easter clearance sale table that caused Mom's path to cross with the hollow, metal sheeplette that would come to mark our landmark days for nigh onto a decade.

This most recent birthday didn't involve a farmyard-themed dessert, but it did include some nifty things. I decided to make an Oprah-esque "top five good things about my birth anniversary" list:

1. Getting to see my little sister's pregnancy bump in person.

2. The delightful radio kismet of tuning in to This American Life just in time to hear film director Mira Nair read my favorite short story in Jhumpa Lahiri's book The Interpreter of Maladies. It's called "This Blessed House." I remember loving the story, its characters and descriptions and it sounded extra lovely via Nair's dulcet voice. (You can download the episode at no charge at the This American Life's site (Act 2 of Episode 221: "Fake I.D.," first broadcast 9/20/02, but also posted in 2006 archives).

3. Coming home to find the little red light blinking frantically on my answering machine with the messages of many friends' good wishes and a couple of renditions of the birthday song.

4. Getting to do the weekly Sunday night phone call with the parental units.

5. Rewatching Miranda July's Me and You and Everyone We Know and being somehow more filled with wonder than I was the first time. How she collected so many of life's tiny moments and displayed them so delicately, elegantly and humorously fills me with awe.

All in all, a very well-rounded showing (and that was not a pregnancy joke, oh sibling of mine).