––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Yes, you should all give Wings of Desire (1987) a second chance, I'll sit next to you. And then, at the end, I'll turn to you, look you square in the face and say,
"Look––my eyes. They are the image of necessity."
And then we can try and decide what that means as hilariously, charmingly, or seriously as we want.
For some reason, anytime I hear concern that a book has themes that are too dark for youth I remember this boy I went to school with. He was slightly chubby, wore raggedy t-shirts and jeans, had mousy matted hair, and big glasses that hipsters now kill for. Have I told you this story? I'm not sure. There's never much call for me to bring it up.
We were in junior high...I can't remember now if we ever interacted, if we had any classes together besides band, if we ever had face to face conversations. I remember he had a crush on me and most of my grade new it. Which felt embarrassing and awkward.
Do you remember how we didn't have cell phones? So at some point in the summer after 8th grade, he looked up my number in the phone book and began calling to talk. I don't know anymore if I heard it from him first or from a friend. He'd been raped.
My parents noticed a boy was regularly calling me so they sat me down to tell me it was OK to talk to boys on the phone but I shouldn't encourage them. You see, being Mormon, I shouldn't have anything more than platonic friendships until I was 16 and thereafter all non-platonic relationships should be with Mormon boys.
I didn't say anything, I didn't know what to say. It felt strange that my parents were concerned about my budding and supremely awkward love-life when it wasn't the least romantic, it was a poor, struggling boy who just needed someone to talk to. And I wasn't very helpful.
One afternoon he called and asked me go with him the next day when he'd be getting tested for AIDS. This was too much, now, I didn't want to deal with it. I had never wanted to deal with it, what was I supposed to do? Why was he calling me? I still have a hard time believing any of this happened, but I know it did because I distinctly remember my response. It's something to add to the list of tactless, inappropriate things I've said––the kind of thing I can't dream or make up––
"I can't," I said, "I have to pack."
During that next year I read The Caine Mutiny because I was into reading big books, in all honesty. I felt they had deeper characters. However silly my reasoning was, I'm glad I read it then. The protagonist is neither hero nor antihero and at the very end you're turned on your head, which is exactly what it's like to grow up.
The first time you watch Wings of Desire (1987) (Der Himmel über Berlin) you should watch it in class, studying transcendence vs. immanence, and you just need to be patient. You will enjoy it, you will be tired, you will be a bit bored, you will be impressed. Just be patient.
The second time you watch Wings of Desire you should be alone, in your room, watching it in the dark before bed. And you should watch it a second time. You will always know you will watch it multiple times––every time thinking of your professor who would openly admit she falls asleep during this movie but she's just seen in so many times, she just immediately transcends! You don't have to be so patient the second time. You will be content and you'll savor it, charmed as ever by the angels, by Peter Falk.
Do you think it would be possible––for now, I don't know, I just want to finish putting together this zine and distributing it––but do you think it would be possible to create another collection, this time with the prompt, "is there a story you have to tell?" Does that make sense? This one is further down the line in collections I want to create. But it's a thing I've been thinking about.
Tonight we––what I affectionately refer to as my Old Ladies Choir––had our last concert of the season. Which is kind of bum because these are hilarious and great ladies but I'll be happy to have a break from religious Latin songs. (I know what killed Latin.) Before I continue, I want to tell you, we did sing some really fun pieces, like a gospel arrangement of Will the Circle be Unbroken which had us all dancing around every time we sung it. And I loved singing in German. (O NICHT MICH LIEBER!!) (TANGENT: my stomach keeps ribbetting like a frog and it's starting to drive me nuts.) But we sang this kind of cheesy song, I'm sorry, maybe you like it. I won't judge you if you do.
I found Harry Belafonte singing it because he's great even if the song isn't.
Where are you going my little one, little one Where are you going my baby my own Turn around and you’re two, turn around and you’re four Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of the door
These words comprise the bulk of the song. The bittersweet feeling of watching your dear little girl grow up just like that. Blah, blah, blah....but can I tell you, that it kind of did twinge my heart a bit singing that song knowing that my piano teacher of 11 years was in the audience––you know, the woman who started teaching me almost twenty years ago? (Not that I haven't sung it every time with my actual dear mother but she thinks it's cheesy, too, so.)
This is a strange thing about coming back home to my wee little town. So many of these people watched me grow up. Yesterday I had a funny encounter with an old high school teacher and one of my dad's colleagues. "Are you who I think you are?" says Mr. S, "Is it you I've been seeing at the gym?"
"Of course it is! She's a runner," says Mr. T, "You still run don't you?"
(Which is the same question an old cross country coach asked me a few months ago.)
Maybe these little things don't seem abnormal to you, maybe they've always been a part of your life. But I haven't been back much over the last seven years and I didn't think I'd ever come back much. I'm glad I have though, I'm glad I'm here for now.
19 April 2012
I wear these earrings most of the time now, now that they don't get lost under all my hair. My mom inherited them from her aunt and she has now passed them down to me. So much of my jewelry has come from great aunts or my mother. These women are really marvelous.
If I ever for some reason have septuplets or something I'm buzzing my hair off again. Do you know that when your hair is less than an inch long you don't have to do anything?! It's amazing.
Friday afternoon my ceramics teacher helped me make a plaster mold of my left arm. For some reason, people keep asking me why I would want this. Why would they wonder? Why wouldn't I want 20 replicas of my arm in various mediums? (I get to try porcelain!)
I can't tell you how excited I am.
these are not my body parts but you can buy them here
The ladies in my choir had the best responses to my haircut. Two of them even rubbed my head. Some of them wished they could get away with hair so short. One of them told my mother, "She still looks feminine!"
I wish you could meet these women.
I've been thinking of starting a second blog, what I shall call A Compendium of Alternative Media, to curate a collection of things you might not know to stumble upon, to diversify your 30Rock on Hulu and streaming Netflix habits. And yes, to even shake up your Stargate showtimes.
I know of some great short animations and documentaries that I'd love to tell you about. I'd love to tell you about the folklore that informs strange Kenneth Anger avant-garde movies and do your remember those videos of the weimaraner dog on Sesame Street that was "dressed" in clothes and had hands? Well those were done by William Wegman who's got other things you can watch online that are also oddly fascinating.
And in case you want to have just a bit more of Wegman and his dog Man Ray or you have a similar nostalgic fascination and love of old TV taped on VHS check out their appearance on Letterman sometime in what seems to be the early 80s. You should at least check out the Wegman film shown at about 8:45, it'll make you smile.
But these might be boring to you, that's ok. You might not be the audience for my compendium, or maybe these just aren't your thing. I hope to make it fun and varietous, something for most people. What are you interested in seeing/hearing/learning about?
If I become baffled by searching through my own journals (for an internet password, a fruitless endeavor) I can only assume that posterity will find me totally batty. For instance:
2 8 O C T O B E R 2 0 1 0
"I wish I knew' gives you the first 4 digits of the square root of two."
10 october (ed. note: this time it was really November) 2010
(ed. note: this is in reference to Bakhtin's writings on the carnivalesque, a literary form that follows after the tradition of the Medieval Feast of Fools. Side note, that is the kind of thing you will study if you happen to take a college class on Monty Python.)
(ed. note: on the next page I combine the super powers of Nick Drake and Rembrandt and Karl Marxto support some idea about work or success or unquantifiableness–not sure)
