I wore a backpack to campus this morning.
I haven't done that in four years.
It hurt my back.
It did not make the grade.
29 October 2008
charming
I wore a backpack to campus this morning.
I haven't done that in four years.
It hurt my back.
It did not make the grade.
28 October 2008
moon stoppage, extra wattage
My nannykins are dear.
Children are frequently foreign to me, as I am the youngest of two. By almost eight years. I used to be afraid of holding babies.
Mais (pero, but) aujourd'hui as I felt the weight of a couple of square miles of university (the cement, the 13 story buildings, the three thousand page books, the 30,000 people, a few cars and trees) pressing down on my soul I didn't have the same care-free stamina to ignore Monstruo Dos's protests at nap time. Monstruo Uno was a fuera (dehors, outside) with a Monster Mash singing Halloween gimmick (it was a graveyard smash). So I checked on screaming baby. I held him and sang the little songs me mutha taught me. He started snoring on my shoulder. Oh.
O, Dear Monstruo Dos,
if I could sit in that rocking chair and let you sleep on my shoulder all afternoon, I would. So now, I write here my apology that I had to put you back in your crib where you woke up and commenced screaming again. I assure you, I wanted to die when I heard your crying.
love,
Tia Marge
En plus, in Isaiah tonight we talked of the times when a prophet stopped the sun in the sky and when the sun moved backwards as a sign for King Hezekiah. Why are we extending daylight hours? I would like the moon to stop so that I may sleep a little this week.
27 October 2008
the forest to protect your great great grandchildren
I quit you terribly a long time ago,
Did it because you dragged me 'round too much,
I burned and burned and burned til I felt to leave you there,
And now I feel much a bit better 'bout my levels of care.
But I've been trying and trying and trying
to plant these trees that will someday be my home,
They're wee little now
But they're starting to grow,
'Cept the one that you're sitting on,
I've asked you to move,
But you sit on that little tree,
And by proxy it feels as though you're sitting on me.
I watched today as you near bent it right o'er,
That tree is losing its spring and I worry to death
That you might be stifling out its last chloroform breath.
Stand up! I pray thee,
And get off of my tree,
For I would like to see it get older than me.
Did it because you dragged me 'round too much,
I burned and burned and burned til I felt to leave you there,
And now I feel much a bit better 'bout my levels of care.
But I've been trying and trying and trying
to plant these trees that will someday be my home,
They're wee little now
But they're starting to grow,
'Cept the one that you're sitting on,
I've asked you to move,
But you sit on that little tree,
And by proxy it feels as though you're sitting on me.
I watched today as you near bent it right o'er,
That tree is losing its spring and I worry to death
That you might be stifling out its last chloroform breath.
Stand up! I pray thee,
And get off of my tree,
For I would like to see it get older than me.
23 October 2008
will a pilgrim meet me 'round the corner?
Out of all the fanciful things and stalwart heroes that go through all those throes, I've finally found my patriotism. It stands on the firm foundatation of the Upper Midwest. I believe in the life I had, cashing my paycheck chatting with my regular bank teller, getting the gossip. I believe in knowing all of the workers at my grocery store, knowing where they went to elementary school, high school, and if they even went to college, and their grandparents country of origin. I believe in diners with knoefla soup. I believe in library ladies who tell me about their grandkids. I believe in wind.
They have the funniest accents.
The winters, you ask about. Each day I hear someone say, there? It must be cold there. Well....yes. Winter tends to be cold in many places. Maybe ours were extreme. Though I guess I've begun to romanticize the cold that makes you run out to your car periodically during the day to run the engine so that later, when you need to drive, you can. Running from car to house, then sitting under blankets and blankets while you watch a movie at a friends. Yes multiple blankets even though you're already wearing two pairs of socks and a long sleeved shirt and a sweater and a sweatshirt. All the autostart buttons, a few more minutes with a chum because their car has to heat up. The space heater in the kitchen because of the draft from the back door. Thoughts about foot amputation.
That one evening when it was dinnertime and snowing and black as night. I stepped outside to the middle of the street with the black arms of trees arching over the fresh snow. No tracks, only glows from street lamps highlighting flakes in rainbow colors.
Driving through the prairie on frosty winter mornings when the shelter belts (rows of trees between fields) are fuzzy white and one can only tell the sky from the trees from the land by the different shades and textures of whiteness.
Februaries with days that warm up to 40 degrees and everyone goes wild and stops wearing coats for a day.
Late springs that everyone feels hesitant about. Is it really spring? Is it really getting warmer? Roads covered in rootbeer colored slush. Muddy yards. Sweatshirts and damp chill. Cool sun afternoons.
Junes full of drizzle. By the end of grey June you ask yourself, will we be able to light fire crackers this fourth of July?
August full of voices carried over from the pool. Actually my augusts started running season. Waking up for a four mile run at 7am followed by another three/four miles at 7:30pm. In the mornings and afternoons when you run, you run through the country. no matter the direction, one mile or so and you're in the country. Mornings past the airport. Past one red house and their adjoining fields. Afternoon the other direction, sky (Oh the sky! gloriously large and wrapping you all about) threatening rain storm, running past the cemetary and a few more farmhouses. Gravel, gravel, gravel ways.
Octobers of Halloween costumes made useless by winter coats and cross country races through snow.
Thanksgivings with my dad's colleague playing an indian flute for us. The little pilgrim people that sit on the bathroom window and in odd little corners about the house. The Mayflower here, a stalk of corn there.
Oh for an afternoon in the heartland, listening to records all day, playing Global pursuit and eating ice cream and watching Algiers with mes parents, then off to the chums.
But my room has become an adolescent relic.
They have the funniest accents.
The winters, you ask about. Each day I hear someone say, there? It must be cold there. Well....yes. Winter tends to be cold in many places. Maybe ours were extreme. Though I guess I've begun to romanticize the cold that makes you run out to your car periodically during the day to run the engine so that later, when you need to drive, you can. Running from car to house, then sitting under blankets and blankets while you watch a movie at a friends. Yes multiple blankets even though you're already wearing two pairs of socks and a long sleeved shirt and a sweater and a sweatshirt. All the autostart buttons, a few more minutes with a chum because their car has to heat up. The space heater in the kitchen because of the draft from the back door. Thoughts about foot amputation.
That one evening when it was dinnertime and snowing and black as night. I stepped outside to the middle of the street with the black arms of trees arching over the fresh snow. No tracks, only glows from street lamps highlighting flakes in rainbow colors.
Driving through the prairie on frosty winter mornings when the shelter belts (rows of trees between fields) are fuzzy white and one can only tell the sky from the trees from the land by the different shades and textures of whiteness.
Februaries with days that warm up to 40 degrees and everyone goes wild and stops wearing coats for a day.
Late springs that everyone feels hesitant about. Is it really spring? Is it really getting warmer? Roads covered in rootbeer colored slush. Muddy yards. Sweatshirts and damp chill. Cool sun afternoons.
Junes full of drizzle. By the end of grey June you ask yourself, will we be able to light fire crackers this fourth of July?
August full of voices carried over from the pool. Actually my augusts started running season. Waking up for a four mile run at 7am followed by another three/four miles at 7:30pm. In the mornings and afternoons when you run, you run through the country. no matter the direction, one mile or so and you're in the country. Mornings past the airport. Past one red house and their adjoining fields. Afternoon the other direction, sky (Oh the sky! gloriously large and wrapping you all about) threatening rain storm, running past the cemetary and a few more farmhouses. Gravel, gravel, gravel ways.
Octobers of Halloween costumes made useless by winter coats and cross country races through snow.
Thanksgivings with my dad's colleague playing an indian flute for us. The little pilgrim people that sit on the bathroom window and in odd little corners about the house. The Mayflower here, a stalk of corn there.
Oh for an afternoon in the heartland, listening to records all day, playing Global pursuit and eating ice cream and watching Algiers with mes parents, then off to the chums.
But my room has become an adolescent relic.
20 October 2008
tomes of the reference librarian
what were we talking about? Neopolitan ice cream, the creamy three layers popularized in strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, il vient d'italie.
Autumnal times and all their ravings leave me with curious and unidentifiable cravings. I'm missing something, but what? What among all the crunchy leaves and golden little rays and wrappings of scarves that I love oh love, love, what am I missing? Familia? Ma and Da are far far away (vous me manquez toujours*), but I still have ma soeur et mes cousins, mon oncle et ma tante. I play with my cousin's sons for 3-4 hours a day. I have lots of time with familia. New music? Now that's a difficult one. Art, not missing. Food, glorious.
I need to love more.
I've outpoured on crunchy leaves and scarves and cocoas and families and chummy close friends. And it's not Belle's "who cares, no big deal, I want more." It's, I should more. I've got a world I need to tear down my cardboard box walls for. The world isn't bothered by these shy cardboard walls, but I am. It leaves the heart a cold cold uncrunchy place. An empty shade of grey.
Shades, shades, and sheets and sheets, I tear you down and play repeats.
See the photo From The Sartorialist
I shall take my que from childhoods and yellow leaves and pretty pretty settings, and knowledgeable german men, and create again.Are these ramblings self-centered? I wish we could sit over tea and chat more.
ps. Shining Time Station sounds American because we remember George Carlin not Ringo.
* Miss you always.
19 October 2008
trust me, I'm an occupator
When I was a young, young child, I learned the term Jack-of-all-trades (a lower class version of the Renaissance Man). I knew at that little age I wanted to be a Jack-of-all-trades.
How blissful to play at occupation.
How blissful to play at occupation.
17 October 2008
wish you were here because there was an elephant in the room
FRUSTRATED POST FRUSTRATED POST! FRUSTRATED POST!THOSE are my legs. Those ones, up there. I was well-dressed tonight, well well well dressed so mod-est-lee. Modesto, California that is me. Me mutha would approve. And that's not even what I care about. It's not so much that I was on some stupid group date tonight standing next to one of the girls as she said, "I hate when girls wear leggings with little butt-length things, it's sooo not appropriate."
Mainly frustrated because I either end up in mis-matched groups of people who make a special point to talk to me by opening their eyes wide, talking really slowly and opening their eyes even wider when I reply to whatever they're saying. "Good! We just made the odd girl talk!" The other part of the either are the dates with boys who graduated university in some art field ten years ago but have still made no plans for their life and don't seem to know their own age.
I know, I know, c'est la vie.
and we continue to take courage, Samuel Beckett.
Because it could have been better if I'd used my whispery voice to get to know them all instead of sitting on it.
because the elephant can be pretty charming when she gets over herself.
16 October 2008
die cod uh me vs. dual at tea
When I went home this summer ma soeur asked me to philosophically analyze a little cactus that was on our kitchen table. She thought I would be good at it. Poihaps this means I philisopholize a little too much.
In that case, let it be said that I miss The Gang's (you know who you are and those of you who are not have never known you are not but don't feel disheartened. I heart you still.) discussions about what if's and solutions to world problems. Par exemple: Ricky has a handle on the worst case scenario. If you are ever stranded on a deserted island you should have McGiver with you and you should play Minesweep incase you are ever in a mine field. For foriegn policies, Taradise plans on capturing the Loch Ness monster to hold and then breed to keep terrorists, nasty dictators, etc in check. I like to pose the subject of Pangea to people, it's a viable solution to alleviate nationalist tensions. Laquina can take care of humanitarian aid with her plans for orphaned and homeless hungry children. That's only the tip of the iceburg, I'm telling you, we're much more productive than Angelina Jolie adopting cambodean children.
Not that any of this merits having a blog at all, but then furthermore, I want to discuss right here and now my adolescent dreams of becomming a documentary filmmaker (I picked that up from *GAG* Serendipity). I was founded on the principles of the American Dream. Then I found out the American Dream is a misnomer. Vernacular-wise we know what's going on. But I remember having a vivid realization while watching those "I...am an American" commericals on ChannelOne TV in some highschool homeroom. Canadians are Americans and Peruvians are Americans. I had this wild dream to see a commercial proclaiming, "Soy uno americano."
What is the American Dream? West Side Story? Wait...I mean Romeo & Juliet? I mean, Shakespeare? I mean the archetypical romance that dates back before the beginnings of recorded history and was made famous by the three-hundreth person to put it into verse? I mean, I sometimes feel I've been educated to analyze all forms of media and story-telling so much that I could have a great carreer in digging?
(Pardon me as I step back for a moment and apologize for myself, since I am most decidedly a pretentious 21 year old who is hardly the most coherent person.)
But maybe I shouldn't consider the American Dream a misnomer. Because Canada provides a fresh start and possibilities. And think of how many people emmegrated to Brazil after WWII and at other times in history.
However, what I'm saying is that in elementary school we had these Weekly Readers that told me America is a melting pot and that by the year 2000 our cars would fly and our fridges would talk. I was enthralled by melting pots but a little afraid of flying cars. The Jetsons were too uniform for my tastes. Afterall it was about this time in my life I told my parents I was a flower child. They insisted I wasn't but refrained from explaining about the drugs. I remember reading about the possibilities of solar panels but noticed my calculator would stop working if I covered up the little solar pannels at the top. Bill Nye would say, "What's up with that?" Yeah, Bill Nye, what's up?
What happens is that at somepoint someone theoritically grabs you by the ear and drags you away from your café table where you've been mulling over some ideas with Jean Paul Sartre and tells you, "You know, someday you're probably going to have a job where you're going to be working for a TV show and the rule book will not allow for jump cuts and you will edit two minute pieces together from twenty hours of footage and it will not be profound and it will follow classical rules. You probably won't be making a carreer out of wowing people on the independent documentary film festival circuit."
Anyway, I figured out that life just keeps going no matter who wrote Romeo and Juliet. And it's great.
Practicality.
Action.
Enter me, Marge the pragmatic.
In that case, let it be said that I miss The Gang's (you know who you are and those of you who are not have never known you are not but don't feel disheartened. I heart you still.) discussions about what if's and solutions to world problems. Par exemple: Ricky has a handle on the worst case scenario. If you are ever stranded on a deserted island you should have McGiver with you and you should play Minesweep incase you are ever in a mine field. For foriegn policies, Taradise plans on capturing the Loch Ness monster to hold and then breed to keep terrorists, nasty dictators, etc in check. I like to pose the subject of Pangea to people, it's a viable solution to alleviate nationalist tensions. Laquina can take care of humanitarian aid with her plans for orphaned and homeless hungry children. That's only the tip of the iceburg, I'm telling you, we're much more productive than Angelina Jolie adopting cambodean children.
Not that any of this merits having a blog at all, but then furthermore, I want to discuss right here and now my adolescent dreams of becomming a documentary filmmaker (I picked that up from *GAG* Serendipity). I was founded on the principles of the American Dream. Then I found out the American Dream is a misnomer. Vernacular-wise we know what's going on. But I remember having a vivid realization while watching those "I...am an American" commericals on ChannelOne TV in some highschool homeroom. Canadians are Americans and Peruvians are Americans. I had this wild dream to see a commercial proclaiming, "Soy uno americano."
What is the American Dream? West Side Story? Wait...I mean Romeo & Juliet? I mean, Shakespeare? I mean the archetypical romance that dates back before the beginnings of recorded history and was made famous by the three-hundreth person to put it into verse? I mean, I sometimes feel I've been educated to analyze all forms of media and story-telling so much that I could have a great carreer in digging?
(Pardon me as I step back for a moment and apologize for myself, since I am most decidedly a pretentious 21 year old who is hardly the most coherent person.)
But maybe I shouldn't consider the American Dream a misnomer. Because Canada provides a fresh start and possibilities. And think of how many people emmegrated to Brazil after WWII and at other times in history.
However, what I'm saying is that in elementary school we had these Weekly Readers that told me America is a melting pot and that by the year 2000 our cars would fly and our fridges would talk. I was enthralled by melting pots but a little afraid of flying cars. The Jetsons were too uniform for my tastes. Afterall it was about this time in my life I told my parents I was a flower child. They insisted I wasn't but refrained from explaining about the drugs. I remember reading about the possibilities of solar panels but noticed my calculator would stop working if I covered up the little solar pannels at the top. Bill Nye would say, "What's up with that?" Yeah, Bill Nye, what's up?
What happens is that at somepoint someone theoritically grabs you by the ear and drags you away from your café table where you've been mulling over some ideas with Jean Paul Sartre and tells you, "You know, someday you're probably going to have a job where you're going to be working for a TV show and the rule book will not allow for jump cuts and you will edit two minute pieces together from twenty hours of footage and it will not be profound and it will follow classical rules. You probably won't be making a carreer out of wowing people on the independent documentary film festival circuit."
Anyway, I figured out that life just keeps going no matter who wrote Romeo and Juliet. And it's great.
Practicality.
Action.
Enter me, Marge the pragmatic.
13 October 2008
must wash my Mick Jagger hair, must wash my Mick Jagger hair
oh my darlin'
oh my darlin'
oh my darlin' marxist foe,
oh I went to california
now I'm back in old _____.
I was a country bumpkin cousin
excited as could be
to see a strip of sky between
the passes over me.
there was wind to hold my soul and
lots of charm and fall and sand
you were my autumn time-oh
now i'm back in winter land.
what am I doing?
What am I doing
what am I doing with my life?
I don't know, no I'm not quite sure
but I'll maaaaake the best of it.
A nice bright spot is being back to my nanny-kins. Love them. Monstruo Dos was full of hugs and he made a fish face at me which I finally deciphered correctly as being attempts to kiss my cheek.
Monstruo Uno showed me his tricks he's been practicing all morning which look like the beginnings of break dancing. He told me he learned them from his Grandma in Florida and that I should tell my family. OK, I will, I said.
Ya lyublu tebya.
The end.
oh my darlin'
oh my darlin' marxist foe,
oh I went to california
now I'm back in old _____.
I was a country bumpkin cousin
excited as could be
to see a strip of sky between
the passes over me.
there was wind to hold my soul and
lots of charm and fall and sand
you were my autumn time-oh
now i'm back in winter land.
what am I doing?
What am I doing
what am I doing with my life?
I don't know, no I'm not quite sure
but I'll maaaaake the best of it.
A nice bright spot is being back to my nanny-kins. Love them. Monstruo Dos was full of hugs and he made a fish face at me which I finally deciphered correctly as being attempts to kiss my cheek.
Monstruo Uno showed me his tricks he's been practicing all morning which look like the beginnings of break dancing. He told me he learned them from his Grandma in Florida and that I should tell my family. OK, I will, I said.
Ya lyublu tebya.
The end.
07 October 2008
blip, blip, blip, blip
Delaware state flagMonstro Uno and I have been cinderblocking it. Hier (ayer, ieri, gisteren, yesterday) during the perfect fall day, We sat on the curb and watched as the wind picked up the leaves at the end of the street and sent them skittering towards us. I'd never seen anything like it. We chased the leaves around.
Today, we held our tri-weekly wrestling pillow fight. Then he decided to give the pillows different magical properties. "This one is Burn Danger, this one pokes, this one is Accordian Danger."
Wait....What? "Accordian Danger?"
"Yeah. Which one do you want?"
"I want Accordian Danger."
He also told me that for his dad's birthday last year instead of blowing out the candles, his dad sat on the cake and squished it and so then they made another one and he squished it again and he squished all the cakes.
Later we were looking at state flags. "What does Delaware's flag have on it?" I asked him.
"A diamond...and a band."
"Yes, I think you're right, Delaware does have a band on their flag."
Connecticut has a police badge on it and Florida has a pirate ship.
And finally the triumphat average French student has found a new clé (keeeeey): post secret in French! HA! There I'll get jargon and terminology and phraseology and sentances that people actually use! VERNACULAR!!! Hail the conquering hero!
PS. peut-être I'm the only one who's interested, BUT aujourd'hui the French writing lab tried to correct at least three things that were correct in the first place. I even pointed one out while I was there and got the WHITE OUT on my paper. L'arc de triomphe ! This gives me hope.
06 October 2008
the steps from measles to maysles
I would like to orient you to what is about to take place. School has crept into my blog, I shall post writings for this little film class I take and maybe eventually you see some-uh-da films I shall make.
I would like to bring to your attention the Maysles Brothers, ladies and gentlemen. Pure documentary film landmarks. Categorize them under historical happenings, cinema verité, brothers, driving force, and find them at this website of theirs.
(You might have heard of their documentaries: Salesman, Grey Gardens, Gimme Shelter)
I've perused and re-rused and pursued this website a bit. And I have mixed reactions.
Reaction one : awe. A bit of awe as I'm entranced by the magic of cinematographically masterful black and white films made by people with horn-rimmed glasses (Albert Maysles has horn-rimmed-ish glasses now) (i.e. Billy Wilder). I get a bit of inspiration from this website because Albert Maysles proclaims his why for documentary,
"As a documentarian I happily place my fate and faith in reality. It is my caretaker, the provider of subjects, themes, experiences—all endowed with the power of truth and the romance of discovery. And the closer I adhere to reality the more honest and authentic my tales. After all, knowledge of the real world is exactly what we need to better understand and therefore possibly to love one another. It’s my way of making the world a better place."
Oh, heart!, for documentary to make the world a place of hope because we can hope when we love one another better.
But I kept looking around the Maysles' pages and I found reaction two: the muddied muddied little doubts of mine.
Dear Maysles,
You see, I'm impressed by your films and what you've done. I'm excited you are in support of the digital revolution because you understand how many doors it opens up for documentary. I know I should be studying and learning and practicing as you have so that I might make such well-made films. I guess I just feel like I'm sitting on a tree stump wondering again what exactly it is that I intend on doing with my filmmaking skills and degrees. Where do I want to go with documentary? I don't need to know all the answers now, but I guess, dear readers, you know me. I love to know you and to know all about the world but I would really just like to stay in the bookshelves. There's little place for that, though. There's little time, there's too much to be done and there is no use for me to study without acting upon what I learn. It's not the question now as to whether I will make grand films that will stand out for generations to peer at and remember (quel horreur !). The question now I should be working on is to stop questioning for once. To stop shying away from camera cords and internships and editing jobs. These things are not enigmas.
(I'm getting long-winded and confusing again, I'm sure.)
So the perusing of this website makes me very aware that Albert Maysles has practiced, practiced, practiced and made himself comfortable in the filmmaker world. Not comfortable in the puffed up sense, but he's made himself at home. Marge Bjork, on the other hand, is still waking up every morning repeating affirmations of: "camera cords are not enigmas," "I WILL push every button on that camera," "I WILL try a new filter in final cut today," "I WILL check out a tripod."
I'm not sure whether or not this is the full and exacting response I should be giving about this website. But to end with something concise that might make sense: The Maysles are a million steps ahead of me, which is always intimidating. If their legacy is an ideal, it is important to understand and to know that there is such a standard in existence (a standard outlined on their website). And that standard is what we must reach towards. No matter how many little steps it takes to get there.
So I'm stepping.
I would like to bring to your attention the Maysles Brothers, ladies and gentlemen. Pure documentary film landmarks. Categorize them under historical happenings, cinema verité, brothers, driving force, and find them at this website of theirs.
(You might have heard of their documentaries: Salesman, Grey Gardens, Gimme Shelter)
I've perused and re-rused and pursued this website a bit. And I have mixed reactions.
Reaction one : awe. A bit of awe as I'm entranced by the magic of cinematographically masterful black and white films made by people with horn-rimmed glasses (Albert Maysles has horn-rimmed-ish glasses now) (i.e. Billy Wilder). I get a bit of inspiration from this website because Albert Maysles proclaims his why for documentary,
"As a documentarian I happily place my fate and faith in reality. It is my caretaker, the provider of subjects, themes, experiences—all endowed with the power of truth and the romance of discovery. And the closer I adhere to reality the more honest and authentic my tales. After all, knowledge of the real world is exactly what we need to better understand and therefore possibly to love one another. It’s my way of making the world a better place."
Oh, heart!, for documentary to make the world a place of hope because we can hope when we love one another better.
But I kept looking around the Maysles' pages and I found reaction two: the muddied muddied little doubts of mine.
Dear Maysles,
You see, I'm impressed by your films and what you've done. I'm excited you are in support of the digital revolution because you understand how many doors it opens up for documentary. I know I should be studying and learning and practicing as you have so that I might make such well-made films. I guess I just feel like I'm sitting on a tree stump wondering again what exactly it is that I intend on doing with my filmmaking skills and degrees. Where do I want to go with documentary? I don't need to know all the answers now, but I guess, dear readers, you know me. I love to know you and to know all about the world but I would really just like to stay in the bookshelves. There's little place for that, though. There's little time, there's too much to be done and there is no use for me to study without acting upon what I learn. It's not the question now as to whether I will make grand films that will stand out for generations to peer at and remember (quel horreur !). The question now I should be working on is to stop questioning for once. To stop shying away from camera cords and internships and editing jobs. These things are not enigmas.
(I'm getting long-winded and confusing again, I'm sure.)
So the perusing of this website makes me very aware that Albert Maysles has practiced, practiced, practiced and made himself comfortable in the filmmaker world. Not comfortable in the puffed up sense, but he's made himself at home. Marge Bjork, on the other hand, is still waking up every morning repeating affirmations of: "camera cords are not enigmas," "I WILL push every button on that camera," "I WILL try a new filter in final cut today," "I WILL check out a tripod."
I'm not sure whether or not this is the full and exacting response I should be giving about this website. But to end with something concise that might make sense: The Maysles are a million steps ahead of me, which is always intimidating. If their legacy is an ideal, it is important to understand and to know that there is such a standard in existence (a standard outlined on their website). And that standard is what we must reach towards. No matter how many little steps it takes to get there.
So I'm stepping.
04 October 2008
puis-je écrire BIEN ? qn ? qn ? qui sait ?
Things I've Learned While Trying to Write an Informative Paper in French on the Effects of our Preoccupation with Eating Healthily
(writing that title made me wish we were French where they only capitalize the first letter of a title. Makes SO much more sense and looks A LOT less silly)
Nous voilà propres ! - Now we're in a fine mess!
Ce n'est pas la peine d'y penser ! - Don't get any ideas!
C'est simple comme bonjour - It's as easy as taking candy from a baby
Gobelet en carton - paper cup
saponification (english word) - the conversion of an ester heated with an alcali into the corresponding alcohol and acid salt; specif., this process carried out with fats (glyceryl esters) to produce soap
Santa Gertrudis (english again) - [so named after a section of the King Ranch, in Texas] any of a hardy, red-colored, American breed of beef cattle, developed from a cross of Shorthorn and Brahman stock and able to thrive in hot climates on sparse forage.
flummery (english) - 1. any soft, easily eaten food; esp., a) orig., boiled oatmeal or flour b) a soft custard or blancmange 2. meaningless flattery or silly talk
Muzak ® - musique enregistrée
how to type ®
avorteur - abortionist
(writing that title made me wish we were French where they only capitalize the first letter of a title. Makes SO much more sense and looks A LOT less silly)
Nous voilà propres ! - Now we're in a fine mess!
Ce n'est pas la peine d'y penser ! - Don't get any ideas!
C'est simple comme bonjour - It's as easy as taking candy from a baby
Gobelet en carton - paper cup
saponification (english word) - the conversion of an ester heated with an alcali into the corresponding alcohol and acid salt; specif., this process carried out with fats (glyceryl esters) to produce soap
Santa Gertrudis (english again) - [so named after a section of the King Ranch, in Texas] any of a hardy, red-colored, American breed of beef cattle, developed from a cross of Shorthorn and Brahman stock and able to thrive in hot climates on sparse forage.
flummery (english) - 1. any soft, easily eaten food; esp., a) orig., boiled oatmeal or flour b) a soft custard or blancmange 2. meaningless flattery or silly talk
Muzak ® - musique enregistrée
how to type ®
avorteur - abortionist
03 October 2008
hold yer horses. harses.
So I hate writing papers for my french class because she makes us use Times New Roman font. Ich. I ALWAYS use helvetica. TNR is visually like nails on chalkboard. What is one to do???
02 October 2008
Ju ju fruits. it just happened: ju ju fruits
Soooo...the presidential debates.
I was watching them this morning and I got stuck on one thing: in all of the talk of military ramblings and different nations etc etc somehow McCain warned of the "existential threat" to Israel.
Existential threat?
I'm trying to figure that out.
Here's a definition of existential.
I'm trying to figure this one out and it's not working.
So does Israel begin to question its existence because of these threats and military-isms? Are they wondering about the afterlife?
I just want to understand, but it's not coming.
I was watching Turner Classic Movies this summer and they went through a run of old political films. At this political rally two of the characters were remarking on the audience seeming brainless and fully mob-mentalitied out, as demonstration the man stood up and yelled, "FISH FOR SALE!" and the crowd cheered.
EXISTENTIAL THREAT!
[cheer]
no disrespect is meant by the picture. I think Israel is great and I don't think McCain is an idiot.
I was watching them this morning and I got stuck on one thing: in all of the talk of military ramblings and different nations etc etc somehow McCain warned of the "existential threat" to Israel.
Existential threat?
I'm trying to figure that out.
Here's a definition of existential.
I'm trying to figure this one out and it's not working.
So does Israel begin to question its existence because of these threats and military-isms? Are they wondering about the afterlife?
I just want to understand, but it's not coming.
I was watching Turner Classic Movies this summer and they went through a run of old political films. At this political rally two of the characters were remarking on the audience seeming brainless and fully mob-mentalitied out, as demonstration the man stood up and yelled, "FISH FOR SALE!" and the crowd cheered.
EXISTENTIAL THREAT!
[cheer]
no disrespect is meant by the picture. I think Israel is great and I don't think McCain is an idiot.
01 October 2008
but you do let that slide
lets expel lots of things.
I'm not in France watching citroëns drive past me.
Regrettable.
BUT I DO NOT BELIEVE IN REGRETS!!
For all the things I do not believe in or support, most of all I don't support regrets. Regrets are for all those who muddle down backwards heels over head down the muddy steep terrain. Sans regrets. Always sans regrets. Scarlett O'Hara has Tara and tomorrow. I have fuzzy brain and NOW.
I'm saying this because I sat today and saw some pictures and read some things and knew that others were enjoying the miracles I had worked for and hoped for and failed at.
But failing can be good.
Otherwise how could I have enjoyed watching my short française professora waving her arms at our class and saying "ne paniquez pas ! ne paniquez pas!" over our homework assignments?
Nor would I have taken big strides in the right direction to take my life.
I'm humbling it up in my little basement hovel and I'm thinking that since I'm here, I should climb up to the roof top in glitter dress and throw down my noblesse oblige as I yell it. I AM HERE! WHY DON'T YOU JUST TRY TO TAKE ME DOWN! I tripple dog dare ya.
I'm not in France watching citroëns drive past me.
Regrettable.
BUT I DO NOT BELIEVE IN REGRETS!!
For all the things I do not believe in or support, most of all I don't support regrets. Regrets are for all those who muddle down backwards heels over head down the muddy steep terrain. Sans regrets. Always sans regrets. Scarlett O'Hara has Tara and tomorrow. I have fuzzy brain and NOW.
I'm saying this because I sat today and saw some pictures and read some things and knew that others were enjoying the miracles I had worked for and hoped for and failed at.
But failing can be good.
Otherwise how could I have enjoyed watching my short française professora waving her arms at our class and saying "ne paniquez pas ! ne paniquez pas!" over our homework assignments?
Nor would I have taken big strides in the right direction to take my life.
I'm humbling it up in my little basement hovel and I'm thinking that since I'm here, I should climb up to the roof top in glitter dress and throw down my noblesse oblige as I yell it. I AM HERE! WHY DON'T YOU JUST TRY TO TAKE ME DOWN! I tripple dog dare ya.
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