I haven’t actually been able to describe my daily goings on in a long time. It takes a certain determination, a certain drive to blog about yourself on a regular basis. In high school, or younger, that drive stems from the emotions of growing up, angst channeled into words, digitalized for the world to see (but in reality it’s just your 4-5 friends).
But I just went to Las Vegas.
So here it goes.
I took the bus from San Jose to Westminster Thursday morning. I got picked up by Brian when I got there, and we hung out for an hour or two before I had to get dropped off at Naman’s, where’d I’d be spending the night. I noticed a few things about Orange County as the bus pulled into its Bolsa Avenue stop (Xe Do Hoang is kinda awesome).
Primarily, the traffic is monstrously more coagulated than in San Jose. I make this observation every time I come down to sunny southern California (the land of fame and excess. Am I gonna fit in?), but it still boggles my mind how many people, and as an extension, cars are here. I have said often that the only thing stopping me from settling down in SoCal is the crowdedness of the place. It’s crowded from coast to Inland Empire, from Pomona to San Diego, and that’s just not my scene.
The second thing I noticed was that in fewer than 24 hours, I would be in Vegas, but for now, I’d have to settle for Orange, California.
Eventually, Naman and I went shopping. Apparently we needed slacks, and I needed to buy dress shoes. Dressy shoes are key to get into classy clubs. Lesson learned. We also went to Costco in order to pick up a few things, namely alcohol and…alcohol.
“We have tow handles of Captain Morgan so far, Jen,” Naman said to our group’s de facto planner. “I know you like Crown, so should we get it? Also, we want beer. It’s a 36 pack and it’s Costco so…yeah, cheap beer?”
“I don’t think you’re gonna want beer,” she told us. “You’re going to want to drink fast and get to the clubs.”
Naman and I looked at each other. No beer? As far as college students are concerned, that’s blasphemy, but we acquiesced. We also got that handle of Crown Royal because more alcohol is always (not really, don’t think like that) a good thing. So off we went back to Naman’s house, to watch the Denver Nuggets game before heading to sleep. To be honest, I couldn’t have asked for a better pre-Vegas lull. Good basketball and a full night’s rest before we jumped into the neon-lit abyss in the desert.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Flurry
Snowflakes are all different, he was told, unique. So here he was, in traffic, looking at the snow falling lightly on his car window. Dad was driving, and mom was asleep, her seat reclined more than slightly. Her blanket was fleece, a present she had received only a few months ago on her birthday. Of course, not many adult women would appreciate a Pokemon fleece blanket with "I choose you!" strewn across obnoxiously, but for a mother, any gift from her son was worth more than humiliation.
The heater was noisily blowing from this rackety, old car, but he was used to it now. Dad bought this car before he was born, so he grew up with it, like an old dog. You don't get rid of dogs because of their oldness. Like snowflakes, no two dogs are the same, he thought. He never had a dog, but that didn't mean he didn't love animals.
"How come we don't have a dog, daddy?" he asked. His father honked his horn curtly for the car in front of them to move with the already slothlike traffic.
"I don't think you would be able to take care of it," was daddy's reply. "Plus, your mom hates animals."
"Then why do I like you?" his mom replied without skipping a beat, eyes still closed.
"Would you like to drive?"
"Yes, but my exhaustion is holding me back. It's a good thing you're doing expert driving, though, especially when we're whizzing through at fifteen miles an hour."
"I bet if people in front of us knew you were tailing them, they'd drive away much faster."
"But if I were driving, we'd keep up," she replied, opening one eye.
"When you drive, I don't have the luxury of sleep."
She laughed. "Well, when you drive..."
He stopped listening to his parents talk. He didn't understand most of it anyways, and quite frankly, the snowflakes on his window were a lot more interesting. When he looked at them closely, nose pressed on the cold glass, he could see the intricate designs. They looked like mini versions of the ones he had to cut up in class.
"Mommy," he asked, "When God makes snowflakes, does he make each of them one at a time? 'Cause they're all different, right? So how does he know he didn't copy one on accident?"
There was a pause before his mom answered. She sat up and turned around to look at her young son. She left the seat down, though, so he could see her.
"Well, sweetie, God doesn't make mistakes. He remembers everything, even snowflakes that he made billions of years ago, so no two snowflakes are the same. It's like people, honey. No two people are the same."
"What about twins?"
"Twins look the same, but you know they have different names, and they have different things they like, right? Like you and your sister."
"Why can't snowflakes look the same, but be different?"
"Maybe they are, honey. If they are, God wanted them to be like that."
He stopped to think about it for a second, and decided that he was satisfied with that answer. Mom lifted the bar on the right side of the seat to let it go back to its normal position. Now sitting up with her fleece blanket on her lap, she opened the book she was reading before she fell asleep.
"Mommy, I have to go pee-pee," said a voice in the back left seat a few minutes later, behind his dad. He was so engrossed in his snowflakes that he had forgotten that his sister was there.
He had to go, too, he realized. He went just before they left, but he had forgotten that he needed to go again.
"Me too," he piped in.
"Didn't you guys go before we left?" dad asked as he glanced in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, but we have to go again," his sister said.
"Can you hold it in for a few more minutes, honey?" his mom asked her. "Once we get out of these mountains we'll get dinner and you can go then, okay?"
He and his sister looked at each other.
"Yeah, we'll wait."
His mom chortled and turned around, muttering, "Like peas in a pod."
He didn't get it, but he thought that it had something to do with him and his sister. His dad usually said a lot of things he didn't understand, but his mom didn't do it a lot. She was usually very straightforward and understanding with them. They were never scared of her unless they did something bad. Sometimes, though, his dad was scary even though they didn't do anything. Mom said that it was because work was hard for him, and it wasn't their fault. Once mom made dad say sorry to them, but he didn't need to. They knew that he loved them.
He went back to his window and pressed his warm nose against the cold window.
"Daddy?" his sister asked, now that she was awake, "How come we can't have a dog?"
His dad just laughed.
"Because you guys can't take care of a dog. You can barely pee at the right times, let alone know when a dog needs to pee."
"But if we promised to take care of it, can we get one?" she pleaded.
"No, Winona. You're not getting any pets."
"But what if we promised?" he asked, trying to help out his sister's cause, which was very obviously his cause too.
"Daddy said no, already," mom said to them sternly. "Plus, I don't like animals."
"That's why you have low self-esteem?" his father asked.
"Just drive."
They both laughed.
After another twenty minutes without talking, the only noises coming from the heater and the ruffling of the pages from mom's book, they stopped for dinner. They parked in front of a McDonald's, and got out.
"I'll take them to the bathroom, Vern. You go ahead and order."
"What do you guys want?" dad asked as they were walking toward the door.
"Can I get the toy?" his sister asked. "It's Fatcat!"
"Winston, do you want one too?" his mom asked.
"I'm okay," Winston replied. "We can share."
"You're such a good boy," his dad said.
"I don't want one anymore!" Winona said as they walked in.
Winston smiled. "Okay, I'll have it!"
"Are you gonna share?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Fine. Can we both have it, daddy?"
Their parents were talking about something they didn't understand before she interrupted.
"Sure," he replied, making his way toward the register.
Mom grabbed their hands. "Let's go to the bathroom, now, babies."
"I don't need to go anymore," Winston said.
"We're not babies!" Winona said at the same time. "We're almost eight years old!"
"Wait, one thing at a time now," mom said. They had stopped walking and were almost at the doors where they had just entered.
"You just said you needed to go! How about you, Winona. Do you need to go?"
Winona looked up into her head, clearly thinking as hard as she could.
"Um..."
"Well, do you?" mom asked.
"No, not really."
"Why did you guys say you needed to go when yo-"
She was interrupted by the doors opening loudly with bells jingling. She jumped up a little, startled. That's funny, Winston thought, I don't remember the bells before. But before he could say anything, he caught eye of the man who just walked in.
The man was tall, taller than his dad, and fat. He had a white beard and red suspenders. If he wore red pants, he would look just like Santa.
"You look like Santa!" Winona said as Winston thought that.
"Winona!" mom scolded. She was still holding their hands, but she was also still very commanding when she had to be.
"I'm very, very sorry, sir. My daughter is very outspoken, even when she shouldn't be."
The man laughed a deep, rich laugh, matched only by his voice.
"It's okay, little Winona. I get that a lot. It's my beard, I think." He laughed again, and the only thing the twins and their mom could do was laugh nervously along before he continued toward the register. Dad passed him on the way toward his family and glanced quickly.
"Is it me, or does that guy look like Santa?" he said to his family, still standing near the entrance.
"That's what I said!" exclaimed Winona.
The pseudo-Santa turned around as he heard that and laughed his potbellied laugh again before he ordered his food.
"What did I say about yelling, Winona!" mom scolded again as they made their way to a booth.
"Nothing, mommy. You just said my name!"
"I meant last time. Remember? I said that if you yelled in public, people would think you're not a good girl. They'll think you scream at everything, like an ani-"
"Like a dog?" Winston asked.
She turned around to look at him. "Yes, Winston. Like a dog, except it's okay for dogs to do it, but not for little boys and girls."
Dad got up and got the food then, setting it on the table.
"Are we talking about dogs again?" he asked as he split up the food. "What did I say before? We're not getting a dog. Got it?"
The twins just nodded and began to eat their food.
---------------
To be continued...
The heater was noisily blowing from this rackety, old car, but he was used to it now. Dad bought this car before he was born, so he grew up with it, like an old dog. You don't get rid of dogs because of their oldness. Like snowflakes, no two dogs are the same, he thought. He never had a dog, but that didn't mean he didn't love animals.
"How come we don't have a dog, daddy?" he asked. His father honked his horn curtly for the car in front of them to move with the already slothlike traffic.
"I don't think you would be able to take care of it," was daddy's reply. "Plus, your mom hates animals."
"Then why do I like you?" his mom replied without skipping a beat, eyes still closed.
"Would you like to drive?"
"Yes, but my exhaustion is holding me back. It's a good thing you're doing expert driving, though, especially when we're whizzing through at fifteen miles an hour."
"I bet if people in front of us knew you were tailing them, they'd drive away much faster."
"But if I were driving, we'd keep up," she replied, opening one eye.
"When you drive, I don't have the luxury of sleep."
She laughed. "Well, when you drive..."
He stopped listening to his parents talk. He didn't understand most of it anyways, and quite frankly, the snowflakes on his window were a lot more interesting. When he looked at them closely, nose pressed on the cold glass, he could see the intricate designs. They looked like mini versions of the ones he had to cut up in class.
"Mommy," he asked, "When God makes snowflakes, does he make each of them one at a time? 'Cause they're all different, right? So how does he know he didn't copy one on accident?"
There was a pause before his mom answered. She sat up and turned around to look at her young son. She left the seat down, though, so he could see her.
"Well, sweetie, God doesn't make mistakes. He remembers everything, even snowflakes that he made billions of years ago, so no two snowflakes are the same. It's like people, honey. No two people are the same."
"What about twins?"
"Twins look the same, but you know they have different names, and they have different things they like, right? Like you and your sister."
"Why can't snowflakes look the same, but be different?"
"Maybe they are, honey. If they are, God wanted them to be like that."
He stopped to think about it for a second, and decided that he was satisfied with that answer. Mom lifted the bar on the right side of the seat to let it go back to its normal position. Now sitting up with her fleece blanket on her lap, she opened the book she was reading before she fell asleep.
"Mommy, I have to go pee-pee," said a voice in the back left seat a few minutes later, behind his dad. He was so engrossed in his snowflakes that he had forgotten that his sister was there.
He had to go, too, he realized. He went just before they left, but he had forgotten that he needed to go again.
"Me too," he piped in.
"Didn't you guys go before we left?" dad asked as he glanced in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, but we have to go again," his sister said.
"Can you hold it in for a few more minutes, honey?" his mom asked her. "Once we get out of these mountains we'll get dinner and you can go then, okay?"
He and his sister looked at each other.
"Yeah, we'll wait."
His mom chortled and turned around, muttering, "Like peas in a pod."
He didn't get it, but he thought that it had something to do with him and his sister. His dad usually said a lot of things he didn't understand, but his mom didn't do it a lot. She was usually very straightforward and understanding with them. They were never scared of her unless they did something bad. Sometimes, though, his dad was scary even though they didn't do anything. Mom said that it was because work was hard for him, and it wasn't their fault. Once mom made dad say sorry to them, but he didn't need to. They knew that he loved them.
He went back to his window and pressed his warm nose against the cold window.
"Daddy?" his sister asked, now that she was awake, "How come we can't have a dog?"
His dad just laughed.
"Because you guys can't take care of a dog. You can barely pee at the right times, let alone know when a dog needs to pee."
"But if we promised to take care of it, can we get one?" she pleaded.
"No, Winona. You're not getting any pets."
"But what if we promised?" he asked, trying to help out his sister's cause, which was very obviously his cause too.
"Daddy said no, already," mom said to them sternly. "Plus, I don't like animals."
"That's why you have low self-esteem?" his father asked.
"Just drive."
They both laughed.
After another twenty minutes without talking, the only noises coming from the heater and the ruffling of the pages from mom's book, they stopped for dinner. They parked in front of a McDonald's, and got out.
"I'll take them to the bathroom, Vern. You go ahead and order."
"What do you guys want?" dad asked as they were walking toward the door.
"Can I get the toy?" his sister asked. "It's Fatcat!"
"Winston, do you want one too?" his mom asked.
"I'm okay," Winston replied. "We can share."
"You're such a good boy," his dad said.
"I don't want one anymore!" Winona said as they walked in.
Winston smiled. "Okay, I'll have it!"
"Are you gonna share?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Fine. Can we both have it, daddy?"
Their parents were talking about something they didn't understand before she interrupted.
"Sure," he replied, making his way toward the register.
Mom grabbed their hands. "Let's go to the bathroom, now, babies."
"I don't need to go anymore," Winston said.
"We're not babies!" Winona said at the same time. "We're almost eight years old!"
"Wait, one thing at a time now," mom said. They had stopped walking and were almost at the doors where they had just entered.
"You just said you needed to go! How about you, Winona. Do you need to go?"
Winona looked up into her head, clearly thinking as hard as she could.
"Um..."
"Well, do you?" mom asked.
"No, not really."
"Why did you guys say you needed to go when yo-"
She was interrupted by the doors opening loudly with bells jingling. She jumped up a little, startled. That's funny, Winston thought, I don't remember the bells before. But before he could say anything, he caught eye of the man who just walked in.
The man was tall, taller than his dad, and fat. He had a white beard and red suspenders. If he wore red pants, he would look just like Santa.
"You look like Santa!" Winona said as Winston thought that.
"Winona!" mom scolded. She was still holding their hands, but she was also still very commanding when she had to be.
"I'm very, very sorry, sir. My daughter is very outspoken, even when she shouldn't be."
The man laughed a deep, rich laugh, matched only by his voice.
"It's okay, little Winona. I get that a lot. It's my beard, I think." He laughed again, and the only thing the twins and their mom could do was laugh nervously along before he continued toward the register. Dad passed him on the way toward his family and glanced quickly.
"Is it me, or does that guy look like Santa?" he said to his family, still standing near the entrance.
"That's what I said!" exclaimed Winona.
The pseudo-Santa turned around as he heard that and laughed his potbellied laugh again before he ordered his food.
"What did I say about yelling, Winona!" mom scolded again as they made their way to a booth.
"Nothing, mommy. You just said my name!"
"I meant last time. Remember? I said that if you yelled in public, people would think you're not a good girl. They'll think you scream at everything, like an ani-"
"Like a dog?" Winston asked.
She turned around to look at him. "Yes, Winston. Like a dog, except it's okay for dogs to do it, but not for little boys and girls."
Dad got up and got the food then, setting it on the table.
"Are we talking about dogs again?" he asked as he split up the food. "What did I say before? We're not getting a dog. Got it?"
The twins just nodded and began to eat their food.
---------------
To be continued...
Thursday, October 28, 2010
NBA
After reading the predictions from the staff of HoopsHype.com,I decided to make my own predictions, so I can look back and brag, or forget forever. Here it goes:
Defensive Player of the Year: Dwight Howard
As the only player in history ever to lead the NBA in FG%, rebounds and blocked shots twice in a row, the defending defensive MVP has an advantage: we know he's the best defender already. You can't use stats to calculate MVP, since crappy teams have awesome players way too often, but for DMVP? Yeah, those stats pretty much translate to D12's defensive godliness. Of course, it's deeper than that. When Dwight's in the game, offenses fear him. Hell, when I watch a Magic game, I try not to even look in the lane, just in case. His footwork's always improving, and that shows in how quick his rotations are. He changes shots by being Dwight Howard. His shoulders are the size of my head on a bad hair day, and for shit's sake, he's won it twice in a row. No one in the history of the NBA has won it three times, but if anyone could, it'd be D12...But if he doesn't win it for some cosmically unfathomable reason, Rajon Rondo will. If Dwight Howard is #1 on D, Rajondo is #1.5. He lead a Chris Paul-less league in steals, but something tells me CP3 won't be able to keep up in that category. Consider CP3's steal-champion title stolen.
Other players to consider: Rajon Rondo, Chris Paul, LeBron James, Josh Smith, Gerald Wallace
Sixth Man: Mike Miller
I hate the guy, for reasons I still don't understand, but he's in the perfect position to win this award. Miami has PG issues (Carlos Arroyo barely deserves to breathe next to the talent with which he shares the court), so look for Lebron to run the point and Miller to play significant minutes as SF. This will allow Miami its most potent lineup, and both Wade and James will be able to feed it to Miller all day. Usually players who win this award are known for shooting, e.g. Crawford, Manu, Barbosa, etc. Miller, as a player, is only good for that. That's probably why I don't like him. He has size, but can only shoot. Such a waste of a good body (that sounds weird).
Others: Jamal Crawford, Hakim Warrick, Manu, one of the Philly guards (Lou Williams/Evan Turner/Jrue Holiday)
Coach of the Year: Stan van Gundy
He runs a tight outfit, and I don't mean his turtlenecks (which, incidentally, he can't wear anymore). I don't want to say he's the most dedicated coach in the NBA, because he's probably not, but when he coaches games, he's coaching every second of it. The guy never gives up. It's admirable, and so far, overlooked for far too long. The Magic are going to make a deep playoff run yet again, and you can thank Dwight Howard or Rashard Lewis (don't) or Vince (I'm not even going to finish this) or their bench (but who developed them?), and you'd be missing the most important part of this Magic team. SVG is the master of panic, because he's also a master of winning. Don't forget that, and don't forget that no other coach coaches for the whole 48 minutes more energetically than SVG.
Others: Jerry Sloan, Phil Jackson, Erik Spoelstra, Keith Smart (haha I wish/hope)
Rookie of the Year: Blake Griffin
I don't think it will be much of a contest. Blake has otherworldly athleticism and he attacks the rim in a way that can only be described as a one-man blitzkrieg. It's probably going to get him injured, but you know what? I don't care. He is the best player playing in his rookie season. "What about John Wall?" you ask. Well, what about him? I'll admit that recently, guards have been winning more ROY awards (minus Okafer and Durant), but Wall's talents don't really separate him from other ROY guards. Maybe he'll develop into the all-star player we think he will, (Roy, CP3, DRose and Tyfreak are definitely in that category), but compared to their abilities before they played, Wall just doesn't seem like he can come close. Griffin, though, stands out like a motherfreakin' sore thumb while playing video games. He has LeBron athleticism with Garnett's tenacity. And that's the type of analogy a ROY will need.
Others: John Wall, Evan Turner, Tiago Splitter, Demarcus Cousins
Most Improved Player of the Year: JJ Hickson
LBJ's departure created a hole in the Cavs' rotation that Hickson can fill. He's going to be starting at PF, and if Jamison starts playing like his old self, Byron Scott is smart enough to start him at SF, ahead of Moon. Thus, Hickson is primed for more minutes, and thus, more "improvement."
Others: DJ Augustin, Wesley Matthews, Hakim Warrick, Mike Conley, Dorell Wright, Elton Brand (you heard it here first!) and Deandre Jordan (I like the guy, okay?)
MVP: LeBron James
I feel like the only reason why he wouldn't win would be because the media loves to hype Kevin Durant. Granted, Durantula is an MVP-calibre player, but in the wake of "The Decision," people seem to have forgotten how not-close the voting was between LeBron and KD last year. There was some talk of LBJ being the first unanimous MVP ever. That's how dominant he was. KD? Compared to the monster (regular) season LeBron had, KD's MVP campaign was cute, like sandbox cute, pogs cute, Pokemon cards cute. Sure, he's gotten better, and after the Worlds Tournament, he's become insanely popular among the media. But in the end, LBJ pretty much means MVP.
Others to consider: Kevin Durant, Dwight Howard, Dwyane Wade, Kobe Bryant
NBA Playoffs (East Finals): Miami and Orlando
Boston can't keep up with the Magic at their best, despite what happened last year. They only added size, but their injuries are getting way too frequent as they get older. Last year, it was okay, and they even meant to take more rest, but they're just getting too old. And they're even older this year, with the O'neals playing at center. The only way they can beat Orlando is if Rondo plays at an MVP level, because quite frankly, Orlando's bench is younger and better than Boston's, and that will be the difference maker. Oh, and Dwight Howard too. Miami gets there without incident. They may have trouble with Chicago, but eh, I'm not convinced DRose can facilitate enough to lead a team, even one with so many more options now in Boozer and Korver. Noah's going to be a force, though, so look out.
NBA Playoffs (West Finals): Lakers and Thunder
The only others we can expect to see are the Mavs and Rockets. Mavs are too old, though, and Rockets are too Yao. In case that was lost in translation, it means injury-prone. A team with Scola as the leading scorer isn't going very far, no matter how scrappy they play, and trust me, without Yao's security in the air (not his vertical, just his reach), the Rockets play a very, very scrappy game. Except Scrappy doesn't get you to the Conference Finals. Skill does.
Speaking of lack of skill, if the Mavs had all their players in their prime (Kidd, Marion, Butler and Dirty Dirk? Yikes), then they would be title contenders every year. Sadly, even Cuban can't afford those players in their prime, so they get shells of All-stars. And while they have talent, it's closer to a shell of their former talent, and shells don't get you to the Conference Finals. Kevin Durant does. And he will.
Finals: Lakers and Miami
I haven't decided who's gonna win yet, but I don't think I care. It's going to be too fun to watch/I'm hella tired of writing. =___=
Defensive Player of the Year: Dwight Howard
As the only player in history ever to lead the NBA in FG%, rebounds and blocked shots twice in a row, the defending defensive MVP has an advantage: we know he's the best defender already. You can't use stats to calculate MVP, since crappy teams have awesome players way too often, but for DMVP? Yeah, those stats pretty much translate to D12's defensive godliness. Of course, it's deeper than that. When Dwight's in the game, offenses fear him. Hell, when I watch a Magic game, I try not to even look in the lane, just in case. His footwork's always improving, and that shows in how quick his rotations are. He changes shots by being Dwight Howard. His shoulders are the size of my head on a bad hair day, and for shit's sake, he's won it twice in a row. No one in the history of the NBA has won it three times, but if anyone could, it'd be D12...But if he doesn't win it for some cosmically unfathomable reason, Rajon Rondo will. If Dwight Howard is #1 on D, Rajondo is #1.5. He lead a Chris Paul-less league in steals, but something tells me CP3 won't be able to keep up in that category. Consider CP3's steal-champion title stolen.
Other players to consider: Rajon Rondo, Chris Paul, LeBron James, Josh Smith, Gerald Wallace
Sixth Man: Mike Miller
I hate the guy, for reasons I still don't understand, but he's in the perfect position to win this award. Miami has PG issues (Carlos Arroyo barely deserves to breathe next to the talent with which he shares the court), so look for Lebron to run the point and Miller to play significant minutes as SF. This will allow Miami its most potent lineup, and both Wade and James will be able to feed it to Miller all day. Usually players who win this award are known for shooting, e.g. Crawford, Manu, Barbosa, etc. Miller, as a player, is only good for that. That's probably why I don't like him. He has size, but can only shoot. Such a waste of a good body (that sounds weird).
Others: Jamal Crawford, Hakim Warrick, Manu, one of the Philly guards (Lou Williams/Evan Turner/Jrue Holiday)
Coach of the Year: Stan van Gundy
He runs a tight outfit, and I don't mean his turtlenecks (which, incidentally, he can't wear anymore). I don't want to say he's the most dedicated coach in the NBA, because he's probably not, but when he coaches games, he's coaching every second of it. The guy never gives up. It's admirable, and so far, overlooked for far too long. The Magic are going to make a deep playoff run yet again, and you can thank Dwight Howard or Rashard Lewis (don't) or Vince (I'm not even going to finish this) or their bench (but who developed them?), and you'd be missing the most important part of this Magic team. SVG is the master of panic, because he's also a master of winning. Don't forget that, and don't forget that no other coach coaches for the whole 48 minutes more energetically than SVG.
Others: Jerry Sloan, Phil Jackson, Erik Spoelstra, Keith Smart (haha I wish/hope)
Rookie of the Year: Blake Griffin
I don't think it will be much of a contest. Blake has otherworldly athleticism and he attacks the rim in a way that can only be described as a one-man blitzkrieg. It's probably going to get him injured, but you know what? I don't care. He is the best player playing in his rookie season. "What about John Wall?" you ask. Well, what about him? I'll admit that recently, guards have been winning more ROY awards (minus Okafer and Durant), but Wall's talents don't really separate him from other ROY guards. Maybe he'll develop into the all-star player we think he will, (Roy, CP3, DRose and Tyfreak are definitely in that category), but compared to their abilities before they played, Wall just doesn't seem like he can come close. Griffin, though, stands out like a motherfreakin' sore thumb while playing video games. He has LeBron athleticism with Garnett's tenacity. And that's the type of analogy a ROY will need.
Others: John Wall, Evan Turner, Tiago Splitter, Demarcus Cousins
Most Improved Player of the Year: JJ Hickson
LBJ's departure created a hole in the Cavs' rotation that Hickson can fill. He's going to be starting at PF, and if Jamison starts playing like his old self, Byron Scott is smart enough to start him at SF, ahead of Moon. Thus, Hickson is primed for more minutes, and thus, more "improvement."
Others: DJ Augustin, Wesley Matthews, Hakim Warrick, Mike Conley, Dorell Wright, Elton Brand (you heard it here first!) and Deandre Jordan (I like the guy, okay?)
MVP: LeBron James
I feel like the only reason why he wouldn't win would be because the media loves to hype Kevin Durant. Granted, Durantula is an MVP-calibre player, but in the wake of "The Decision," people seem to have forgotten how not-close the voting was between LeBron and KD last year. There was some talk of LBJ being the first unanimous MVP ever. That's how dominant he was. KD? Compared to the monster (regular) season LeBron had, KD's MVP campaign was cute, like sandbox cute, pogs cute, Pokemon cards cute. Sure, he's gotten better, and after the Worlds Tournament, he's become insanely popular among the media. But in the end, LBJ pretty much means MVP.
Others to consider: Kevin Durant, Dwight Howard, Dwyane Wade, Kobe Bryant
NBA Playoffs (East Finals): Miami and Orlando
Boston can't keep up with the Magic at their best, despite what happened last year. They only added size, but their injuries are getting way too frequent as they get older. Last year, it was okay, and they even meant to take more rest, but they're just getting too old. And they're even older this year, with the O'neals playing at center. The only way they can beat Orlando is if Rondo plays at an MVP level, because quite frankly, Orlando's bench is younger and better than Boston's, and that will be the difference maker. Oh, and Dwight Howard too. Miami gets there without incident. They may have trouble with Chicago, but eh, I'm not convinced DRose can facilitate enough to lead a team, even one with so many more options now in Boozer and Korver. Noah's going to be a force, though, so look out.
NBA Playoffs (West Finals): Lakers and Thunder
The only others we can expect to see are the Mavs and Rockets. Mavs are too old, though, and Rockets are too Yao. In case that was lost in translation, it means injury-prone. A team with Scola as the leading scorer isn't going very far, no matter how scrappy they play, and trust me, without Yao's security in the air (not his vertical, just his reach), the Rockets play a very, very scrappy game. Except Scrappy doesn't get you to the Conference Finals. Skill does.
Speaking of lack of skill, if the Mavs had all their players in their prime (Kidd, Marion, Butler and Dirty Dirk? Yikes), then they would be title contenders every year. Sadly, even Cuban can't afford those players in their prime, so they get shells of All-stars. And while they have talent, it's closer to a shell of their former talent, and shells don't get you to the Conference Finals. Kevin Durant does. And he will.
Finals: Lakers and Miami
I haven't decided who's gonna win yet, but I don't think I care. It's going to be too fun to watch/I'm hella tired of writing. =___=
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Ten Minutes Early
Here I am, twice a week, ten minutes early.
What kind of college student comes ten minutes early to a lecture? Any other class would be honored to have me on time, if at all, but this class (what’s it called again?) this class, where the professor loves to la-bore tediously through lost literature, where Dickinson was a lonely recluse, and Poe? Another drunken loser. Robby Frost just shits out words, and somehow they’re in meter. Fuckin’ Salinger? He’s okay, but one novel does not a great writer make, right? Plus, who has time to read a million short stories?
The short story is terrible, but really, it’s the novella that’s the toilet paper of the literary world. The novel is like taking a big dump, just letting it all out there. Then the short story is like taking a small dump. Most definitely you worked really hard on pushing it all out, but in reality, only a few nuggets of shit can be seen. And that’s okay, because you got most of it out of your system. The rest you just leave in your body to dump out a later time.
But the novella, man. The novella is in between a big dump and holding shit in. It’s like that half-shit, where most of the main dookie goes out, but some of it still sticks on your asshole. You can’t really push it out, either, since it just hangs there beyond the control of your sphincter. So what do you do instead? You gotta wipe off a fatty chunk of it.
That’s the novella: literature’s toilet paper.
So here I am, sitting, ten minutes early. Even in high school, I had five minutes in between classes, so I couldn’t be ten minutes early, but here in college, almost three years now, I’m ten fucking minutes early.
“Why?” you ask.
Why. So I can savor ten or eight or five or one minute of conversation with someone. Twice a week I wait, in order to hang on to every vocal sound or squeak that escapes her angelic voicebox. I cling to every chuckle that her soul presents me, regifting it mentally to myself for later. I cling so tightly, that even her smiles have a sound, like the sweet silence of a springtime valley.
For anyone in college who has a crush on someone, you understand, right? Securing that seat beside your crush, the seat that technically isn’t assigned but you still claim as “your” seat all trimester long, is monumentally critical, crucial.
“Crucial to what?” you ask.
Anything. It could be crucial to a budding relationship, wherein you bank on proximity as a foundation for your romantic game plan.
It could be crucial to getting to know her better, and maybe realizing it might not work at all.
It could be crucial to starting out infatuated, but ending up with a very good friend, willing to listen and loyal until the end.
It could be crucial academically, too. When you don’t take notes because you’re daydreaming about her, you can ask to borrow hers. It’s all part of the plan, right?
Or, it could be crucial, when you’ve already had a crush on her for a long time, to reevaluate yourself, to realize how weak you are, how afraid you are despite a confident mask, like the one I wear.
Or you could rationalize it in your own mind. It’s not your confidence that’s lacking. No, you college boy, you. You have exuded confidence to the point of cockiness your whole life. No, it’s the girl who’s at fault. Yeah, she’s so amazing that she has made you nervous about approaching her.
So a spiral begins.
It starts with a hesitation. Maybe I shouldn’t make a move, you say, three weeks into the trimester, twice week and ten minutes early every time. I shouldn’t, you say, because maybe she’s out of my league.
You’ve always been confident enough to think no one was out of your league, but all of a sudden, she’s the one.
Then you build her up, put her on a pedestal, and the higher she rises in your mind (and heart, I guess, but your heart’s blind as hell at this point), the more afraid of her you are. If you’ve never been afraid to get a girl, and you find a girl that you can’t get, that means she’s something special right? So the more time you spend afraid of her, the more special she becomes. Then, the more special she becomes, the more afraid of approaching her you become, which just wastes more time, which you spend daydreaming about her and putting her on a pedestal. And up and up she goes in your mind, and down and down you go.
Until three years later, three years of building up this girl in your mind, three years of being afraid of anything more than telling her jokes, you finally get that seat.
At last, the seat that will force you to sit and talk to her and have any number of discussions. The Seat. And what happens when you get the Seat? You come to class ten minutes early every time to catch her, and you realize that you still can’t move past the friend stage. You were friend-zoned faster than a third grader after the last bell before summer, and like the alarmed elementary schoolteacher, you just realized that they’re gone, the kids and your chances. Summer’s out.
So you take off your mask of confidence every day before lecture, place it on a table in your apartment, and you walk to class. You’re ten minutes early, like clockwork. And just this once, she’s already there, in her not-assigned-but-forever-claimed seat next to yours. You make your remarks, and she laughs, because she always does, because she’s perfect, right?
And after a minute of her being perfect in ways that make angels covet, she asks you something you never thought in a million years you’d hear.
“Can you take notes for me?”
Her perfection crumbles, but your heart is blind.
She leaves five minutes before class starts, after giggling at your jokes of course, and you begin to take notes for her.
The unfounded crush, never realized but always yearning and eventually dying, is a short story. The two never meet, never greet and no contact is established. The love story, the one where boy gets girl and happiness is found between palms, between lips, between hearts, is a novel. It is the great epic, the highest order of literature, the greatest accomplishment a relationship can experience.
And where am I, if not in a short story nor a novel?
I’m ten minutes early, again. Ten minutes early in my not-assigned-but-still-mine-forever-because-it’s-all-I-really-have-left-of-her seat, wallowing in the toilet paper of relationships, the novella of romances.
Fuck literature.
What kind of college student comes ten minutes early to a lecture? Any other class would be honored to have me on time, if at all, but this class (what’s it called again?) this class, where the professor loves to la-bore tediously through lost literature, where Dickinson was a lonely recluse, and Poe? Another drunken loser. Robby Frost just shits out words, and somehow they’re in meter. Fuckin’ Salinger? He’s okay, but one novel does not a great writer make, right? Plus, who has time to read a million short stories?
The short story is terrible, but really, it’s the novella that’s the toilet paper of the literary world. The novel is like taking a big dump, just letting it all out there. Then the short story is like taking a small dump. Most definitely you worked really hard on pushing it all out, but in reality, only a few nuggets of shit can be seen. And that’s okay, because you got most of it out of your system. The rest you just leave in your body to dump out a later time.
But the novella, man. The novella is in between a big dump and holding shit in. It’s like that half-shit, where most of the main dookie goes out, but some of it still sticks on your asshole. You can’t really push it out, either, since it just hangs there beyond the control of your sphincter. So what do you do instead? You gotta wipe off a fatty chunk of it.
That’s the novella: literature’s toilet paper.
So here I am, sitting, ten minutes early. Even in high school, I had five minutes in between classes, so I couldn’t be ten minutes early, but here in college, almost three years now, I’m ten fucking minutes early.
“Why?” you ask.
Why. So I can savor ten or eight or five or one minute of conversation with someone. Twice a week I wait, in order to hang on to every vocal sound or squeak that escapes her angelic voicebox. I cling to every chuckle that her soul presents me, regifting it mentally to myself for later. I cling so tightly, that even her smiles have a sound, like the sweet silence of a springtime valley.
For anyone in college who has a crush on someone, you understand, right? Securing that seat beside your crush, the seat that technically isn’t assigned but you still claim as “your” seat all trimester long, is monumentally critical, crucial.
“Crucial to what?” you ask.
Anything. It could be crucial to a budding relationship, wherein you bank on proximity as a foundation for your romantic game plan.
It could be crucial to getting to know her better, and maybe realizing it might not work at all.
It could be crucial to starting out infatuated, but ending up with a very good friend, willing to listen and loyal until the end.
It could be crucial academically, too. When you don’t take notes because you’re daydreaming about her, you can ask to borrow hers. It’s all part of the plan, right?
Or, it could be crucial, when you’ve already had a crush on her for a long time, to reevaluate yourself, to realize how weak you are, how afraid you are despite a confident mask, like the one I wear.
Or you could rationalize it in your own mind. It’s not your confidence that’s lacking. No, you college boy, you. You have exuded confidence to the point of cockiness your whole life. No, it’s the girl who’s at fault. Yeah, she’s so amazing that she has made you nervous about approaching her.
So a spiral begins.
It starts with a hesitation. Maybe I shouldn’t make a move, you say, three weeks into the trimester, twice week and ten minutes early every time. I shouldn’t, you say, because maybe she’s out of my league.
You’ve always been confident enough to think no one was out of your league, but all of a sudden, she’s the one.
Then you build her up, put her on a pedestal, and the higher she rises in your mind (and heart, I guess, but your heart’s blind as hell at this point), the more afraid of her you are. If you’ve never been afraid to get a girl, and you find a girl that you can’t get, that means she’s something special right? So the more time you spend afraid of her, the more special she becomes. Then, the more special she becomes, the more afraid of approaching her you become, which just wastes more time, which you spend daydreaming about her and putting her on a pedestal. And up and up she goes in your mind, and down and down you go.
Until three years later, three years of building up this girl in your mind, three years of being afraid of anything more than telling her jokes, you finally get that seat.
At last, the seat that will force you to sit and talk to her and have any number of discussions. The Seat. And what happens when you get the Seat? You come to class ten minutes early every time to catch her, and you realize that you still can’t move past the friend stage. You were friend-zoned faster than a third grader after the last bell before summer, and like the alarmed elementary schoolteacher, you just realized that they’re gone, the kids and your chances. Summer’s out.
So you take off your mask of confidence every day before lecture, place it on a table in your apartment, and you walk to class. You’re ten minutes early, like clockwork. And just this once, she’s already there, in her not-assigned-but-forever-claimed seat next to yours. You make your remarks, and she laughs, because she always does, because she’s perfect, right?
And after a minute of her being perfect in ways that make angels covet, she asks you something you never thought in a million years you’d hear.
“Can you take notes for me?”
Her perfection crumbles, but your heart is blind.
She leaves five minutes before class starts, after giggling at your jokes of course, and you begin to take notes for her.
The unfounded crush, never realized but always yearning and eventually dying, is a short story. The two never meet, never greet and no contact is established. The love story, the one where boy gets girl and happiness is found between palms, between lips, between hearts, is a novel. It is the great epic, the highest order of literature, the greatest accomplishment a relationship can experience.
And where am I, if not in a short story nor a novel?
I’m ten minutes early, again. Ten minutes early in my not-assigned-but-still-mine-forever-because-it’s-all-I-really-have-left-of-her seat, wallowing in the toilet paper of relationships, the novella of romances.
Fuck literature.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
It makes me sad
that a lot of kids today, with the abundance of resource available to them, don't really know the important musicians that preceded their generation. Sure, they may have heard a few names dropped here and there, but for a lot of people, the only time where they hear music before 1995 is if it's covered in Glee.
I suppose it's a good thing that Glee does this, but ultimately, it points to the larger problem that Glee HAS to do this in order for people to hear about musicians and music from before this decade. It's sad, but probably not a big deal at all.
After all, the first time I heard about Janis Joplin was from a 30 Rock episode.
I am just part of the problem.
I suppose it's a good thing that Glee does this, but ultimately, it points to the larger problem that Glee HAS to do this in order for people to hear about musicians and music from before this decade. It's sad, but probably not a big deal at all.
After all, the first time I heard about Janis Joplin was from a 30 Rock episode.
I am just part of the problem.
Friday, September 10, 2010
50 Best Films of the Decade
I compiled a list of what I think are the 50 best movies released from 2000-2009. It’s technically incomplete, but I want to share my opinion now in case it never gets completed. I’ve included a list of movies that almost made it and a list I didn’t consider because I either have not seen it, or want to re-watch it. I will be posting these 10 at a time.
Movies I haven’t put on this list on purpose (for various reasons, so don’t get mad they’re not on the list yet!): Y Tu Mama Tambien, Talk to Her, Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire, Amelie, Triplets of Belleville, Memento, The Messenger, Frida, 25th Hour, There Will Be Blood, Traffic, Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, About Schmidt, Capturing the Friedmans, Let the Right One In, Into the Wild, The Good Shepherd, Amores Perros, The Class, Gomorrah, 4 Months 3 Weeks 2 Days, Still Walking, Synecdoche, New York, Bad Education
Runners-up (Maybe next time?): The Quiet American, The Pianist, Almost Famous, The Polar Express, Vera Drake, The Motorcycle Diaries, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Woodsman, A History of Violence, Crash, Borat, Pan’s Labyrinth, Thank You for Smoking, Little Miss Sunshine, Juno, The Wind that Shakes the Barley, The Hangover, Sicko, The Cove, Sin City, Inglorious Basterds, Gosford Park, Mongol, Marie Antoinette, Girl with Pearl Earring, Love Actually, Match Point, The Descent, Brick, Shrek, Monsoon Wedding, Ocean’s 11, City of God, The Savages, Monsters, Inc., The Station Agent, The Princess and the Frog, Crazy Heart, The Wrestler
50. Avatar (2009)
A lot of me put this on the list for different reasons than the rest of the movies on here. For the most part, I enjoy films with a strong script or story, and this one has neither. However, I think this might be one of the most visually engaging films ever, so that alone swayed me. In fact, I think if the element wasn’t called “unobtainium,” I might have put this as high as 40…
49. Walk the Line (2005)
I’m a big fan of Reese Witherspoon, and to date, I think this is her best role. In addition, the music in this movie is wonderfully catchy and made me appreciate Johnny Cash. It’s an excellent example of how biopics should be made, and the music only adds to its style.
48. Grizzly Man (2005)
This documentary from Werner Herzog (the Werner Herzog) follows the work of Timothy Treadwell, who essentially hung out with grizzly bears until the inevitable end of his life. It’s a great character study on obsession, and its reality only makes all the more haunting.
47. Coraline (2009)
I personally thought this was the best animated movie of 2009. Perhaps Up was a better “family” movie, but there is no way it was a better movie overall. Coraline’s story unfolded in a most mesmerizing way that I can only describe as a twisted cross between Betelgeuse and Where the Wild Things Are, but in a good way.
46. Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003)
While most critics regard both films as one, I felt that they were distinct enough in style and tone that they should be regarded individually, unlike LOTR or The Pirates of the Caribbean. Of the two, I preferred this one because of Tarantino’s gleeful style and unique flair for violence. His masterful command of the scenes and his ability to tag a strong revenge storyline onto those action scenes put him, I think, at his very best in the decade.
45. Milk (2008)
Sean Penn was every bit deserving of his accolades for his portrayal of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in California. Not only that, Josh Brolin was also surprisingly great. This is notable because I think Milk is the only film he’s in worth watching not named The Goonies or No Country for Old Men.
44. Punch-Drunk Love (2002)
This is far and away Adam Sandler’s best movie. In a lot of his films, which any boy born between 1985-1990 probably loved growing up, he tries to display his acting chops, but usually to no avail. Only in this film, which co-stars a lovable Emily Watson, do I think I can say with utmost sincerity that Adam Sandler can be a good actor. It’s a wonderful romantic comedy about a manic depressive man who meets a woman in his life who actually cares about him. It follows this man in his endeavor to keep the relationship, since he can hold so few.
43. L’Enfant (2005)
This quiet French film (no soundtrack, I think) follows a guy trying to get his infant back, hence the title. It’s a visceral look about the consequence of actions (which were never the same) and how our actions show our character. This was the first French art-house film I remember seeing, and it introduced me to the wonderful world of French Cinema.
42. Kinsey (2004)
I cannot stress enough how amazing both Liam Neeson and Laura Linney are in this movie. It’s another biopic (which seems to have been a fad in the 00’s) which documents Alfred Kinsey’s research on sex and its consequences. If you haven’t heard of Alfred Kinsey, this movie will be an amazing eye-opener.
41. No Country for Old Men (2008)
This one is a bit difficult to place because I think it deserves a higher place on my list, but I don’t have the heart to put it above anything else. That said, I reserve the right to change my list later haha. The most notable thing about this film, other than its sheer thematic greatness and depth, is Javier Bardem. Was there a villain this decade that scared you more?
40. 500 Days of Summer (2009)
Contrary to popular belief, this was not Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s best movie, or even his best onscreen role (see Brick or The Lookout). Admittedly, when I first walked out, I had so many problems with the movie I couldn’t even place it on a list for best movies of the year. However, when I saw it a second time, I found myself entranced by the relationship (and Zooey Deschanel *drool*) and liked it even more upon a third viewing (I have friends who can’t stop watching it). So, even though I still feel it uses traditional cathartic mechanisms while it claims it won’t, I have allowed it on my list.
Also, I have a wonderful and angry story about how I watched the pre-screening of it in SF last year…
39. Little Children (2006)
Kate Winslet is one of the better actresses working right now. I don’t think she’s particularly gorgeous, but I think that’s part of her appeal. She doesn’t need to be beautiful to be alluring. The main beauty of this movie is the entire cast though. I think it’s an amazing story as well, which involves the drama of an entire neighborhood. Dear God, there are some very real and complex emotions involved in this movie.
38. The Painted Veil (2006)
Edward Norton is great in most of his movies, and good in the rest. I would put this among his greatest achievements, certainly the best in this decade (though, admittedly, I haven’t seen 25th Hour…). The setting of 20s China is beautiful and harrowing at the same time, and the relationship between Norton and Watts is a calmly satisfying thing.
37. The Merchant of Venice (2005)
If you’ve never read this or never enjoyed Shakespeare, I still recommend watching this movie. Joseph Fiennes (Ralph Fiennes’s brother…Voldemort’s brother for those who don’t know…) is a remarkable Shakespearean actor (as seen in Shakespeare in Love) and Al Pacino is, as usual, the bomb. It’s a really interesting story, and certainly made me appreciate Shakespeare so, so, so, so much more. The real awesomeness here, of course, is the writing, but having A-list actors like Jeremy Irons, Fiennes and Pacino doesn’t hurt either.
36. Mystic River (2004)
At first I didn’t like this movie. I thought it was overrated. But fuck was I wrong. There is a visceral feeling to the streets of Boston that I loved. It’s like The Departed meets Four Brothers, except better than both movies.
35. An Education (2009)
This is a story of a girl who is applying to college, but falls in love, which threatens her bright future and possibly squanders her potential. It’s a cute British film, and while Cary Mulligan is definitely the star, Alfred Molina is also awesome.
34. The Visitor (2008)
Richard Jenkins’s role here is understated, but it works so well for his character, who is a professor that comes to his apartment in NYC to find squatters. Though he’s initially surprised (naturally), he befriends them, and the story that unfolds is heartbreaking and beautiful. It really captures one face of New York that I absolutely love: its diversity.
33. Notes on a Scandal (2006)
Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett put on acting performances like few other on screen couples could. The movie is about a teacher who gets into an affair with a student, and Judi Dench’s character is the one who finds out about it. Pretty much, don’t fuck with Judi Dench. And, oh God, the music is masterful. It complements the suspense perfectly. I was sad when neither Dench nor Blanchett won their deserved Academy Awards. Although the eventual winners were also very deserving…
32. Transsiberian (2008)
This was one of my favorite Woody Harrelson movies. He is very good at playing oblivious characters, (see Defendor or for that matter, watch Cheers), but that’s not why this movie was good. It was the intensity of Emily Mortimer’s character’s situation. She is married to Woody Harrelson in the movie and they’re on a train ride going across Russia. All of a sudden she’s caught up in a drug scandal and finds herself drifting away from her moral path.
31. Rachel Getting Married (2008)
At first, I thought this movie would be a melodrama about a girl who’s a drug addict. Same shit, right? But…no. While there are some melodramatic scenes, the movie’s profundity comes from the wedding, where the drug addict girl (Anne Hathaway) must behave as her sister gets married to the lead singer from TV on the Radio. It’s a wonderful movie with a dash of musicality and wonderful camera work.
30. The Dark Knight (2008)
This movie might be higher if there weren’t so many lame comics made from it. Obviously, Heath Ledger’s performance was astounding, but I don’t think that’s what made it near-perfect. It’s gotta be Chris Nolan’s directing. There are swooping shots over cities and any time a group of people are on camera, Nolan gets every actor to portray just the right tone for the scene. How many lines from any movie this decade can you type that make you read it in the original voice?
“Wanna know how I got these scars?”
29. The Departed (2006)
I know I said earlier that Mystic River was better than The Departed, but I was lying. Scorcese (who finally won the Best Director Oscar for this one), nimbly pieces together an adaptation to Infernal Affairs, but raises the stakes a bit more, building up more suspense and providing us with action sequences and imagery that ranks up there with his best stuff. I wish I could provide details deconstructing the layers of this film, but alas, I am too lazy. Perhaps its only flaw is the last shot, but the rest of the movie is good enough to disregard it.
28. The Queen (2006)
This story of Queen Elizabeth’s very public reaction to Princess Diana’s death is quietly told, which allows us to observe the inner struggle of Her Majesty, played by regal Helen Mirren. It’s stunning in its observance of human nature, which most people don’t consider when thinking of royalty.
27. Caché (2005)
This taut story about a family who isn’t threatened overtly by tapes of their private life is told masterfully and stars Juliet Binoche and Daniel Auteuil as the married couple. It’s actually so good, I’m gonna provide a link to the trailer, just so you can see how suspenseful it is.
26. Deliver Us From Evil (2006)
This is probably the best documentary of which you never heard. It’s about a Catholic priest sex scandal, one of the most notorious in the last few decades, and gives an uncompromising look at how people with power refuse to exercise their moral judgment. As vague as that sounds, I don’t to give any more information because you have to see it to believe it. It’s heartbreaking, and even more heartbreaking is that Yahoo movies doesn’t have it in its database, a realization that irks me to this day. Do yourself a favor, especially if you’re Catholic, and see this movie.
25. The New World (2005)
This movie is from the viewpoint of John Smith and Pocahontas’s relationship. It stars Colin Farrell as Ol’ Johnny, and some random girl as Poke Master Hontas. For perspective, my immediate reaction as I finished the movie and for many moments as I was watching it was “visual poetry.” Few movies you’ll ever see in your life will be this beautifully shot. Kudos to cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki.
24. Finding Nemo (2003)
Who doesn’t fucking love this movie? I don’t I need to tell you how awesome it is. Instead, I’ll just leave a picture with one of my favorite parts.
23. Maria Full of Grace (2004)
Maria Full of Grace follows a young Columbian girl trying to get to America. However, the only way she can do it is to be a drug mule. It’s as much a Columbian film as it is an American film. Maria, played by the hella hot Catalina Sandino Moreno, finds her way into America by very illegal means, but it’s exactly the type of story that defines what it means to be a citizen of our country. As such, I think there are very few movies out there that can do it as well as this one does.
22. Volver (2007)
The other woman of Latin descent to be nominated for an Academy Award (after Hayek and Catalina Sandino Moreno *drool*) was Penelope Cruz for Volver, a zany movie about a woman who…wow, this one’s hard to sum up. It involves murder and resurrection and insanity and a film crew. I suppose that’s a good way of looking at it. Also, Penelope Cruz is hot as hell.
21. Cold Mountain (2006)
Few love tragedies have been told as finely as this one. When you think great romance-tragedies, you think Romeo + Juliet and Mickey + Minnie Mouse. You think Rose + Jack and Dumb+Dumber. And, I contend, you have to think Ada and Inman. Nicole Kidman and Jude Law. Ahhh, this movie makes me believe in love like only a couple of others do (you’ll see, haha). Perhaps it’s a guilty pleasure and call me sappy, but my heart melts with this movie. Not only that, it’s littered with stars. Philip Seymour Hoffman, Giovanni Ribisi, Natalie Portman, Renee Zellweger, Brendan Gleeson, Donald Sutherland… I mean, a high percentage of those guys show up in my top 5 list, so this movie is understandably stunning. Oh, I forgot to mention Jack White’s in it too. See? Awesome. Go see it and all the other movies.
20. The Namesake (2006)
Starring Kal Penn and Irrfan Khan, among the most well-known actors of Indian descent from America and India, respectively, this underrated film tells the story of a family in America who traces its origins back to the motherland. Though the title refers to Gogol’s namesake (Kal Penn), it is about much more than a name. It is about the person behind that name, and there is nothing, the film argues, more indicative of a person than his family. Perhaps I rate it so highly because I too have parents who are immigrants, but if anything, that is a testament to the emotional accuracy of the film. I’d like to note that Mira Nair is a wonderful director. If you haven’t seen Monsoon Wedding or Vanity Fair, do so, but bear in mind that this is by far her most ambitious and successful film.
19. Brokeback Mountain (2005)
A movie about gay cowboys in the 70’s directed by a Chinese guy? This was my favorite joke in 2005, and the title of the movie has been made into countless of other jokes itself. It is rare that a love story that spans decades can be told so eloquently, but Ang Lee manages it masterfully. This is a movie that tugs at your heart, and Heath Ledger’s performance is one of the most memorable performances in the history of cinema. Some people thought it was too boring, but I disagree. I thought it was perfectly paced. It allows us to feel and observe how the characters lived their lives, and it was a masterpiece.
Also, Anne Hathaway showed her boobies.
18. The Lives of Others (2006)
This was the movie that beat out Pan’s Labyrinth for Best Foreign Language Film at the Oscars that year, to much protest. People loved Pan’s Labyrinth, and admittedly, even I enjoyed it thoroughly.
BUT. This one was better. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better suspense/thriller about East German totalitarianism in the 80’s, and that’s the truth. Haha, in all seriousness, go see this movie, for Ulrich Muhe’s performance as a government spy listening to the conversations of supposed anti-government liberals. That’s Ulrich Muhe, not Christoph Waltz. Sorry if I’ve told you otherwise before. Hmm, upon further review, they also look like Kevin Spacey. Odd. OH SNAP. Also, Mike Huckabee!
17. Catch Me If You Can (2002)
This was probably Spielberg’s best movie of the decade. Minority Report might be a close second, but I wasn’t quite blown away by it as I was by some of his other films. This one, however, starred Tom Hanks and Leo, featuring Martin Sheen, Christopher Walken, Jennifer Garner, Elizabeth Banks and the ever-amazing Amy Adams. Such is the influence of a Spielberg film, and I think this one ranks in the top 5 of his films. (Hmm. Schindler’s List, Jurassic Park, Saving Private Ryan, The Color Purple, and this. Yep.)
16. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007)
French film about a guy who can’t move, but people realize he is not a vegetable cus he can’t communicate by blinking. It’s freakin’ amazing. Go see it.
15. Ratatouille (2007)
Pixar’s best movie of the decade. I would put TS3 above it, but I said 2000-2009 ;) Why is this the best Pixar movie? Cus it genuinely appeals to all ages, not treat adults as an afterthought. I’m not saying the other movies are significantly worse (except Cars, ugh), but I don’t think any of the other ones appeal to a general audience while still maintaining the magic of storytelling.
Up was overrated (pun?), and Wall-E had too simple of a story (though it was a wonderful message).
Monsters, Inc? Very, very good, but it didn’t have as wide a target audience as Ratatouille.
Finding Nemo? Close. So close.
Cars? Too much aesthetic, too weak a story, too annoying a premise, too cliche dialogue. If no other Pixar movies existed, Cars would be a very good movie, but we’ve been spoiled by Pixar’s awesomeness, so Cars was a (relatively) huge disappointment. Even then, though, that means 3/4 stars haha.
And finally, The Incredibles. For many, this (or Up) would be the best Pixar movie of the decade. Maybe Finding Nemo, but I have a problem with it. At first, I was as enamored as everyone else was. Great, original storyline in typical Pixar fashion. Exciting as hell to watch and beautifully animated, as always. However, there was a major difference in this film. A story about a family obviously has to be completely accessible to the American family, right? Sadly, for The Incredibles, that means undertones of racism and adhering to traditional messages for gender and class. When the black superhero is looking for his supersuit, why does he have to receive the sass from his sassy black wife? Why does the mother have to stay at home and take care of the family while the husband can’t deal with “domestication?” Why does the superwife stop and look in the mirror, fearing for her figure while she’s trying to save her family? Why is the girl shy, invisible even, while the young boy runs around excitedly?
What’s wrong with it, you ask? They’re stereotypes. Sure, they are relatable and definitely have truth in them, but I don’t need a movie for children reinforcing stereotypes that can be negative. Black people and Asian people (I’m looking at you, Edna) are portrayed as stereotypes, as sidekicks to the race that’s important, right? And “boys will be boys” or “girls will be girls” is not the kind of mindset I want children to have. I want them to be more than a label, more than a stereotype, and I can’t find that kind of message in the movie, no matter how spectacularly the story is told. And, damn, is the story told well.
Oh, yeah. Watch Ratatouille, haha.
14. Sideways (2004)
One of the best comedies of the decade is only made awesome by Paul Giamatti, who is an insanely underrated actor. He brings his depressed alcoholic character to life. Amazing script, acting, directing, music, lines, scenarios. It’s got it all. even some subtle meta-references. Go see it. Now.
13. About a Boy (2002)
Hugh Grant is always charming, and when he starts caring, women swoon endlessly. For once, though, it’s not about his sadly hilarious relationship woes, at least not with a woman. No, instead this movie focuses on his relationship with a kid, who finally teaches him selflessness. Not-quite-spoiler: The title doesn’t necessarily refer to the kid Grant befriends.
12. Frost/Nixon (2008)
Some of the best acting you’ll find in a movie technically about politics, with some of the best one v. one scenes I’ve scene seen this decade. It’s a bit sad how we root for the one that isn’t our president, but that’s the beauty of it. A character study of Richard Nixon, and what happened with the interviews he did with David Frost (Frank Langella and Michael Sheen, respectively).
11. Spirited Away (2001)
Oh, God. This is another one of those “I don’t need to explain how awesome this movie is. You’ve probably already seen it and already know” kind of movies. The only surprise? I don’t think it’s the best Miyazaki film, not even of the decade. It IS fuckin’ ballin’ though. I have the French poster for it hanging in my room.
10. Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Far and away the best musical of the decade, and in my opinion, Baz Luhrmann's only good film (I have yet to see Strictly Ballroom). Romeo + Juliet's problem stems from the title, and Australia...well to be fair, I fell asleep, but I don't want to go back to the Baz's outback if it's going to be that dull.
But Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman? Hell yes. Perhaps I give it a bit more credit because I can relate to a writer, and maybe one day I'll fall in love with a singing courtesan...Or, you know, just get into dental school and probably marry a pharmacist or something. Dream big, right?
Anyways, to make it to my Top 10 list, a film has to be transcendent in some way, and I think it's safe to say that the styling of this film transcends the musical genre, taking from eclectic sources and making it its own. It is the musical predecessor to all the remixes, except in cinema form. And until I'm proven wrong, the Bohemian ideals at the core are how epic, and I don't use the term liberally here, musicals are created. Think Rent's La Vie Bohème.
In addition, it's a love story that is fundamentally as old as stories themselves, like Romeo and Juliet's tryst instilled with modern music. It is this struggle for love that endears its audience and has found a place in my own heart as the best live action musical film I have ever witnessed. And I am willing to witness it again and again, for that is the mark of a truly great film.
I know there will be a lot of criticism from veteran cinemaphiles, but I only have one thing to say to them: Come. What. May. (Bitches)
09. Oldboy (2003)
Arguably the best film from Park Chan-Wook's Vengeance Trilogy, which includes first Sympathy for Mr. vengeance and last Lady Vengeance, both which come highly recommended by yours truly.
However, this one, this motherfucker, steps far and above beyond the others in the trilogy. I am just glad that I saw it before everyone else did, because I did not know what to expect, and it blew me away like Inception tried to do.
Despite its extreme violence, which rivals only Tarantino in sheer violent awesomeness, the film works on about 3 layers, and this is just at the top of my head. Let me think: action film, revenge film, psychoanalytical and as a metaphor for aging (he comes out of a suitcase in the beginning or a "womb," and by the end...I'll let you watch it...)
In short, it's a masterpiece.
"Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone."
08. Persepolis (2007)
So there's only a few French films on this list (L'Enfant and Cache) and a few animated films as well (Ratatouille). There's a few coming of age-type movies (An Education) and even a movie about culture shock and ethnic heritage (The Namesake). Persepolis, however, is a combination of all of those. I'm not saying that those qualities in and of themselves make a better movie, but I don't think there was a movie this decade that was able to connect to my generation while telling the story of my former generation. No other movie this decade was able to tie in the universal qualities of growing up better than this film.
I mean, what qualities can you relate to with Iranians living abroad during the 70s?
From the perspective of a child of immigrants, no other film this decade was able to tell the story of a child growing up with in two languages, neither of them English, better than Persepolis. If it weren't for one notable exception, this would be the best animated film of the decade. However, that does not take anything away from the grandeur and the ambition of this film.
07. Nobody Knows (2005)
For those of you with patience, and I know you exist because you're still reading this, there is a movie that might be long (something like 140 minutes?), quiet (completely silent at times) and phenomenally rewarding. If you've been following for the entirety of the list, you might have noticed a few things. Primarily, there are very few great action movies. Secondarily, and maybe more importantly, I am biased against movies based on real-life events, because by and large, few of them make the great leap into "greatness." I usually try to look up the facts of the event, because I refuse to be manipulated emotionally into thinking something is better because it's real, and learning that those parts weren't real after all.
I hate that. I've invested a certain type of empathy only to find that my empathy was misplaced. It's annoying, and I will think less of films that do that.
However, Nobody Knows does that, and partially because I know that the true story is much more grisly, I feel like this captures so much more than the real-life events. 4 kids abandoned by their mother, the oldest barely a teenager, the youngest almost in the earliest stages of infancy.
Maybe I was too young when I watched this, but it brought me back to my childhood. I wasn't abandoned or anything, not even close. However, it reminded me of how children think and act, and capturing the unbiased innocence of childhood is the film's real victory. There are no contrived sequences of the director playing puppeteer to your heartstrings, only genuine pain and struggle. It's as if we are watching a documentary of these kids' lives without a narrator, no one to watch as these forsaken adolescents try to live on their own. There is no one to guide their lives, no one to tend to their health, their hygiene, no one to feed them. No one to help them and no one to care. Why?
Because nobody knows, and that will always be the most heartbreaking realization of all.
06. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
When I first saw the trailer to this film, which was in itself pretty original, I remember distinctly the name of the company, Lacuna, Inc. About a week before, in my sophomore year of English 2 Honors with Bill Healy, I distinctly remember him making a point about lacuna, which is Latin for "gap" or something missing. I remember being so glad I understood why the company was called Lacuna, Inc. and looking forward to watching this movie.
At first, I thought it was just a very good movie. Thus, I was only mildly surprised it didn't get more recognition in its time, and it didn't really bother me. Now, however, after multiple viewings, I am ready to admit that this film is damn near flawless.
It is probably the most original love story, if it can be called that, of all time, following two lovers as they try to erase memories of their terminated relationship. The storytelling itself is refreshing and definitely nontraditional, but the beauty of the narrative is that it maintains a consistency. It keeps the audience honest, but doesn't ever assume a position of pedantry, like I'm doing right now.
There are very few filmmakers that can tell a refreshingly original story while still remaining relatable and emotionally accesible. Those current exceptions are Hayao Miyazaki, Pixar and maybe Charlie Kaufman. Eternal Sunshine puts him up there with the most original screenwriters of all time, let alone this decade. The only other filmmaker with the same amount of audacity and imagination? Kubrick.
05. The Lord of the Rings (2001-03)
I never read the books, so the movies are a milestone on a personal level. They should be watched in one sitting, with multiple bathroom breaks. Stunningly shot and directed, these are certainly the epitome of the genre "epic," if it could be one. I argue that it's the second best trilogy of all time, after Toy Story (not The Godfather). I know, I know, I know. It's a controversial opinion, but this is my Tumblr, goddamit, and I'll have my way.
04. Pride and Prejudice (2005)
On a personal level, this might be my favorite movie of all time...well, it changes on an almost daily basis, but this one is in the running. I had never been exposed to the story or even the writer for that matter before I watched this movie, so I had no idea what to expect. What I got was a love story that transcended class and gender, and as a result, transcends cultures. There is no better film out there, certainly not this decade at least, that combines beautiful imagery, pitch-perfect music, stellar acting and creative directing quite like this movie. The stars who partook in this film are not nearly as famous as they should be, save Keira...
This story is almost refreshingly important for women, too. I hope that I don't step on any dainty toes when I share this opinion, but women need to see this and understand the different archetypes/stereotypes of females portrayed in this period piece. Except that it is a perfect example as to why the term "period piece" shouldn't limit the scope of a film. Women are portrayed as being unique, each one different, and each one making her own decisions, all at the same time capturing the essence of femininity. Perhaps romance isn't what it takes to be a woman, but it's not just romance that this film provides. It is the strict adherence to independence and the acceptance that no matter what happens, being yourself will reward you.
Fuck yeah.
03. Howl's Moving Castle (2004)
I should definitely be studying, but since it's been awhile, I'm going to work on this list that I started a few months ago.
While the ranking of this movie may give you some idea of my opinion of this film, it obviously does not adequately explain why. When people ask for my favorite Miyazaki film, or even my favorite film of all time sometimes, I put this on the list. Many argue, and rightfully so since it's just an opinion, that Miyazaki's films have more depth to them, are much better paced, are more mature, are more astonishing. And to some extent, I agree. Most people would argue that Spirited Away or Princess Mononoke are his greatest films, at least in terms of pure cinematic value, and they have very, very strong arguments. Spirited Away is like a refined Totoro or Kiki's Delivery Service and Princess Mononoke is like a refined Nausicaa.
I look at Princess Mononoke as Miyazaki's most adult film. I think it's the only one with a PG-13 rating, not that the MPAA has much influence on international ratings, but it is somewhat telling. It's by far his most graphic and violent film, and certainly contains the most "disturbing" images. I watched it at a young age, and trust me, that shit can be trippy. It also has the most adult presentation of his themes. While his other films depict war, none do so more viscerally and beautifully.
Spirited Away, is just as mesmerizing in the opposite way. More of an emotional journey than Princess Mononoke, it follows the personal events of a young girl trying to get back home. It is a story of the triumph of the human spirit, the unabashed purity of a child, and it is amazing. It's also much more geared to appeal to children. Chihiro, I think, is one of Miyazaki's youngest protagonists.
So if Spirited Away is about the power of childhood, and Princess Mononoke is about an adult world's hope, where does that leave Howl's Moving Castle?
My answer is that Howl's is a union of both of his other masterpieces. It blends the reality of war with the themes of youth's hope. I don't think any of his films deal with age better than Howl's. Most simply have a young, often idealistic and female, protagonist as the main source of empathy. This one's different, but showing a young girl trapped in an old woman's body, Miyazaki is able to say something more about age, perhaps that age changes who we are only to a certain extent while we retain our core ideals and personalities. I don't know. There's lots of things to say.
In addition, Howl's also says a lot about war and the skirmishes of societies. His other films deal with this theme as well, such as Princess Mononoke and Nausicaa (and Porco Russo, kinda), but not as deftly as this film. While his environmental messages abound in his other films, Miyazaki takes it a step further and argues that humanity's actions not only hurt the earth and the natural order of things, but just as importantly and as an extension, our actions hurt ourselves.
And it is precisely the combination of these themes, nearly flawlessly told, that makes Howl's Moving Castle Miyazaki's greatest achievement.
02. Doubt (2008)
Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Viola Davis were all nominated for an Academy Award for their roles in this film. I don't think I have ever seen a better display of acting from an ensemble cast in any movie this decade.
Coupled with one of the most intelligently written scripts (based on John Patrick Shanley's Pulitzer Prize-winning play, which he adapted for the screen), and just a hint of bias since I experienced Catholic grammar schooling, Doubt raised the bar in almost every category I value in a film. It has a perfect ending, which I want to reveal and discuss but won't for the sake of spoiling, and a perfect setup.
I think it's a wonderful analogy of our misunderstandings, our biases, our intuitions, and on top of all that, the possibility of our sins. The characters deliver obvious messages, riddled with much more subtle ones, and the power of implication is a powerful one, as shown by the story and the way the story is told. In short, it is a perfect caricature movie, and the roles are played to perfection. In the words of Descartes, "Dubito; sum."
01. Lost in Translation (2003)
When I first saw this movie, I hated it. I distinctly remember leaving the theater with my uncle, a theater that doesn't exist anymore evidently, and agreeing with him that it was a waste of time, that nothing happened.
For the next month, I was plagued, wondering how a movie like this could exist. What kind of idiot makes a movie where nothing happens? There was no plot! There were almost no lines! WTF!? I said to my 14-year-old self.
But why did I keep thinking about it? What did I miss?
And when I figured it out, I didn't even need to rewatch it. I was in love with it.
"Nothing" is relative. We have all been conditioned to expect certain things from movies, and growing up, I expected action, comedy, drama and maybe some good acting. When I saw Lost in Translation, I didn't realize it at the time, but I got all of those. It wasn't presented in the way I had seen any other movie presented all those things we expect from movie. I had to work for it. I had to observe in order to appreciate.
It showed me that life isn't lived by the major events. No, our daily lives comprise of smaller, more subtle actions. I'm going to make a chemistry analogy here, and if you're still reading, I'm sorry.
Life is like an atom. Our daily lives are like the nucleus, with protons and neutrons, and the world around us is simply the electrons. While the electrons affect what happens to us, it is the nucleus that makes up a very large percentage of the mass of the atom. Thus, while things may change outside of us, our daily lives mean much more to us than anything else.
It can obviously be extended in order to render it moot, like any analogy, but I think Lost in Translation shows us that our context can change, but the important things in our lives, the things about which we care most, are in our small actions. The glance from a stranger, a smile, a wave, a laugh, a wink, a conversation. That's where things happen, where the majority of our actions reside.
And with others. Our relationships with others, what we do with other people, make us who we are. Whether it's having a drink, working out, watching TV, getting dinner, or even getting lost in a foreign city, the context is not as important as the nucleus, where what we do or say together outweighs where we are.
Also, the movie was pretty bomb. Go see it.
Movies I haven’t put on this list on purpose (for various reasons, so don’t get mad they’re not on the list yet!): Y Tu Mama Tambien, Talk to Her, Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire, Amelie, Triplets of Belleville, Memento, The Messenger, Frida, 25th Hour, There Will Be Blood, Traffic, Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, About Schmidt, Capturing the Friedmans, Let the Right One In, Into the Wild, The Good Shepherd, Amores Perros, The Class, Gomorrah, 4 Months 3 Weeks 2 Days, Still Walking, Synecdoche, New York, Bad Education
Runners-up (Maybe next time?): The Quiet American, The Pianist, Almost Famous, The Polar Express, Vera Drake, The Motorcycle Diaries, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Woodsman, A History of Violence, Crash, Borat, Pan’s Labyrinth, Thank You for Smoking, Little Miss Sunshine, Juno, The Wind that Shakes the Barley, The Hangover, Sicko, The Cove, Sin City, Inglorious Basterds, Gosford Park, Mongol, Marie Antoinette, Girl with Pearl Earring, Love Actually, Match Point, The Descent, Brick, Shrek, Monsoon Wedding, Ocean’s 11, City of God, The Savages, Monsters, Inc., The Station Agent, The Princess and the Frog, Crazy Heart, The Wrestler
50. Avatar (2009)
A lot of me put this on the list for different reasons than the rest of the movies on here. For the most part, I enjoy films with a strong script or story, and this one has neither. However, I think this might be one of the most visually engaging films ever, so that alone swayed me. In fact, I think if the element wasn’t called “unobtainium,” I might have put this as high as 40…
49. Walk the Line (2005)
I’m a big fan of Reese Witherspoon, and to date, I think this is her best role. In addition, the music in this movie is wonderfully catchy and made me appreciate Johnny Cash. It’s an excellent example of how biopics should be made, and the music only adds to its style.
48. Grizzly Man (2005)
This documentary from Werner Herzog (the Werner Herzog) follows the work of Timothy Treadwell, who essentially hung out with grizzly bears until the inevitable end of his life. It’s a great character study on obsession, and its reality only makes all the more haunting.
47. Coraline (2009)
I personally thought this was the best animated movie of 2009. Perhaps Up was a better “family” movie, but there is no way it was a better movie overall. Coraline’s story unfolded in a most mesmerizing way that I can only describe as a twisted cross between Betelgeuse and Where the Wild Things Are, but in a good way.
46. Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003)
While most critics regard both films as one, I felt that they were distinct enough in style and tone that they should be regarded individually, unlike LOTR or The Pirates of the Caribbean. Of the two, I preferred this one because of Tarantino’s gleeful style and unique flair for violence. His masterful command of the scenes and his ability to tag a strong revenge storyline onto those action scenes put him, I think, at his very best in the decade.
45. Milk (2008)
Sean Penn was every bit deserving of his accolades for his portrayal of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in California. Not only that, Josh Brolin was also surprisingly great. This is notable because I think Milk is the only film he’s in worth watching not named The Goonies or No Country for Old Men.
44. Punch-Drunk Love (2002)
This is far and away Adam Sandler’s best movie. In a lot of his films, which any boy born between 1985-1990 probably loved growing up, he tries to display his acting chops, but usually to no avail. Only in this film, which co-stars a lovable Emily Watson, do I think I can say with utmost sincerity that Adam Sandler can be a good actor. It’s a wonderful romantic comedy about a manic depressive man who meets a woman in his life who actually cares about him. It follows this man in his endeavor to keep the relationship, since he can hold so few.
43. L’Enfant (2005)
This quiet French film (no soundtrack, I think) follows a guy trying to get his infant back, hence the title. It’s a visceral look about the consequence of actions (which were never the same) and how our actions show our character. This was the first French art-house film I remember seeing, and it introduced me to the wonderful world of French Cinema.
42. Kinsey (2004)
I cannot stress enough how amazing both Liam Neeson and Laura Linney are in this movie. It’s another biopic (which seems to have been a fad in the 00’s) which documents Alfred Kinsey’s research on sex and its consequences. If you haven’t heard of Alfred Kinsey, this movie will be an amazing eye-opener.
41. No Country for Old Men (2008)
This one is a bit difficult to place because I think it deserves a higher place on my list, but I don’t have the heart to put it above anything else. That said, I reserve the right to change my list later haha. The most notable thing about this film, other than its sheer thematic greatness and depth, is Javier Bardem. Was there a villain this decade that scared you more?
40. 500 Days of Summer (2009)
Contrary to popular belief, this was not Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s best movie, or even his best onscreen role (see Brick or The Lookout). Admittedly, when I first walked out, I had so many problems with the movie I couldn’t even place it on a list for best movies of the year. However, when I saw it a second time, I found myself entranced by the relationship (and Zooey Deschanel *drool*) and liked it even more upon a third viewing (I have friends who can’t stop watching it). So, even though I still feel it uses traditional cathartic mechanisms while it claims it won’t, I have allowed it on my list.
Also, I have a wonderful and angry story about how I watched the pre-screening of it in SF last year…
39. Little Children (2006)
Kate Winslet is one of the better actresses working right now. I don’t think she’s particularly gorgeous, but I think that’s part of her appeal. She doesn’t need to be beautiful to be alluring. The main beauty of this movie is the entire cast though. I think it’s an amazing story as well, which involves the drama of an entire neighborhood. Dear God, there are some very real and complex emotions involved in this movie.
38. The Painted Veil (2006)
Edward Norton is great in most of his movies, and good in the rest. I would put this among his greatest achievements, certainly the best in this decade (though, admittedly, I haven’t seen 25th Hour…). The setting of 20s China is beautiful and harrowing at the same time, and the relationship between Norton and Watts is a calmly satisfying thing.
37. The Merchant of Venice (2005)
If you’ve never read this or never enjoyed Shakespeare, I still recommend watching this movie. Joseph Fiennes (Ralph Fiennes’s brother…Voldemort’s brother for those who don’t know…) is a remarkable Shakespearean actor (as seen in Shakespeare in Love) and Al Pacino is, as usual, the bomb. It’s a really interesting story, and certainly made me appreciate Shakespeare so, so, so, so much more. The real awesomeness here, of course, is the writing, but having A-list actors like Jeremy Irons, Fiennes and Pacino doesn’t hurt either.
36. Mystic River (2004)
At first I didn’t like this movie. I thought it was overrated. But fuck was I wrong. There is a visceral feeling to the streets of Boston that I loved. It’s like The Departed meets Four Brothers, except better than both movies.
35. An Education (2009)
This is a story of a girl who is applying to college, but falls in love, which threatens her bright future and possibly squanders her potential. It’s a cute British film, and while Cary Mulligan is definitely the star, Alfred Molina is also awesome.
34. The Visitor (2008)
Richard Jenkins’s role here is understated, but it works so well for his character, who is a professor that comes to his apartment in NYC to find squatters. Though he’s initially surprised (naturally), he befriends them, and the story that unfolds is heartbreaking and beautiful. It really captures one face of New York that I absolutely love: its diversity.
33. Notes on a Scandal (2006)
Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett put on acting performances like few other on screen couples could. The movie is about a teacher who gets into an affair with a student, and Judi Dench’s character is the one who finds out about it. Pretty much, don’t fuck with Judi Dench. And, oh God, the music is masterful. It complements the suspense perfectly. I was sad when neither Dench nor Blanchett won their deserved Academy Awards. Although the eventual winners were also very deserving…
32. Transsiberian (2008)
This was one of my favorite Woody Harrelson movies. He is very good at playing oblivious characters, (see Defendor or for that matter, watch Cheers), but that’s not why this movie was good. It was the intensity of Emily Mortimer’s character’s situation. She is married to Woody Harrelson in the movie and they’re on a train ride going across Russia. All of a sudden she’s caught up in a drug scandal and finds herself drifting away from her moral path.
31. Rachel Getting Married (2008)
At first, I thought this movie would be a melodrama about a girl who’s a drug addict. Same shit, right? But…no. While there are some melodramatic scenes, the movie’s profundity comes from the wedding, where the drug addict girl (Anne Hathaway) must behave as her sister gets married to the lead singer from TV on the Radio. It’s a wonderful movie with a dash of musicality and wonderful camera work.
30. The Dark Knight (2008)
This movie might be higher if there weren’t so many lame comics made from it. Obviously, Heath Ledger’s performance was astounding, but I don’t think that’s what made it near-perfect. It’s gotta be Chris Nolan’s directing. There are swooping shots over cities and any time a group of people are on camera, Nolan gets every actor to portray just the right tone for the scene. How many lines from any movie this decade can you type that make you read it in the original voice?
“Wanna know how I got these scars?”
29. The Departed (2006)
I know I said earlier that Mystic River was better than The Departed, but I was lying. Scorcese (who finally won the Best Director Oscar for this one), nimbly pieces together an adaptation to Infernal Affairs, but raises the stakes a bit more, building up more suspense and providing us with action sequences and imagery that ranks up there with his best stuff. I wish I could provide details deconstructing the layers of this film, but alas, I am too lazy. Perhaps its only flaw is the last shot, but the rest of the movie is good enough to disregard it.
28. The Queen (2006)
This story of Queen Elizabeth’s very public reaction to Princess Diana’s death is quietly told, which allows us to observe the inner struggle of Her Majesty, played by regal Helen Mirren. It’s stunning in its observance of human nature, which most people don’t consider when thinking of royalty.
27. Caché (2005)
This taut story about a family who isn’t threatened overtly by tapes of their private life is told masterfully and stars Juliet Binoche and Daniel Auteuil as the married couple. It’s actually so good, I’m gonna provide a link to the trailer, just so you can see how suspenseful it is.
26. Deliver Us From Evil (2006)
This is probably the best documentary of which you never heard. It’s about a Catholic priest sex scandal, one of the most notorious in the last few decades, and gives an uncompromising look at how people with power refuse to exercise their moral judgment. As vague as that sounds, I don’t to give any more information because you have to see it to believe it. It’s heartbreaking, and even more heartbreaking is that Yahoo movies doesn’t have it in its database, a realization that irks me to this day. Do yourself a favor, especially if you’re Catholic, and see this movie.
25. The New World (2005)
This movie is from the viewpoint of John Smith and Pocahontas’s relationship. It stars Colin Farrell as Ol’ Johnny, and some random girl as Poke Master Hontas. For perspective, my immediate reaction as I finished the movie and for many moments as I was watching it was “visual poetry.” Few movies you’ll ever see in your life will be this beautifully shot. Kudos to cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki.
24. Finding Nemo (2003)
Who doesn’t fucking love this movie? I don’t I need to tell you how awesome it is. Instead, I’ll just leave a picture with one of my favorite parts.
23. Maria Full of Grace (2004)
Maria Full of Grace follows a young Columbian girl trying to get to America. However, the only way she can do it is to be a drug mule. It’s as much a Columbian film as it is an American film. Maria, played by the hella hot Catalina Sandino Moreno, finds her way into America by very illegal means, but it’s exactly the type of story that defines what it means to be a citizen of our country. As such, I think there are very few movies out there that can do it as well as this one does.
22. Volver (2007)
The other woman of Latin descent to be nominated for an Academy Award (after Hayek and Catalina Sandino Moreno *drool*) was Penelope Cruz for Volver, a zany movie about a woman who…wow, this one’s hard to sum up. It involves murder and resurrection and insanity and a film crew. I suppose that’s a good way of looking at it. Also, Penelope Cruz is hot as hell.
21. Cold Mountain (2006)
Few love tragedies have been told as finely as this one. When you think great romance-tragedies, you think Romeo + Juliet and Mickey + Minnie Mouse. You think Rose + Jack and Dumb+Dumber. And, I contend, you have to think Ada and Inman. Nicole Kidman and Jude Law. Ahhh, this movie makes me believe in love like only a couple of others do (you’ll see, haha). Perhaps it’s a guilty pleasure and call me sappy, but my heart melts with this movie. Not only that, it’s littered with stars. Philip Seymour Hoffman, Giovanni Ribisi, Natalie Portman, Renee Zellweger, Brendan Gleeson, Donald Sutherland… I mean, a high percentage of those guys show up in my top 5 list, so this movie is understandably stunning. Oh, I forgot to mention Jack White’s in it too. See? Awesome. Go see it and all the other movies.
20. The Namesake (2006)
Starring Kal Penn and Irrfan Khan, among the most well-known actors of Indian descent from America and India, respectively, this underrated film tells the story of a family in America who traces its origins back to the motherland. Though the title refers to Gogol’s namesake (Kal Penn), it is about much more than a name. It is about the person behind that name, and there is nothing, the film argues, more indicative of a person than his family. Perhaps I rate it so highly because I too have parents who are immigrants, but if anything, that is a testament to the emotional accuracy of the film. I’d like to note that Mira Nair is a wonderful director. If you haven’t seen Monsoon Wedding or Vanity Fair, do so, but bear in mind that this is by far her most ambitious and successful film.
19. Brokeback Mountain (2005)
A movie about gay cowboys in the 70’s directed by a Chinese guy? This was my favorite joke in 2005, and the title of the movie has been made into countless of other jokes itself. It is rare that a love story that spans decades can be told so eloquently, but Ang Lee manages it masterfully. This is a movie that tugs at your heart, and Heath Ledger’s performance is one of the most memorable performances in the history of cinema. Some people thought it was too boring, but I disagree. I thought it was perfectly paced. It allows us to feel and observe how the characters lived their lives, and it was a masterpiece.
Also, Anne Hathaway showed her boobies.
18. The Lives of Others (2006)
This was the movie that beat out Pan’s Labyrinth for Best Foreign Language Film at the Oscars that year, to much protest. People loved Pan’s Labyrinth, and admittedly, even I enjoyed it thoroughly.
BUT. This one was better. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better suspense/thriller about East German totalitarianism in the 80’s, and that’s the truth. Haha, in all seriousness, go see this movie, for Ulrich Muhe’s performance as a government spy listening to the conversations of supposed anti-government liberals. That’s Ulrich Muhe, not Christoph Waltz. Sorry if I’ve told you otherwise before. Hmm, upon further review, they also look like Kevin Spacey. Odd. OH SNAP. Also, Mike Huckabee!
17. Catch Me If You Can (2002)
This was probably Spielberg’s best movie of the decade. Minority Report might be a close second, but I wasn’t quite blown away by it as I was by some of his other films. This one, however, starred Tom Hanks and Leo, featuring Martin Sheen, Christopher Walken, Jennifer Garner, Elizabeth Banks and the ever-amazing Amy Adams. Such is the influence of a Spielberg film, and I think this one ranks in the top 5 of his films. (Hmm. Schindler’s List, Jurassic Park, Saving Private Ryan, The Color Purple, and this. Yep.)
16. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007)
French film about a guy who can’t move, but people realize he is not a vegetable cus he can’t communicate by blinking. It’s freakin’ amazing. Go see it.
15. Ratatouille (2007)
Pixar’s best movie of the decade. I would put TS3 above it, but I said 2000-2009 ;) Why is this the best Pixar movie? Cus it genuinely appeals to all ages, not treat adults as an afterthought. I’m not saying the other movies are significantly worse (except Cars, ugh), but I don’t think any of the other ones appeal to a general audience while still maintaining the magic of storytelling.
Up was overrated (pun?), and Wall-E had too simple of a story (though it was a wonderful message).
Monsters, Inc? Very, very good, but it didn’t have as wide a target audience as Ratatouille.
Finding Nemo? Close. So close.
Cars? Too much aesthetic, too weak a story, too annoying a premise, too cliche dialogue. If no other Pixar movies existed, Cars would be a very good movie, but we’ve been spoiled by Pixar’s awesomeness, so Cars was a (relatively) huge disappointment. Even then, though, that means 3/4 stars haha.
And finally, The Incredibles. For many, this (or Up) would be the best Pixar movie of the decade. Maybe Finding Nemo, but I have a problem with it. At first, I was as enamored as everyone else was. Great, original storyline in typical Pixar fashion. Exciting as hell to watch and beautifully animated, as always. However, there was a major difference in this film. A story about a family obviously has to be completely accessible to the American family, right? Sadly, for The Incredibles, that means undertones of racism and adhering to traditional messages for gender and class. When the black superhero is looking for his supersuit, why does he have to receive the sass from his sassy black wife? Why does the mother have to stay at home and take care of the family while the husband can’t deal with “domestication?” Why does the superwife stop and look in the mirror, fearing for her figure while she’s trying to save her family? Why is the girl shy, invisible even, while the young boy runs around excitedly?
What’s wrong with it, you ask? They’re stereotypes. Sure, they are relatable and definitely have truth in them, but I don’t need a movie for children reinforcing stereotypes that can be negative. Black people and Asian people (I’m looking at you, Edna) are portrayed as stereotypes, as sidekicks to the race that’s important, right? And “boys will be boys” or “girls will be girls” is not the kind of mindset I want children to have. I want them to be more than a label, more than a stereotype, and I can’t find that kind of message in the movie, no matter how spectacularly the story is told. And, damn, is the story told well.
Oh, yeah. Watch Ratatouille, haha.
14. Sideways (2004)
One of the best comedies of the decade is only made awesome by Paul Giamatti, who is an insanely underrated actor. He brings his depressed alcoholic character to life. Amazing script, acting, directing, music, lines, scenarios. It’s got it all. even some subtle meta-references. Go see it. Now.
13. About a Boy (2002)
Hugh Grant is always charming, and when he starts caring, women swoon endlessly. For once, though, it’s not about his sadly hilarious relationship woes, at least not with a woman. No, instead this movie focuses on his relationship with a kid, who finally teaches him selflessness. Not-quite-spoiler: The title doesn’t necessarily refer to the kid Grant befriends.
12. Frost/Nixon (2008)
Some of the best acting you’ll find in a movie technically about politics, with some of the best one v. one scenes I’ve scene seen this decade. It’s a bit sad how we root for the one that isn’t our president, but that’s the beauty of it. A character study of Richard Nixon, and what happened with the interviews he did with David Frost (Frank Langella and Michael Sheen, respectively).
11. Spirited Away (2001)
Oh, God. This is another one of those “I don’t need to explain how awesome this movie is. You’ve probably already seen it and already know” kind of movies. The only surprise? I don’t think it’s the best Miyazaki film, not even of the decade. It IS fuckin’ ballin’ though. I have the French poster for it hanging in my room.
10. Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Far and away the best musical of the decade, and in my opinion, Baz Luhrmann's only good film (I have yet to see Strictly Ballroom). Romeo + Juliet's problem stems from the title, and Australia...well to be fair, I fell asleep, but I don't want to go back to the Baz's outback if it's going to be that dull.
But Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman? Hell yes. Perhaps I give it a bit more credit because I can relate to a writer, and maybe one day I'll fall in love with a singing courtesan...Or, you know, just get into dental school and probably marry a pharmacist or something. Dream big, right?
Anyways, to make it to my Top 10 list, a film has to be transcendent in some way, and I think it's safe to say that the styling of this film transcends the musical genre, taking from eclectic sources and making it its own. It is the musical predecessor to all the remixes, except in cinema form. And until I'm proven wrong, the Bohemian ideals at the core are how epic, and I don't use the term liberally here, musicals are created. Think Rent's La Vie Bohème.
In addition, it's a love story that is fundamentally as old as stories themselves, like Romeo and Juliet's tryst instilled with modern music. It is this struggle for love that endears its audience and has found a place in my own heart as the best live action musical film I have ever witnessed. And I am willing to witness it again and again, for that is the mark of a truly great film.
I know there will be a lot of criticism from veteran cinemaphiles, but I only have one thing to say to them: Come. What. May. (Bitches)
09. Oldboy (2003)
Arguably the best film from Park Chan-Wook's Vengeance Trilogy, which includes first Sympathy for Mr. vengeance and last Lady Vengeance, both which come highly recommended by yours truly.
However, this one, this motherfucker, steps far and above beyond the others in the trilogy. I am just glad that I saw it before everyone else did, because I did not know what to expect, and it blew me away like Inception tried to do.
Despite its extreme violence, which rivals only Tarantino in sheer violent awesomeness, the film works on about 3 layers, and this is just at the top of my head. Let me think: action film, revenge film, psychoanalytical and as a metaphor for aging (he comes out of a suitcase in the beginning or a "womb," and by the end...I'll let you watch it...)
In short, it's a masterpiece.
"Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone."
08. Persepolis (2007)
So there's only a few French films on this list (L'Enfant and Cache) and a few animated films as well (Ratatouille). There's a few coming of age-type movies (An Education) and even a movie about culture shock and ethnic heritage (The Namesake). Persepolis, however, is a combination of all of those. I'm not saying that those qualities in and of themselves make a better movie, but I don't think there was a movie this decade that was able to connect to my generation while telling the story of my former generation. No other movie this decade was able to tie in the universal qualities of growing up better than this film.
I mean, what qualities can you relate to with Iranians living abroad during the 70s?
From the perspective of a child of immigrants, no other film this decade was able to tell the story of a child growing up with in two languages, neither of them English, better than Persepolis. If it weren't for one notable exception, this would be the best animated film of the decade. However, that does not take anything away from the grandeur and the ambition of this film.
07. Nobody Knows (2005)
For those of you with patience, and I know you exist because you're still reading this, there is a movie that might be long (something like 140 minutes?), quiet (completely silent at times) and phenomenally rewarding. If you've been following for the entirety of the list, you might have noticed a few things. Primarily, there are very few great action movies. Secondarily, and maybe more importantly, I am biased against movies based on real-life events, because by and large, few of them make the great leap into "greatness." I usually try to look up the facts of the event, because I refuse to be manipulated emotionally into thinking something is better because it's real, and learning that those parts weren't real after all.
I hate that. I've invested a certain type of empathy only to find that my empathy was misplaced. It's annoying, and I will think less of films that do that.
However, Nobody Knows does that, and partially because I know that the true story is much more grisly, I feel like this captures so much more than the real-life events. 4 kids abandoned by their mother, the oldest barely a teenager, the youngest almost in the earliest stages of infancy.
Maybe I was too young when I watched this, but it brought me back to my childhood. I wasn't abandoned or anything, not even close. However, it reminded me of how children think and act, and capturing the unbiased innocence of childhood is the film's real victory. There are no contrived sequences of the director playing puppeteer to your heartstrings, only genuine pain and struggle. It's as if we are watching a documentary of these kids' lives without a narrator, no one to watch as these forsaken adolescents try to live on their own. There is no one to guide their lives, no one to tend to their health, their hygiene, no one to feed them. No one to help them and no one to care. Why?
Because nobody knows, and that will always be the most heartbreaking realization of all.
06. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
When I first saw the trailer to this film, which was in itself pretty original, I remember distinctly the name of the company, Lacuna, Inc. About a week before, in my sophomore year of English 2 Honors with Bill Healy, I distinctly remember him making a point about lacuna, which is Latin for "gap" or something missing. I remember being so glad I understood why the company was called Lacuna, Inc. and looking forward to watching this movie.
At first, I thought it was just a very good movie. Thus, I was only mildly surprised it didn't get more recognition in its time, and it didn't really bother me. Now, however, after multiple viewings, I am ready to admit that this film is damn near flawless.
It is probably the most original love story, if it can be called that, of all time, following two lovers as they try to erase memories of their terminated relationship. The storytelling itself is refreshing and definitely nontraditional, but the beauty of the narrative is that it maintains a consistency. It keeps the audience honest, but doesn't ever assume a position of pedantry, like I'm doing right now.
There are very few filmmakers that can tell a refreshingly original story while still remaining relatable and emotionally accesible. Those current exceptions are Hayao Miyazaki, Pixar and maybe Charlie Kaufman. Eternal Sunshine puts him up there with the most original screenwriters of all time, let alone this decade. The only other filmmaker with the same amount of audacity and imagination? Kubrick.
05. The Lord of the Rings (2001-03)
I never read the books, so the movies are a milestone on a personal level. They should be watched in one sitting, with multiple bathroom breaks. Stunningly shot and directed, these are certainly the epitome of the genre "epic," if it could be one. I argue that it's the second best trilogy of all time, after Toy Story (not The Godfather). I know, I know, I know. It's a controversial opinion, but this is my Tumblr, goddamit, and I'll have my way.
04. Pride and Prejudice (2005)
On a personal level, this might be my favorite movie of all time...well, it changes on an almost daily basis, but this one is in the running. I had never been exposed to the story or even the writer for that matter before I watched this movie, so I had no idea what to expect. What I got was a love story that transcended class and gender, and as a result, transcends cultures. There is no better film out there, certainly not this decade at least, that combines beautiful imagery, pitch-perfect music, stellar acting and creative directing quite like this movie. The stars who partook in this film are not nearly as famous as they should be, save Keira...
This story is almost refreshingly important for women, too. I hope that I don't step on any dainty toes when I share this opinion, but women need to see this and understand the different archetypes/stereotypes of females portrayed in this period piece. Except that it is a perfect example as to why the term "period piece" shouldn't limit the scope of a film. Women are portrayed as being unique, each one different, and each one making her own decisions, all at the same time capturing the essence of femininity. Perhaps romance isn't what it takes to be a woman, but it's not just romance that this film provides. It is the strict adherence to independence and the acceptance that no matter what happens, being yourself will reward you.
Fuck yeah.
03. Howl's Moving Castle (2004)
I should definitely be studying, but since it's been awhile, I'm going to work on this list that I started a few months ago.
While the ranking of this movie may give you some idea of my opinion of this film, it obviously does not adequately explain why. When people ask for my favorite Miyazaki film, or even my favorite film of all time sometimes, I put this on the list. Many argue, and rightfully so since it's just an opinion, that Miyazaki's films have more depth to them, are much better paced, are more mature, are more astonishing. And to some extent, I agree. Most people would argue that Spirited Away or Princess Mononoke are his greatest films, at least in terms of pure cinematic value, and they have very, very strong arguments. Spirited Away is like a refined Totoro or Kiki's Delivery Service and Princess Mononoke is like a refined Nausicaa.
I look at Princess Mononoke as Miyazaki's most adult film. I think it's the only one with a PG-13 rating, not that the MPAA has much influence on international ratings, but it is somewhat telling. It's by far his most graphic and violent film, and certainly contains the most "disturbing" images. I watched it at a young age, and trust me, that shit can be trippy. It also has the most adult presentation of his themes. While his other films depict war, none do so more viscerally and beautifully.
Spirited Away, is just as mesmerizing in the opposite way. More of an emotional journey than Princess Mononoke, it follows the personal events of a young girl trying to get back home. It is a story of the triumph of the human spirit, the unabashed purity of a child, and it is amazing. It's also much more geared to appeal to children. Chihiro, I think, is one of Miyazaki's youngest protagonists.
So if Spirited Away is about the power of childhood, and Princess Mononoke is about an adult world's hope, where does that leave Howl's Moving Castle?
My answer is that Howl's is a union of both of his other masterpieces. It blends the reality of war with the themes of youth's hope. I don't think any of his films deal with age better than Howl's. Most simply have a young, often idealistic and female, protagonist as the main source of empathy. This one's different, but showing a young girl trapped in an old woman's body, Miyazaki is able to say something more about age, perhaps that age changes who we are only to a certain extent while we retain our core ideals and personalities. I don't know. There's lots of things to say.
In addition, Howl's also says a lot about war and the skirmishes of societies. His other films deal with this theme as well, such as Princess Mononoke and Nausicaa (and Porco Russo, kinda), but not as deftly as this film. While his environmental messages abound in his other films, Miyazaki takes it a step further and argues that humanity's actions not only hurt the earth and the natural order of things, but just as importantly and as an extension, our actions hurt ourselves.
And it is precisely the combination of these themes, nearly flawlessly told, that makes Howl's Moving Castle Miyazaki's greatest achievement.
02. Doubt (2008)
Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Viola Davis were all nominated for an Academy Award for their roles in this film. I don't think I have ever seen a better display of acting from an ensemble cast in any movie this decade.
Coupled with one of the most intelligently written scripts (based on John Patrick Shanley's Pulitzer Prize-winning play, which he adapted for the screen), and just a hint of bias since I experienced Catholic grammar schooling, Doubt raised the bar in almost every category I value in a film. It has a perfect ending, which I want to reveal and discuss but won't for the sake of spoiling, and a perfect setup.
I think it's a wonderful analogy of our misunderstandings, our biases, our intuitions, and on top of all that, the possibility of our sins. The characters deliver obvious messages, riddled with much more subtle ones, and the power of implication is a powerful one, as shown by the story and the way the story is told. In short, it is a perfect caricature movie, and the roles are played to perfection. In the words of Descartes, "Dubito; sum."
01. Lost in Translation (2003)
When I first saw this movie, I hated it. I distinctly remember leaving the theater with my uncle, a theater that doesn't exist anymore evidently, and agreeing with him that it was a waste of time, that nothing happened.
For the next month, I was plagued, wondering how a movie like this could exist. What kind of idiot makes a movie where nothing happens? There was no plot! There were almost no lines! WTF!? I said to my 14-year-old self.
But why did I keep thinking about it? What did I miss?
And when I figured it out, I didn't even need to rewatch it. I was in love with it.
"Nothing" is relative. We have all been conditioned to expect certain things from movies, and growing up, I expected action, comedy, drama and maybe some good acting. When I saw Lost in Translation, I didn't realize it at the time, but I got all of those. It wasn't presented in the way I had seen any other movie presented all those things we expect from movie. I had to work for it. I had to observe in order to appreciate.
It showed me that life isn't lived by the major events. No, our daily lives comprise of smaller, more subtle actions. I'm going to make a chemistry analogy here, and if you're still reading, I'm sorry.
Life is like an atom. Our daily lives are like the nucleus, with protons and neutrons, and the world around us is simply the electrons. While the electrons affect what happens to us, it is the nucleus that makes up a very large percentage of the mass of the atom. Thus, while things may change outside of us, our daily lives mean much more to us than anything else.
It can obviously be extended in order to render it moot, like any analogy, but I think Lost in Translation shows us that our context can change, but the important things in our lives, the things about which we care most, are in our small actions. The glance from a stranger, a smile, a wave, a laugh, a wink, a conversation. That's where things happen, where the majority of our actions reside.
And with others. Our relationships with others, what we do with other people, make us who we are. Whether it's having a drink, working out, watching TV, getting dinner, or even getting lost in a foreign city, the context is not as important as the nucleus, where what we do or say together outweighs where we are.
Also, the movie was pretty bomb. Go see it.
Monday, August 9, 2010
She & Him - Sing
She & him - sing by auenarel
Something about Zooey’s voice reminds me of a time before I was born. She & Him has the wonderfully uncanny ability to sound both nostalgic and refreshing at the same time. Zooey Deschanel is the quintessential “girl next door,” who captures your eye because she seems so close to you, but you know that she’s out of your league. She’s the type of girl who you innocently had a crush on growing up, but would never do anything because you were still so young.
She’s the girl in the summer dress no matter time of year it is, and damn can she wear that dress.
She’s that girl, and you have called her any number of names. She’s Summer Finn, Winnie Cooper, Elizabeth Bennett, Josephine March.
She’s the girl who you don’t want to sex, just love.
And in my own little perfect world, She sings, and I am Him.
Something about Zooey’s voice reminds me of a time before I was born. She & Him has the wonderfully uncanny ability to sound both nostalgic and refreshing at the same time. Zooey Deschanel is the quintessential “girl next door,” who captures your eye because she seems so close to you, but you know that she’s out of your league. She’s the type of girl who you innocently had a crush on growing up, but would never do anything because you were still so young.
She’s the girl in the summer dress no matter time of year it is, and damn can she wear that dress.
She’s that girl, and you have called her any number of names. She’s Summer Finn, Winnie Cooper, Elizabeth Bennett, Josephine March.
She’s the girl who you don’t want to sex, just love.
And in my own little perfect world, She sings, and I am Him.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Mams
The other day, as I picked her up from work, I had a very interesting conversation with my mother. I had dropped her off earlier that morning so I could use the car during the day and had seen some of her coworkers walking toward the building. I had noticed that some of them were Indian. Their race, however, has little to do with the story.
In the car, my mom, who always drives due to her crippling fear of my driving, tells me about her coworker.
"So my Indian friend," she begins. Again, the race has nothing to do with the story, and I only mentioned it before to provide a context to her statement, I suppose.
"My Indian friend found her son looking at sex websites," she told me. That definitely got my attention. Why was she telling me this?
"And?" I replied, carefully and nonchalantly. I really hoped that she didn't ask about my personal viewpoints, even though I would probably tell her anyways.
"She said she caught her son looking at the websites, and she didn't know what to do about it," my mom continued.
"She doesn't have to do anything about it," I told her. "How old is her son?"
"He's a junior in high school," my mom replied.
"Oh," I said. "Then leave him alone. His hormones are raging and that's normal."
Of course, this begged the question, which I mentally begged her not to ask:
"Do you have that urge to look at those things?"
"No," I said (lying? haha). "I'm older now so I don't have those raging hormones anymore."
But no answer is ever enough for my ever-inquiring mother.
"Did you do it in high school?" she asked, to my chagrin.
Of course, it is these moments that I thank my quick wit.
"Of course not," I replied almost immediately. "I had a girlfriend."
My mom laughed, but I could tell it wasn't going to end.
"That's disgusting," she said.
"Tell your friend that she has to choose, right? It's either those websites or her son getting a girlfriend. I think from a parent's point of view, the choice is obvious."
"So you're saying you didn't look at those bad websites?" she asked.
My reply was again immediate.
"Why settle for digital when I can have the real thing?"
My mom paused.
"Don't tell those things. I think I'm going to vomit."
Ironically, if my mom told me that, I would feel the same way. Love your parents, guys. They're just like you, except older.
In the car, my mom, who always drives due to her crippling fear of my driving, tells me about her coworker.
"So my Indian friend," she begins. Again, the race has nothing to do with the story, and I only mentioned it before to provide a context to her statement, I suppose.
"My Indian friend found her son looking at sex websites," she told me. That definitely got my attention. Why was she telling me this?
"And?" I replied, carefully and nonchalantly. I really hoped that she didn't ask about my personal viewpoints, even though I would probably tell her anyways.
"She said she caught her son looking at the websites, and she didn't know what to do about it," my mom continued.
"She doesn't have to do anything about it," I told her. "How old is her son?"
"He's a junior in high school," my mom replied.
"Oh," I said. "Then leave him alone. His hormones are raging and that's normal."
Of course, this begged the question, which I mentally begged her not to ask:
"Do you have that urge to look at those things?"
"No," I said (lying? haha). "I'm older now so I don't have those raging hormones anymore."
But no answer is ever enough for my ever-inquiring mother.
"Did you do it in high school?" she asked, to my chagrin.
Of course, it is these moments that I thank my quick wit.
"Of course not," I replied almost immediately. "I had a girlfriend."
My mom laughed, but I could tell it wasn't going to end.
"That's disgusting," she said.
"Tell your friend that she has to choose, right? It's either those websites or her son getting a girlfriend. I think from a parent's point of view, the choice is obvious."
"So you're saying you didn't look at those bad websites?" she asked.
My reply was again immediate.
"Why settle for digital when I can have the real thing?"
My mom paused.
"Don't tell those things. I think I'm going to vomit."
Ironically, if my mom told me that, I would feel the same way. Love your parents, guys. They're just like you, except older.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Ignition
Perhaps the time wasn't right. She thought it wasn't right, but that doesn't mean it wasn't right. Perhaps, though, it wasn't. She didn't know what to know anymore. She thought about it some more. No one would see her here, at the front door, right? Well, maybe the people driving down the street might see her, but to them, she was just getting ready to knock. There was no way a passing car would stare for long enough to realize she was just standing at the door, staring.
Even if they looked for ten, fifteen seconds, they would still assume she knocked and was simply waiting for the door to be opened. From a third party's perspective, she was certainly not acting out of the ordinary. Actually, it would be a second part's perspective, she thought, because "third party" would assume there was a person other than her in the situation. Regardless, a second party's perspective certainly would still place her in a situation of normality. Somehow, though, this thought was not comforting.
It wasn't comforting because she knew that if the second party was him, he who made her angry and joyous and sad and nervous and excited all at once, she would be anything from normal, far removed from average, and certainly well above the level of casual surprise. If he saw her there, standing like an idiot with his letters in her hand, he would certainly be baffled. Why hadn't they spoken in months? Where were his due responses to those heartfelt letters? How come she never contacted him? Did she get his other messages?
But the thing that made her most nervous was not that she would be dumbfounded by those questions, but rather, that she had answers to all of them but knew them to be inadequate, at least by her own standards. She knew that anything she said would not justify how wrong she was, how immoral her actions were, nor how amoral her complacency must appear.
She clenched her fist and leaned her hairline on the door, placing her head's weight just below the old-fashioned knocker, and to her bewilderment, it opened. She put her hands up to push herself on the door back into her natural vertical stance, but the door was no longer there, so she took a step forward and nearly fell right into him.
She regained her composure as quickly as she could as he stood there in bafflement. This, however, was not the kind of surprise she had in mind.
"What...uh...hello?" he began.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Not for almost falling on you, but...well for almost falling on you, too, but not just that. I'm sorry, uh, for everything. You know, before...this."
She looked away to hide her embarrassment, now both for her physical blunder and her past mistakes.
"It's okay, I guess. Do you wanna come inside?" he offered, opening the door wider to welcome her.
"Oh," she said, mildly surprised. "Were you going somewhere? I don't wanna stop you. I just came to say sorry and maybe talk about some things, you know, but I don't wanna do it if you're busy, right?" She chuckled nervously. He did not.
"No, I wasn't going anywhere. My friends down the street called and said there was a lady in yellow standing at my door. They thought I didn't hear you knocking, which, to be honest, I didn't."
"I didn't," she replied. "How long were they watching me?" She turned around to see if she could find any faces at the windows, visually intruding on her embarrassment and thereby compounding it.
"I didn't ask, but they don't live on the other side. I don't think they could have seen you from their house. They said they saw you on the way home and as they were leaving, so I assume you've been here for awhile?"
"Yeah," she said, looking down. It's amazing how long you can avoid looking into someone's eyes when you're really committed, she thought.
"So..." he muttered. "Come inside?"
She looked around, back at her car, checked her cell phone for the time, did not pay any heed to it, and replied, "No, it's really...It's okay. I'll call you, uh, or something."
"No, please, come inside. You look tired. I'll make some tea or something. I was just watching The Wonder Years on DVD. You used to love that show as a kid." He smiled his famously familiar and warm smile.
She paused. It was the same smile that snared her mother, the same one that made sure she slept well every night before turning off the lights.
"No, it's really...it's okay, dad," she said, starting to back up. "I just, you know, have some things to do. I'll be in town for awhile, so we can hang out or something."
"Yeah," he said, still smiling. "That'd be cool. You have my number, right?"
"Yeah. I got it from mom. I'll call you!" she was turned around now, walking on the sidewalk, toward her car. She didn't look back. She knew he would wait until she left, to make sure she got on her way safely. Tears started to line her eyes. She furrowed her brow and clenched her lips, stuffing his letters in her jacket pocket. She opened the door to her car, and from the periphery of her vision, saw that the front door was still open, that vague yet familiar figure still standing there to watch over her.
And, somehow, to Ellie, the car's ignition never sounded so sad, like it somehow knew it was never meant to return.
Even if they looked for ten, fifteen seconds, they would still assume she knocked and was simply waiting for the door to be opened. From a third party's perspective, she was certainly not acting out of the ordinary. Actually, it would be a second part's perspective, she thought, because "third party" would assume there was a person other than her in the situation. Regardless, a second party's perspective certainly would still place her in a situation of normality. Somehow, though, this thought was not comforting.
It wasn't comforting because she knew that if the second party was him, he who made her angry and joyous and sad and nervous and excited all at once, she would be anything from normal, far removed from average, and certainly well above the level of casual surprise. If he saw her there, standing like an idiot with his letters in her hand, he would certainly be baffled. Why hadn't they spoken in months? Where were his due responses to those heartfelt letters? How come she never contacted him? Did she get his other messages?
But the thing that made her most nervous was not that she would be dumbfounded by those questions, but rather, that she had answers to all of them but knew them to be inadequate, at least by her own standards. She knew that anything she said would not justify how wrong she was, how immoral her actions were, nor how amoral her complacency must appear.
She clenched her fist and leaned her hairline on the door, placing her head's weight just below the old-fashioned knocker, and to her bewilderment, it opened. She put her hands up to push herself on the door back into her natural vertical stance, but the door was no longer there, so she took a step forward and nearly fell right into him.
She regained her composure as quickly as she could as he stood there in bafflement. This, however, was not the kind of surprise she had in mind.
"What...uh...hello?" he began.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Not for almost falling on you, but...well for almost falling on you, too, but not just that. I'm sorry, uh, for everything. You know, before...this."
She looked away to hide her embarrassment, now both for her physical blunder and her past mistakes.
"It's okay, I guess. Do you wanna come inside?" he offered, opening the door wider to welcome her.
"Oh," she said, mildly surprised. "Were you going somewhere? I don't wanna stop you. I just came to say sorry and maybe talk about some things, you know, but I don't wanna do it if you're busy, right?" She chuckled nervously. He did not.
"No, I wasn't going anywhere. My friends down the street called and said there was a lady in yellow standing at my door. They thought I didn't hear you knocking, which, to be honest, I didn't."
"I didn't," she replied. "How long were they watching me?" She turned around to see if she could find any faces at the windows, visually intruding on her embarrassment and thereby compounding it.
"I didn't ask, but they don't live on the other side. I don't think they could have seen you from their house. They said they saw you on the way home and as they were leaving, so I assume you've been here for awhile?"
"Yeah," she said, looking down. It's amazing how long you can avoid looking into someone's eyes when you're really committed, she thought.
"So..." he muttered. "Come inside?"
She looked around, back at her car, checked her cell phone for the time, did not pay any heed to it, and replied, "No, it's really...It's okay. I'll call you, uh, or something."
"No, please, come inside. You look tired. I'll make some tea or something. I was just watching The Wonder Years on DVD. You used to love that show as a kid." He smiled his famously familiar and warm smile.
She paused. It was the same smile that snared her mother, the same one that made sure she slept well every night before turning off the lights.
"No, it's really...it's okay, dad," she said, starting to back up. "I just, you know, have some things to do. I'll be in town for awhile, so we can hang out or something."
"Yeah," he said, still smiling. "That'd be cool. You have my number, right?"
"Yeah. I got it from mom. I'll call you!" she was turned around now, walking on the sidewalk, toward her car. She didn't look back. She knew he would wait until she left, to make sure she got on her way safely. Tears started to line her eyes. She furrowed her brow and clenched her lips, stuffing his letters in her jacket pocket. She opened the door to her car, and from the periphery of her vision, saw that the front door was still open, that vague yet familiar figure still standing there to watch over her.
And, somehow, to Ellie, the car's ignition never sounded so sad, like it somehow knew it was never meant to return.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The Whore's Core
Voldemort *shudder* was an evil man. For those of you who haven't read all of Ms. Rowling's insanely popular books, please be forewarned that I am about to reveal some aspects. In short, this is your obligatory spoiler alert. Also, if you haven't read them, please know that I am unsure as to how to judge you. Are you resistant to the insanely popular phenomena? Or are you a bit on the ignorant side? Or do you just not care? Fair enough.
In the series, You-Know-Who, the quintessential antagonist, takes various steps to secure the most secular of desires: immortality. While he should have been dead, he was still a part of the world. In addition to his unicorn blood diet (less calories?), Ol' Voldy took his soul and split it into 7 pieces. He then attached these soul parts to various objects, both living and nonliving. It is in this way that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ensured his survival, albeit oftentimes a measly one. The combination of his soul and the object is called a Horcrux. Normally, even making one Horcrux in which to place your soul is a daunting and harrowing task, and in Salazar Slytherin's last descendant's case, usually someone had to die. Even if the physical body of the person is destroyed, the person will still live as long as the Horcrux is not destroyed.
In this way, I have found that I am somewhat similar to the Dark Lord. I spill little secrets here and there to one friend or another, but I don't think I've told everything to one person. I just don't think there's anyone in my life who is around me often enough for that to happen.
In a sense, I am a secrets slut. I give a little bit of my personal thoughts to a lot of people, but I have yet to unload all my emotional baggage to one person. And it is in these thoughts, these emotionally charged tidbits of information, where I suppose my identity resides. I am a prostitute for secrets and all to often, arbitrarily so. While I can attribute some of it to my incessant ramblings, there is still some part of me that knows that I am reserved and candid all at once.
I am candid in that I am willing to give someone personal details about my past, but I am reserved in how much I give one person. And make no mistake, it is our past and our experiences that make up the most important parts of who we are. It is the foundation, the basis, of our identity.
And, interestingly, like Tom Riddle's segmented soul, I have divided myself, or at least the most important part of myself: my identity, my core, my crux.
In the series, You-Know-Who, the quintessential antagonist, takes various steps to secure the most secular of desires: immortality. While he should have been dead, he was still a part of the world. In addition to his unicorn blood diet (less calories?), Ol' Voldy took his soul and split it into 7 pieces. He then attached these soul parts to various objects, both living and nonliving. It is in this way that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ensured his survival, albeit oftentimes a measly one. The combination of his soul and the object is called a Horcrux. Normally, even making one Horcrux in which to place your soul is a daunting and harrowing task, and in Salazar Slytherin's last descendant's case, usually someone had to die. Even if the physical body of the person is destroyed, the person will still live as long as the Horcrux is not destroyed.
In this way, I have found that I am somewhat similar to the Dark Lord. I spill little secrets here and there to one friend or another, but I don't think I've told everything to one person. I just don't think there's anyone in my life who is around me often enough for that to happen.
In a sense, I am a secrets slut. I give a little bit of my personal thoughts to a lot of people, but I have yet to unload all my emotional baggage to one person. And it is in these thoughts, these emotionally charged tidbits of information, where I suppose my identity resides. I am a prostitute for secrets and all to often, arbitrarily so. While I can attribute some of it to my incessant ramblings, there is still some part of me that knows that I am reserved and candid all at once.
I am candid in that I am willing to give someone personal details about my past, but I am reserved in how much I give one person. And make no mistake, it is our past and our experiences that make up the most important parts of who we are. It is the foundation, the basis, of our identity.
And, interestingly, like Tom Riddle's segmented soul, I have divided myself, or at least the most important part of myself: my identity, my core, my crux.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
A Single Child
I just watched A Single Man with Colin Firth and Julianne Moore. For all the high praise it got, I'm not too sure what I expected, but I was definitely less than satisfied when it ended. But I suppose the ending fit the general feel of the film. The whole affair is pretty pompous and melodramatic, not helped by its stringy and long-winded score. It's not a particularly poorly written soundtrack, nor a poor movie for that matter. It's just that I feel however poignant it gets, the build up takes too long to allow it an equal payoff.
That being said, it's a wonderfully stylish film. 2.5/4.
The other day my mom and dad and I were eating outside. It was dinner time, and my dad was on his laptop outside, as he usually is. Being summer, the sun had yet to set for a few more hours, and hunger struck our bellies like a lightning storm above a volcano. My brother was in Vietnam at the time, so he couldn't join us, naturally. My mom and I saw my dad outside and we decided to join his lonesome on the small table we have in the backyard next to my dad's makeshift hammock.
Our backyard was large, and where a patio could have been, we instead had cement laid out with a wooden roof I believe my dad made himself when we moved first arrived. We had two sliding doors on opposite ends of our house that led into the backyard. The roof covered the width of our house so no matter which door we slid open to enter, we'd be covered. One door was in the family room. When we first moved in, opening that door led to a clear view of the backyard. However, over the years a large ivy-like bush of flowers had extended from the ground to the room, providing shade onto the patio area. This was where the hammock was fastened, behind where the roof ended and covered by the big plant.
The other door, behind our kitchen, was opened and led right near a table where my dad was sitting. It was through this door that my mom and I exited to sit next to my dad.
"Who do you think is better-looking, bố?" I asked my dad during dinner. The sun was still up and the lack of humidity in the clear California weather was a blessing I never took for granted. The occasional breeze hugged my skin like a quiet lover, always gentle and soothing.
To his children, my dad is a generally reserved man. He projects the persona of the dominant male figure of the household and generally doesn't indulge us when we are silly. However, through the years, my brother and I have found that around his friends, he is extremely social and jovial, so we know that he can be very easygoing. Thus, unless he's giving us direct orders, we love joking around with him and being as ridiculous as possible.
"Me or you?" I clarified.
"Andrew, you can't be serious," my mom interjected. "Bố is much better looking, especially when he was younger. He was so handsome." She smiled.
My dad stared off, quietly, as he is apt to do. He spoke as if he wasn't really listening and answered as if he only heard the question in passing. It always seemed like he was thinking about something else, distracted even when talking to his children.
"Bố don't know. Probably you," he replied quietly before taking another chopstickful of rice.
I laughed.
"See?" I told my mom. "Even he admits I'm more handsome!" I told her jokingly.
"No. Definitely not," she said, looking at my father lovingly.
"Well," I said, thinking aloud to my dad, "who's better looking, bố? You or Matthew?"
There was less hesitation this time.
"Matthew," he said, more quickly, but still in his special reserved tone. "He's taller and has long eyelashes."
"Oh, Matthew is so handsome!" my mom said. "And he has those beautiful baby eyes!"
I thought about what she said for a second. It was then, I realized, that my mom thinks I'm the ugliest guy in our family.
Sad times.
That being said, it's a wonderfully stylish film. 2.5/4.
The other day my mom and dad and I were eating outside. It was dinner time, and my dad was on his laptop outside, as he usually is. Being summer, the sun had yet to set for a few more hours, and hunger struck our bellies like a lightning storm above a volcano. My brother was in Vietnam at the time, so he couldn't join us, naturally. My mom and I saw my dad outside and we decided to join his lonesome on the small table we have in the backyard next to my dad's makeshift hammock.
Our backyard was large, and where a patio could have been, we instead had cement laid out with a wooden roof I believe my dad made himself when we moved first arrived. We had two sliding doors on opposite ends of our house that led into the backyard. The roof covered the width of our house so no matter which door we slid open to enter, we'd be covered. One door was in the family room. When we first moved in, opening that door led to a clear view of the backyard. However, over the years a large ivy-like bush of flowers had extended from the ground to the room, providing shade onto the patio area. This was where the hammock was fastened, behind where the roof ended and covered by the big plant.
The other door, behind our kitchen, was opened and led right near a table where my dad was sitting. It was through this door that my mom and I exited to sit next to my dad.
"Who do you think is better-looking, bố?" I asked my dad during dinner. The sun was still up and the lack of humidity in the clear California weather was a blessing I never took for granted. The occasional breeze hugged my skin like a quiet lover, always gentle and soothing.
To his children, my dad is a generally reserved man. He projects the persona of the dominant male figure of the household and generally doesn't indulge us when we are silly. However, through the years, my brother and I have found that around his friends, he is extremely social and jovial, so we know that he can be very easygoing. Thus, unless he's giving us direct orders, we love joking around with him and being as ridiculous as possible.
"Me or you?" I clarified.
"Andrew, you can't be serious," my mom interjected. "Bố is much better looking, especially when he was younger. He was so handsome." She smiled.
My dad stared off, quietly, as he is apt to do. He spoke as if he wasn't really listening and answered as if he only heard the question in passing. It always seemed like he was thinking about something else, distracted even when talking to his children.
"Bố don't know. Probably you," he replied quietly before taking another chopstickful of rice.
I laughed.
"See?" I told my mom. "Even he admits I'm more handsome!" I told her jokingly.
"No. Definitely not," she said, looking at my father lovingly.
"Well," I said, thinking aloud to my dad, "who's better looking, bố? You or Matthew?"
There was less hesitation this time.
"Matthew," he said, more quickly, but still in his special reserved tone. "He's taller and has long eyelashes."
"Oh, Matthew is so handsome!" my mom said. "And he has those beautiful baby eyes!"
I thought about what she said for a second. It was then, I realized, that my mom thinks I'm the ugliest guy in our family.
Sad times.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Chapter One.
I bet many things are borne out of many things. Some things are borne out of frustration, others anger. Still other things are borne out of boredom. In this case, my accounts are borne out of fear and an amateur's diagnosis of incurable insomnia.
Meryl was always small. Even when she was younger, she knew, somehow, that she would always be a small person. This was not to say that she was by any means small of mind. Contrariwise, Meryl had as big a mind and soul as the next person, maybe even bigger. It was just that her parents were very small people, her older brothers were all small, and even the family dog was small. It was a stray pekingese-looking mutt they called Pete.
So Meryl accepted her size at a very young age. She had two older brothers who were in high school when she was in middle school. They were two years apart, but it was not until they were both in college did they become close. Strangely enough, they went to college on opposite ends of the country, so it was odd that they would come home during holidays and be so chum, at least in Meryl's mind.
She should count herself lucky, though. Growing up, Jared and Jay were barely tolerable of each other, but both loved Meryl very much. She was the youngest and their only sister. When she was in seventh grade, a boy followed her home from school against her will. Sure he was the handsomest and tallest boy in school, standing nearly six feet already at age thirteen, but she did not want anything to do with him. Luckily, Jared and Jay took it as their fraternal duty to tell poor Vincent to leave.
However, being only of average height (each four inches under six feet, Jay maybe four and a half), they would not appear intuitively intimidating. So poor, poor Vincent told them to do something that Meryl didn't like to repeat, but luckily for me, she was able to recall the dialogue perfectly.
"Come on, Meryl," Vincent cooed. "Go to the dance with me."
"I don't want to!" she replied, placing her backpack in the living room. "I don't like to dance!" Why didn't she think of closing the door behind her? God, she hoped one of her brothers were home.
Vincent continued, doggedly. "It's okay," he tried to reason. "You don't have to like it. Just come with me. You're the hottest girl in school."
"Wait. How does being the hottest girl in school make it okay? She said she doesn't like dancing, so being hot will all of a sudden make that dislike go away?"
Meryl had never been more relieved in her life to hear Jared's voice from the kitchen. Jared himself followed, first looking forward, then having to look up.
"What's your name, kid," Jared asked Vincent.
"Vince."
"I'm going to call you Vincent."
"Uh...okay."
"Are you Meryl's friend?"
"No!" said Meryl, perhaps a little too excitedly. "He just followed me here after school, after I told him I didn't want to go!"
"Then we have a problem, right?" Jay said, seemingly from nowhere. The voice came from behind Vincent. Jay, too, had to look up, which he did as he joined Jared in front of Vincent. They were both now standing where the kitchen met the living room, and Meryl was sitting at the table in the kitchen. The front door was behind Vincent, still unclosed.
Vincent was quiet, probably thinking. There was a weird, cinematic pause before Vincent spoke up.
"She has to go with me. I don't have a date."
Jared laughed. "Dude, your logic is flawless today. Personally, and I'm sorry if this overrides your facts, I think that you not having a date is a problem she's not solving."
Vincent looked confused.
Jay interjected. "That means she's not going with you and if you don't have a date, that's too bad."
"Go fuck yourself. Don't tell me what to do," Vincent said, still stubborn.
"We didn't, moron. But now we will. Leave."
Jared's voice brooked no argument.
"No."
Meryl was starting to get nervous. Her brothers were significantly smaller in stature than Vincent. She had only known them to be loving, kind people, never in confrontation.
"How old are you?" Jay asked.
"Thirteen," Vincent replied, perhaps a bit too proudly. Jay was fourteen and Jared was sixteen. They looked at each other and looked back at a dumbfounded Vincent.
Jared took off his shirt, revealing a number of tattoos and a very chiseled body. he was flexing, Meryl know, because his abdominal muscles were pretty defined. Meryl didn't think there was a way for Vincent to miss them.
She herself didn't miss the fact that the tattoos were fake, a product of a very talented artist in her brother. Jared could sit in front of the bathroom mirror for hours at a time, drawing on his body. Their parents didn't approve of it, but a lot of time, they didn't see it either. Jared used to come home with markings all over his arm, drawn intricately in the annals of the classroom's boredom.
But she knew Vincent probably couldn't tell. To him the dragon across the chest and a snake on the collarbone looked very intricate and real. The muscles looked real too.
"Get the fuck out before both of us beat the fuck out of you, fuckface," Jay said.
Vincent left, grumbling to himself about not having a date.
"Bye, Vince!" Meryl said after him, waving. "See you at school tomorrow!"
Jared laughed, putting his shirt back on and smearing some of the ink.
"You know," said Jay. "I think that is your realest looking fake tat yet. Were you doing just now in the bathroom?"
"Yeah," said Jared, still laughing. "If you look, I didn't even finish the claws on the dragon." Sure enough, there was an obvious lack of claws on the inked beast. Meryl couldn't have been more elated. She probably hadn't been this happy with having a brother since Jared first got his driver's license and took her and her friends to the mall a few months ago. Her coolness factor at school skyrocketed, then.
"Hey," said Jared as they were looking at his chest and shoulders. "Tell that kid not to mess with you again."
"Yeah, dude," said Jay. "That fucker was fucking dumb."
"Okay, I won't let him follow me next time," Meryl replied, rubbing some of the ink on Jared's shoulder. "And don't cuss so much, dude. What if mom hears you?"
But Jay was already walking upstairs.
Jared laughed. "Don't worry. He talks tough but he's a fat pussy when mom's around."
Meryl rolled her eyes, like only a preteen could do. Boys were so vulgar.
Meryl was always small. Even when she was younger, she knew, somehow, that she would always be a small person. This was not to say that she was by any means small of mind. Contrariwise, Meryl had as big a mind and soul as the next person, maybe even bigger. It was just that her parents were very small people, her older brothers were all small, and even the family dog was small. It was a stray pekingese-looking mutt they called Pete.
So Meryl accepted her size at a very young age. She had two older brothers who were in high school when she was in middle school. They were two years apart, but it was not until they were both in college did they become close. Strangely enough, they went to college on opposite ends of the country, so it was odd that they would come home during holidays and be so chum, at least in Meryl's mind.
She should count herself lucky, though. Growing up, Jared and Jay were barely tolerable of each other, but both loved Meryl very much. She was the youngest and their only sister. When she was in seventh grade, a boy followed her home from school against her will. Sure he was the handsomest and tallest boy in school, standing nearly six feet already at age thirteen, but she did not want anything to do with him. Luckily, Jared and Jay took it as their fraternal duty to tell poor Vincent to leave.
However, being only of average height (each four inches under six feet, Jay maybe four and a half), they would not appear intuitively intimidating. So poor, poor Vincent told them to do something that Meryl didn't like to repeat, but luckily for me, she was able to recall the dialogue perfectly.
"Come on, Meryl," Vincent cooed. "Go to the dance with me."
"I don't want to!" she replied, placing her backpack in the living room. "I don't like to dance!" Why didn't she think of closing the door behind her? God, she hoped one of her brothers were home.
Vincent continued, doggedly. "It's okay," he tried to reason. "You don't have to like it. Just come with me. You're the hottest girl in school."
"Wait. How does being the hottest girl in school make it okay? She said she doesn't like dancing, so being hot will all of a sudden make that dislike go away?"
Meryl had never been more relieved in her life to hear Jared's voice from the kitchen. Jared himself followed, first looking forward, then having to look up.
"What's your name, kid," Jared asked Vincent.
"Vince."
"I'm going to call you Vincent."
"Uh...okay."
"Are you Meryl's friend?"
"No!" said Meryl, perhaps a little too excitedly. "He just followed me here after school, after I told him I didn't want to go!"
"Then we have a problem, right?" Jay said, seemingly from nowhere. The voice came from behind Vincent. Jay, too, had to look up, which he did as he joined Jared in front of Vincent. They were both now standing where the kitchen met the living room, and Meryl was sitting at the table in the kitchen. The front door was behind Vincent, still unclosed.
Vincent was quiet, probably thinking. There was a weird, cinematic pause before Vincent spoke up.
"She has to go with me. I don't have a date."
Jared laughed. "Dude, your logic is flawless today. Personally, and I'm sorry if this overrides your facts, I think that you not having a date is a problem she's not solving."
Vincent looked confused.
Jay interjected. "That means she's not going with you and if you don't have a date, that's too bad."
"Go fuck yourself. Don't tell me what to do," Vincent said, still stubborn.
"We didn't, moron. But now we will. Leave."
Jared's voice brooked no argument.
"No."
Meryl was starting to get nervous. Her brothers were significantly smaller in stature than Vincent. She had only known them to be loving, kind people, never in confrontation.
"How old are you?" Jay asked.
"Thirteen," Vincent replied, perhaps a bit too proudly. Jay was fourteen and Jared was sixteen. They looked at each other and looked back at a dumbfounded Vincent.
Jared took off his shirt, revealing a number of tattoos and a very chiseled body. he was flexing, Meryl know, because his abdominal muscles were pretty defined. Meryl didn't think there was a way for Vincent to miss them.
She herself didn't miss the fact that the tattoos were fake, a product of a very talented artist in her brother. Jared could sit in front of the bathroom mirror for hours at a time, drawing on his body. Their parents didn't approve of it, but a lot of time, they didn't see it either. Jared used to come home with markings all over his arm, drawn intricately in the annals of the classroom's boredom.
But she knew Vincent probably couldn't tell. To him the dragon across the chest and a snake on the collarbone looked very intricate and real. The muscles looked real too.
"Get the fuck out before both of us beat the fuck out of you, fuckface," Jay said.
Vincent left, grumbling to himself about not having a date.
"Bye, Vince!" Meryl said after him, waving. "See you at school tomorrow!"
Jared laughed, putting his shirt back on and smearing some of the ink.
"You know," said Jay. "I think that is your realest looking fake tat yet. Were you doing just now in the bathroom?"
"Yeah," said Jared, still laughing. "If you look, I didn't even finish the claws on the dragon." Sure enough, there was an obvious lack of claws on the inked beast. Meryl couldn't have been more elated. She probably hadn't been this happy with having a brother since Jared first got his driver's license and took her and her friends to the mall a few months ago. Her coolness factor at school skyrocketed, then.
"Hey," said Jared as they were looking at his chest and shoulders. "Tell that kid not to mess with you again."
"Yeah, dude," said Jay. "That fucker was fucking dumb."
"Okay, I won't let him follow me next time," Meryl replied, rubbing some of the ink on Jared's shoulder. "And don't cuss so much, dude. What if mom hears you?"
But Jay was already walking upstairs.
Jared laughed. "Don't worry. He talks tough but he's a fat pussy when mom's around."
Meryl rolled her eyes, like only a preteen could do. Boys were so vulgar.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Fun Movie Facts
From 1958 to 2008, there were only 7 years that the Academy did not nominate at least one of the following actors for the Best Actor Award:
- Paul Newman
- Jack Lemmon
- Peter O'Toole
- Albert Finney
- Dustin Hoffman
- Jack Nicholson
- Robert De Niro
- Al Pacino
- Daniel Day-Lewis
- Sean Penn
- Tom Hanks
65, 66, 71, 77, 96, 04 and 05
If these 11 actors were a part of some super-secret guild (let's call it the Omnipotent Actor's Guild), that means that the OAG was represented at least once yearly 86% of the time in a span of 50 years.
It means that for half a century, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences decided to nominate at least one person from the OAG 86% of the time. It means that all of the other hypothetical guilds out there, and there could be thousands of them, are being short-changed in terms of representation.
There is an obvious bias in the A.M.P.A.S.
Either that or I'm looking at an arbitrary sample.
- Paul Newman
- Jack Lemmon
- Peter O'Toole
- Albert Finney
- Dustin Hoffman
- Jack Nicholson
- Robert De Niro
- Al Pacino
- Daniel Day-Lewis
- Sean Penn
- Tom Hanks
65, 66, 71, 77, 96, 04 and 05
If these 11 actors were a part of some super-secret guild (let's call it the Omnipotent Actor's Guild), that means that the OAG was represented at least once yearly 86% of the time in a span of 50 years.
It means that for half a century, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences decided to nominate at least one person from the OAG 86% of the time. It means that all of the other hypothetical guilds out there, and there could be thousands of them, are being short-changed in terms of representation.
There is an obvious bias in the A.M.P.A.S.
Either that or I'm looking at an arbitrary sample.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Ignorance Is Bliss
Knowledge=Power, or "Knowledge is power."
Mathematically speaking, we can do to both sides the same thing. One concept in math is taking the absolute value of quantities. One concept of life is doing or being something completely. Thus, absolute knowledge is absolute power.
Moreover, absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Ergo, since knowledge is power, and absolute knowledge is absolute power, we can substitute another definition of absolute power and realize that...
Absolute knowledge corrupts absolutely.
Which compels me to live my life according to the title of this post.
Mathematically speaking, we can do to both sides the same thing. One concept in math is taking the absolute value of quantities. One concept of life is doing or being something completely. Thus, absolute knowledge is absolute power.
Moreover, absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Ergo, since knowledge is power, and absolute knowledge is absolute power, we can substitute another definition of absolute power and realize that...
Absolute knowledge corrupts absolutely.
Which compels me to live my life according to the title of this post.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Short Films 2010
French Roast from Piokaz on Vimeo.
Logorama from Marc Altshuler - Human Music on Vimeo.
Wallace and Gromit - A matter of Loaf and Death from CUBO3 on Vimeo.
These were the five videos that were nominated for Best Animated Short at the 82nd Academy Awards. Logorama ended up winning, but I think I would have to disagree with the choice.
I think either A Matter of Loaf and Death or French Roast should have won. While I appreciate the originality of the world of Logorama, I must say that its animation and technical attention to detail isn't really up to par with some of the others. Perhaps it was the world itself and the story it told that limited the animation's details, but I still don't think it's as clever as the original premise seems to promise.
Furthermore, in terms of storytelling, I feel like Logorama is just a message film, and ultimately, a film that is pretty much an extended metaphor doesn't hold up cinematically compared to the other nominations.
If I were forced to pick a winner, I think it would have to be French Roast. While A Matter of Loaf and Death certainly has a strong story arc, abetted by its extended time, and no end of clever and original moments, I think the technical achievements combined with the cinematographic trick of shooting as if from one spot is just nifty. The only time it changes is to zoom in and out and one minor fade in the middle to show a time lapse. It's brilliant. In addition, I think it's just a great story.
However, all five are great films, and I would go so far that an hour or so of your time would not be wasted watching these.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Williams, Dunnigan, Colusa and Willows?
My parents are out of town this weekend, but while they're camping, they wouldn't dare miss mass on a weekend. As such, my mom has been texting me incessantly, making me look for Catholic churches in small towns around Sacramento. She's trying to find one on the way to the campsite.
She first asked about Williams, CA, then Dunnigan, then Colusa. When I finally found one in Colusa, Our Lady of Lourdes, I sent her the schedule. Knowing my parents well, I made a mental bet with myself that they would not have been down for the 10:30AM mass Sunday morning.
Regardless, I called Our Lady of Lourdes, just to double check the mass schedule. Most parishes have automated machines, but being a small parish in a small town, I didn't expect Colusa to have one.
I was right, and a kind lady picked up and informed me that mass was actually at 5PM and 10AM, meaning my parents definitely will not be visiting Colusa anytime soon. The lady also told me that the 10AM mass was Father Roy's last mass, so that made me scared that my parents would inevitably show up underdressed for a special mass. Thankfully, my mom then asked me to search for a church in Willows. God is definitely shining on Father Roy this weekend.
I find one in Willows, St. Monica Parish, and called them as well. It's a bit annoying how the online schedules aren't right. Well, I see the priest's name, Father Matthias O'Callaghan, and I thought, typical; an Irish priest. Then I thought, hey, I could have fun with this. I mean, they're never going to talk to me again, right? Why don't I ask them in an Irish accent? I could pull it off and they wouldn't know any better. Plus, it would make for a great story. What could go wrong, right?
Well, first, it was an automated machine that answered my call, so that killed my plans. However, the second revelation was much more plan-killing.
The voice on the machine had an Irish accent.
Oh, God of Irony, why do you mock me?
She first asked about Williams, CA, then Dunnigan, then Colusa. When I finally found one in Colusa, Our Lady of Lourdes, I sent her the schedule. Knowing my parents well, I made a mental bet with myself that they would not have been down for the 10:30AM mass Sunday morning.
Regardless, I called Our Lady of Lourdes, just to double check the mass schedule. Most parishes have automated machines, but being a small parish in a small town, I didn't expect Colusa to have one.
I was right, and a kind lady picked up and informed me that mass was actually at 5PM and 10AM, meaning my parents definitely will not be visiting Colusa anytime soon. The lady also told me that the 10AM mass was Father Roy's last mass, so that made me scared that my parents would inevitably show up underdressed for a special mass. Thankfully, my mom then asked me to search for a church in Willows. God is definitely shining on Father Roy this weekend.
I find one in Willows, St. Monica Parish, and called them as well. It's a bit annoying how the online schedules aren't right. Well, I see the priest's name, Father Matthias O'Callaghan, and I thought, typical; an Irish priest. Then I thought, hey, I could have fun with this. I mean, they're never going to talk to me again, right? Why don't I ask them in an Irish accent? I could pull it off and they wouldn't know any better. Plus, it would make for a great story. What could go wrong, right?
Well, first, it was an automated machine that answered my call, so that killed my plans. However, the second revelation was much more plan-killing.
The voice on the machine had an Irish accent.
Oh, God of Irony, why do you mock me?
Friday, May 28, 2010
Cosmic Satisfaction
Two weeks ago I got a new wallet because my old one was really gross. For those who don't know, I like to keep all my receipts and all my old cards in my wallet, thus making for a rather cluttered trifold.
A few minutes ago, as I was cleaning my room, I stumbled upon a combination lock. I recognized it immediately as the same one I used nearly 3 years ago in lab for general chemistry. For years I've had this lock, and being the packrat I am, I have not had the heart to throw it away. However, I've never been able to remember the combination either, so it has always served as a memento more so than as an actual lock. My dilemma was that I had nowhere to put it, now that I was home and lacking a desk with drawers to hide my hodgepodge of personal memorabilia.
Then I remembered something, something that, if correct, would be cosmically satisfying. In my old wallet, I always saved the little piece of paper that came with the lock, which had the combination. I saved it at first in case I forgot my combination, but even as the original use went away, I kept the paper.
It first was used scratch paper, as I wrote down the combination of my lock for second semester's lab. I also wrote down my registration code, at the behest of my adviser, Dr. Vierra. He wanted me to stop coming to him because I kept forgetting the code. However, both these numbers quickly outgrew their usefulness. Thus, I had no reason to keep the small, folded paper for longer than a few months.
But I did.
And as I skipped down the stairs in anticipation, I fumbled through the mess I made on the coffee table a few weeks ago when I transferred all my stuff to my new bifold wallet (for the record, both pictures accurately portray my actual wallets, oddly enough). Looking through the clutter of faded receipts and worn-down plastic cards, I found the lock combination-turned-scratch paper.
I kept the paper on my thigh as I sat down, joyfully waiting for what I hoped would be cosmic satisfaction. I try the three numbers printed in bold on the front.
They didn't work.
I opened it up and tried the second set of numbers I wrote down.
They didn't work.
I reread the directions and tried those second set of numbers again.
They didn't work.
I tried the first set of numbers, knowing full well that this would be my last option, my last glimmer of hope to open a lock that's been closed for three years.
They worked.
Cosmic satisfaction achieved.
A few minutes ago, as I was cleaning my room, I stumbled upon a combination lock. I recognized it immediately as the same one I used nearly 3 years ago in lab for general chemistry. For years I've had this lock, and being the packrat I am, I have not had the heart to throw it away. However, I've never been able to remember the combination either, so it has always served as a memento more so than as an actual lock. My dilemma was that I had nowhere to put it, now that I was home and lacking a desk with drawers to hide my hodgepodge of personal memorabilia.
Then I remembered something, something that, if correct, would be cosmically satisfying. In my old wallet, I always saved the little piece of paper that came with the lock, which had the combination. I saved it at first in case I forgot my combination, but even as the original use went away, I kept the paper.
It first was used scratch paper, as I wrote down the combination of my lock for second semester's lab. I also wrote down my registration code, at the behest of my adviser, Dr. Vierra. He wanted me to stop coming to him because I kept forgetting the code. However, both these numbers quickly outgrew their usefulness. Thus, I had no reason to keep the small, folded paper for longer than a few months.
But I did.
And as I skipped down the stairs in anticipation, I fumbled through the mess I made on the coffee table a few weeks ago when I transferred all my stuff to my new bifold wallet (for the record, both pictures accurately portray my actual wallets, oddly enough). Looking through the clutter of faded receipts and worn-down plastic cards, I found the lock combination-turned-scratch paper.
I kept the paper on my thigh as I sat down, joyfully waiting for what I hoped would be cosmic satisfaction. I try the three numbers printed in bold on the front.
They didn't work.
I opened it up and tried the second set of numbers I wrote down.
They didn't work.
I reread the directions and tried those second set of numbers again.
They didn't work.
I tried the first set of numbers, knowing full well that this would be my last option, my last glimmer of hope to open a lock that's been closed for three years.
They worked.
Cosmic satisfaction achieved.
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