On Happiness

Fuck this movie. Seriously. Dear god. It's been a while since I have HATED a film. I've been racking my brain since 10:45 last night trying to figure out what it is about the movie. All I can think of is the friends I had in college who had the movie poster in their dorm...

I've been sitting down watching movies on netflix for the last two months, catching up on the kind of fare that everyone "needs" to see... your 'Godfathers,' your 'Deer Hunters,' Woody Allen films, Blade Runner, etc. You name it I have it on my queue to catch up. I no longer want to be out of the cultural loop. First I'll tackle movies, then i'll tackle novels. Either way, the best part of doing this now, at 25, out of film school, is I have been free of expectations... which is impossible to avoid. But, I sit down, and watch these movies, based on their merits and take from them what I can.

I watched Rain Man, and Scent of a Woman this weekend. I didn't love it, but you know what? I'm glad I saw it!

Happiness... you piece of shit. You manipulative, gross-out, ensemble piece from hell. What were you trying to tell me? That everyone is suffering, even the culturally, and morally damned? That people find ways to keep themselves miserable? That child molesters are people too? You know what? I didn't get any of that... because you didn't resolve any of your one-dimensional character's story lines. Instead you show me a twelve year old boy cumming on the rail of his grandmother's balcony, and have the dog lick it up. "I came!" haha, very funny, Todd. The twelve year old boy who wants to be able to ejaculate the entire movie gets his way. That's ripe with metaphor. Happiness is the little things? Is that what it is, Todd? Great! Then tell me that fucking story, and leave the rest of the useless characters, and their miserable lives out of it.

I really HATE hating things, so I have really been trying to think of something to like about this movie. The pedophile father was the only story line that was even remotely telling. So Why did I need to meet Joy's parents? Why did I need to meet the woman who killed the door man? Why did I need to know Lara Flyn Boyle? What did Phillip Seymour Hoffman suddenly care about the annoying next door neighbor? Why did you start the movie with a character like Joy with an amazing opening scene, and then end her story with NOTHING! NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS MOVIE! It's on par with your typical gross-out comedy, except melodramatic, and pathetic. It is American Pie for the pretentious. Fuck this movie. I want my time back.

Wish I was here.

This Time Last Year

February 4th, 2009

I've been bad at keeping up with my friends blogs. When I do peek in now and then, it always makes me feel like I should only blog when something eventful happens. I feel like i'm still living in the world of the live-journal. The world of the time capsule.

I am going to bore you with a train of thought I had on the walk home from work. I relocated a calendar today to a more visible spot in the office and caught wind of todays significance... last year. I panicked slightly at even the thought that I would forget such a thing, but, as quickly as I upset, I was disappointed that I still cared. It's snowing again, here in New York. It has snowed at least once a week since I have returned from Texas / since 2009 began. And on the walk home I passed by a friends apartment. She lives on the second story, and I know her window in the least creepy way possible. I remembered how much I cared about her, and her significance in my life. Five years ago I did everything in my power just to be in the same room as her, and now, a block away, I feel nothing. She is the same person, maybe more defined. Just as pretty, just as flaky. Just as interesting, and just as intimidating. I had such a grand design for her continuing existence in my life. I wanted to learn things, be inspired. I am as close as I will ever be to this girl, and I do nothing. She does nothing as well, for she is the same person. The same person who calls me when she needs to have someone cat sit, but not when she needs a friend. Which is fine, I am reliable, devoted, and eager to please. Have I changed? Am I the same person, just slightly defined?

This time last year I was driving my band's van through the western portion of Texas, cracking my knuckles over and over and over again. The drive was 17 hours, and I did almost 12 of them. I was nervous, you see. I was torn between the choice of letting sleeping dogs lie, and taking a chance on calling this girl I met, a few months prior. I liked her. She told me she liked me too, but not enough to pretend I wasn't too far away. This would be my last tour, I knew that much for sure. This would probably be my last chance to call her, and see what it all meant. So I did, and left a nervous voice mail. It was simultaneously the best and worst decision I have yet to make in my social life. I am forever scarred, and blessed with the outcome. One year later I am stationary, as I wanted. I am writing again, as I wanted. I have a steady job, I am lucky. So, why am I still hanging on to red letter days?

Today I officially put to bed the first draft of my novel. I am 90% done with the skeleton, but I am so anxious to start all over again, I cannot focus on any another word of this version. I was hopelessly optimistic enough to think I would have something readable in time to pass off to my buddy Framps in two weeks, but I am just fine with taking my sweet time. This day will now have two significances.

-Mo