SKYDOVE

its been a long time since i've contributed to my heavily neglected blogspot. apologies, all around. so, now that's out of the way.

a few months ago i leapt from at plane. i plummeted to the earth at well over 120 m.p.h. from almost 3 miles straight up. the feeling was nothing short of exhilerating. i don't have the capacity to properly describe it in words. believe that i've tried. instead, i re-edited the video they gave me upon leaving to suit my take on the experience.

the song is "Olsen Olsen" by the band Sigur Ros.
very, very special thanks to M.P.G.

THE MISERY OF JON ARBUCKLE

my elementary school used to have some sort of arrangement with a book seller. once a week, we'd get a pamphlet of books for sale. i think it was called The Weekly Reader. i'm sure the idea was to encourage reading but most kids would spend their parents' money on the babysitters' club, maybe a choose your own adventure book or some mad libs. not exactly mind expanding literature. my investment was in comic strips and for a period of 5th grade, i was mildly amused by Garfield books.

years later, i noticed something that entirely changed the comic in my mind. most of the strips are of Jon Arbuckle and his cat Garfield. Jon speaks to Garfield and he responds. my revelation was that Jon's speaking appears in a speech balloon above his head while Garfield's replies are in thought bubbles. little clouds. while Jon is having this conversation out loud, Garfield is having an inner monologue. to the reader, it's an interactive conversation, but in Jon Arbuckle's reality, he's talking to his silent house cat.

then, some time ago, while wondering if anyone else thought this was weird, i came across a site in which someone removed all of Garfield's thought bubbles. it made the comic as if you were witnessing the comic first hand. a lonely guy having conversations with himself.

i thought of it again today for some reason and tried to find the site. instead, i found something even better. its called GARFIELD MINUS GARFIELD.

instead of just taking out Garfield's thoughts, which Jon can't hear anyway, someone omitted Garfield entirely. without the distraction of the orange cat's presence, you get a clear look at how deep Jon Arbuckle's problems really are. here's a sample...

(click to enlarge)

"Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb."

-from garfieldminusgarfield

there are a lot more here. head over and take a ride on the roller coaster that is the fractured, unstable psyche of Jon Arbuckle.

PLANET QUARK

one time, when i was a boy, my dad offered a suggestion to help me fall asleep. my issue wasn't so much of a rebellion against bedtime but an overactive brain. dad told me i needed to stop thinking. he told me to close my eyes and think of the color black, like i'm suspended in an infinite sea of blackness. sure enough, before long, i was out.

about a week ago, i was lying in bed, exhausted and kicking the blankets in a mixture of confusion and frustration. i couldn't sleep. i closed my eyes and tried my dad's trick. as i focused on the darkness behind my eyelids, i imagined myself moving beyond the light spots that are forever in my periphery. seeking only black. mentally, i was moving forward into the endless void. i stopped thinking of black and just drifted. until it all backfired and i started thinking...

as i floated through an infinite fantasy, i thought of the quark.

an atom is, as far as we know, almost entirely empty space. a hydrogen atom is (i had to look this up) approximately 1/10,000,000th of a millimeter in diameter. the proton in the center of that atom is approximately 1/100,000th the size of the atom. the sole electron orbiting the proton is 1/1,000,000th the size of the atom. the distance between these two particles is enormous. to help grasp the scale, if an electron was as big as i am, the proton i circled would be almost 60,000 miles away.

these aren't even the smallest parts. they're made of smaller things. enter the quark.

the behavior of both atoms and galaxies are fairly similar. at least when you break it down to its simplest. the electron spins around the nucleus like the moon around the earth. like planets around our sun. like our solar system around the center of our galaxy. like our galaxies around yada, yada, yada... and on and on and on. there isn't a whole lot of difference between the big bang and the splitting of an atom, short of scale.

so, if we were all quarks, we couldn't comprehend something larger than an atom. it would be like how we can't comprehend something larger than the universe.

what if the universe, the biggest thing we can imagine, is actually like the atom - a finite piece of a much bigger puzzle that's simply too grand for our scope?

what if the we're just quarks hitching a ride?

i'm sure that any intellectual analysis of this idea of absurd insignificance would crumble it to it's foundation. i see holes in the logic already. i can't claim to be a scientist or a mathematician or a physicist. just a guy lost in a tangent of thought. still, the notion perplexed me for hours as i lay in my tiny bed, in my tiny room, trying to think of black.

OPERATION LACTOSE TOLERANCE

i'm a dairy fan. actually, i was a dairy fan, once upon a time. i loved milk. with loads of vitamins for strong bones and healthy skin and a scrumptious refreshment beyond comparison, can you really blame me?

approximately 6 or 7 years ago, after countless mysterious belly aches, i discovered i'd become lactose intolerant. hypolactasia for all the smart pants. i think i over dosed on the stuff. i had broken my leg near the ankle during my senior year of high school just before a two week trip to Spain. far be it from me and my hobbled state to hold up any walking tours of foreign lands. after only a few days, i left my crutches behind and walked on my cast. i returned to a very displeased doctor who informed me that my bones weren't healing. i got the same news a month later. then a month later. nervous that my bones were lacking in some vital minerals, i turned to the bottle. the jug actually. i binge drank milk. gallons. the bone began to mend slowly and after 6 months, i was in two shoes again. not days after the liberation, i broke it again in a roller blading mishap. with nowhere else to turn, i found the jug. it was calling me. comforting my pain with its creamy goodness.

of course this is all speculation, but i believe that my body's production of the lactase enzyme, the enzyme which breaks down lactose sugar found in milk, had shut down from the stress of my demands.

i have since been forced to change my diet. no more ice cream or milkshakes. no skim, 2% or whole. if i want milk, i pay the price, if not physically, monetarily. special Lactaid milk (with the lactase enzyme added) is nearly twice the price. cheese is out too, unless its aged. i have to take special pills along whenever i go out to eat.

i've spent close to a decade cowering to my own intestines. no more.no longer will i sit idly by while my guts hold the rest of me hostage. i'm drawing a line in the sand. i'm fighting back.

they say that humans are the only animals that continue to consume milk beyond infancy. they say that it's against evolution. against evolution? i say its the next step in evolution. by becoming my own guinea pig, i may just open the door to the next era of mankind. i'm approaching it like an addiction in reverse. i've begun slowly weaning milk back into my life. for the past couple months, i've been using half & half in my coffee. then this week, i bought regular milk. i'm drinking a cup of the blue cap each night.

my digestive system controls my intestinal tract, but i control my digestive system. i'm the boss. do you hear that, small intestines? who's yo daddy? i've got the brain and the muscles. what have you got? step out of line? fail to comply? i'll punch you. i'll eat indian food every night. i'll get that bypass surgery if i have to. i don't care. i'll do it. you WILL shape up or i WILL ship you out. digest milk or you're haggis.

that's not a threat, intestines. its a promise.

INTOLERANTS UNITE!

POLITICALLY CORRECT CANDY

about a week ago, i was watching a late night re-run of Seinfeld. George and Jerry were sitting in the coffee shop trying to figure out what the deal is with something or other. i wasn't really paying attention because on the counter in the background was a box of Cherry Clans.

i haven't seen Cherry Clans since i was a boy. back when i used to shop at the 5 & 10 for penny candy, pop rocks and candy cigarettes. on occasion, i'd splurge on a box of Cherry Clans to satisfy my sugar fix. sweet and sour, hard and soft, all in one. little round cherry flavored deliciousness to aid in ridding my mouth of all the unwanted baby teeth, once and for all.

in those days, i had no idea how offensive it was. in reality, i failed to understand the meaning behind the confusing name, the derogatory cartoons on the box or the asian inspired font of choice. i never thought twice about the confusing name. things didn't have to make sense when i was 8. it wasn't until seeing them in the distant set design of a sitcom did it suddenly occur to me that it was a play on Charlie Chan. i immediately sent my team of top notch researchers to investigate.

it turns out Cherry Clans were made by the Ferrara-Pan Confection Co.. Ferrara being the founder, pan being his preferred cooking utensil. the same Ferrara-Pan Confections Co. who brought you the Lemonhead, the Jawbreaker and the Atomic Fireball. originally, Cherry Clans were in fact called Cherry Chans. no beating around the bush.

i don't know if threats of anti-defamation litigation got the ball of change rolling, but the name was altered from "chan" to "clan". not too long afterward, the cartoons changed to less enthnically specific caricatures. then, finally, maybe sometime in the mid to late 1990's, the company did a total overhaul of its branding. virtually all of their fruit flavored candies hopped onto Lemonhead's back, freeloading on his (yes, Lemonheads have a gender) success. Cherry Clans are now Cherryheads.

i guess ancient greek warriors found the Alexander The Grape candy equally distasteful. they're sensitive about their humongous feet and indigo complexions, i suppose. i, for one, will miss the mohawk helmet with build in sideburn shields.

it seems good 'ole Johnny Appletreat has hung up his sauce pan hat and closeted his neon green coveralls for keeps. apple growers of america really must have caused a ruckus over Ferrara's insinuation of their misuse of cookware and the slandering of agricultural heroes.

while i understand the need to change the Cherry Clans, did the rest of the treats need equal reprimand. seriously. there were definitely a few times when i bought Alexander The Grapes over Lemonheads purely because i thought i'd look cooler with them in my shirt pocket. he was a conqueror after all. a legendary king, an american pioneer, and a crime solving detective. now they're just generic, bow tied bubble headed nerds. the unique intrigue of yesteryear has turned to unbridled confectionary conformity.

a side note to concerned parents looking out for the welfare of their offspring: the candy's image has changed. they are all now virtually indistinguishable to the color blind. no one's feeling will be hurt... but the candy now comes in almost twice the size with almost twice the candy. while your outrage has successfully shielded your children from the harsh atrocities of human nature, its of little defense against their future diabetes.

touché, Mr. Ferrara.
touché.

ADAPTATION

suffering from a bit of a busy mind and insomnia, i clambered from bed and attempted to lull myself to sleep with a movie. having not seen Adaptation in a while, i dropped the DVD into the player, and arranged myself comfortably on the couch. unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), the movie didn't provide the effect i was looking for. i stayed up watching it with focus until the final credits.

i was eager to see Adaptation when it was first released. its written by Charlie Kaufman and directed by Spike Jonze (the respective writer and director of Being John Malkovich). in the interim between the two projects, i became intrigued with both of them. i bought The Work of Director Spike Jonze as well, which compiles his best music video treatments on one convenient disc. i looked into other films written by Kaufman - a pursuit that led to me discovering the genius of Michel Gondry. Gondry's first feature film was the highly under-rated, Kaufman penned Human Nature. (it was originally planned to have Spike direct, but he was busy with another project and gave the script to his friend and fellow music video director, Michel). Gondry has since made a second movie from a Kaufman screenplay - Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. maybe you've heard of it.

i'm getting away from myself.

as i laid in a supine position on the couch, awaiting slumber, i took notice of some elements in the story that made it so much deeper than i had thought. i'd always viewed it as a genius script. a screenwriter, given the challenge of adapting a dry, virtually plotless novel about orchids, instead writes about the his own personal inner challenge of adapting a dry, virtually plotless novel about orchids. the movie only deals with the actual content of the original novel slightly. he blurs the borders between reality and fiction wonderfully. Kaufman even makes himself the main character, along with a completely imagined twin brother named Donald (a character made so convincing that both Charlie and the non-existent Donald were jointly nominated for an academy award). the story ends up being less about orchids and more about the mental anguish and struggle of the creative process.

what suddenly dawned on me in this viewing was the aspect that the movie credits the writing to Susan Orlean, Charlie Kaufman and Donald Kaufman. Susan Orlean wrote the novel, charlie wrote the script, so i pondered what Donald's part was. i was aware that he was a fictitious character, but one who is also garnering screen writing attributes. i hadn't given it much thought before.

charlie spends the first two acts dealing with the dilemma of not being able to turn the book into a movie. he's driven by his yearning to do something no one has done before. to use his writing as an art form to create something unique and original. unable to find a means to do so with the source material, and fighting hard against everyone who pushes him to make a "hollywood movie", his writhes in the turmoil of his own self doubt and feelings of failure and inadequacy. meanwhile, his screenwriting brother Donald is an inverted reflection of himself. he looks the same, lives in the same house, has the same job, but has the exact opposite personality. he's outgoing, confident and a bit trite. charlie has a hard time respecting him as a writer since he seeks originality in his work while Donald writes with formulaic hollywood cliches.

Donald submits his generic, hollywood thriller screenplay to Charlie's talent agent, and much to Charlie's disgust, its received with raves over it's brilliance. eventually, Charlie's frustration climaxes. at the urging of his agent, he turns to Donald for advice. from this point on until the end, i believe the writing of the script of the movie that i'm watching was taken over in the real world by Donald Kaufman, the imagined character in the movie. that is, believe it or not, as uncomplicated as i can put it.

almost immediately after Charlie surrenders and asks Donald how he would end the script, the film takes a dramatic right turn. suddenly, the fairly conservative and proper character of Susan Orlean is revealed to be a junkie on some weird drug derived from an endangered strain of orchids. this drug is supplied by John Laroche, the main character of Orlean's novel. this junkie/addict relationship becomes an adulterous love affair. after charlie is caught spying on the pair having sex through a window, he's captured and they plot his murder to save face. Donald, who suddenly seems to have become the hero, saves Charlie from being shot. they escape in a foot chase through the florida swamps, then sneak back to the car in the morning. Donald is shot by Laroche out of nowhere and they take off in the car. again, out of nowhere, they hit a ranger's car head on in a high speed collision and Donald dies as a result. Laroche and Orlean catch up and Charlie, again, fleas on foot into the swamp. just before Laroche has a chance to shoot Kaufman, he's attacked and killed by an alligator. then, rather abruptly, Charlie is back home. the girl he's secretly been in love with tells him she loves him. the movie ends with the song "Happy Together" by The Zombies (the same song Donald mentioned he wanted to use in his movie about a serial killer with multiple personality disorder - also genius since he's basically one of charlie's personalities himself). the music, the characters and even the cinematography changes.

all the things charlie refused to do in his writing appear in the final act. he even states in the beginning that "he wanted to stay true" and not to make it a typical hollywood movie with love affairs and drugs and car chases and guns. the characters spout some cheesey lines. their even a couple shots of Chris Cooper's bare back side and a sex scene. Donald, who was trying to find the fast track to becoming a screenwriter, was taking a course earlier in the film which taught people the formula for making hollywood films.

now, i see this movie on so many more levels. i had previously thought that Charlie had just given up and sold out. that he'd turned toward the usual stereotypes. or, possibly, as a play off of the earlier scene in which he says "little happens in real life" and he's ridiculed by the screenwriting guru for being so very wrong. now i see he just made a cleverly disguised joke about film making. for most of the movie, Donald was seen as a joke. a self assured guy but a goofy, uncreative writer. Charlie demeans his script about a serial killer, his victim and the cop hot on his trail as tired, overused and typical. and the audience agrees. honestly, it sounds like a movie i've already seen a dozen times. a slower movie about the creative journey quickly turns into every cliche in mainstream cinema. all the people who claimed the movie to be be boring but were suddenly enthralled by the climactic ending (and there were A LOT of those people) were really being laughed at. it really is genius.

LAUGH TRACKS

for some inexplicable reason today, i was thinking about scooby doo. i haven't seen a scooby doo cartoon in years. maybe thanks to my brother's velma quote last night. whatever the cause, its been on my mind.

while i enjoyed it from time to time, scooby doo was never a staple in my cartoon diet. i attribute this to several things that always bothered me about it. shaggy and scooby are idiots. they make the same false presumptions and blunders in every episode. stupid is only funny for so long. then, nearly every villain is foiled by their lack of intelligence and coordination. that didn't seem right to me. also, every episode was essentially the same. the icing on the cake was the laugh track. i just don't understand why any show would use a laugh track.

i don't think anyone is fooled by a laugh track. no mass of people ever erupts into joyous exaltations only to all stop on a dime, or, even worse, fade out to silence.

"ha haha ha aahah ha ha haha" (...and then crickets)

i remember sitting on the couch as a boy, aware of the process involved in animating drawings to make a cartoon (i was a kid who loved to draw after all), and suddenly noticed the canned laughter for the first time. it really confused me. i knew it couldn't be from a studio audience. i think my mom explained to me that it was prerecorded and added to the show to make it funnier. i felt so cheap and used. manipulated like the suckers being terrorized by the swamp creature who's really just a disgruntled butler trying to keep people away long enough for him to dig up a buried chest of gold coins.

curse that mangy dog and those meddling kids!

PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE & THE WOMAN IN RED

one of my favorite things in the world is the moment of realization. the wake up call when suddenly you see or hear or understand something that had previously gone unnoticed. it fills you up with pride and revelation. it borders on epiphany.

for a film to be considered for "favorites" status, it needs to hold up to repeated viewings. if i state that a movie is one of my favorites, it means i've willingly watched and enjoyed it, on some level, at least half a dozen times.

Punch-Drunk Love is one of my favorite movies.

in fact, all of P.T.Anderson's films would fall into that category. Magnolia, Hard Eight, Boogie Nights. even the video he did for Fiona Apple's version of "Across The Universe". but today, i'm just focusing on one, Punch-Drunk Love, and the moment of realization.

the movie is fairly unconventional in many ways. Adam Sandler starred in his first non-comedic role. Jon Brion composed another wonderful score. Jeremy Blake, a video artist who also did the album art for Beck's "Sea Change", contributed the dreamy segues and subtle special effect overlays. critically, it wasn't received well.

here we go. Sandler plays the part of Barry Egan. he's a horribly lonely man who runs a warehouse of novelty goods. he discovers an error in a healthy choice offer, which pays out frequent flyer miles for UPC's from healthy choice products. realizing that they've overlooked their pudding, he begins purchasing all the inexpensive healthy choice pudding he can find to accumulate a vast amount of miles for a relatively small investment. throughout it all, Barry suffers from deep depression and loneliness as a result of the lifelong torment and bullying of his seven older sisters. he teeters constantly on the verge of a total breakdown. he's incredibly insecure. he's a pathological liar. he has violent, self destructive outbursts. he has anger management issues and problems expressing himself. he has an anxiety disorder. he's generally mentally damaged all around. one morning, one of his sisters calls to inform Barry of her intent to set him up with her coworker, Lena. he panics and avoids it. then she brings her by his warehouse and somehow, she finds him sweet and asks him out to dinner. she's sweet, compassionate, tolerant, honest and wholesome, he's so very flawed, and yet they fall for each other. then, a problem arises and he abandons her. when he returns, he asks for forgiveness and enough time to get all the frequent flyer miles he has coming to him so he can travel with her (for her job) and never leave her again. the film end apparently after this time has passed. Lena suddenly walks into Barry's warehouse, wraps her arms around him, and says the words, "Here we go."

romantic, right? the two kids made it work. that's what i thought at first, but then immediately thought it was bound to fail. she'd never really gotten the full view of Barry that, we, the viewers, had. she wasn't aware of how mentally stressed he was. as positive as the ending seemed at first, i immediately doomed the relationship. i figured it was only a matter of time before this "perfect" girl found out what Barry was really like and split. Lena just seemed too good for him. she just hadn't realized it yet.

then i had my moment of realization. the movie is chock full of symbols and metaphors (which i totally adore. i'll probably write a post on that alone one day). Barry wears blue all the way through the movie. Lena, for the most part, wears red. He meets Lena in the very beginning, though he didn't know she was the girl he would later find out that his sister was trying to set him up with. she shows up in a red dress and asks Barry if he can watch her car until the garage next door opens up. shortly afterward, Barry goes to the grocery store to try and find the cheapest Healthy Choice product. The camera is face to face with Sandler as he walks past the ends of each aisle. in the background, slightly out of focus, Lena parallels his path at the opposite end of the aisles. he turns, and she quickly ducks away. i'd never noticed this until recently and it changed the whole film for me. Lena is stalking Barry. the dropping off of her car could easily be passed off as curiosity, but when added to the grocery store stalking, it changes to something more. Lena even mentions that she saw a photo of him and had to meet him. she's has flaws and secrets as well.

its a happy ending now... sort of.

WON'T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOR?

today, i had to do a house call for my job. some of the lead work around the border of a stained glass window i'd made got marred during its installation. it was up to me, "the specialist", to remedy the situation to put a smile back on our customers face. since the meeting was scheduled for shortly after when i typically take my lunch break and the house wasn't far from my place of residence, i left early and went home for lunch.

i'm never home during the day, so, out of curiosity, i flipped on the t.v., just to see what they broadcast mid-day. i can only pick up about 7 channels. 1 had a spanish talk show. 2 had soap operas. 3 had court room reality shows. PBS had Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood.

i left it there and went into the kitchen to whip up some grub. as Fred belted out the theme song in his quiet, elderly man voice, the words suddenly seemed a little creepy to me.

maybe because i've always had a weird connection in my head with Mr. Rodgers and Bob Barker. since Bob has run into sexual harassment trouble in the past, it is unfairly possible that i've passed that on to Fred. but its still a bit peculiar. i never thought so before. maybe its because i wasn't watching the little old man perform it. to just hear the words...it had a strange, desperate, stalkery vibe.

the rest of the episode was about how Lady Elaine had gone to King Friday for a restraining order against Mr. Rodgers. she claimed he constantly pestered her and would often come knocking after oggling her through her windows with "his gigantic evil eye". since it had begun, she's developed a nervous "blushing" disorder (though Fred put the blame for her afliction on her decades of binge drinking). as he wasn't a native to the Land of Make Believe, he was appointed a lawyer by the american embassy but due to the overwhelming amount of evidence that had been amassed against him, in the end, it didn't matter. Fred won't be taking that trolley ride for a while.

oh, then he got a "special delivery" (surveillance equipment, no doubt).

[cut to credits]