“Never get out of bed before noon.”
- Charles Bukowski
“Never get out of bed before noon.”
- Charles Bukowski
Where did it all go? You know, all the glamour and magic this world once had? It’s strange to think a world like that even existed. With all the fast food chains and unnecessary “in-your-face” advertisements, it’s easy to forget that there was something beautiful going on decades ago. Within simplicity, beauty was found. Now, the bigger, the better. Less is never more, and we all delude ourselves in believing that the time is now. Sometimes, that belief is true. None of us can deny that we have benefitted from everything that has been handed to us. In this age, your relatives, living across the ocean are merely a Skype call away. Or any opinion that you might have can simply just be put out into the world without a single thought. We hide behind these screens, the same hiding I am doing right now, and just rant or rave about a person, an event or a decision that was made by people of much higher positions than us. Granted, that embodies some mystery. A mystery that begs the question: “Who is this person, and why is she complaining about the obviously “simpler” world she is living in?” But this superficial mystery is nothing compared to the mystery that was embodied during the older eras. If you have not guessed already by the title, I did see Saving Mr.Banks today. The movie itself, was not strong, but that didn’t stop me from crying my eyes out. There were many explanations of my tears, some more literal than others like P.L Travers, portrayed by Emma Thompson, finally giving in and tapping along to “Let’s Go Fly a Kite,” but there was more…emotional explanation, which was, simply put, where did the magic go? When did that last sprinkle of fairy dust disappear? And why? Did we use it all up with our need for making money and changing things that didn’t need to be changed in the first place? I don’t know…And do not tell me you haven’t thought about living in another era, just to get a taste of those people and what they were capable of doing. People we have only truly ever experienced on the screen. The Marilyns, the Chaplins, the Disneys. The Bette Davis’ and the Humphrey Bogarts. The Hepburns. Both Katherine and Audrey. The list goes on and on and on…Now, I know it’s not wise to live in the past, but we can’t help but feel nostalgic at times. Without these bursts of sentimentality, I’m afraid that the magic that is deep within us, sinks farther and farther. For some, the magic is gone forever, and we can’t really blame them. It’s hard to hold onto something when you’re not trying. But for those of you, who feel the magic brewing inside yourselves, all I ask is to let it consume you. Let it take over. Let is just wash over you like buckets of lukewarm water cleansing your skin. This world needs more magic, and not technological “magic” or scientific magic, but actual, indescribable, unconventional magic. It all starts with a spoonful.
So, my friends and I have a Facebook group that is secret, which means that only the people in the group can see it and see other members posts. Usually, its just gossip and talking about that cute boy in Junior year, but out of the blue, my friends posted about society’s obsession with horror films. This is how the conversation went:
G- “So I’ve been thinking,
Why do we, as human beings, get pleasure from watching horror movies? I mean, when you really think about it, it’s pretty perverse. Not to mention the fact that they are mostly focused on kids OUR age or only a few years older getting picked off and murdered one by one… Think about how petrified we’d be if we were in the situation. We laugh, we scream, we cry (well, Val does) but we actually ENJOY watching children die.
That’s pretty fucked up.
S- “ I for one, do not at all get any pleasure from watching a horror movie, first off i do believe in paranormal activity and i am scared of it so i don’t want to watch it and i have the mentality that if i am seeing someones leg get hacked off or brain get eaten or face get ripped of and worn, they have a way of making it so real that i might as well be watching it happen for real as, in a weird far removed third person way, i hate that i hate it it does nothing for me it never will, being scared is not a thrill for me at all, it is something i avoid the best i can of course being scared in a funny way is better than being scared for real so its good to keep your emotions balanced but I cant attest to being a ‘human’ who finds perverse joy in scary films because i hate them, but i do find pleasure in controversial situations, physical fights, people screaming or breaking down, any type of out of the ordinary fit of emotion really excites me, which i think is far more perverse. Then again straight up dying is way less terrifying than not dying, so being thrilled by the death scenes is not that perversed because its almost a relief, being emotionally, psychologically and physically tortured with no end would be a creepy thing to get excited from watching.”
G- “I catch your drift S but I don’t that a large about of people (primarily horror movie fans) would actually agree with the statement that death is considered a release. Most would argue that the survivors are the lucky ones opposed to the teenage girl who gens skinned alive or hacked to death. I too do not enjoy horror movies, I personally can’t handle the anxiety, but at the same time I think its important to acknowledge that they appeal to a HUGE amount of people. I also disagree with you saying that finding pleasure or at least excitement in more realistic emotional trauma is more perverse. I think a huge part of good film making and acting is based on peoples’ ability to relate to it. You’re supposed to be able to understand, and in a sense, feel relief that people experience similar or worse situation and feelings to you. Think about stand up comedy for example, people find self-derogatory humor amusing because they relate, its instinctual. Whereas very few people albeit Ed Gein and psychopaths can relate to being tortured.”
K- “I mean S said it all for me. It’s not the killing off that terrifies me, its the slow torture. And this is quite perverse, but as a viewer, I am more interested in the chase than the catch. That’s where it’s wrong. Death is inevitable. It knocks on everyone’s door, but torture makes you ask the question: “Why me?” Whether it is emotionally or psychologically (more psychologically) they are far more terrifying and more twisted than any leg or arm being chopped off.”
S- “Yeah I mean I do like what you say G about relating it to the audience and such and that is why the more complex emotional terror movies are the ones that last and time transcending unlike insidious or prom night that are more about the gore but I just horror movie insinuates somewhat of a superficial and systematic thrill that you get from watching ‘horror scenes’ its less sophisticated than a psychological thriller which sticks with you longer and plants seeds in your brain and terrifies you equally from what is and isn’t said, this I do not enjoy but nor do i enjoy the more graphic subcategory of horror films that are cheaply scary, do these thrill you, or do movies like silence of the lambs, or no country for old men types thrill you, cause you know there is a difference and i do agree that it would be perverse to get off in a way from either of these, it is also important to define the words joy and thrill…”
K- “Like I find, Requiem for a Dream so much more frightening and chilling than a blood&gore movie. A person’s battle with him/herself and their downward spiral is far more unnerving and unfortunately, fascinating, to me than anything else…I am engaged in their breakdown and eventually their demise. That’s what I find sick. The fact that I can watch Piranha 3D and see a girl’s boob being bitten off, I can actually have a chuckle and then forget all about it. But how Ellen Burnstyn in Requiem becomes so enslaved to drugs for the idea of glamor, I actually can’t take my eyes off the screen, and it sticks with me.”
S- “Yeah, and I think you’re right K, getting locked in your brain and being a self-saboteur is some nasty shit…”
So yeah, this is just the short version of our conversation. What do you guys think? Which is more perverse? Blood and gore horror films or the psychological thrillers?
Again, so sorry about the wait. College Apps, You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown production, Extended Essay, Theatre Independent Projects and just overall the IB is kicking my ass.
So, I know I haven’t posted in a while, but I have been insanely busy. IB stress and work, college applications AND assistant directing the High School musical have literally taken over my life. I just wanted to say that, and also say that I will try and be back soon!
I told you I’d be back! I forgive you all for doubting me for a second, any more than that, I am truly hurt. :)
So, I just wanted to talk about a very stressful and significant period that I am going through in my life. The college process. Most of you have probably already went through it or are in the same boat as me, going through it while trying not to drown. It’s difficult, isn’t it? The whole thing. So many factors that play into this idea that you might not be good enough for a school. You are unwanted for being who you are. It’s a shame really because there are so many beautiful and bright kids out there who might not excel in school, and because of that they won’t be able to show how they can excel in a different environment like college. This is a question for you all: How many well-rounded people do you know? Do we even know what well-rounded really means? It means having a personality that is fully developed in all aspects. Jesus Christ! What 17/18 year old has a personality that is fully developed? You really only start to get close to figuring out who you are and what you believe in, what people are worth it or not, weeding out the good from the bad, in High School. At least, that is the way it was for me.
The thing is I am still not comfortable with who I am. I want to do better and be better. I have so much more to go and do before I am ready to be judged on paper. And this whole paper bullshit. I understand that colleges don’t have the time or energy to meet with every student that applies, but how can you truly know someone just by reading a 650 word essay and looking at their extra-curricular activities? Maybe more Skype calls would be beneficial or have a student send in a creative video about a favorite activity or something they feel is necessary for the admission officers to know. Just to give our applications a bit of life and pizzazz.
You send in a few papers and indirectly beg for acceptance and financial aid. I have learned that it’s not smart to have a dream college. The desire to get into Harvard, Yale, Princeton etc. will become so strong that it will overpower you. If you are accepted, it will be the best day of your life maybe, but if you are rejected…putting so much heart and soul into an application and just being denied from your dream…I don’t even want to imagine it. That’s why I decided that any school I get into, I will be perfectly content. I will still have fun and I will still learn and make friends hopefully wherever I go. That’s a big hopefully though…
It’s a crazy system, but I do know that it has to happen because out of hundreds and thousands of papers, after the blood, sweat and the inevitable tears, your application will be accepted and you will get that feeling of adoption. Someone chose you. Someone wants you. To someone the way you looked on paper was just right.
As you all know, I have become a very prominent food and restaurant critic over the past 2 years. I have no one to thank for my success but my taste buds and my sharp tongue. Restaurants quiver at my name and I thrive from that fear. They get a one-week notice prior to my arrival to prepare and somehow get their shit together. In my opinion, a week is too undemanding. A restaurant as horrid as that Denny’s I reviewed last month can mask their true repugnant identity in that amount of time. I don’t have the energy to expose their countless flaws and blemishes. Restaurants should always be impeccably clean, with the most polite servers who present to me the most delectable dishes as swiftly as they possibly can. Is that too much to ask from a critic in this field? I expect excellence when it comes to the restaurant’s appearance and service. However, I require perfection when dealing with the food they are serving me. I automatically know whether or not there is too much parsley in my salad or if my soup is lacking a pinch of salt. I may be picky, but I know the difference between a good meal and a superb dish. That is why I am respected and considered the best in my profession. It is not a matter of opinion, but of facts. Now, before I start reviewing the restaurant of the month, I just need to state, I am willing to accept any and all consequences that I shall receive after this review is published. As I said, I am known for my harshness and I embrace it.
I arrived at Spill at precisely 7:40. My reservation was at eight. However, I prefer to be a tad early to give the staff a bit of a scare. The restaurant is situated in a very lively, hip area where I assume many college students “hang out.” I could tell I stuck out like a sore thumb, but there are only two categories I never managed to excel in. Likeability and adapting to my surroundings. As soon as I paid the taxi driver, (a young man, who only needed to hear the name Spill to know exactly where I wanted him to take me) I stepped out of the cab and saw in cursive letters: Spill. The last “L” funnily enough, seemed to be spilling, extending all the way down to the metal blue door of the restaurant. I climbed up the glass-looking stairs with caution and I marked down a point for being a safety hazard. The door wasn’t as heavy as it looked, so I swung it open with ease, making a loud sound, which caused the cacophony in the restaurant to cease. The place was packed, however still quite airy. I admit my skin prickled from embarrassment, because of my grand entrance, but I maintained my composure. I hope.
I went up to the hostess, who was dressed in ripped jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt. She had piercings all over her face and I’m sure in some other places, but I am not allowed to say where. She greeted me with a truly genuine smile and welcomed me to Spill. She didn’t seem to know who I was, which slightly confused me. Did she not get my one-week notice?
“Alright, table for…?”
She definitely did not get my one-week notice.
I kept looking at her, waiting for her to realize who I was, but the realization never came. She led me to my table in the corner. There were no chairs, just booths with lots of throw pillows that didn’t match each other and seemed to be previously owned. I sat down on a pink one with small black roses embroidered on it. I lifted myself back up and moved the pillow away. The hostess waited for me to get comfortable and then said:
“That one was mine.”
She gave me a warm smile and told me my waiter would be with me in just a moment. With that, she strolled away and I watched her go. Her shirt had risen up a bit so I was able to see her tattoo on her lower back. It was black rose.
The waiter came straight away. His name was Jeff, with a tattoo of an elephant on his face. I don’t think I was in Kansas anymore. He asked me what I wanted to drink, gave me a menu and a few minutes. I glanced at the menu and immediately chose the club sandwich. A sandwich is extremely difficult to make. Many people will disagree, but a mediocre sandwich is often mistaken for a completely decent one. So many factors that can go wrong in a sandwich. Too much tomato, not enough lettuce, meat is too dry, bread is too soggy and so on. I look around and examine the restaurant. It was a very trendy space. Artists and writers discussing music. Students arguing about the conspiracies of past history. No one seemed pretentious or pompous. There was no smell of competition in the air, whose life changing experience was the most…well, life changing. It was quaint. It was cool. Most of all, it was refreshing. And I had only marked down one point. Service was friendly, place was spotless. Lighting was comforting; the music was gentle, but audible enough to enjoy it. My sparkling water with lemon arrived in a matter of minutes and for the first time in a long time; I was content with the restaurant I was dining in.
In exactly 12 minutes, my sandwich had arrived. It looked like any other sandwich. No burnt edges, more of a golden brown. The insides were neatly packed in with a toothpick pierced through the center. I stared at the sandwich for quite a while, or until people around me got somewhat uncomfortable. I picked it up and took a huge bite right in the middle. The sandwich was delicious, an absolute pleasure. I chewed every piece slowly, so I could savor the delectable taste. But wait, something was missing. Something important. Something so significant that it could ruin a sandwich almost immediately. But I didn’t know what. I kept eating, now focusing more on what it needed, instead of what it had to offer. Then I got it. How could I not have noticed it before? It was so simple, yet so timeless. Mayonnaise. This club sandwich had no mayonnaise. Right then and there, I paid for my mayo-less sandwich, sparkling water and left immediately, slipping out of the restaurant as quietly as I wanted to enter it.
I give the restaurant two stars out of five and the reason for it, is not because there was no mayonnaise in my club sandwich, (even though that played a major part) but because the entire restaurant was a façade, a simulation, an illusion. Its so-called “trendiness” and “cool factor” clogged up my critical senses and for a second there, I actually thought it was a decent restaurant. Thank god for the lack of or should I say, the non-existence of mayonnaise, that cleared up the fog for me and truly made me see what a charade Spill is. No mayonnaise…how preposterous!
It has been so long. Too long, and I apologize for that. Summer ended, school has been crazy and very work-filled and the stress of the IB is really kicking in. I just got back from New Orleans, and I’m going to try and be frequent in my posts, because I have missed this <3
Every family says it about themselves. “We are such a crazy family.” I don’t know how to explain to you all how batshit insane my family is. This is not me lashing out on my family, but merely an observation. I have closely observed this species for 18 years of my life, and I have come to the conclusion that everyone is crazy in their own way. It’s a big family too, and I’m not even going to count the little ones. We all have these psychological disorders that we simply joke about, but I think everyone in my family needs their own personal therapist. We all have our very own impulse-control disorders. Oh yes, disorders such as Dermatillomania (skin-picking). My sister, my cousin and myself have that. Just constantly trying to correct something on your skin that isn’t there. Trichotillomania (hair-pulling). I have that and so did my little brother. Everyone has mood disorders. I’m a big one in that department with just the everyday mood swings. I would consider my big sister bipolar with excessive mood swings. My grandmother has major depressive disorder. I have crazy paranoia, but then again so does my grandfather. My cousin and my mother are incredibly obsessive-compulsive. Avoidant personality disorder? We got it! Dependent Personality Disorder? Don’t worry about it; we got you covered! You want Borderline Personality Disorder? Step right up, we hand that shit out!
Of course, none of us are diagnosed and I don’t think we even need to be, but that doesn’t mean we’re not 100% crazy. I don’t mean to take personality disorders lightly at all, because I know people who actually have them and have to live with them, I’m just merely pointing out the bizarreness that is my family. We’re all so close and everyone needs to know everyone else’s business. There is no privacy. You have to fight for it. And almost all the women in my family are dominant figures, so I kinda have to fight for my place there too. I also didn’t want to scare anyone with this post, because the fact of the matter is that with all the crazy, and the fire, and everything else that makes our family…there comes an immense amount of love, and care, and nurture. It’s a family that can’t ever be broken. A kind of family that will never lose touch and just continue to grow bigger and bigger. It’s hard to come into this family as a boyfriend or a girlfriend, a new husband or wife, because you will be met with a whole lot of passion, aggression, emotion, doubt, wonder, secrets, but the thing is…if you are just as psycho as the rest of us…it will be a match made in heaven, because you’re not just marrying the girl or boy in this family, you’re marrying the family…and that is a big commitment that many have shown they weren’t ready for. There is so much talent in this family: artists, actors, writers, athletes…So you better be secure with who you are, because you’re up against very skilled individuals who just want to see what you can bring to the table.
More than anything, it is such a blessing to be a part of this family of crazies. You’ll learn more, you’ll laugh for more and most importantly, you’ll love more, because in this family of psychos, you are cared for.
I’m a big fan of Inside the Actor’s Studio and if you guys haven’t seen any of the interviews, then I suggest you go on Youtube type in your favorite actor/actress and Inside the Actor’s Studio. Its a lot of fun to watch and you learn a lot about your favorite actor. The host, James Lipton is a professional when it comes to interviewing the stars. He knows what questions to ask, when to ask them and all in front a group of film students. He does so much research to prepare for a single interview and each question indefinitely comes with a long, fascinating answer. At the end of the interviews, which usually last for an hour, Lipton conducts a questionnaire thats consists of 10 questions. 10 very simple questions that teach you a lot about a person’s…well, personality. After I learned about these questions, I started using them whenever I felt it was necessary. On first dates, during random meetings with cute boys on the holidays, basically whenever the ice needed to be broken. It really does the trick, because the answers lead to stories which lead to long conversations and an eventful date/encounter/meet cutes etc. It has helped me a lot in providing interesting conversation so if you guys are ever on a date and there is that infamous awkward silence…whip this questionnaire out. You’ll be happy you did! Or not…depending on the answers.
So, since I do this questionnaire for everyone, no one has actually ever done it to me, so like the recluse that I am, I shall give myself the questionnaire. And so you guys can see the questions!
1. What is your favorite word?
2. What is your least favorite word?
3. What turns you on (creatively, emotionally, spiritually etc)?
Inspiration; an inspired person
4. What turns you off?
5. What is your favorite curse word?
Fuck or Sheni Deda Vatire
6. What sound or noise do you love?
The light patter of rain on a tin roof
7. What sound or noise do you hate?
That sound of complete silence. It’s so quiet that you hear a ringing…No? Just me? Okay.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Travel Journalist…maybe…I don’t know…I have a lot of ideas.
9. What profession would you not like to do?
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
“I had a blast with you!”
And that’s the questionnaire everyone! You can ask your friends, your significant others, random people on the street and you could even leave your answers in the comment section for this post! I’d love to hear your answers!
Hope you all had a good weekend