as good as depressing gets

i got moved at work so my writing is going to get more secretive and much shorter. i'm like a spy behind enemy lines, squished next to important people, trying to continue doing something remotely movie-related.

amour, a few thoughts:

1. if i'd seen it last year it would've been the best film of '12. small, beautiful, a careful tabulation of death and what we do to get through the grief of it all. this film does not fuck around and when the credits rolled last night, a near-capacity audience sat in silence, awed by the emotion on display. someone tried to clap, and no one picked up the baton.

2. like Sideways was a film made for the forty-five plus set, this is a film made for any and all under the age of 60. it's such a probing, honest depiction of how hard it is to slowly die, i can't recommend it to anyone who's even relatively close to kicking the bucket in fear that it might leave them empty shells unable to move forward with the rest of their grey-haired lives.

3. i have list formulating in my mind called one-shots: great films i'll never see again. this is certainly one of them. a gut-punch in celluloid form, this movie splays you out over the coals before dropping a ten pound anvil on your genitalia. i loved this movie, but will die happily if i never see it again.

4. michael haneke is a genius. get over that. the film opens with front-facing shot of a crowd watching a performance. we the audience watch another audience watch us. it's a trick of the director's, showing us how hard it is to be watched, to have control over our audience, and it works especially well in this setting. we watch the crowd watch us and it drives home the point: this, what you're about to see is something that can, and will happen to you. this could be you in this film, slowly dying or watching someone else you love above all else slowly dying. you are as much the subject as you are the audience. it's terrifying.

5. this is a film built on small things. a hand touch, a problem pouring tea, a pigeon and a blanket. haneke doesn't try to wring drama out of the subject matter, he just lets what might happen, happen and because of this choice, you become a willing voyeur on the end of this couple's life. powerful shit.

if you haven't seen this film yet and aren't going to because someone said it was too sad or that it was depressing or a window on to life, those people are right, and you're a coward for avoiding honest-to-god near perfect filmmaking because of subject matter.

i bow my head in shame towards you.

--

criterion counsel: first podcast being recorded this weekend. i'm still mired in the first twenty minutes of the new film ... sigh ...

django unchained, a second viewing

i try to see every Quentin Tarantino film at The Castro in San Francisco. it's a big beautiful old theater with an organ player and the kind of ceilings that are 200 feet tall and inscribed with gold detail and an art-deco chandelier that hangs precariously over the audience. the type of place that you can watch Lawrence of Arabia one night and see Peaches Christ present Scream 4 another. it is, with out a huge amount of research, my favorite theater in the world. i once told CC that i'd move to The Castro only to be closer to the theater. 

Tarantino himself has claimed it to be his favorite theater in the world, and I had this in mind on Sunday afternoon when I sat down for a second viewing of last year's Southern masterpiece Django Unchained. I'm a huge fan of the film and have found myself in hotter critical water than I care to be at most times defending it against the slack-jawed, mouth-breathers who claim it to be insensitive or, and my blood boils just writing this, "racist". I'm easily wowed by quality filmmaking though and I thought maybe upon second viewing I might be able to better see what the dimbulbs of film viewing thought was true.

I was, happily, wrong.

A few thoughts on Django Unchained:

1. It is a major, major travesty that Jamie Foxx wasn't nominated for Best Actor at this year's Oscar ceremony. Foxx's portrayal of freed slave Django Freeman is one of the great portrayals of the hero-journey ever captured to film. What starts as a quest for violent retribution becomes the story of a changed man, it becomes the story of the end of slavery to be quite honest and Jamie Foxx, near silent in the film, wears the entire transformation on his face, in his body, in the sheer physical confidence he exudes throughout the film. Moments before the credits roll, when Jamie Foxx quite unexpectedly pulls out a few horse tricks atop Tony, his trustful steed, you know, this is a man done changed, and Foxx makes you believe every second of it.

2. This is not a racist film. This is not an insensitive film. This is a beautifully made bit of cinema that deftly foots the line between the humorous and the horrific. Yes, there are horrible moments (the mandingo fight at The Cleopatra Room the hardest for me) and yes at times they are sandwiched between moments of caustic humor and hard-fought action, but Tarantino doesn't use these to make the horror more palatable, he uses it to make the horror all the more terrible. By placing it in the context of a b-movie, he gives an easy, highly entertaining gateway for people to walk through, only to be buffeted by a great film that doesn't shy away from a terrible period in this country's history. This isn't a film making light of slavery, it's a film giving a broader access to the sheer horror of it all. It's good, solid, beautiful fun, with the darkest underbelly of all seething below it. 

3. The first time I saw the film I worried that it might be too long. That the dinner scene where Calvin Candie (Leonardo Dicaprio) goes crazy was too much Tarantino-speak, but on second viewing, it's a slow crank, a bit of real tension and unease that directly mirrors the atmosphere the audience must be feeling at this point. Our heroes aren't just locked away inside the 4th biggest plantation in Mississippi, more so they're locked in the South, surrounded by slavers and deeply racist, deeply violent people with little to no escape if their plan goes awry. The dinner scene is the tightening of the screw, each moment another build towards the shit hitting the fan and everything going wrong. Tarantino doesn't waste time, every moment of this film is important to the story, and every moment massively enjoyable.

If you haven't seen this film yet and are worried about gore or violence, buck up kiddies, this is a film people will be talking about when you're pushing 100. Get out there and see it or look back in ten years and say what was I thinking.

---

criterion counsel: kicked off film #130 ...

Roger Ebert, RIP

Roger Ebert passed away today from complications with throat and salivary gland cancer.

I wish I was famous enough or an important enough figure in writing to say that without Roger Ebert I wouldn't be the writer I am today and for it to actually mean something. Regardless, it's true.

My brother loved Ebert and because I always tried to emulate my brother creatively I searched him out. I remember being infuriated that Ebert loved The Phantom Menace and that he didn't absolutely hate Tomb Raider (and that his review of the film focused almost entirely on Angelina Jolie's chest) but feeling like I'd finally stumbled across someone who really just wanted to express how great film was and how much it meant to him.

I had a weird routine for a while, I'd obsessively read about films I hadn't seen (still do) and then before adding them the first of countless lists of films to see I'd make in my life, I'd go to Ebert's website and see if he thought them worthwhile on scale of 1 to 4 stars. Depending on that the film would, or would not, end up on an almost endless list of films. He was my standard on which to base everything.

From reading Ebert I realized that writing about film was as big a passion as possibly making film and from this realization I realized that I just love writing.

I saw Ebert speak using his keyboard technology at The Castro one night. He was introduced by Terry Zwigoff and Philip Kauffman and Errol Morris and he was still the most riveting speaker of the night. My girlfriend and I stumbled in to the night after the speech and a screening of Julia completely awed, inspired to create, to watch films, to live our lives with the same vigor as this man did.

Drew McWeeney, to be quite honest, a worthy successor to the Ebert Throne wrote a lovely article about Ebert and just what sort of human being he was. It's well worth a read.

We lost a big one today film-lovers, we lost a big one.

we aren't ready for old movies

i had the pleasure of seeing Steven Spielberg's dinosaur-eating-Jeff Goldblum classic Jurassic Park in 3D on Tuesday night (and don't doubt it, JP is a masterpiece, the kind of action blended with pathos and pure cinematic joy we just don't see in these days of computer graphics). on one hand, i'm glad that the re-emergence of 3D is giving these old movies a chance to be seen on the big screen by lifelong fans and a whole new generation of snot-nosed brats. it's great and it's nice to think that somewhere in the million dollar confines of the Hollywood System, some relic of a film lover is actually using 3D to their benefit. 

that said, i don't think the general film watching public is ready for a return to the recent classics.

a few thoughts:

1. we aren't a culture that holds the movie theater in high esteem anymore. almost person I know (aside from myself and few other hold-over hipsters still trying to cling to the past) have 50-inch flat-screen televisions, occasionally rent a flick off onDemand but spend most of their screen-time invested in the lives of Honey Boo Boo and her ilk. Movie theaters are hassles - they're expensive, they involve removing our asses from couches, if the movie you've just paid half a week's wages for isn't good, your only option is to sit and stare not pop off the couch and play on your computer. the halycon days of holding the theater up as a place of cultural relevance are long, long dead. 

2. not to say that movies aren't still making dollars. the mouth-breathers of the world (and the 5 percent of truly respectful film-lovers who still make the weekly pilgrimage) still want to throw down 30 dollars on snacks and a ticket and watch Kristen Stewart punch the heads off vampires. which is fine, great even, but the problem exists when the general public ends up settling down in the hallowed halls of cinema still thinking they're at home, on their couch, hanging out with their flat-top wearing boyf. then it's chit-chat and iphone talking and all the other horrible ticks we as a culture continue to develop.

3. old films (and by old, I mean 15 or 20 years and beyond), in the eye of popular, modern culture aren't films to be held on a pedestal anymore, old films are seen as jokes. little windows in to outdated parts of culture. every time a cellphone of surprising proportion or some outdated computer program streamed across the screen, every one in the theater took a break from chatting with their date our updating their FB profile, to chuckle. the 90s, so funny! it didn't feel like for a moment that anyone in that theater was their to revel in just how good a film JP was or just influential and amazing a director Steven Spielberg used to be, they just wanted to see how old dinosaurs look funny.

4. point 2 + point 3 = eeeeeeeeek. now we have stupid people attending great old movies for the wrong reasons. and stupid people + wrong reasons = a horrible viewing experience. those deft film fans who brave the masses to see an old picture on the big screen are going to have a rude awakening when instead of respectful film lovers, there's an audience of slow-blinking dimwits laughing every time someone says something about the internet. it's embarrassing and makes it seem that maybe we as a culture aren't ready for old films in chain theaters. and honestly, we probably never wil.

5. this is good and this is bad. keeping revival screenings relegated to actual churches of theater like The Castro or The New Beverly promises a certain amount of respect, the kind of viewing experience we can only hope for. that said, relegating them to these fine art spaces, keeps them out of the hands and pea-pod minds of a public that desperately needs to see that there's something better out there. 

just a thought.

--

criterion counsel: still waiting on my next one. my new partner and i are recording our first podcast this weekend though ... 

we're back ... ?

after almost three years away from this epic quest and much prodding from an older, more ambitious sanders and finally overtaking the three carl th. dreyer films that derailed the whole damn thing in the first place - the criterion quest is once again in full effect.

there's talk of a podcast and the addition of a second sanders' brother and a new website and so on and so forth, but for the moment, let us just watch some old, crazy foreign flicks and smile.

hope there's even a few readers floating out in the ether ...

--

criterion counsel: just finished the somber, prison-escape drama Le Trou (#129) and am now eagerly awaiting the first czech film in the collection The Shop On Main Street (#130). THE QUEST ... IT HAS BEEN RESURRECTED! 

laid out.

i've been sicker than a dog the last day or so.  i blame faulty chicken or some sort of airborne death cloud but my life has been relegated to couch and toilet.  thus, the lack of writing and such and such.  i'm mildly better today, drinking water is only vaguely stomach-unsettling, and the thought of food doesn't break me out in sweat.

that said, i haven't been doing a terrible amount of thinking either.  instead i spent the day tangled in blankets on a couch watching odd episodes of the Inspector Clouseau cartoon series from the late 1960s and revisiting the still brilliant Up.

really, i wish my brain was functioning properly so i could write more, but it ain't, so we'll call this a short one.

enjoy labor day weekend.  hopefully i'll be in full fighting fitness by tuesday.

watch this: CATFISH

friday was a bit poor in terms of my scheduling.  i'm in the midst of writing a story about exercise boot camps and have been putting off attending a particularly grueling 'boxing bootcamp' for weeks now.  friday was the big day, but after kiss the criterion conquistador goodbye and then lying in bed, dreading said bootcamp for four hours, i managed to sleep right through my 5:15 wake-up call.  

after waking up, i stumbled across town to one screening, which i arrived at punctually and with enough time to scan my book while i waited.  afterwards i had an hour to get down the street to see my second screening of the day. on bike i decided that i'd pop by a popular coffee shop and grab a cup before the film started to fight off the sleep that was nagging at my eyes.  sadly, the line for said popular coffee shop was so long and so slowly attended to, that even with a solid forty minutes between films, i was unable to get a cup of coffee.  now under-caffeinated and starving i had to settle for an apple and a bag of pretzels purchased from the 7-11 (that didn't have any change in any of the registers) as my screening snack.  perturbed but feeling better, i sauntered in to the screening of indie-documentary catfish, only to find that the film had started at 1:30 and i was already a half an hour late.

it's disconcerting to stumble in to a film late.  at home it doesn't make a difference, you just ask a bunch of questions to those watching and hope you didn't miss the juicy stuff.  in a theater though you have to push past a bunch of completely involved viewers and then quietly open your bag of pretzels and stare at the screen completely bewildered by what the fuck is going on.  to say the least my purchase of an apple and a bag of pretzels was predicated on the idea that i could eat one and open the other prior to the film, thus there wouldn't be bag crinkling and apple slurping.  poor choice.

with all of this falling around my shoulders though, the last hour or so of henry joost and ariel schulman's catfish totally floored me.  it's a documentary about a man who falls for a lady through facebook and, well, that's pretty much all i want to say.  the story that unravels within this picture says so much about the social media-soaked world we live in.  it's really a searing look at the idea of what it is to meet someone without ever having actually seeing them, and about the sort of pain we as human beings going through to combat loneliness and the abject dread of life failure.  

it's really all i can say without giving away too much.  but please, if you have the opportunity, you really need to get out there and see this film.

i, grouchy and hungry, loved the shit out of it, and i imagine if you're lucky enough to see the first half an hour it will only increase your love.

a little unfair

i saw a single man on tuesday night.  i thought it was a visually stunning film anchored by an impressive, unfolding performance by colin firth, an actor i often times overlook.  stylistically the film kills and you can see tom ford's obsessive need for all things beautiful blazed across it.  at times, especially near the end, the film falters with stiff performances and dialogue that can't ascend that, but in general it is a great film, original and challenging and one everyone should see.

and of course, everyone cannot.  the film, about gay man who months after the death of his life partner still fails to move past this love, is touching, beautiful, truly expressing in many scenes, what love is and what it must be like to no longer have that love in ones life.  there are hints, touches of sexuality, the glimpse of naked man (his genitalia artfully covered by shadow and pose) and of course the film, a scandalous occurrence in our modern times, is about a relationship between two men.

thus, the mpaa gives the film an r, limiting its release and applying a massive scarlet letter across it that reads 'this film is unfit for your children to see, possibly too disturbing even for you who might be weak of heart.'

i saw flipped this week as well.  rob reiner's new film about the budding romance between two eleven year olds set in the 1950s.  it's not a terrible film by any means, it adeptly shoots for a series of predictable plot points and with a few flourishes manages to hit them.  it is so predictable it borders on the provincial, barely attempting to push the status quo even for a moment.

and of course, everyone can see it. the film, again about a heterosexual relationship set in the 1950s was awarded a pg by the mpaa, opening its bland white-bread doors wide open for the entire world to feast their eyes upon.

i saw centurion this week as well (it's been a big week for films), the new film by genre-film master neill marshall.  the film follows a group of roman soldiers on the run behind enemy lines from a hunting party of dangerous pagans.  it is beyond gory.  there beheadings and impalings and throat-cuttings and spearings and all other forms of horrible blood-letting through out.  there is just as much skin of the man shown in this film as in a single man but all of this is buffered by some of the most entertaining bloodshed i've seen in a while.  it's a great gory picture, entirely unsuited for most children.

and of course, not everyone can see it.  the mpaa gave the film, quite accurately i believe, a hard-r for violence and thematics and child-murder.

a single man a touching, beautiful story about the grief of losing the love of your life gets an r.  flipped a low-key, period piece about meeting the love of your life gets a pg.  centurion a brutally violent tale of war and revenge gets an r.

seems a tad unfair if you ask me.  for the film and for those who won't have the opportunity to watch the film because it challenges conventional norms.

just saying.

happy 90th ray harryhausen!

who might you ask is ray harryhausen? just the most innovative stop-motion animator of all time.  the man who single-handedly helped to plant the love of the fantastical deep in to my mind.  the man behind jason and the argonauts' skeletal rampage, the man behind the one eyed-centaur battling a griffin to a punch-frenzy death, the man who made it possible to bring fantasy to life on the silver screen.

this god of the film world jumped the fence in to the pastures of nonagenerianism this past weekend and hopefully you, and your friends and family, got a chance to dive in to the smattering of retrospectives of his work that popped up across the country. i for one eschewed the societal trappings of friendship for five hours and, in the lovely castro theater, feasted on jason and the argonauts and the surprisingly entertaining golden voyage of sinbad.  i can't say that the directors the bookended the work of harryhausen's clay-genius always brought the most amazing films to bear, but i can certainly say that even fifteen, twenty years after seeing it, the arrival of titan talos in jason and the argonauts still had my glossy-eyed and slack-jawed.

harryhausen, may you live another 90.

what's in the theaters this weekend?

i used to write a column for another website that basically gave me the opportunity to predict which films i thought were going to smash at the box office and which films i thought were going to spew radioactive waste on time the lifeless forms of the viewers. i always thought it entertaining, but started to feel awkward because i wasn't actually seeing any of these films, i was just sort of guessing if they were going to be good or bad.  i wasn't offering the audience any sort true fact, just a series of educated guesses on what i thought might be the best film for them to actually spend their hard earned money on.

after being subjected to the wide world of reviewing, to seeing nearly every shitty film that exists on the planet that has plopped on to the silver screen, i've decided that, whether or not i've seen everything, i'm going to return to this educated guess system of critiquing.  hell, i'm seeing a lot of films that i usually wouldn't, and i'm buffering those with even more films, thus i think i can spend at least a small portion of time each week making sure you, my sensitive readers, don't mire yourself in some shit storm of a film because the advertising tricks you in to thinking it is an intelligent bit of comedy.  or on the other side of the spectrum, perhaps lead you towards a film that looks terrible, but is actually a glowing diamond in the rough.

the films

nanny mcphee returns, d. susanna white

cast: emma thompson, maggie gyllenhaal, ralph fiennes

what is it?: the sequel to the first film about nanny mcphee, a beloved though hideously warted english nanny whom takes a trio of children on a magical ride ... or something

prediction: you know, from the cast present, you'd think this film would be some sort of stuffy british period piece involving a comedy of manners and perhaps a few big, flowery hats.  ralph fiennes and maggie gyllenhaal joining a cast that already features emma thompson?  i mean on a certain count it just smells like a bunch of actors watching the ink dry on a couple of six or seven digit paychecks, but maybe, just maybe this is one of this under-the-radar children's flicks that actually has some merit, and when you're forced by your bawling four and five year olds to pay three hundred dollars to attend this flick, you won't actually have the unstoppable urge to end the lives of your entire family.

or it could just be another shit-show sequel aimed to cut holes in your money tree and change your whining blobs in to even more testaments the youtube generation.  

will i see it?:  was offered, and kindly rejected. 

--

piranha 3d, d. alexandre aja

cast: elisabeth shue, jerry o'connell, ving rhames, richard dreyfuss

what is it?: a film about mutant radioactive piranha's ... in 3d

prediction:  i worry about this film, not because of its premise, but more so because of the studios decision not to screen it for critics.  usually when a film has this dump of a concept, the studios throw it out to the critics hoping they'll either lambast it so badly it'll draw people's attention like a freeway accident or that it'll actually be entertaining enough that they'll give it a "gee shucks, pretty good" review.  with out a screening though, it might just be bland horror crap.  though alexandre aja's the hills have eyes and haute tension are both absolute gore-fests that worked on almost every level.  though the ending of haute tension is a total bust.  

will i see it?:  my weekend is pretty open, and i know one particular roomie who might just be game for a beach-centric gore-splosion rife with cheesy dialogue and the slim possibility of nudity.

i've been accused, for as long as i can remember as being someone who 'falls asleep during every movie.' 

this is quite true.  

david thomson, san francisco resident and hugely prolific film critic seemingly faces a similarly ironic dilemma.  his thoughts on the matter:

'it is the just reward for insomnia that i sleep most easily at the movies. why not? i always suspected they were dreams.'

from the brilliant compilation of tiny film reviews entitled have you seen ... a monster of a tome that i'm still working through.

watch: japanese department store ad from the 1970s

faye dunaway, hard-edged femme fatale of bonnie and clyde.

faye dunaway, lover of eggs and pitch black rooms.

finally.

i've been waiting for this for too long.  i feared perhaps because the film was the a lesser work in the amazing oeuvre of wes anderson that perhaps the huge fans at the criterion collection would spite this cheeky tail of brothers gone to india.  wes anderson and the criterion collection have always had a brilliant relationship, the good folk behind the collection always seeming to translate anderson's coy visual style in to brilliant little bits of packaging and extra features.  there's no better way to watch a wes anderson film (aside from sprawled big across the silver screen) then through a perfect transfer by these film fanatics.

i'm just glad my fears were unrealized.

this, again, is the beautiful new art for the upcoming release of the darjeeling limited (540). i will hover strangely near the door of the local DVD store awaiting its release.

---

criterion counsel: might be time for another break from this.  life is busy right now and kurosawa is barely a glimmer in my eye. 

what i'm watching tonight: scott pilgrim, d. edgar wright

i'm not the bryan o'malley super-geek that's buffeting the internet in absolute panicky, cold-sweaty excitement you see so many of trolling the internet right now.  what i am though is a huge fan of the film ethic and prior work of director edgar wright (shaun of the dead and hot fuzz), a man who deftly weaves his immense knowledge of film in to films that openly acknowledge that, well, knowledge while craftily weaving their own impressively original stories.  in the past wright, and co-conspirator nick frost, have chopped their own ideas from the ether, and i'm more than curious to see what edgar wright and company are going to do with the sort of bizarre, manga-influenced love/fight story of scott pilgrim and his lovelorn battle for the beautiful ramona.

from everything i'm hearing and everything i'm seeing (and let me tell you, i've watched the various trailers more than enough times in the last few hours) this movie looks to be melding comic books and film in a way barely done before.  yes, ang lee and his much-maligned hulk adaptation tried to blur the line, but lee fell on the side of artsy, not nerdy, and the brace-faced crowd turned quickly and angrily against him.

edgar wright is one of that crowd, and it seems he's bringing his full onslaught or nerd-knowledge to the plate.  this, after inception, is my most anticipated of the summer season, so here's sitting with fingers crossed.

---

criterion counsel: nothing.  take that judgement from your face.

what i'm watching tonight: The Expendables d. Sylvester Stallone

for some reason, i'm still mulling it over in my head, i signed up for the screening of the 80s action-hero testosterone festival of lights that is sylvester stallone's the expendables.  i don't know if you've been outside of your home or flipped on a boob-tube in the last three months, but if so you've certainly seen the line of formerly famous stars that make up the poster for this blood-n-guts shoot-out.  

honestly, i think, especially if stallone continues his unlikely streak of enjoyable action flicks, this could be a fun movie.  it could exploit the star powers that these washed-up duds once emitted and could abort the idea of a logical story in favor of explosions and bloodshed and be so ridiculously dumb that it, on some basic level, works. or, and i worry deeply this might be the case, it could try to take itself too seriously or too farcically and just be an absolute bit of trash.  the kind of low-rent action thriller i used to stay up past my bedtime just so i could watch the sex scenes through the grainy static of my downstairs television.

why am i going though?  i don't know, some sort of distant nostalgic thread connected to my love of bruce willis and the actioneers of my past perhaps.  or maybe just the need to dive back in to the theatrical film experience after three weeks of literature and road-trip.  

i have no clue.  this could be ugly.

---

criterion counsel: sigh, don't even know where i put that film ...

watch this: terry zwigoff's CRUMB (533) trailer

terry zwigoff is a stocky, bald-headed son of a bitch who once locked himself in to his trailer during a shoot with a gun threatening to kill himself. i saw him speak once and though he seemed tart, the percolating anger just didn't seem to be present. this film, his greatest if you ask me, is acerbic and odd in the way only zwigoff can nail, but the majority of this caustic behavior stems from its subject, the erstwhile famous fellow 60s comic icon robert crumb. if a film produced by david lynch and filmed by zwigoff doesn't tempt you enough, just know there's a character in the film (another crumb brother who incidentally i'm privy to his sf whereabouts) who swallows a string and allows it to cleanse his digestion bits for nearly 12 days.

brilliant pic, just released from my savior the criterion collection.

---

criterion counsel: just got back, but a big screen is floating in my future, so chances are looking good for mr. kurosawa's film.

a return and thoughts

i'm back from a road trip of epic proportions with the criterion conquistador by my side and the whole of upper-northern america streaming past us.  there was a yellow lab, a few cramped nights in tents, the broad foreheads of america's presidents sprawled out before us, a laser show with booming quotations splayed across the sprouting features of crazy horse, there were steaming geysers, battles with rapids, a whole lot of hot dogs and so much more i'm unable to jot it all down.

i do, on the occasion of returning from such a cross-continental journey, a few thoughts:

1.  the midwest is sort of like the perpetual eighth grader of the united states. the coasts are a cooler older sibling that keeps there eye on the newest fashions, the sizzling new musical acts, the changes in hairdos.  the south is an estranged cousin living on the edge of the compound who people think about fondly sometimes but still wonder why that sum'bitch shot a beebee in to the neighbor's cat.  texas is like a crotchety grandfather who smokes a corn cob pipe and is damned sure that what they're doing is right on the nose, but hasn't looked around in twenty-five years.  the midwest though is certainly the awkward pre-adolescent, sometimes churning with pubescent energy, sometimes still yearning to fall back in to their parents arms, most often friendly to a fault, unperturbed by the need to stand out.  i say this in the most positive of ways as i found the people and the culture of the midwest (though flat in inflection and lacking in the love of spice) to be wonderful and welcoming, but there's a certain feeling that the midwest is still, and always will be, waiting for the hairs on their chest and pits to sprout.

2.  for nine dollars on the cc and i's final day we purchased these things: two hot dogs (chicago style with tomatoes and celery salt and relish and onions and spicy peppers and pickles), a small coke (in the midwest this is a bladder-filling beverage) and a 'pizza puff' (a deep-fried pizza pocket, more delicious than you might think).  for nine dollars.  less than a ten dollar bill.  in san francisco for nine dollars you would get a napkin, a sardonic smile and perhaps the sneaky opportunity to steal a couple packets of ketchup.  we stayed on the couch of strangers who's sprawling apartment was enough to fit eleven bikes, the dank odor of rotting wood, and a two of my sf apartments, and i nearly lost myself when they said their rent was just under six hundred dollars.  my rent is just under six hundred dollars and that's for a spacious room i share with a very lovely conquistador.   to say the least, the midwest, gawky as it might be, is a cheap, delicious place.

3.  after driving for nine days, near eight hours each cycle of the sun, and then to my deep consternation sitting through two, sigh, two flights over the course of two days, i'm here to say that driving is the way to see this world.  flying, at least in our recession sucker-punched economy is no longer the luxury adventure it once was.  oh yeah sure, say goodbye to blankets (they cost eight dollars now), food (also unreasonably priced), and anything else once considered a good natured compensation, that's been spoken about.  but toss in a bevy of unfriendly flight attendants who will bark angrily at you when you attempt to use the bathroom while it's being 'serviced', screaming children, a selection of movies better suited to a colony of ingrates, uncomfortable seats, and a general sense of panicky malaise and i would prefer to be squished underneath a greyhound bus for sixteen hours than to step foot on an aircraft.

4.  america is amazing.  i saw a hotel called americinn.  i shot a six shot revolver.  i heard a chinless man talk about taking a bullet for his gun shop.  i saw big hair and the badlands, big people and the big horn national forest.  we slept on the couches of people we'd never even heard of.  my painted toenails were ridiculed, i swam in rivers and lakes and quarries and swimming holes.  i ate at the oldest bar in madison.   i ate bison and venison and chorizo stuffed figs and pork shoulder swimming in its own broth.  i drove across the flat, empty expanse of south dakota and let my mind wander.  i stopped and i started and suddenly realized why the great road trip has become such a rite of inspiration for the writing world.  i don't know what you do, but whatever it is, you should stop it for a moment and find away to travel across the country, stopping as you may, a destination just creeping up on the horizon.

four presidents carved in to stone.

breathtaking.

hot dang, america!

wooooooo-weeeee, taller than a car that steam spouting sum'bitch is.

billings!

children in montana love sitting on stoops and staring out across the dusty plain, their earth-caked futures percolating in the distance.