Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Why? Well simply because of his subject matter and the fact that his films always seemed like the films that a 60-plus-year-old would direct. Fanny and Alexander is a prime example. I thought that he directed that when he was in his 80's, but that was 20 or more years ago.
Perhaps I was just thinking of Kurosawa?
In any case, Bergman has some of the most beautifully slow movies I've ever had the pleasure to have wash over me (weird camera angles between talking characters and all.) He also dealt with compelling subject matter that, while seeming to be so dark, also had a sort of hope to it--a sort of human density, if that makes any sense. I mean come on! Wasn't he the same age as Fellini? Actually I guess he was older than Fellini by a couple of years. Why does that age of film directors seem so ancient? Why am I surprised that Bergman just died when (in fact) I had assumed he had died two decades ago?
Here's to ponderous and calculated!*
*Sorry Sleepy E, I couldn't resist.
Friday, July 27, 2007
At eleven a.m. on a mid-summer morning
That makes me wish my mother and father
Were still alive.
We could sit and drink coffee while the light
Plays out glossy gray over the walnut table,
Their hands would be old and wrinkled now,
And their hair completely white.
We could talk about what my life would be like
If either of them had died when I was so young--
If they weren't here to drink coffee with me
And watch me wonder at the quality of light.
But I know what that's like.
I drink my coffee alone while the late morning
Light shimmers, iridescent, over its surface
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
So I was at the Gallivan Center last night to see The Fiery Furnaces and Yo La Tengo. I was in the crowd for a good long while snapping photos, and had thought I saw someone I knew in the back of the crowd. While moving out of the crowd, I passed a woman who said "I know that hat! You're Clint!"
I think I probably would have said something like "do I know you?" but I thought I recognized the woman as the person who stole my hat for hours while at Green Street a few months back. It took quite a lot to get my then brand-new hat back from her. Just moments before, as well, the woman's friend (who was also at the Green Street affair) had proceeded to accidentally kick me and also knock over my beer. She then fled into the crowd with the promise that she would get me another.
"That's right," I said and moved away towards the back of the crowd to find the people I knew before they moved.
This morning I received the following flickr mail from one of my flickr contacts:
"I was the total stranger who said I recognized your hat. Hope that wasn't too bizarre. You seemed rather horrified, so I decided to let it go at that."
I blame the beer (well that and my naturally ornery self.)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
How the hell did we go from 106.3 to humid and 90ish in 3 days?
You can smell the dry desert on the air, however.
It is why I live here. You can feel your sweat and your sweetness evaporate as our friend the sun beats down on your unfortunate head.
You can understand what bone dry means. and you can understand what blood wet means.
You can feel compassion for thirsty plants.
You can feel compassion for cacti inadvertently flown to the tropics.
I live in a beautiful, confused place.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Monday, July 09, 2007
Thursday, July 05, 2007
In late March my Italian basil fell victim to fussilium wilt (a fungus.) I noted today that one of my Roma's had blossom-end rot (also cause by a fungus brought on by a lack of calcium in the soil--which makes no sense since we in Utah have hugely calcified water and soil.) Fungus is my bane.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
WC: The idea that you go to a festival and you feel like you have to see everything, all your favorite bands, I think sometimes that can kind of wear you down. It has to be like eating at the Golden Corral, where it's all you can eat, until you try to eat the barbecue chicken and the calamari. By the time you get to the fourth thing, you're burned out. My suggestion to people is just enjoy your day. Your band is playing, you get to see a little bit of them. Go see them for 10 or 15 minutes, and enjoy your friends and enjoy your day. As the sun goes down, it's a lot easier to endure."
WC: I think the worst thing is don't get drunk and pass out by 1 o'clock in the afternoon and be the guy who's laying out in the open field throwing up at 2 in the afternoon. We see that all the time, like my God, how big of a miscalculation was that? The guy's laying there, and he's going to get sunburned, and it's just miserable. Not only that, he's going to feel worse after this, and he's missing the show at the same time. So if you've never drunk that much beer before, don't try it at a festival in the middle of the summer. I think it's better if you're younger, too. The older you get, the more you're like, "Why would I want to stand in the heat all day with a bunch of drunk morons?" When you're young, and the possibility of having sex is in the air, and you're seeing new things, that's a beautiful thing. ("Wayne Coyne's Guide to Festival Surval", The Onion AV Club)I'm going to see the Flaming Lips in September at the Monolith Festival in the Red Rocks Amphitheatre. Luckily it will be cooler by then. I also don't plan on exploiting the VIP bar and make a the terrible miscalculation that Wayne mentions.
Monday, July 02, 2007
One can dream of the land of eternal summer, however.
So the point of tapas is not to have a point. You just eat small portions until you are full, drink some wine, and then fall asleep beneath and Andalusian sky.
You wake up to bread and cheese and then start the whole thing over again. That's what summer is and that is what writing in the summer is.
Too bad it has to end.