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i feel just like n’sync

Welcome to the Hollywood Stock Exchange!

Not sure quite what to make of the place, but apparently it lets you buy and sell pretend stock in your favourite famous peoples. Ani and Tori go for nice prices, but Tracy Bonham’s a steal!

S.L.C. Punk!

I couldn’t really explain to you what makes me like a movie. I don’t like them, in general. Going to a movie theatre is one of my least favourite things to do in the world. Maybe that’s fudging the truth a little. Going to a theatre to pay $8 to see 90 minutes of near unintelligible crap is one of my least favourite things in the world. Of course, not all movies are seen in movie theatres. And, usually to my great surprise and delight, not all of them are unintelligible crap. Usually the only chance i get to watch new movies is when i am at home alone with HBO. HBO doesn’t have the greatest selection of movies in the free world, but every so often i see something that i really like, whether it be old or new.

I saw one tonite. When i first started watching it Matthew Lillard was launching into a lenghty monologue while sporting a massive blue mohawk. He looked very punk rock and was cursing at his parents. I vaguely approved and then went to the kitchen to warm up some lasagna. When i came back, the movie was still on, so i sat like the cow that i am and watched it. And loved it. It’s not as though i’m part of the punk movement, or can especially appreciate the lives of the characters, but for some reason i was especially struck by the film.

Lillard’s character Stevo graduated pre-law with honors and was living the life of a random anarchist along with his friend Mike and his at-times companion Sandy. He doesn’t have much direction in his life, and spends much of his time at parties, talking to the camera about posers, mods, and pushers. But somehow, his character changes. Having missed the beginning of the movie i can’t quite account for it. His father gets him into Harvard law school without even asking him and they verbally tussle over whether owning a porsche makes you a nazi before going out to lunch. He soon finds his punk life dissolving around him; he sees a nuclear holocaust light up the sky behind his not-girlfriend Sandy at the end of a meandering acid trip. She leaves him.

So why am i so fascinated with this movie? Maybe it’s the fact that Stevo seems without brain or direction but in reality is the most together guy in his whole scene. Maybe it was his revulsion at one friend finding love (“you’re a fucking poser”) or another getting a degree in botany (“a tree hugger”). Maybe it was when he ran into an old friend who had become a beggar on the street. Or maybe it was the fact that beneath everything else that was happening Stevo was directing his own life’s story, unbeknownst to everyone standing around him at parties. Despite what anyone else might have thought or said, his progression from controlled anarchy to chaotic rigidity seems to have all clicked into place for him. And that was all i needed.

more layout wrangling. Anyhow. I just got this borderline rude email from someone who was reading a discussion at shafted. Now, i may not have given you a feel for my politics yet, but i’ll be quick and dirty about it and tell you i’m very liberal socially, and somewhat conservative fiscally. And, i’m all over the place in my interpretation of the constitution. Anyhow, this person basically ripped me open for living in a city, being pro-choice, protecting the environment, and liking Al Gore (who, apparently, is a huge equivocater, much more so than Bush).

I have mostly given up on arguing politics. When i was younger it was new and fun, but now i have to go back over my same argument every time and i know that i won’t cave in. I walk into these arguments weary and forgiving of bad attitudes, and i walk out more weary and not understanding how people can believe in such a perversion of the intent of the law and human rights. I believe in governing for the good of everyone, ignoring their race and religion. Isn’t that the point?

It’s raining again. That’s almost once every day this week.

My old house was a row home like this one is, but it was a slightly wider house and had a sizeable front porch/ The porch had an actual roof over it, not just a corrugated awning. For some reason Philadelphia had a lot of brief hail storms in the spring of my Junior year of high school, and as soon as i heard the hollow pelting of ice on the roof i would grab my notepad and a pencil and sit just inside my front door. Hail seemed to always come down at a slant, and it would reach far into the porch leaving me untouched by a margin of no more than a yard. I would just sit there until the hail stopped and melted away, writing. I want to have a porch again.