wish you were here

Just an FYI: my account with 0catch expires on Saturday, so I’m going to be switching servers in the next few days. If you don’t see anything, don’t panic, I’m here, just in the process of moving.

Also in the pipeline: a possible redesign, and close to the 5-year anniversary of this blog, moving it over to WordPress.

Let’s keep things moving, people.

So, instead of a music post today, I’m posting my review of Superman Returns. Yeah. I know. Exciting.

There are iconic movies for me from when I was a child: E.T. was my first movie. I saw Return of the Jedi in the theater. I loved Indiana Jones over and over.

And Christopher Reeve will always be Superman for me. As a kid, I had a huge crush on him. His performance made me believe in the world. And, occasionally, when I think about Terrence Stamp delivering the line “Kneel before Zod!” I think of Supes just kicking so much ass. I think of John Williams perfect theme. I think of Metropolis being a city I always wanted to live in. I think of running around the house in a cape wanting to be Wonder Woman because I couldn’t be Superman and I didn’t want to be Supergirl. I wanted to be part of the Justice League.

So when Bryan Singer was finally picked to direct the next generation Superman film, I was excited. Then when I read that Kevin Spacey was cast as Lex Luthor, I got more excited. And with the casting choices of Brandon Routh and Kate Bosworth, I was a little skeptical. I went into this movie reading good reviews, but I went in reserving my judgement. Bryan Singer, I knew, would be more than capable of handling this film.

I’m not gonna lie. When I heard the first notes of John William’s theme during the opening credits (made just like the first Donner flick) I got goosebumps. I was 5 years old watching an old Betamax tape. It was a nod for all the kids like me growing up with those movies. And I was grateful for that.

I loved this movie, but let me get the bad things out of the way: it’s half an hour too long. It took me towards the end to really like Bosworth as Lois. I was bothered by some technical things in the story, but I don’t want to spoil anything.

The great things: Kevin Spacey is damn near perfect as Lex. He wears velvet and cordoroy suits like a pimp and has a nonchalance about his evil that plays almost as well as Gene Hackman’s back in the day. Parker Posey as Kitty was basically a replay of Teschemacher from the first two flicks, but pulled it off nicely. James Marsden as Lois Lane’s “always engaged” boyfriend plays off as a bit of a dick, but when does Marsden not play like a dick, really. He was frankly distracting, because we kept saying “What the hell is Lois doing with fucking Cyclops?”

Here’s why it took me the whole movie to like (notice I didn’t say love) Kate Bosworth as Lois. Margot Kidder did something with Lois that struck the perfect balance between being spunky and smart and curious. When she falls in love with Superman, you fall in love with her. In the second movie, when they go to the Fortress of Solitude, you cheer them on. Bosworth plays her with a little hint of bitterness and cynicism that tries to play off as spunk. Her anger at Superman leaving to find Krypton is really anger and not the girly sting we’d probably expect from Lois. It’s like she’s playing the bitter woman who’s not getting everything she wants. But getting toward the end of the film, she doesn’t play her completely helpless, which was a nice twist. All in all, she was adequate.

Which brings me to Brandon Routh. The first shot of him as Clark, when he smiles, Scott and I looked at each other and said, “Jesus, he looks just like him.” He has the same crooked smile as Christopher Reeve, and charms the pants off you. His Clark isn’t as bumbling as Reeve’s but is just as dorky and heartwarming. You can tell Routh’s from small town America– he plays it well. The flash in his eyes when he’s flying and something goes clusterfuck is classic. When his heart is broken, so is yours. When he hurts, you hurt. Singer was smart to cast a newbie actor, as risky as it was. He wears the suit with a confidence that you didn’t think was possible for that much pressure on a new actor. Something didn’t sit right with me, though: he didn’t seem to do a whole lot of talking until the end, when he has this gorgeous speech about fathers and sons. Maybe I need to see it again, but I felt like I didn’t get enough of the real Superman. His psychological impact from his journey to and back from Krypton I felt wasn’t explored enough.

But. The effects are brilliant. The score compliments John Williams’ theme beautifully. And the kid who plays Lois son Jason is the quietest, cutest kid (who unfortunately, doesn’t get a whole lot of exploration, either). The action is well filmed.

Some people will say the flick is cheezy in parts, maybe kinda hokey. But realize this is based on a comic book, and even the darkest Batman flicks had a few moments of camp. That’s what makes this movie loveable to me. Let’s face it, a movie about a superhero in tights without even a little camp would suck.

That’s my statment. I loved this movie. I’d love to see it again. I’m probably going to use some of the gift certificate from Best Buy on the first two flicks, because I’ve realized my love for those movies again. I’ve been processing it all day today. I’ll probably be processing it for another couple of days. It’s making me believe again, and I think that’s the most important thing in the world.

I am so fucking frustrated right now. With everything. I think I need to go for a run.

I feel compelled to post something today. Mostly because I’m at ReJavanate and I can’t even get my computer at home to work for some reason. It’s been a shitty day.

I can’t even seem to get any real writing done. I worked on one of the many fiction projects I start and can never seem to finish, and I found myself after 45 minutes only having written about 300 words or so.

I worry.

I want to run today, but my legs say Just Stop For Two Days. I know, I know. I guess it’s the only place where I don’t think about anything but how much harder I can push myself.

I’m not particularly depressed, really. More questioning the things that are constantly on my mind. And I really don’t feel like blogging about those things here– it’ll turn into the mindless drivel that makes blogs insufferable.

But, there are things to do, right?

Not sure what to post.

Had a good time at the “Brews, Blues, and BBQ” event tonight.

The girl fronting Big Brother & The Holding Co. tried a little too hard to sound like Janis, and it was sad for me in a way I don’t think anyone else understood. John Lee Hooker, Jr. was a fun guy, but not his father. The local blues talent was excellent, though.

At this point, I really feel like I have no reference for music anymore. I have to overly justify anything I make reference to. But I’m fully willing to admit I’m ignorant.

How are you doing? I mean, really?

Finishing that TV script ate up all my energy for poetry. But I’ve been working on this for over a month now. I guess it’s a late Father’s Day poem.

what was it
racing next to us
like a stock car
the lights streaking
like your Hades footprints
having to hide underground
you never quite told that story
with your quivering tongue

your hand keeps gracing
your forhead
as if looking
for that ashen cross
for that handshake from god
he says yes my boy
welcome
you left them so long ago
they stopped looking
for the pneumonectomy scar

ask Jesus
if he ever looked up at Orion
and longed to take up
that sword
and draw perfect circles
in men’s hearts
to design a perfect death

caught in your throat
your words
made of darkness
the mutiny of the body
during the dead of winter

the decay of your voice
the world may just as well
have been an empty room
may as well have
swallowed itself
for all the color you lost
faded by sun
loved by the wind
blocked from entering your room

during the procession
to your second floor tomb
we shouldn’t have been
cupping eventuality in our hands
but walking a pilgrimage
holding tobacco leaves

and what was that heat
at my back
some kind of star
trying to flashlight us back home
a far-off twinkle
in god’s eye
perhaps
it was the weight
of our history
finally bearing your name
the amnesia reversed
the holiness growing fingertips

at first
I thought it was you
pushing me to live
but once the doors
slid open
I couldn’t feel your hands
my mouth
full of spit
and questions
and your son
not able to believe me

I wish I could say
the wind gusting
was made of your fists

or the sun
is your one eye
while the other winks

but the truth is
I’m afraid
you’ve forgotten me already
made peace
with the idea
that I’m okay
told Mom
in whatever universe you’re in
that you’ve stopped worrying
and now you’re willing to wait
’cause I had to watch
the lines branch on your face
and the color
die from your eyes
while your voice grew into
a rocking chair moan

you tried so hard
not to sound like regret
but your fingers
shook in impatience

a big black bloom of cancer in you
it should’ve been stormclouds
the chemo
should’ve been lightning

but instead you became
an infant again:
got all those teeth pulled
and a g-tube
became a new umbilical cord
reaching for help
that new caretakers
are hardpressed to give

you exchanged your voice
for the tumor
because the action
of a tired 54 year-old man
waiting for the coma
ruins a bedside back and forth

and drawn
in a perfect arch
that scar on your back
so they wouldn’t
have to break your sternum
of a perfect circle
and voice
your perfect death

eventually you became ashes
I would hope you see
in a new body
now knowing holiness
closer to a child
that you’ve ever been
hopefully trying to cup
the shadows in your hands
leaving just enough
for the new mysteries

I’m determined to make a real post today. This time with music, dammit.

Sean and I were talking last night about Andrew Bird, and how it took us a little while to love him.

The first time I ever saw him in concert was 2 years ago at Largo, by chance actually. All I’d heard was that he was really good, used to play in Squirrel Nut Zippers, and that he was on Ani DiFranco’s label (the artists she has on her rouster have been consistently good, at least that’s what I think).

The performance was– and this really is the best word for it– charming. The lyrics were witty, the violin playing was earthy (and well orchestrated on the loop pedal), and he performs with a humbleness that gets lost on so many male singer-songwriters.

A few months later, I was able to catch him on his opening spot with Ani DiFranco here in Vegas, and I knew I was in for a treat. Even with the bigger venue, he played with the witty charm that warmed me to him in L.A. After the show, I was more interested in buying his merch than I was Ani’s, and he was selling live CDs all by his lonesome in the corner of the merch table.

I walked up, shook his hand, and said, “Thanks for coming to Vegas, I know it must be weird.” He looked really scared to be there, like he wasn’t expecting so many people to want to talk to him– and a little shocked. Very different from the calm confidence on the stage. I bought some CDs and told him to come back soon.

I don’t think he’s been back here since, but if he does come back, it’s a show I don’t want to miss. He’s fantastic.

As a little taste of what he sounds like live, here’s an mp3 from Archive.org’s Live Music Archive.

Andrew Bird – Why (live at C’est Lenoir on April 19, 2004)
Download the rest of the show
Buy Andrew Bird And The Mysterious Production of Eggs at Righteous Babe
Get more info and back catalogue

***

Something completely different: am I the only American who’s sad about Top of the Pops ending? Jesus. It’s almost like John Peel dying all over again.

When we talk about death, it is the kind of conversation of vocabulary only known to the well-versed.

Sometimes you have the kind of night that gives you an unexpected smile.

Can I just say, while I have an internet connection at home, that I am falling in love with Nina Simone more and more each day.

And something more on topic: I am tired of anyone (friends, family, whatever) trying to justify and intellectualize their addictions to me:

I don’t care why. You still have a problem that needs to be worked out. Stop trying to justify the things that are damaging to the people who want to help you. It’s like the girl staying with the boy because she’s convinced she can fix him. Not that I heard enough of that last weekend.

And I’ve been listening to a particular Thom Yorke track a lot lately (#1 on this link).

I was not supposed to be out tonight, but dammit, I didn’t want to be at home. And good for that.