Archive for the ‘ scott ’ Category

l’illusionniste.

Finally watched The Illusionist last night. The 2010 French animated film, not the 2006 Ed Norton film that came out the same year as The Prestige but wasn’t nearly as awesome.

Anyway, L’illusionniste. It was such a wonderful, sad film. For one thing, it points to how beautiful simple animation can be, when done with care and skill. Not that computers weren’t involved, it’s just that so much of the film was intentionally imperfect. There were plenty of scenes where you could see pencil lines and shadings that were leftovers. It was beautiful.

I won’t go into details and spoil anything, aside from saying that the film is peopled with such lovely, yet tragic, characters, all without any dialogue outside the occasional single word here and there.

It really made me antsy to travel, too.

Also, the drunken Scotsman may be my favorite character from any film I’ve seen this year. Yeah, he pretty much is.

Many of the movies I’ve seen for the first time lately have been lackluster, but this one kicked things back into shape in a big way. You should watch it.

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in stitches. [my favorite song, and album, about losing faith.]

There are lots of songs about loss of faith, so maybe if I thought about this for a long time I would come up with one I like even more, but this one is just so haunting to me. The whole album is about lost faith, but this song in particular grabs my heart and won’t let go. A song to God about no longer believing in God. When Bazan sings,

/ the crew had killed the captain, but they still can hear his voice / a shadow on the water, a whisper in the wind / on long walks with my daughter, who is lately full of questions about you /

It gets me every time. Most articulations of faith these days, including those pronouncing a lack of faith, are silly and thoughtless, knee-jerk reactions that can’t begin to grapple with the huge existential questions with which they are attempting to contend. On one side they talk about faith but do so by arguing for something that has never been orthodox, and didn’t exist until around 100 years ago. On the other side, they argue for the god of science, but do so by claiming facts that are actually pseudo-pop-science, rooted in ideas scientists haven’t believed for at least 50 years. It’s rare to hear someone discuss their thoughts intelligently.

This album, Bazan’s memoir of lost faith, is instead one of uncommon power and thoughtful wrestling. It’s a poetic explanation as to why he could no longer believe in the God he’d believed in all his life.

There are days when this is my song, even though I still personally believe in God.

/ My body bangs and twitches /
/ This brown liquor whets my tongue /
/ My fingers find the stitches /
/ Firmly back and forth they run /
/ I need no other memory /
/ Of the bits of me I left /
/ When all this lethal drinking /
/ Is to hopefully forget about you /

/ I might as well admit it /
/ Like I even have a choice /
/ The crew have killed the captain /
/ But they still can hear his voice /
/ A shadow on the water /
/ A whisper in the wind /
/ On long walks with my daughter /
/ Who is lately full of questions about you /

/ When Job asked you a question /
/ You responded, “Who are you to challenge your creator?” /
/ Well if that one part is true /
/ It makes you sound defensive /
/ Like you had not thought it through /
/ Enough to have an answer /
/ Like you bit off more than you could chew /

being flynn. [trailer park.]

the fellowship.

Starting Friday night and moving late into Saturday, Emily and I were with friends for an epic sleepover marathon of the extended edition Lord of the Rings films.

3 epic movies. 6 sexy people (okay, so maybe only 5 were sexy). 12 awesome hours of movie. We were, as Josh named us, The Fellowship of the Fellowship of the Ring.

We were accompanied by delicious food, courtesy of Josué. There was also a really fun LOTR card game, courtesy of Josh that I look forward to playing again (okay, so only Josh and I played that).

It was a decidedly good decision, and I’m damned glad to have the friends I do. The only question is: what marathon do we do next?

the hunger games. [trailer park.]

I know most of my friends have already seen this, but here’s a link anyway, just in case. HERE.

my favorite song about a mummy.

/ He opens his eyes, falls in love at first with the girl in the doorway /
/ What beautiful lines and how full of life /
/ After thousands of years, what a face to wake up to /
/ He holds back a sigh, as she touches his arm /
/ She dusts off the bed, where ’til now he’s been sleeping /
/ And under miles of stone, the dried fig of his heart /
/ Under scarab and bone starts back to it’s beating /

/ She carries him home in a beautiful boat /
/ He watches the sea from a porthole in stowage /
/ He can hear all she says as she sits by his bed /
/ And one day his lips answer her in her own language /
/ The days quickly pass he loves making her laugh /
/ The first time he moves it’s her hair that he touches /
/ She asks, “Are you cursed?” He says, “I think that I’m cured” /
/ Then he talks of the Nile and the girls in bulrushes /

/ In New York he is laid in a glass covered case /
/ He pretends he is dead, people crowd round to see him /
/ But each night she comes round and the two wander down /
/ The hall of the tomb that she calls a museum /
/ Often he stops to rest, but then less and less /
/ Then it’s her that looks tired, staying up asking questions /
/ He learns how to read from the papers that she /
/ Is writing about him and he makes corrections /

/ It’s his face on her book more and more come to look /
/ Families from Iowa, upper west siders /
/ Then one day it’s too much he decides to get up /
/ And as chaos ensues he walks outside to find her /
/ She’s using a cane and her face looks too pale /
/ But she’s happy to see him as they walk he supports her /
/ She asks, “Are you cursed?” but his answer’s obscured /
/ In a sandstorm of flashbulbs and rowdy reporters /

/ Such reanimation the two tour the nation /
/ He gets out of limos he meets other women /
/ He speaks of her fondly their nights in the museum /
/ But she’s just one more rag, now he’s dragging behind him /
/ She stops going out she just lies there in bed /
/ In hotels in whatever towns they are speaking /
/ Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold /
/ And one day the dried fig of her heart stops it’s beating /

/ Long ago in the ship she asked, “Why pyramids?” /
/ He said, “Think of them as an immense invitation” /
/ She asked, “Are you cursed?” He said, “I think that I’m cured” /
/ Then he kissed her and hoped that she’d forget that question /

books i read this year.

One list I post every year is the books I read. Rather than copy and paste, it makes more sense to refer everyone to the place where I keep track: GoodReads.

My goal starting this year was to read 50 books for the first time ever. After making significant progress, I upped that goal to 70. You can see all of them, as the list grows, right HERE.