FUCK IT'S EARLY...

IT CAN BE FUN TO TRAVEL BACK IN TIME, BUT MORE FUN TO CONTINUE FORWARD...

You know, I used to rag on Air Supply all of the time. Maybe it was because my Mom loved them and forced me to go see them. Maybe it was because Russell smelled of booze and moth balls. Maybe it was because they were Australian and I hated the thought that this was the only thing to come out of there (aside from Yahoo Serious...).

But now that I am older, and have been Air Supply free for many years, I have decided to give them a second go around. Their tunes are just as catchy as they were back from when I was a child, and honestly, they aren't THAT bad. Listening to the songs kind of makes me sad in a way... remember back to being a child. I'm beginning to understand more and more every day why my mother misses her childhood so much. The older I get, the less ignorant to the world around me I become. I would do anything to get my innocence back... to not have a care in the world. I think that when we are children, we don't truly realize what a horrible place this world is. This isn't to say that there are no good aspects, because there certainly are.

I suppose there is a lot going on and I haven't had the chance to clear my mind yet. I've been pretty flustered the last few days. This week has been pretty hard thus far, and very depressing. What's worse is that I can't even talk to anyone about it. I suppose it could be worse, but a lot has been weighing on my mind.

Sometimes I have to wonder if John Lennon made John Lennon or if Yoko made John Lennon? Or if John Lennon made John Lennon as a result of Yoko?

I was told one time of a full grown man who believes he needs woman to motivate him to get his life straight, yet in order to get the kind of woman he is after, he himself should get his life straight first because (let's be really honest here) a woman doesn't want someone with nothing to show for. I suppose he needs a woman to make an effort to look decent, yet he'll never get a woman if he himself doesn't make that effort first. Maybe it doesn't make sense to me because I'm an existentialist. Personally, I believe that if you are comfortable living your life as you live it, you are comfortable in knowing that some things are unattainable. Say you look like a dirt ball, yet have very specific standards for a woman. Chances are you won't get anyone close to what you want looking like a dirt ball, assuming the woman you are after is young, pretty, and loving. I could be generalizing a bit, but that's also generally how it goes. As an existentialist, I believe that you can have anything you want in life, you just have to decide you want it and get it. Part of doing this, however, is investing time and energy into your goal. You don't get anything in life without work, most of it being hard. It just amazes me that someone who has been around as long as he has can still think that they should just be handed something to do what they have to do with their life. Maybe he doesn't need a woman to achieve what he needs to do. Maybe he needs to do what he needs to do and the woman will be the reward? Usually folks work to get a woman, not get a woman to work. Either way, that's not a very respectable work ethic.

But on the flip side, who am I to judge him or his beliefs? I'm Chris fucking Seibert. I suppose I could offer him advice like, "if something isn't (and hasn't) been working out the way you want, maybe you just need to take a new course of action", or "check your priorities", or maybe "murder someone, I hear convicted murders get a lot of lady fan mail".

Speaking of which, Susan Atkins was a hottie back in the day. I hear she's almost blind and had a leg amputated and has brain cancer. I kind of want to write her a letter before she dies. Not to be like, "Oh, I got a letter from Susan Atkins" but because, well, I don't know. Sometimes I feel that my words may have some kind of profound affect on her or something. I never wrote her, however, because she'll always be Sadie Glutz to me, which leaves me to wonder if I'm obsessed with Susan or Sadie... either way it's kind of scary. I just don't feel I could write an appropriate letter to Susan, because I really want to write to Sadie. And if I write to Sadie, yet send it to Susan, I'm sure I'd really offend her.

It's amazing the difference a name can make. I feel like I am such a different person from four weeks ago, even three weeks ago. A lot has happened, both in reality and inside my mind. A great change has occurred. The hard thing about changes, however, is that folks around you know you, or "know" you. That makes it difficult to be who you truly are because there are expectations to be met, and people treat you as the old you, not the new you.  

Maybe I just need a new name.

The line between progression and reinvention starts to blur...

I suppose staying the same is what killed Air Supply. You have to change, not only with the times, but also with your growth. And if you don't grow, then you become stuck and everything will surely fall apart. That's what happened to Air Supply. That's what's happening to my mother. And Kurt. Change isn't a bad thing, when it's for the better.

The past is a great place to visit, but not a great place to live. Property tax is a bitch.

These weekends keep getting crazier and crazier. It is good to finally be home, and will be good to finally get some sleep in my own bed. Not that sleeping in someone else's bed is bad, but when you are exhausted and still wearing the clothes you wore the day before... nothing is more comforting than a long, hot shower and your own bed.

I have nothing of merit to say as my brain is fried. I do, however, wonder who the fuck names a cake... and who the fuck names a cake MacArthur's Park?

I'm also wondering where I can find a Waldo shirt. I decided to go to Bri's Christmaween party as Waldo, and make sure I'm somewhere in every picture taken by absolutely everyone. I found the perfect Waldo shirt at the, um, "urban" store at the mall. The problem is that they don't carry any shirts smaller than an XL. Infact, they have it in every size from XL to XXXL. I'm not talking about Roman Numerals, either.

And for the record, hearing Slayer covers done by a string quartet is fucking insane.

ASSEMBLY LINES OF LOVE, PLEASE

When I used to think of China, I thought of oppression. But the more I think about China, the more I realize that I am the oppressor. We all are. It never really made sense to me why China's internet is completely censored and controlled by their government. I couldn't understand how, for the most part, the entire country is under surveillance. I didn't understand why China's citizens were treated as they were... but it is all making sense now.

Many of our every day items are made in China. This we all know. Many of our old every day items are taken apart and salvaged in China. This we all may not know. Many cities in China have the sole purpose of manufacturing our goods. Entire populations work assembly lines and sift through trash. High schools are extremely hard to get accepted in to, forcing those who are denied to work in the factories. The entire country makes life easier for the rest of the world's population... at the expense of it's citizens quality of life. This is known as slavery, and we (the consumer) are the slave drivers, with our business people and politicians being the slave masters.

China uses more coal than any other country. Why? To power it's factories. China has the largest population of any country. Why? To work in the factories. China is the largest producer of the many of the world's products. Why? Because someone has to do it.

I think most of us realize this, but I don't think the weight of situation causes enough burden on us to actually sit and think about it. Our media doesn't help us see this, and you'd be lucky to find an awareness group that is taken seriously. Sometimes you just have to experience it yourself... or see it through the eyes of an unbiased individual. Sometimes, you just have to see it as art to truly appreciate the wrongs of the world, and our own wrongs at that.

Edward Burtynsky is a photographer who travels the world taking pictures of how humanity has altered nature. His photographs are truly works of art, created by the "art" of unknowing artists just doing their jobs. I discovered Burtynsky by accident as I was searching industrial images. I have always had an affinity for urban decay and monolithic factories, machines, and the like. I came across his photographs and instantly fell in love. I later found that a DVD had been released called Manufactured Landscapes. The main focus of the film is on China and it really puts things into perspective. Every time I watch it I gather something else from it, something life changing and something intellectually stimulating. There's a certain magic in his photographs, and certain truths in his conversations with the Chinese folk... certain things that you can't touch upon through reading or through hearing someone speak about it. It's something you simply have to see. What is great is that Burtynsky himself isn't attempting to take a specific stand, nor is he trying to persuade any one to any particular cause. He is an artist who is creating beauty out of ugly places and situations.

It just really makes me sad to know that there is nothing that can be done about the situation in China. Truthfully, we wouldn't live in the society we have today if it wasn't for China and it's world role. All the great aspects of a progressive society wouldn't be possible without someone having to take the fall. Unfortunately, we (the "free world") have unfairly placed that burden on China, instead of all of us pitching in. This isn't to say that we in the U.S. don't have sweat shops, factories and the like. We certainly do! But our entire country is not dedicated to this cause.

One of the most moving parts of this film is where Burtynsky and company go to the site of the (yet to be completed at the time of filming) Three Gorges Reservoir. If memory serves me correct, something like 7 CITIES had to be relocated to make room for the project. 1.24 MILLION people had to relocate out of their homes so the damn could be built... to supply power to factories and the cities where the workers live. The worst part? The citizens didn't have a say. And to add insult to injury, it was the RESIDENTS who were responsible for not only TEARING DOWN the old cities, but building their new homes... all manual labor being paid at less than 4 dollars A DAY. The people relocated accounted for 1.5% of the population for the ENTIRE PROVINCE.

And all of this happened so we can have our treasured espresso machines and hair dryers.

As beautiful as Burtynsky's photographs are, I can't help but feel guilt in being responsible for his subject matter. The art of the photographer is the art of the worker, which is the art of the consumer. Creation. We all do it. And as bad as it makes me feel, as guilty as I am... I know I will continue. And somehow I can live with that. I suppose it's because I am not in their situation. I suppose it's because I know that they are fine living the way they live... and I'm sure many of them know there are better options for life available to them.

Yet they stay. Maybe they realize their place in the world. At least they would know. I wish I knew my place in the world... I wish my place in the world could make some sort of difference. Knowing what I know, and feeling as I feel, I wish it were up to me to restructure society from the ground up in an attempt to make life better for everyone.

I'm sure that tomorrow I will purchase something that a 15 year old child will be making for the rest of his or her life. I suppose it all sort of evens out seeing as I'm dosed with MSG every time I eat Chinese cuisine. Hey, one foul turn deserves another.

I WISH I WOULD HAVE TAKEN THE CHANCE 10 YEARS SOONER...

I truly can't bare to subject my mind to most films being released anymore. I have given up on comedy years ago, and even the dramas are shitty. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations for what a film should be. I'm not entirely sure. What I do know is that I continually find myself digging deeper and deeper into the obscure in the quest to find satisfying cinema. Granted, my tastes may be that which drive this desire... with my tastes being described as "off-kilter" and even "deranged" (others' words, not my own), but regardless of what pushes me to the fringes, I believe we all can agree that the films being shoved down the throats of mainstream america is nothing less than fodder for the masses. I can't remember the last time a major motion picture moved me. I believe the last movie I would give props to is The Dark Knight, and even then it was majorly flawed and definitely hyped way too much. The hype delivered more than the film did and, in my book, that's not really a win.

Years ago I heard of this film, Grey Gardens. All I knew about it was that it was a documentary about high society drop outs that were somehow related to Jackie-O.

Ok, that doesn't sound too exciting or mind opening.

Words, however, could not describe it... as I was told. It was something that had to be experienced, not something that could be explained. For years I wanted to see this film. Over 10 of them. A few years back I saw that The Criterion Collection had released Grey Gardens and the companion film, The Beales of Grey Gardens, for no less than $40. That is a hefty price to pay for something that could not even be accurately described on the internet. But every time I go to Borders, I picked it up and held it in my hands, looking over the box and reading the writing on it time and time again. I think I was afraid. I think I was afraid of being wildly disappointed. I refused to watch clips on youtube, knowing if I was to see this, I would see it the proper way.

Well, after years of living in the back of my mind, I found that both films are available via Netflix. Naturally, I signed up for the free two week trial solely to watch these two films. Of course, I've made good use of Netflix via my XBox, but today I finally received Grey Gardens.

I opened up the envelope and held the DVD in my hands, much like I held the box countless times before. I looked over both sides, feeling excitement and fear... debating if I should watch it or not now that I have it.

I played some Halo with Tim instead. But after we kicked some ass (and had our asses kicked), I manned up and threw the DVD in the player, warmed up some of Marissa's banging Lasagna, and sat back awaiting a ride in which I didn't know what to expect.

I have never been so moved by a film. Ever. It's not like the film was anything spectacular, nor the subject matter all that spectacular. Much like those who have tried before me, I can't put the film into words. If I tried, anyone reading this might laugh and complete write the film off as something that they may want to see. Honestly, I believe this film is the most intimate portrait into the life of a mother and daughter ever created. More than that, it is the most intimate portrait of humanity ever created.

To see these two women, one in her 80's, the other in her 50's, in their daily lives... to see what has become of once beautiful and talented souls... and to see how they reflect on their past... it's simply mind blowing. Never in my life have I seen a documentary, let alone film, where so many split second images caught on celluloid have affected me so strongly, in an emotional way. I didn't cry or anything like that... it's a different kind of emotion. It's not a base emotion, but something else. Something deeper. Compassion? Sympathy? Understanding? I'm not sure. Like I said, words cannot describe it.

There is one scene in particular that hasn't left my mind. I find myself constantly being pulled back to it, it's gravity being very overwhelming. The scene is in Big Edie's bedroom. She is sitting on a cluttered bed, her back against the head board. Her and Little Edie are discussing the past (a subject that finds it's place in most of the scenes) and Big Edie is talking about what made her most happy in all her life: singing. All the while, she is wearing what I would call a "beach hat", complete with a floppy brim. As she speaks, she is constantly folding the brim back, and at first I couldn't understand why she kept doing it. Maybe it was because it was in her eyes? Maybe because she was nervous? I really couldn't tell. She seemed to be fine otherwise.

Then it hit me.

As she folded the brim back one time, and she let go, it stood in place for less than a second, and in that instant you see a completely different person. What some may call a "dirty old lady", for one millisecond, became the high class beauty of her youth, complete with what I would call (out of ignorance) a "fancy lady" hat. Not too long after that, Little Edie found vinyl records of her mother's singing from back in her younger years (what I'm assuming would be the 20's-30's). She had such a beautiful voice. There was something extremely morbid in hearing that beautiful voice and seeing that horribly old and unkempt body.

Then she started to sing along.

It was saddening, yet sobering, at the same time. Eventually it even became comforting. There was no way she could sing as she did, and you could see the sadness in her eyes as she realized this as well... but at the same time you could also see a sparkle of life and joy, something absent throughout the rest of the film. She sings later on in the film as well, but that feeling is different. It almost feels contrived, like she was comfortable doing it, and wasn't putting forth the same effort. No, this first time she sings in front of the camera... this is the first time she has sung for anyone (possibly even Little Edie) in over 30 years. She really was reliving a moment in her past.

I don't know why this hit me as it did. In fact, I'm not sure why this film affected me as it did. It's so strange, yet familiar... so sane, yet making absolutely no sense. The subjects tell their own stories without the guidance of someone asking questions. In many ways, they make the documentary obsolete as THEY are the documentary themselves. And this makes a person think about their own life. Are you living your life out loud? Are others piecing together who you are based on what they are presented with, or are you telling them who you are? Or both? Is what we see in Grey Gardens truly who the Edies are, or is that only what we are presented with?

These are questions I was constantly asking myself throughout the film, knowing the answer all along. Grey Gardens is who Little and Big Edie are. This is their daily life. Knowing this, I couldn't help but ask the question: is this the result of regrets, or can you reach a point where you go beyond the regrets you feel... and you deal with them the only way you know how?

There is a lot of unrest in both Edie's lives, yet they continue to live the way they do day after day. There is one moment of clarity, however. Little Edie makes a comment to her mother about the responsibility of aristocracy. Personally, I believe it to be the best quote in the film... and the climax. This isn't to say that the rest of the film isn't worth watching, because it most certainly is. Especially since, by the climax, you now have a better understanding of why things are the way they are and it helps to explain the sanity, and lack there of, of Little and Big Edie. And while they may reside far outside of a society that they once flourished in, they both still represent it to fullest. In many ways, it's very profound.

The last comment I have about this film (well, the last I will bother to write about... seeing as I could spend hours talking and writing about it) is Little Edie's fashion sense. The colors, textures, and ingenuity of it all is simply amazing. And I can see where so many fashion designers have taken inspiration from Little Edie. Each outfit ("costume") has equal parts time/preparation and spontaneity. In many ways, it reflects a time long past, familiar yet forbidden to both Edies... yet has been modified for Little Edie's rebelion. And as much as she rebels against high society, she so perfectly (and consciously) still represents it.

Like I said, I could go on and on and on for hours about this film. There are just so many items worth noting, and worth discussion. I feel as if this is incomplete, but I can't possibly think of a proper way to end it because, truthfully, I don't want to end it. I want to continue expressing my thoughts about this film... and it's been so long since I've felt compelled and moved enough by something to just ramble on and on about it. The last thing I can recall moving me was another documentary, The Wisconsin Death Trip, which is about the years of misfortune that plagued a town in Wisconsin for several generations. I can only hope that I will be able to achieve in making such an amazing film as these some day. My work will no doubt be works of fiction, but with reality as strange as this... I may be rooting myself in the wrong genre.