Films and Truth

I think the regression back into winter weather has inspired in me an inclination toward classic, romantic, and foreign films lately. It really only takes one good one to ignite the flame, and that was Tony Takitani on Saturday afternoon. A quiet and restrained but lovely short film. I love that classic Japanese sensibility of stripping away all the extraneous matter, to only leave behind the absolutely pure and essential elements. Very direct, and honest. I like that.

Then again I also love the embellished style of neo-Realist Italian films - low-angled shots capturing dramatic lines and angles and bold architecture. Deep, dark shadows and rich colors and aggressive camera movements. Last night I finally crossed off Cinema Paradiso off my list of been-meaning-to-see-films. It was the first time in a long long while that I fell head over heels in love with a movie. At the same time, it made me lament the 'progress' in movie technology, and the over-saturation of movies being pumped out of the industry. I guess I'm at the age where I really envy the innocent sense of wonder that I used to get from merely seeing moving images on a screen, or listening to a simple tune, and being captivated by my senses alone. One of my favorite scenes in Cinema Paradiso is when the old projectionist (Alfredo), in his blind state, touches the strip of film, runs it through his fingers, and tastes it - I really like that idea - of loving film so much, that you want to consume it in every way possible.

And now for a totally random aside: Yesterday, while in Bethesda, I walked into a new "salon" to buy some overpriced & unnecessary conditioner, and the proprieter/stylist approached me and started a conversation. I almost mistook him for a panhandler that had ambled in the store, b/c he was dressed in a dirty black hoodie, cargo pants, sneakers, and his lips were really chappped. But he said that he had studied in Europe as a stylist for years, catering to supermodels, and that he came back to the states to start his salon because he had grown weary of the haute fashion world. Eh, even with the hobo getup, it would've been mildly believable, but when I asked him where in Europe he had studied, he got really flustered and stuttered, "You know the usual, Paris, Milan, NICE..." which he pronounced like "She is a very NICE lady." Ha, I don't know, I thought it was pretty amusing and cute, so I bought the conditioner he was pushing, just because he was trying so hard. It's funny, but as much as I appreciate honesty and sincerity, I don't usually hold dishonesty against people as long as their intentions are good. Maybe it's because I'm the biggest liar I know. Or maybe it's because I've always been cynical in thinking that everyone lies, and the best we can hope for is that they mean well. I would gladly trade a little honesty for an equal share of care and compassion.

Tonight, ChungKing Express REDUX.

WARNING! This is going to be one of those half-drunk rambling and unbroken blog entries. I keeps it reals like that. It was the first day of the week that I got out of work before 8, so instead of meeting up with the rest of the office at Georgetown, I opted to spend a night inside with a bottle of wine and some rented movies. I just finished watching "A History of Violence" and am pretty confident that I made the correct decision to stay in for movie-night. Excellent film, strong acting, and superb direction (hello, it's Cronenberg). But why the hell did William Hurt get nominated for this, wtf! Highly recommended, and it's not just the Merlot talking. Actually, I should watch it again tomorrow just to double-check that, but I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about. In any case, I have a positive bias for films that take place in the nothingness of the midwest (note: west of Reston to me, qualifies as the "midwest" - this means you Chantilly). Wide, flat landscapes sparsely cut thru with dusty, unlined roads and the occasional rambler equipped with a wraparound porch, swing bench, and decorated with floral wallpaper. If you haven't yet been stranded in some podunk town whose main attractions include Walmart and the local wax museum, you have yet to experience the best that America has to offer. Diners and down home service and mini-golf and pickup trucks and meatloaf. That comes off as patronizing, but I'm completely serious. In fact, ever since my sister and I discovered this B&B in said-podunk town in the Shenandoah, I have made my way over twice since, and have thus designated it as my resident local getaway. It is truly the epitome of Americana...Sunday finds the neighborhood deserted since everyone is either at Sunday church service or at the diner (post-service) or at the local Sunday flea market. Hmm...I have a sudden craving for scrambled eggs and bacon. OK, before I leave to succumb to that craving, let me say add this to my endorsement of "History of Violence": it has the most original sex scene I've seen in years.

Feening for More Sopranos

HOLY CRAP, the season premiere episode of Sopranos last night rocked my mother fuckin socks off! I relished every delicious second of it. The season premiere reminded me why people are so quick to call the Sopranos the best show on television; it's just astonishing to see the mix of magnificent writing, acting, and production all converge in 1 all-too-short hour of pure brilliance. Wow, just...WOW. The days between Sundays could not go by fast enough.



In other news, my sister has just got accepted to the University of Maryland's Pharm.D program! Congratulations sis! This is welcome news for my parents, but especially my dad, who is looking forward to my sister finally moving out so he doesn't have to worry about coming home to the 'watchdog' that my sister has become. It seems that he's regressed into bachelordom by hanging out with friends, drinking on work nights, making frivolous purchases on expensive clothing, and being all around sheisty. But my sister tries to keep him in check by interrogating him when he comes home late at night. Me, I could never do that, especially since I was always the one in the household that kept the family waiting with my long nights (or early mornings). What's funny though is that my dad has started using all the old strategies and excuses that I used to use on HIM. Like telling my sister that he was going on a Barnes and Noble run (but really meeting up with friends), or bringing food home as a distraction from the fact that he's been running around with friends all night. I feel like I should be paid royalties damnit! And to add, either the world is topsy-turvy or my life is fucking pathetic, because every time I ask my dad if he wants to meet for dinner, he says he's already got plans that night and blows me off to meet up with friends. Yes folks, my dad's social life is hotter than mine.

And what else is going ons in the infinitely frenetic life of Jenny Kim? I'm going to Italy this summer! The original plan was Greece, but island-hopping proved to be too much of a pain to plan for this year. However, it seems that planning for Italy is not much easier, since there's way too much ground to cover in merely 2 weeks. I am tentatively thinking of flying into Milan, travelling south thru Tuscany, Rome, to Napoli and back up North, perhaps stopping at Verona (and skipping Venice entirely). Too much? I honestly could see myself stopping short in Florence and just kickin it for the whole 2 weeks at Enotecas, drinking vino the whole time. But if you have other travel itineraries or suggestions, let me know.

It wasn't too long ago that I used to think I had an inexhaustible amount of energy. Not so much active, physical energy, but at least the mental capacity to cram a lot into a day, as long as time permitted. Now that I'm working 12-hour days on a pretty consistent basis, I come back home feeling like my remaining mental energies are like the last bit of sand slipping through the hourglass until I am completely tapped out. It's frustrating that I feel utterly unable to expend the same amount effort I used to on things that matter to me OUTSIDE of my job. Sadly, I'm pretty much limited to choosing ONE mentally taxing thing to do once I get back from work, and grocery-shopping is now considered a mentally-taxing task (as evidenced when I tried to both balance my budget THEN go grocery shopping which only led to me drooling in a stupor in the cereal aisle). It makes me realize that as I get older, I'm fighting more than just time; each passing day depletes a little more from what I now see are increasingly scarce resources: youth, energy, mental acuity, and idealism. And it scares me! (I want to end this entry on a more conclusive note, but I'm too exhausted to do so.)