| 1~4~00 |
| Renewed determination hit me yesterday and as long as apathy
and procrastination stay away I'll be doing okay. The renewal of
creative vigor comes at a cost since my non-job time is limited and therefore
must be fully utilized and by fully I mean no more sitting in front of
the T.V. watching Springer or The Simpsons or ... That's been cut out recently
anyway. Working 3pm to 11pm cuts out the ability to watch videos
at any time other than weekends. I can't bring myself to spend the
morning and afternoon before work watching a movie.
The front page of this site will be revamped soon. I hate babbling about this site on this site or anywhere else for that matter, but I have discovered that unless I declare updates here in the column they never happen. As I often say, the coffee is on and filling the house with the aroma of what is forever an all American morning. Bach's lute suites play in the background. The suites can be played as plucking melodies to fill up the empty spaces of sound not being molested by the thudding, whining, and revving of the one armed recycling machine currently cruising the street. But when only ever listened to in this way the point of the music is surely lost. I never used to like Bach until the day I payer attention. He awards you for paying attention. So often no one is really listening to music by ridding themselves of their insipid worries, not having to think about the car in front of them, or stopping in their chores to let their undivided singularity of mind find and rest solely upon the music. Rock music is becoming tiring and harder to appreciate everyday. If it's not vibrant with talent, energy or brimming with emotion as only the best form of art in any genre can be then I have little thought for it. I don't know where all this classical, used loosely, thanks, music comes from. There seems to be an endless node of the shit radiating out from the past. It surprises me with its variety and abundance. Best of all, you don't even have to buy it since the radio is a fairly endless fount. From Bach I have now turned to the savage satan scratchings against the violin strings of Paginini. Does the beginning of every new year seem to give every wanker at every newspaper in the world the god given right to make lists of what they enjoyed wanking to the most over the past year? This year we get what these slobs particularly loved over the past year, decade, century and millennium as if they have the faintest concept of what one hundred years of art, let alone a millennia, even begins to mean. I too am tempted by the demon named "List." List demands I tell people what the best films of 1999 were even though I haven't and probably never will see all the films of 1999. Lets just say Star Wars was the biggest let down of the year. Lets also just say that Being John Malkovich was the exact opposite. And that stuff like Bringing Out the Dead and Sleepy hollow fell in the middle. We might also say that South Park, eXistenZ and The Matrix were well on the non-let down side of things. And movies like the Mummy and Man On the Moon need not receive particular mention. A nod of admiration and respect is due to Eyes Wide Shut and The Winslow Boy but not necessarily 007 and the Water Boy. Over all 1999 has quite possibly been the best year for film since a year outside of my lifetime if not ever. Stanley Kubrick's death is, of course, bad for film. Especially since he hadn't made a bland movie since "Killer's Kiss." As always, piles of requisite celluloid shit were on hand from Shark's with super-geniosity to Rob Schneider with none. All this indicates that the year 2000 is going to be a big day after whisky pisser. Stay at home and rent movies you may have missed in 1999 like that David Lynch film or too long to watch in the theater, "I can feel my butt getting sore already," Paul Thomas Anderson movie. Sorry about the list. |