Much Ado about NOTHING

PED XING

There's no stoplight at the intersection near my house. If I counted all the minutes I've spent standing on the corner there, waiting for a break in the traffic so I could cross, I'm sure it would depress me profoundly. Or maybe it would make me insanely angry, crazy enough to run into the street, playing chicken with the cars like some demented matador.

I have a feeling of total futility as I stand there, watching 20 or 30 cars swish by. And I often have an existential moment. I feel like a trivial blob of protoplasm, aware of the world's indifference and my own impatience and anxiety. Should I make a run for it? To be or not to be...road kill?

Occasionally, the drivers take pity. They slow to a crawl and flash their lights, or make odd hand gestures--usually an impatient swatting motion, as if I was an insect buzzing along their windshield. I'm obviously supposed to be grateful, so I smile and wave as I trot across the street, feeling like the town nuisance, he who must be indulged.

Sometimes I wish there were crossing guards for adults.

Brain Dump

Easy as pie in the face of the facts of the matter with you, anyway? Lock, stock and barrel of monkeys around the clock tower of power plant a garden variety is the spice of life goes on or off with her head for the hills are alive with the sound of silence. Hang in there you go for it could be worse for wear out your welcome with open arms and legs of the table your plans have a way of not working out as planned for this ahead of time is on our side of the road that leads to your door is always open up or else. Kirk out.

Word of the Day: puissance

puissance (n)

Ability to influence or coerce; having a controlling influence.

"Where is the graveyard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a time when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian and an ignoramus. But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter today?"
--H. L. Mencken, "Where is the graveyard of dead gods?"

He may not be worshiped anymore, but he did have a humongous blob of methane gas in space named after him. That's some consolation, I guess.

Red Eye

Local artists have created works of art on utility boxes along Central Avenue in the Heights section of Jersey City. This is how my eyes feel, sometimes, after a long day of staring at a computer screen. (Click the pic if you want a real eyeful. And you can eyeball the other boxes here.)

Weekend Loew's Report

The General (1927)

What can I say? More than 80 years on, it's hard to evaluate a silent film like The General, generally considered Buster Keaton's masterpiece. The aesthetics are so different in silents that they could almost be considered a separate medium. (Keaton's films have more in common with today's animated features than anything else, I think.)

The General, based on a true Civil War story, has amazing visuals and incredibly dangerous stunt work, by Keaton himself, involving moving trains. It also has more drama and story than audiences of the "Keystone Cops" era were used to, at least from Keaton, and so it was a flop at the time. In 2009 at The Landmark Loew's Jersey Theatre, here in the JC, however, it was a hit, producing many laughs and much applause. I'm lousy at estimating crowd sizes, but the theater was crowded and there was a long line to get in. There just aren't many places where you can see an archival print of a classic 1927 film in a "movie palace" environment with live organ accompaniment these days.

Here's short video tour of the Loew's:

'Dark Night of the Soul'

This is an NPR page with a link to a stream of the recent album collaboration by Danger Mouse, Sparklehorse, David Lynch, et al ("one of the year's most mysterious albums"), that EMI has banned from release.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Way I Feel

Some dude, clean cut in that Utah Bible-peddler way, pounded on the front door this evening (we do have a doorbell) and wanted to sell me a wireless home alarm system. He thought we already had one because the previous owners' Brinks sticker is still on a front window. "People cut the wires," he warned. "Not interested," I said. Felt a twinge of sympathy though.... Had a beer at lunch, which led to much yawning this afternoon. Felt somnolent.... Need to reinstall my aquarium filter, but have been putting it off. Feel sorry for the fish.... Finished reading Then We Came to the End. Found it somewhat disturbing, sort of like a scarier version of The Office.... Looking forward to seeing a silent movie at the Loews tomorrow night....

"Like Proust be an old teahead of time"

Like, wow: Jack Kerouac's 30 Cool Tips for writers. They're not very practical (neither was Kerouac), but they have a subversive, Gertrude Stein-like quality that just might put you in the mood to write.

"You're a genius all the time."

Drivel

Artist's Lament

His painting finished, he bathes in turpentine until the blues dissolve. Is it good or bad or nothing at all? Outside, he walks in a fog, where the trees resemble a smudged pencil sketch. Not knowing anyone here, hating or loving no one, he calls to the trees for advice. Are they not full of wisdom, full of history coiled in their many rings? The doves coo in the leaves, but reveal nothing.

Toad Purse?

I need a stress wiener, or maybe an inflatable fruitcake.

The T & T List

popcorn
Uganda
Neilsen Media Research
Then We Came to the End
David Carradine
zombies
Jane Austen
#9 Dream
Ithaca
AIM
orchid
metadata
Strattera
Buster Keaton

Word of the Day: penetralia

penetralia (n)

The innermost parts of a structure, especially a temple sanctuary; the most private or secret part of something.

"'True,' answered my wife. "And in that sense we are a mystery to our neighbors.'
'Doubtless we are,' said I. 'Doubtless there have been questions asked about us many times which none answered satisfactorily, and which still remain as unsolved problems. There is a penetralia in every family.'"
--Timothy Shay Arthur, Our Neighbors in the Corner House

I wish my neighbors were more of a mystery. Last weekend we were treated to both their barking dog, who glared down at us from their elevated back deck as we puttered around in the yard, and a loud 1950s rock-and-roll concert from their open windows. Wop bop a loo bop a lop bam boom!