Follow Up To Le Petit Prince Tattoos
October 6, 2010Last Night
October 3, 2010A beauty mark drawn on by an eyeliner pencil way up on my left cheekbone, a friend’s tall, slim, Scandinavian girlfriend who has forgotten me, a glamorous, bustling, seventies-style event, something annual, a group and celebration I vaguely remember once feeling a part of but distinctly do not now.
Poto and Cabengo
October 3, 2010Somebody please find me the documentary Poto and Cabengo, twins with idioglossia, directed by Jean-Pierre Gorin! Or pay for me to go see it in Chicago at the Block Museum at 7 PM on November 17.
Revivals and Rediscoveries
| Date | Film | Time |
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| 10/29 | Demon Lover Diary | 7 pm |
| 11/17 | Poto and Cabengo | 7 pm |
In a new ongoing series, Block Cinema will screen rare and often hard-to-see American and international films—from revered classics to obscure curiosities—that deserve a second look. This Fall’s offerings include two landmark documentaries from the same year, 1980, which offer hilarious and fascinating portraits of odd pairs, including Poto and Cabengo, Jean-Pierre Gorin’s legendary study of 6 year old twins who become a media sensation after supposedly creating their own language, and Demon Lover Diary, Joel DeMott’s side-splitting, jaw-dropping portrait of Don and Jerry, two Midwestern factory workers who set out to fulfill their lifelong dream of making a low-budget horror film.
Wednesday, November 17, 7 pm
Poto and Cabengo
Co-Presented by White Light Cinema
(Jean-Pierre Gorin, 1980, US, HDCam video, 76 min.)
After his 1970s collaborative films with Jean-Luc Godard (Tout Va Bien, Letter to Jane), filmmaker and intellectual Jean-Pierre Gorin left France to teach at UC San Diego. Primarily a professor and writer, his filmmaking has been sparse, but his “Southern California Trilogy” documentaries have been recognized as classics in the genre. The first of those films, the remarkable Poto and Cabengo, interweaves the lives of two six year-old identical twin girls who seem to have developed their own private language, and Gorin’s own personal reflections on his adopted country. The result moves beyond the specific to illuminate just what it means to be human. New digital restoration from Janus Films.
DIY Home Decorating
September 29, 2010“When Kip called them, they walked out of the kitchen and onto the terrace, whose border, with its low stone balustrade, was ringed with light.
“It looked to Caravaggio like a string of small electric candles found in dusty churches, and he thought the sapper had gone too far in removing them from a chapel, even for Hana’s birthday. Hana walked slowly forward with her hands over her face. There was no wind. Her legs and thighs moved through the skirt of her frock as if it were thin water. Her tennis shoes silent on the stone.
“‘I kept finding dead shells wherever I was digging,’ the sapper said.
“They still didn’t understand. Caravaggio bent over the flutter of lights. They were snail shells filled with oil. He looked along the row of them; there must have been about forty.
“‘Forty-five,’ Kip said, ‘the years so far of this century. Where I come from, we celebrate the age as well as ourselves.’
“Hana moved alongside them, her hands in her pockets now, the way Kip loved to see her walk. So relaxed, as if she had put her arms away for the night, now in simple armless movement.
“Caravaggio was diverted by the startling presence of three bottles of red wine on the table. He walked over and read the labels and shook his head, amazed. He knew the sapper wouldn’t drink any of it. All three had already been opened. Kip must have picked his way through some etiquette book in the library. Then he saw the corn and the meat and the potatoes. Hana slid her arm into Kip’s and came with him to the table.
“They ate and drank, the unexpected thickness of the wine like meat on their tongues. They were soon turning silly in their toasts to the sapper –– ‘the great forager’ –– and to the English patient. They toasted each other, Kip joining in with his beaker of water. This was when he began to talk about himself. Caravaggio pressing him on, not always listening, sometimes standing up and walking around the table, pacing and pacing with pleasure at all this. He wanted these two married, longed to force them verbally towards it, but they seemed to have their own strange rules about their relationship. What was he doing in this role. He sat down again. Now and then he noticed the death of a light. The snail shells held only so much oil. Kip would rise and refill them with pink paraffin.
“‘We must keep them lit till midnight.'”
~Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient
Insomnia, Part Three
September 28, 2010I’ve been staying up later and later into the night to read, into the wee-er, smaller hours, and since I’m down visiting my boyfriend in the nation’s capital and he needs to sleep so he can act like a normal person in the morning, I’m forced to use a little flashlight to get my fix, and the whole reading thing is supposed to help me sleep but it makes me feel so deliciously naughty, like a fairy tale little-me reading Roald Dahl fully aware I should be snoozing by then, but I can’t possibly shut the book now…
Word of the Day!
September 22, 2010Irrumator –– Latin, noun –– a man who forces another man to perform oral sex on him
“It’s like a BRAIN FACTORY in here…”
September 20, 2010Since the New York Times stole my friend HR (the artist formerly known as HA) and my idea about having a Moderate Traveler column, we’re thinking maybe we should offer to be the Luxury-addicted, Flashy, Wasteful travelers?! Coming to a manmade-island-shaped-like-a-continent in Dubai near you…
Unintentional Hilarity
September 20, 2010My friend BA and I found a copy of Valerie Solanas’ “SCUM Manifesto” (ManifestA, she should have said) on the street the other day and naturally grabbed it. I read the whole thing in about an hour and seriously considered just re-typing the whole thing here because it’s pretty goddamn hysterical, but excerpts will have to suffice. The introduction:
“Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation, and destroy the male sex.
“It is now technically possible to reproduce without the aid of males (or, for that matter, females) and to produce only females. We must begin immediately to do so. Retaining the male has not even the dubious purpose of reproduction. The male is a biological accident: the Y (male) gene is an incomplete X (female) gene, that is, has an incomplete set of chromosomes. In other words, the male is an incomplete female, a walking abortion, aborted at the gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.”
Tell us how you REALLY feel, Val!
She also includes some really awesome lists, including a list of “acceptable” and “the most obnoxious and harmful types of” males and strategic ways to overthrow the system. Here is one of my favorite lists, which is ways in which females who “crave absorbing, emotionally satisfying, meaningful activity, but lacking the opportunity or ability for this… prefer to idle and waste away their time”:
“sleeping, shopping, bowling, shooting pool, playing cards and other games, breeding, reading, walking around, daydreaming, eating, playing with themselves, popping pills, going to the movies, getting analyzed, traveling, raising dogs and cats, lolling on the beach, swimming, watching TV, listening to music, decorating their houses, gardening, sewing, nightclubbing, dancing, visiting, “improving their minds” (taking courses), and absorbing “culture” (lectures, plays, concerts, “arty” movies.)
Sometimes I found myself agreeing with Solanas, which is weird for reasons I don’t think I need to delineate. Here is one example of where I think she has a point:
“Looking inside yourself for salvation, contemplating your navel, is not, as the Drop-Out People would have you believe, the answer. Happiness lies outside yourself, is achieved through interacting with others. Self-forgetfulness should be one’s goal, not self-absorption.”
Very Zen of her.
Final point: prostitutes who worked near her in her life post-Warhol-jail-mental hospitals-etc. testified that she “looked elegant and slender, and she always wore a silver lame dress when she worked the street.” Maybe SHE should be my new style icon.
Sunday Sunflowers
September 20, 2010Consumer Anxiety
September 17, 2010My craftiness having been honed as a result of being unemployed, I went yesterday to test a website for a software company (something like that) and was rewarded with a $35 Amazon.com gift card. I use part of it to buy a few (bad) books I need for research but have ten dollars remaining. I don’t want to let the money languish on the card lest I forget I have it, so the question remains: what to buy?
My on-going to read/buy list:
Books to Buy/Read/Read Again
Tatjana in Color
Lost in the Cosmos
McLean book
Lucia Joyce book (In the Wake? Dancing in the Wake?)
Edna Saint Vincent Millay bio
The Lives of the Saints
A Barrel of Laughs, A Vale of Tears
fear and loathing in america: gonzo letters 2 by hunter s. thompson
can somebody shout amen? (patsy sims)
coma
frankenstein
Dracula
Sophie’s world
Confederacy of Dunces
Anna Karenina
Silent Twins by Marjorie Wallace
Thy Neighbor’s Wife by Gay Talese
When Marina Abramovic Dies by James Wescott
Mein Kampf
I Jan Cremer by Jan Cremer
flying to america by donald barthelme
wind-up bird chronicles by haruki murakami
the lost weekend by charles jackson
rings of saturn by w.g. sebald
vincent van gogh’s letters to his brother
this warhol book i can’t remember the title of
les enfants terrible by jean cocteau
the naturalist
catch 22 by joseph heller (can you believe i have never read this?)
peeling the onion and
the tin drum both by gunter grass
look homeward, angel by thomas wolfe
books by ingmar bergman (he wrote a bunch!)
collected works of wallace stevens
strangeland by tracy emin
the immoralist
the long sonata of the dead by michael robinson
diane arbus’ biography
in the labyrinth by robbe-grillet
darkness visible by william styron
suite francaise by irene nemirovsky
the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime
margarita and the master bulgokov
autobiography of a face by lucy grealey and
truth and beauty (her biography)


