Last South By post was getting long, so took a break, and now the end.
3/21/09
Had remembered the night before that the Stalkers were playing on the East Side at 11:30am(!), so up early to try to come up with a bus route to get there, over at Cafe Caffeine. Surprisingly, Phil was up too, and ready to make a day of it. Give it a shot - meet downtown.... I caught the lucky #1 bus, Phil ran, and amazingly we both made it. Pooled our change - $1.45 (five cents short) - so I asked everyone within range of the bus stop, even those who looked homeless, for a nickel. Finally got one from a dude on the corner, just in time to deposit $1.50 in the #6 bus, and head east. Another dude who got on the bus needed change, Phil yells from the back, "Sorry dude, we only have twenties!" We quickly realized this is not the thing to yell on a bus bound for East 12th. Off the bus at Club 1808, and the bands are out on the street, waiting to get in. I talk to Andy, singer of the Stalkers, and we think we've met before through a mutual friend. Finally get into the club - what a marvelous dive! - and out to the backyard, where there are card tables, chairs, trash cans, and a really cool stage. Hang out in the noontime sun, listening to some really sensitive singer/guitarist who apparently lost his band, and is losing his voice. Anyway... across the street to the liquor store for brown-bagged tallboys, and a hot dog for me - one of the best hot dogs I've had in years. The cashier offered me no condiments, and I needed none; dogs this delectable should be pure. During my transaction, Phil gets accosted outside, ordered by this hoodlum to a) buy him beer! and b) buy a medicine kit's variety of drugs from him. Phil looks relieved to see me exit this wonderful hot dog-serving liquor store. Over to the alley beside 1808, and into the backyard to see the Stalkers. These guys are awesome, late '70s era hard/punk rock, really damn catchy and fun. There are about 15 people sitting in chairs watching them. Andy flails around in front of the stage and smashes cinder blocks with a wrench, both conveniently located in the yard and the alley. We will come back to this neighborhood, just maybe not at night....
Back downtown with a list of venues that are supposed to have both music and free food and/or beer. The list is flawed! So up to Waterloo Park - another magical spot, with gently sloping hills and a tree house-like overlook - to see King Khan and the Shrines. Very good garagey soul/funk. Phil has to work, so I meet Tania, and we take her scooter (still not convinced that this scooter should seat two, but it's fun) to Whole Foods for sushi and Foster's oil cans. (I'd done the recon and knew we could buy and bring these into the park in Tania's bag at $2 a pop instead of paying $7 each for them inside.) Back to Waterloo to sit and watch The Thermals, who I really like - catchy power pop, singer has a great voice. Then Lucero, who I enjoyed, but maybe am still not seeing what the fuss is about. Then the Monotonix....
Last time I saw these guys, I proclaimed them the best live band I've ever seen. I told everyone about their maniacal act that ended with the entire band out in the hallway of the club they were playing, still playing their instruments. I worried that this would spoil the mystique if they did the same thing again. It did not, because they did not, and yet, they are still the best live band ever. They play 1970s hard rock/metal, like a faster, lighter Sabbath. But their stage presence... well, that's a misnomer, because they're rarely actually on stage, except to climb the rafters and jump off. The bass drum gets passed around the crowd, with the singer surfing on top of it. Then the drummer gets passed around, while continuing to play his kit. The singer parts the crowd like the Red fucking Sea and runs amok. Then... relax... everyone sit down. Everyone within 100 feet of the stage in this park sits down. "Shut the fuck up everybody!" the singer yells in his peculiar Israeli accent. When the band starts playing again, everyone jump up and dance. And we do! To have hundreds of people jump off the ground in perfect clockwork frenzy is a beautiful experience. Then we sit down again, packed like sardines, and do it again... before house PA cues house music, effectively ending the Monotonix set. Singer persuades them to let him say one more thing, that is... that this is the third time they've been cut off this festival. Thank you everybody....
Circle Jerks are next, and who can follow the Monotonix? But they are actually really good and fun. But ready to get out, Tania and I dump her scooter in a garage for the night, wander around looking for food. Oh, there's Jaime's Spanish Village, of course, let's go there. Pitcher of sangria while we wait for a table, then quesadillas and chicken mole. Have I been living under a rock surrounded by cacti because I've never heard of this fantastic entree made with a chocolate and peanut butter sauce? Stuffed, out for a walk. Various choice haunts on Red River and 6th are packed, so over, and up, to Speak Easy - another swanky dance club that I did not see myself setting foot in. But very nice, up on the roof top terrace, with futon/couch/beds all around the perimeter, nice view of the city. Rum and Cokes, dancing, and... "Hey Eric!" My phone had died, and Eric had tried to call, but miraculously we both ended up at the same place, where neither of us had been before. A fun night there. Then, with Eric and friends, we go to wait in line for some after-party. Eric and Candace try to sneak in the side, then the back, and no luck. Fuck this, I'm walking home....
3/22/09
Saturday was great, but would've been an anticlimactic end to SXSW (waiting in line for an after party - Eric and Candace and the others got in one hour later - at 4:30am), had I not decided to join those two and Lacey for Gay Bi Gay Gay on Sunday. As you can guess, this is the gay version of South By (before I realized it was "bi" and not "by," I wondered how they didn't come up with a more clever title), in someone's large backyard. A fun, colorful event (natch), with interesting costumes (pasties, imaginative cross-dressing), good pizza loaded with toppings (mine had garlic, jalapenos, olives, mushrooms, spinach, and other shit that fell off as I lifted it to my mouth), and music, including Butch County, a very cheesey and funny lesbian hard rock act. Eric takes Candace to the airport, and we are done my friend... done, fried, burned, cooked, no longer hungry... for the night, at least....
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
SXSW Middle
3/19/09
Alarm going off sounds exactly like a foghorn (what you get when you buy your alarm clocks from Goodwill), slam that snooze button, and over to Alamo Lamar for the morning movie. Alexander the Last is a very good and enthralling flick, from one of my favorite new directors (Joe Swanberg), about a newly-married couple in their twenties. On a tear, speed-walk over to Alamo Ritz, make it in for mozzarella sticks, Coke, and It Came From Kuchar - an awesome, funny, and profoundly entertaining documentary about the legendary underground filmmakers, the Kuchar brothers. Only film in the festival that I forgot to pay my food bill in the theater due to sheer involvement in the movie. The thing is, there are a lot of docs made about interesting people, but interesting people don't always make interesting docs. You have to have a charismatic and completely peculiar subject to make a great doc. In addition to this one, the films about Slavoj Zizek come to mind. A fitting end to what would be the end of my SXSW film fest experience.
Hit a bit of a wall, energy-wise, so home to shower, over to Cafe Caffeine, and over to Fran's for a free burger, Sante Fe beer, and music. (During SXSX, almost every club, bar, restaurant, cafe, store, and body shop offers some sort of musical entertainment, some times accompanied by free food and drinks.) Listening to the soft folk sounds of Golden Bloom, I want nothing more than to have everyone pour beer all over each other. Open the taps. Not in an angry or mean way, but purely care-free, let's make a mess on this hot day. From here on out, all decisions made at random at the last minute. Hop on first bus north on Congress - it's the #1, so if I want to make it to Cheap-o Records to see Kevin Seconds and Kepi Ghoulie, I'll have to walk. Lots of traffic makes bus go slow, so off that damn bus on 7th and Congress. Over to Side Bar to meet Eric and Lacey and friends. They're winding down so we walk back across the river for the free concert on the shore. Phil informs me via phone that tallboys are $5. Walking by Threadgill's, I hear an awesome song ("I Walked with a Zombie"), so Eric and I ditch the others. Turns out its Roky Erickson with Okkervil River - awesome - and we hear their last two songs. Over to the gas station for 24 ouncers, into some condo to sit on some random stairs and chill. We get talking and miss the whole concert at the shore. Meet up with Lacey to go to Zax, then back across the river. Then into a place I'd walked by before and never thought I would be inside as long as I lived in Austin: the ultra-swanky Belmont. But hell, I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and they let me in without a cover, so up to the rooftop terrace to order an only moderately expensive beer and hang with Nick and friends. Got tired, walked home.
I don't want to be in a band that's trying to "make it"... I don't want to be a pipe-dreamer. I want to keep making movies, but never ever make them in L.A.
3/20/09
Foghorn alarm, smash the snooze, cereal and OJ, Cafe Caffeine. Over to Hoek's for lunch - death metal pizza. Noontime death metal becomes early afternoon hardcore at Red 7. Wow, Ruiner is one of the best hardcore bands I've seen in a long time. Meet Liz, Larry, and Amy and Mike (in from Boston), and let the Lone Stars flow. Then more death metal: Darkest Hour is a very good band, but I don't like it when bands tell me what to do (clap for this, scream for that, etc.) or lie about having only one more song when they surely have planned for two. Then, Dillinger Four was awesome, and Paddy was perhaps as funny as ever in his euphemistic translation of drugs into cereals, for the little kids in the audience. The Bouncing Souls were great too (especially their yacht rock cover of "Hybrid Moments"), but honestly, not too many can follow D4, and the Lone Stars were adding up, making me tired.
Up north for delicious BBQ at Rudy's, with Mexican Coke (I believe they use real sugar, thus making their colas sweeter) and cream corn tasting like dessert. Eventually made it back for an Ace Pear Cider at Red Eyed Fly, and then off on my own. Made the masochistic decison to walk 20 blocks up to Spider House, even though I was quite sure the Stalkers weren't playing there until tomorrow night. And they weren't. I just felt like walking. So, #1 bus back home, make a plan for tomorrow, end a long day, and wait for the foghorn to render the day anew.
Alarm going off sounds exactly like a foghorn (what you get when you buy your alarm clocks from Goodwill), slam that snooze button, and over to Alamo Lamar for the morning movie. Alexander the Last is a very good and enthralling flick, from one of my favorite new directors (Joe Swanberg), about a newly-married couple in their twenties. On a tear, speed-walk over to Alamo Ritz, make it in for mozzarella sticks, Coke, and It Came From Kuchar - an awesome, funny, and profoundly entertaining documentary about the legendary underground filmmakers, the Kuchar brothers. Only film in the festival that I forgot to pay my food bill in the theater due to sheer involvement in the movie. The thing is, there are a lot of docs made about interesting people, but interesting people don't always make interesting docs. You have to have a charismatic and completely peculiar subject to make a great doc. In addition to this one, the films about Slavoj Zizek come to mind. A fitting end to what would be the end of my SXSW film fest experience.
Hit a bit of a wall, energy-wise, so home to shower, over to Cafe Caffeine, and over to Fran's for a free burger, Sante Fe beer, and music. (During SXSX, almost every club, bar, restaurant, cafe, store, and body shop offers some sort of musical entertainment, some times accompanied by free food and drinks.) Listening to the soft folk sounds of Golden Bloom, I want nothing more than to have everyone pour beer all over each other. Open the taps. Not in an angry or mean way, but purely care-free, let's make a mess on this hot day. From here on out, all decisions made at random at the last minute. Hop on first bus north on Congress - it's the #1, so if I want to make it to Cheap-o Records to see Kevin Seconds and Kepi Ghoulie, I'll have to walk. Lots of traffic makes bus go slow, so off that damn bus on 7th and Congress. Over to Side Bar to meet Eric and Lacey and friends. They're winding down so we walk back across the river for the free concert on the shore. Phil informs me via phone that tallboys are $5. Walking by Threadgill's, I hear an awesome song ("I Walked with a Zombie"), so Eric and I ditch the others. Turns out its Roky Erickson with Okkervil River - awesome - and we hear their last two songs. Over to the gas station for 24 ouncers, into some condo to sit on some random stairs and chill. We get talking and miss the whole concert at the shore. Meet up with Lacey to go to Zax, then back across the river. Then into a place I'd walked by before and never thought I would be inside as long as I lived in Austin: the ultra-swanky Belmont. But hell, I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and they let me in without a cover, so up to the rooftop terrace to order an only moderately expensive beer and hang with Nick and friends. Got tired, walked home.
I don't want to be in a band that's trying to "make it"... I don't want to be a pipe-dreamer. I want to keep making movies, but never ever make them in L.A.
3/20/09
Foghorn alarm, smash the snooze, cereal and OJ, Cafe Caffeine. Over to Hoek's for lunch - death metal pizza. Noontime death metal becomes early afternoon hardcore at Red 7. Wow, Ruiner is one of the best hardcore bands I've seen in a long time. Meet Liz, Larry, and Amy and Mike (in from Boston), and let the Lone Stars flow. Then more death metal: Darkest Hour is a very good band, but I don't like it when bands tell me what to do (clap for this, scream for that, etc.) or lie about having only one more song when they surely have planned for two. Then, Dillinger Four was awesome, and Paddy was perhaps as funny as ever in his euphemistic translation of drugs into cereals, for the little kids in the audience. The Bouncing Souls were great too (especially their yacht rock cover of "Hybrid Moments"), but honestly, not too many can follow D4, and the Lone Stars were adding up, making me tired.
Up north for delicious BBQ at Rudy's, with Mexican Coke (I believe they use real sugar, thus making their colas sweeter) and cream corn tasting like dessert. Eventually made it back for an Ace Pear Cider at Red Eyed Fly, and then off on my own. Made the masochistic decison to walk 20 blocks up to Spider House, even though I was quite sure the Stalkers weren't playing there until tomorrow night. And they weren't. I just felt like walking. So, #1 bus back home, make a plan for tomorrow, end a long day, and wait for the foghorn to render the day anew.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Lady Chatterley's Principles
In "A Nietzschean Coup D'Etat" (found in Escape from the Nineteenth Century), Peter Lamborn Wilson tells the story of the Autonomous Sanjak of Cumantsa, a free society that existed for about a year and a half at the end of World War I. They lived off usurped treasure, celebrated a wild melange of folk lore and culture, and put together a founding manifesto using only selections from Nietzsche's oeuvre. Pretty interesting stuff. Anyway, I woke up in the middle of the other night with the vague and dazed notion of compiling a list of all the places serving breakfast tacos that I want to visit in Austin (seems to be a running theme in this blog, huh?). This deliriously half-awake state somehow got me thinking of Cumantsa, and how it might be fun to compile my own found-miscellanea document, but with something other than Nietzsche. As I became more conscious, the source became obvious: Lady Chatterley's Lover, by D.H. Lawrence. This great novel is pretty quotable and wide-ranging in its critique. Again, just for fun... or, perhaps this should become my manifesto for life in Austin?
Opening
Oh, intellectually I believe in having a good heart, a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, and the courage to say 'shit!' in front of a lady. - Tommy Dukes
Progress
'Home!' . . . it was a warm word to use for that great, weary warren. But then it was a word that had had its day. It was somehow cancelled. All the great words, it seemed to Connie, were cancelled for her generation: love, joy, happiness, home, mother, father, husband, all these great dynamic words were half dead now, and dying from day to day. Home was a place you lived in, love was a thing you didn't fool yourself about, joy was a word you applied to a good Charleston, happiness was a term of hypocrisy used to bluff other people, a father was an individual who enjoyed his own existence, a husband was a man you lived with and kept going in spirits.
Industry and Capital
All the lot. Their spunk is gone dead. Motor cars and cinemas and aeroplanes suck that last bit out of them. I tell you, every generation breeds a more rabbity generation, with india rubber tubing for guts and tin legs and tin faces. Tin people! It's all a steady sort of bolshevism just killing off the human thing, and worshipping the mechanical thing. Money, money, money! All the modern lot get their real kick out of killing the old human feeling out of man, making mincemeat of the old Adam and the old Eve. They're all alike. The world is all alike: kill off the human reality, a quid for every foreskin, two quid for each pair of balls. - Oliver Mellors
Environment and the Spectacle
As for people! people were all alike, with very little differences. They all wanted to get money out of you: or, if they were travellers, they wanted to get enjoyment, perforce, like squeezing blood out of a stone. Poor mountains! poor landscape! it all had to be squeezed and squeezed and squeezed again, to provide a thrill, to provide enjoyment. What did people mean, with their simply determined enjoying of themselves? No! said Connie to herself. I'd rather be at Wragby, where I can go about and be still, and not stare at anything or do any performing of any sort. This tourist performance of enjoying oneself is too hopelessly humiliating: it's such a failure.
Real-body-politik
The human body is only just coming to real life. With the Greeks it gave a lovely flicker, then Plato and Aristotle killed it, and Jesus finished it off. But now the body is coming really to life, it is really rising from the tomb. And it will be a lovely, lovely life in the lovely universe, the life of the human body. - Connie
Opening
Oh, intellectually I believe in having a good heart, a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, and the courage to say 'shit!' in front of a lady. - Tommy Dukes
Progress
'Home!' . . . it was a warm word to use for that great, weary warren. But then it was a word that had had its day. It was somehow cancelled. All the great words, it seemed to Connie, were cancelled for her generation: love, joy, happiness, home, mother, father, husband, all these great dynamic words were half dead now, and dying from day to day. Home was a place you lived in, love was a thing you didn't fool yourself about, joy was a word you applied to a good Charleston, happiness was a term of hypocrisy used to bluff other people, a father was an individual who enjoyed his own existence, a husband was a man you lived with and kept going in spirits.
Industry and Capital
All the lot. Their spunk is gone dead. Motor cars and cinemas and aeroplanes suck that last bit out of them. I tell you, every generation breeds a more rabbity generation, with india rubber tubing for guts and tin legs and tin faces. Tin people! It's all a steady sort of bolshevism just killing off the human thing, and worshipping the mechanical thing. Money, money, money! All the modern lot get their real kick out of killing the old human feeling out of man, making mincemeat of the old Adam and the old Eve. They're all alike. The world is all alike: kill off the human reality, a quid for every foreskin, two quid for each pair of balls. - Oliver Mellors
Environment and the Spectacle
As for people! people were all alike, with very little differences. They all wanted to get money out of you: or, if they were travellers, they wanted to get enjoyment, perforce, like squeezing blood out of a stone. Poor mountains! poor landscape! it all had to be squeezed and squeezed and squeezed again, to provide a thrill, to provide enjoyment. What did people mean, with their simply determined enjoying of themselves? No! said Connie to herself. I'd rather be at Wragby, where I can go about and be still, and not stare at anything or do any performing of any sort. This tourist performance of enjoying oneself is too hopelessly humiliating: it's such a failure.
Real-body-politik
The human body is only just coming to real life. With the Greeks it gave a lovely flicker, then Plato and Aristotle killed it, and Jesus finished it off. But now the body is coming really to life, it is really rising from the tomb. And it will be a lovely, lovely life in the lovely universe, the life of the human body. - Connie
Friday, March 20, 2009
SXSW Part 1
The quantity of festivities and people involved in the South by Southwest film and music festival is astonishing and overwhelming. It feels crazy to me, and makes me feel crazy too, at times. But it's lots of fun. Want to take a brief respite to make some notes on the fest. The first installment is basically a film festival report, the second will be more entertainment.
3/16/09
The film fest started three days ago, and, still getting my feet wet in this fine city, I haven't seen anything yet. But that must change... film is one of the reasons I'm here. So over to the Alamo Lamar for a week-long film pass. Wait in line for The Slammin' Salmon, the new one from the Broken Lizard team (Super Troopers, Beerfest), but four people away from the entrance, they reach capacity. Ugh... well then, over to the Alamo Ritz for For the Love of Movies, a documentary on film criticism made by Gerald Peary of The Boston Phoenix. I recommend it to people interested in film crit, straight up, and probably some other buffs. Good hummus plates at the Alamo too. I need a small pocket-sized book to read while I wait in these damn lines, so over to Book People for... a Rimbaud anthology. Back to the Ritz for - oh my, I will have to share some of this Rimbaud with people; marvelous! - Trailers From Hell. Presented by Joe Dante, from his website, a compilation of obscure and exploitation trailers as presented by some really cool filmmakers - people like Edgar Wright and Jack Hill showing everything from The Big Doll House to The Human Tornado. Very entertaining.
3/17/09
Up for It was great, but I was ready to come home, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Director Kris Swanberg went with three other people to Costa Rica with only a plan to make a movie about female friendship. The result is tender and real, a very good experience from both sides of the screen. Spent the daytime portion of St. Patty's Day talking to the fine folks at Earthlink and taking a bus to Target to buy a desk lamp and a softer pillow. Ah, this is living.... Night time, met up with Phil, who'd also had an exhilarating St. Patty's Day, and decided to capitalize on the second portion of the day. Up South First, to the gas station for Sparks, which are good beverages to consume on the streets, since they look like energy drinks (Boddingtons work in this respect too, but we wanted energy, in whatever form). Over the bridge, still working on the beverages, so... under the bridge. We hit upon a fantastic spot... under the S 1st bridge, you will find a wide open space, dirt on the ground, populated by a construction vehicle or two, with a beautiful view of the river and the underside of the bridge. Strange symmetry of bridge columns, city lights reflected in lake water... great place to finish a Sparks. Up to 6th street, green everywhere, celebration in full. The grim reaper stands in the middle of the street to pose for pictures. Walk up Red River, and a-ha, it's Jaime's Spanish Village, the site of one of my favorite experiences in Austin from my initial visit. The hostess, first night back in Austin after months away, remembers me, and I am very happy to see her. Pitcher and frosty mugs, chips and piercingly spicy salsa, settle in for some good conversation. Then to Headhunters - this place is much bigger and more interesting than you can imagine looking at it from the outside - for some great punk bands from New York and Austin, including Born to Lose and the Krum Bums. End the night next door at Hoboken Pie, slice of Hawaiian.
3/18/09
Did not get in to see the Winnebago Man doc, so over to Emo's to catch the tail end of King Khan and BBQ's set. This garage doo-wop duo is great, and I realize I should've gone there earlier to see their whole set. Over to Phil and Laura's for pesto pasta, good times, and Tina Turner on vinyl. To the Alamo Lamar to try to get in to The Slammin' Salmon - again, unsuccessful. Damn again. So instead, Creative Nonfiction - a pretty interesting student (I think) feature, with real relationships and characters, funny, and cringe-worthy at times too. Then the midnight show - Black - a very exciting and fun French nouveau Blaxploitation flick, with mysticism, voodoo, and lots and lots of fight scenes. Quite tired, blisters on me feet, up in five hours for more.
3/16/09
The film fest started three days ago, and, still getting my feet wet in this fine city, I haven't seen anything yet. But that must change... film is one of the reasons I'm here. So over to the Alamo Lamar for a week-long film pass. Wait in line for The Slammin' Salmon, the new one from the Broken Lizard team (Super Troopers, Beerfest), but four people away from the entrance, they reach capacity. Ugh... well then, over to the Alamo Ritz for For the Love of Movies, a documentary on film criticism made by Gerald Peary of The Boston Phoenix. I recommend it to people interested in film crit, straight up, and probably some other buffs. Good hummus plates at the Alamo too. I need a small pocket-sized book to read while I wait in these damn lines, so over to Book People for... a Rimbaud anthology. Back to the Ritz for - oh my, I will have to share some of this Rimbaud with people; marvelous! - Trailers From Hell. Presented by Joe Dante, from his website, a compilation of obscure and exploitation trailers as presented by some really cool filmmakers - people like Edgar Wright and Jack Hill showing everything from The Big Doll House to The Human Tornado. Very entertaining.
3/17/09
Up for It was great, but I was ready to come home, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Director Kris Swanberg went with three other people to Costa Rica with only a plan to make a movie about female friendship. The result is tender and real, a very good experience from both sides of the screen. Spent the daytime portion of St. Patty's Day talking to the fine folks at Earthlink and taking a bus to Target to buy a desk lamp and a softer pillow. Ah, this is living.... Night time, met up with Phil, who'd also had an exhilarating St. Patty's Day, and decided to capitalize on the second portion of the day. Up South First, to the gas station for Sparks, which are good beverages to consume on the streets, since they look like energy drinks (Boddingtons work in this respect too, but we wanted energy, in whatever form). Over the bridge, still working on the beverages, so... under the bridge. We hit upon a fantastic spot... under the S 1st bridge, you will find a wide open space, dirt on the ground, populated by a construction vehicle or two, with a beautiful view of the river and the underside of the bridge. Strange symmetry of bridge columns, city lights reflected in lake water... great place to finish a Sparks. Up to 6th street, green everywhere, celebration in full. The grim reaper stands in the middle of the street to pose for pictures. Walk up Red River, and a-ha, it's Jaime's Spanish Village, the site of one of my favorite experiences in Austin from my initial visit. The hostess, first night back in Austin after months away, remembers me, and I am very happy to see her. Pitcher and frosty mugs, chips and piercingly spicy salsa, settle in for some good conversation. Then to Headhunters - this place is much bigger and more interesting than you can imagine looking at it from the outside - for some great punk bands from New York and Austin, including Born to Lose and the Krum Bums. End the night next door at Hoboken Pie, slice of Hawaiian.
3/18/09
Did not get in to see the Winnebago Man doc, so over to Emo's to catch the tail end of King Khan and BBQ's set. This garage doo-wop duo is great, and I realize I should've gone there earlier to see their whole set. Over to Phil and Laura's for pesto pasta, good times, and Tina Turner on vinyl. To the Alamo Lamar to try to get in to The Slammin' Salmon - again, unsuccessful. Damn again. So instead, Creative Nonfiction - a pretty interesting student (I think) feature, with real relationships and characters, funny, and cringe-worthy at times too. Then the midnight show - Black - a very exciting and fun French nouveau Blaxploitation flick, with mysticism, voodoo, and lots and lots of fight scenes. Quite tired, blisters on me feet, up in five hours for more.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Several thumbs pointed in various directions
Have seen quite a few movies lately, and they seem to be forming a pattern, albeit in descending chronological order. These capsule reviews should suffice to illustrate:
Empire Records, 3/10/09, Alamo Drafthouse (Ritz)
(Disclaimer: a friend of mine, a guy, brought me to this, but neglected to say that it was "Girlie Night." Needless to say, it was a slumber party atmosphere with lots of goofy martinis, but I couldn't complain.) Unlike most of the audience, I'd never seen it before, but as the film progressed, an icky, impolite sensation slowly grew in the pit of my stomach. This is crass entertainment to the tilt - I smiled, laughed, and even felt some shivers; but I despised myself every time I did. Look - there were some amusing moments and some great songs, and I can understand the nostalgia value (had I grown up with this movie, I may've felt different), but the problem is this: Empire Records reinforces the idea that there are actually cool record stores in this world where one could theoretically be employed. There might've been a couple at one time, but they are dead and gone, and were probably on a path toward self-destruction to begin with. The girl who introduced the movie (dressed in sweater and plaid skirt, like Liv Tyler's character) talked about the fictional store as a dream job, and the audience agreed. This is a dangerous situation. The illusion it creates sustains the employees of almost all the Best Buys and Barnes and Nobles in the world. (Quit.) And I haven't even started on reinforced stereotypes: the Ivy League-bound princess addicted to speed, the girl who sleeps around because she has no confidence, the quirky guy with witty responses to everything who has it all figured out, etc., etc. Blech.
The Sinful Dwarf, 3/4/09, Alamo Drafthouse (Ritz)
Weird Wednesdays at the Alamo Ritz is a wonderful concept: weird cult and exploitation flicks shown for free at midnight (on a Wednesday, mind you) in a theater that serves food and beer and wine. I had been hearing about The Sinful Dwarf for a long time, and it was a pleasure to finally see. It was weird as hell. I don't know... I think the title pretty much sums it up; a dwarf and his mother run a lodging house, capture pretty girls, and run a low-concept brothel. The mother performs a few drunken cabaret numbers, and they have a coke smuggling operation on the side. One of the best effects these movies have is the disjointed progression of the plot - non sequiturs and having absolutely no idea what will happen next. It's stimulation for the mind, and in this respect, The Sinful Dwarf did not disappoint. But... that's it. I left the theater feeling satisfied, but wanting something more.
The Holy Mountain, 3/3/09, Vulcan Video (watched at Phil's house)
I had seen this one before, but had missed the first 20 minutes of the screening. Holy shit. Such is the effect of the entire movie that those first 20 minutes made me wonder if I was watching a completely different flick. It's surreal, and insane, and I never know whether to laugh or to just drop my jaw eternally. Director Alejandro Jodorowsky once said, "I ask of film what most North Americans ask of psychedelic drugs." The Holy Mountain is his testament to that expectation. Point being - my viewing of this film - both times - was an experience. And the entire experience produced a visceral, gastrocolic reaction that didn't leave me for hours, days... perhaps it's still there?
I won't spoil the end - everyone should see The Holy Mountain - but that's the kicker; and it's ironic... why the hell do we even watch (or make) movies? Experience is much better (and easier to achieve) without the screen.
Empire Records, 3/10/09, Alamo Drafthouse (Ritz)
(Disclaimer: a friend of mine, a guy, brought me to this, but neglected to say that it was "Girlie Night." Needless to say, it was a slumber party atmosphere with lots of goofy martinis, but I couldn't complain.) Unlike most of the audience, I'd never seen it before, but as the film progressed, an icky, impolite sensation slowly grew in the pit of my stomach. This is crass entertainment to the tilt - I smiled, laughed, and even felt some shivers; but I despised myself every time I did. Look - there were some amusing moments and some great songs, and I can understand the nostalgia value (had I grown up with this movie, I may've felt different), but the problem is this: Empire Records reinforces the idea that there are actually cool record stores in this world where one could theoretically be employed. There might've been a couple at one time, but they are dead and gone, and were probably on a path toward self-destruction to begin with. The girl who introduced the movie (dressed in sweater and plaid skirt, like Liv Tyler's character) talked about the fictional store as a dream job, and the audience agreed. This is a dangerous situation. The illusion it creates sustains the employees of almost all the Best Buys and Barnes and Nobles in the world. (Quit.) And I haven't even started on reinforced stereotypes: the Ivy League-bound princess addicted to speed, the girl who sleeps around because she has no confidence, the quirky guy with witty responses to everything who has it all figured out, etc., etc. Blech.
The Sinful Dwarf, 3/4/09, Alamo Drafthouse (Ritz)
Weird Wednesdays at the Alamo Ritz is a wonderful concept: weird cult and exploitation flicks shown for free at midnight (on a Wednesday, mind you) in a theater that serves food and beer and wine. I had been hearing about The Sinful Dwarf for a long time, and it was a pleasure to finally see. It was weird as hell. I don't know... I think the title pretty much sums it up; a dwarf and his mother run a lodging house, capture pretty girls, and run a low-concept brothel. The mother performs a few drunken cabaret numbers, and they have a coke smuggling operation on the side. One of the best effects these movies have is the disjointed progression of the plot - non sequiturs and having absolutely no idea what will happen next. It's stimulation for the mind, and in this respect, The Sinful Dwarf did not disappoint. But... that's it. I left the theater feeling satisfied, but wanting something more.
The Holy Mountain, 3/3/09, Vulcan Video (watched at Phil's house)
I had seen this one before, but had missed the first 20 minutes of the screening. Holy shit. Such is the effect of the entire movie that those first 20 minutes made me wonder if I was watching a completely different flick. It's surreal, and insane, and I never know whether to laugh or to just drop my jaw eternally. Director Alejandro Jodorowsky once said, "I ask of film what most North Americans ask of psychedelic drugs." The Holy Mountain is his testament to that expectation. Point being - my viewing of this film - both times - was an experience. And the entire experience produced a visceral, gastrocolic reaction that didn't leave me for hours, days... perhaps it's still there?
I won't spoil the end - everyone should see The Holy Mountain - but that's the kicker; and it's ironic... why the hell do we even watch (or make) movies? Experience is much better (and easier to achieve) without the screen.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
No microwave, lots of sandwiches
Moved into a new place, in South Austin, yesterday, after lunch tacos. (They would've been breakfast tacos, which are awesome, maybe the best thing one can have for breakfast, but we got up too late.) No Internet yet, so across the street to Cafe Caffeine for iced coffee, curried chicken salad sandwich, and Wi-Fi. Tables started moving around me, then a band set up behind me. Turns out there would be a free beer event that also happened to involve live music and small press fiction and poetry readings. Me excited. Across the street to drop off my laptop and back for a beer and some damn fine country/swing music. Caught up in the excitement of my luck at being right place right time, texting all of the (not so many) people I know in Austin, eyes darting all around the room. Then I realized: I was caught up more in the idea that this was an awesome experience, than in actually experiencing the presence of awesomeness. In other words, I was too enamored with the concept to fully and passionately enjoy the actual experience. Some times it's easy not to get caught up in the moment.
On the other hand, once I became aware of this contradiction, the readings started to get more boring. The MC described the night as "without pretension." I veto that. So a magically alive moment had come and gone without me being aware of it, until too late. But following this, and the subsequent decline in entertainment, came more great readings: Gary Kent's story of taking acid for the first time as "research" for his special FX work on Psych-Out, and Amelia Gray's hilarious flash fiction. So, my night redeemed itself, despite me being late to the dinner table.
No microwave, eating lots of sandwiches, dreaming of my next breakfast taco.
On the other hand, once I became aware of this contradiction, the readings started to get more boring. The MC described the night as "without pretension." I veto that. So a magically alive moment had come and gone without me being aware of it, until too late. But following this, and the subsequent decline in entertainment, came more great readings: Gary Kent's story of taking acid for the first time as "research" for his special FX work on Psych-Out, and Amelia Gray's hilarious flash fiction. So, my night redeemed itself, despite me being late to the dinner table.
No microwave, eating lots of sandwiches, dreaming of my next breakfast taco.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Burritos are a constant
One way trips are a bit peculiar. With round trips, you have this sense of duality - sitting next to a different stranger on the way back, finishing a book you started on the way over, perhaps eating lunch in a different layover city (polish sausage in Chicago, crab cakes in D.C. (maybe?), etc.) - but one way trips give you a sense of finality. Finality is not, however, a frozen state; it can be as fluid and inventive as the time between the start and end of a round trip. In that spirit, here are my first couple of journal entries from Austin (at some point, I'll catch up (with life?) and post "present" thoughts):
2/26/09, 1am
It's good to be back in Austin. Really. Even before stepping out of the airport, it smelled good - the grass and plants and trees - and I could feel the fresh air through the cracks in the windows. Then the neon lights, strip clubs turned into Mexican taquerias, the familiar H.E.B. supermarket, and back to Phil's apartment... wearing a T-shirt and wish I was wearing shorts. I learned two things from Phil right off the bat:
1. You'll never see less than two cop cars pulling someone over. It's often at least three.
2. Regarding the sketchier joints and saloons on the outskirts of the city: "There are all kinds of serious people in Texas."
Ah, this should be good....
2/27/09
Just as I still use chop sticks for Asian food and still get some of my meals from 7-11 (a throwback to Taiwan), I'm still walking everywhere in a state that doesn't like to walk, still watching Flight of the Conchords, and still playing pool at the Dirty Dog. The great Las Manitas Avenue Cafe has disappeared (thanks to the specter of redevelopment that's haunting Austin, perhaps even more than most other major cities), but my beloved Jaime's Spanish Village is still here, rock garden patio and all. I plan to keep walking, and seek out all of the Jaime's Spanish Villages that this city has to offer.
2/26/09, 1am
It's good to be back in Austin. Really. Even before stepping out of the airport, it smelled good - the grass and plants and trees - and I could feel the fresh air through the cracks in the windows. Then the neon lights, strip clubs turned into Mexican taquerias, the familiar H.E.B. supermarket, and back to Phil's apartment... wearing a T-shirt and wish I was wearing shorts. I learned two things from Phil right off the bat:
1. You'll never see less than two cop cars pulling someone over. It's often at least three.
2. Regarding the sketchier joints and saloons on the outskirts of the city: "There are all kinds of serious people in Texas."
Ah, this should be good....
2/27/09
Just as I still use chop sticks for Asian food and still get some of my meals from 7-11 (a throwback to Taiwan), I'm still walking everywhere in a state that doesn't like to walk, still watching Flight of the Conchords, and still playing pool at the Dirty Dog. The great Las Manitas Avenue Cafe has disappeared (thanks to the specter of redevelopment that's haunting Austin, perhaps even more than most other major cities), but my beloved Jaime's Spanish Village is still here, rock garden patio and all. I plan to keep walking, and seek out all of the Jaime's Spanish Villages that this city has to offer.
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