Man of the year

Crispin Glover is clearly one of the better people on the planet. I watched Charlies Angels II the other day, and was inspired, even by this shitty movie, to look further into the various manifestations of Crispin Glover on screen, in song and in writing. He uses his middle name, Hellion, when he works on his own projects because, as he told Stuff Magazine “As an interpreter of work, you’re not really the whole artist when you’re acting. So when I publish my books or my records or films, I use Hellion.” And it doesn't stop there. His father was in Diamonds Are Forever, his birthday is two days before mine (which makes him an Aries not a Taurus but still!), he collects antique gynecological equipment, he sued Steven Spielberg and won...

The projects of Crispin Hellion Glover are rather difficult to find, it seems, but all his work can be found on sale here. This includes:

His books:
Rat Catching: A study in the art of catching rats.
Oak Mot: "a tale of epic proportions involving pride and prejudice."
What it is, and how it is done: "A man's life in reverse as told in first second and third persons."

His musical debut:
The Big Problem does not equal the solution. The Solution equals Let It Be.

And, this is the most interesting, his short film:
What is it?: With a cast of actors with down syndrome and a snail, whose voice is played by Fairuza Balk.

It will be awhile before I will be able to purchase or read any of the above, given my present financial situation, but I certainly hope somebody does and that he or she reports back to us with a review. The expectations of someone with an IMDB photo like Crispin's are high. I hope he does not disappoint.

More fun facts.

More from the interview in Stuff.

STUFF: Who’s more difficult to work with: Oliver Stone or Down’s syndrome actors?
CRISPIN: Neither. Oliver Stone I liked working with very much. I played Andy Warhol [in The Doors], and it was a part that I sought out. I met Andy Warhol at Sean Penn and Madonna’s wedding. And I stood back and watched him and the way he moved, and I thought, This fellow really is an interesting person. [Stone’s] technique was almost an intimidation element of, like, “Look, a lot of people are going to see this—you’d better be good.”

Any ground rules for handling actors afflicted with Down’s syndrome?
No. All of the people with Down’s syndrome were more enthusiastic than anybody I’ve worked with. I really had zero problems working with people with Down’s syndrome.

Do you have a Hollywood nemesis?
I don’t want to call anybody in the industry my nemesis, because it’s just bad business. If something is egregiously wrong, then one must go to the legal system. But if something is minor, then it’s better just to let it go.

I don't have the internet in my house and therefore will post much more infrequently, as I feel guilty about doing so from work like I just did.

This article made me pretty sad. Lesley Thornton is a wonderful person.

Best nerd

The 2004 Ignatz Award nominees!

In the category of best online comic:

Outstanding Online Comic

American Elf, James Kochalka, americanelf.com

Apocamon, Patrick Farley, e-sheep.com

Desert Rocks, J.J. Naas, dr.ungroup.net

The Pain … When Will it End?, Timothy Kreider, thepaincomics.com

Tailipoe, Craig Boldman, craigboldman.com

Austin

Some people complained about the heat. It was so sweaty. But we all got nice suntans...

Number of stars in my eyes during their performances:
Pixies:****************************************************
Wilco:************************************************
Modest Mouse:****************************
My Morning Jacket: *****************
Cat Power:***************
Spoon:*********
Old 97s:******
Elvis Costello:****
Centro-Matic:***
Josh Rouse:**
Dashboard Confessional:--

Texas is numerically expressed by number of goatees divided by fake boobies plus cowboy hats times Whataburgers squared. The pho was delicious though.

We were trying to think up names for this, but the one chosen beats out the others indeed. Nathalie's newest blog is for Media Bistro: Galley Cat, all about books and their publishers.

And so on...

I just read Art Spiegelman's new book, In the Shadow of no Towers. I love the man, and his work, but found that he exercised a lack of restraint on this one. Naturally he was covering a difficult subject, one that caused an explosion of various emotions in everyone. But that's what this work is really, an explosion of emotion, a reflection back to us of our many reactions to September 11th. I wanted something smarter than that, a point of view that hadn't yet been taken. I don't think it is his fault, I just think that it is difficult to analyze something when you are caught in the middle of it, which he was.

Sorry I haven't been writing. I just started my new job here. It's been busy busy. I'm going to Texas for the first time in my life tonight, to go to Austin City Limits. I'm going to see the Pixies! rah rah rah

More fantasy books written for children

I bought the second Harry Potter at the grocery store and now I'm listening to the third one when I drive (it's way better on tape I think, the guy who reads it is fantastic.) I was talking to some kids here about it and they all got really excited amongst themselves, and one ran into his room and came back with three books that are another Harry Potter-like series (but better written), His Dark Materials, by Phillip Pullman. The kids in Little Rock are obsessed with them, they told me I wouldn't be able to stop reading until I'd finished all three.

They're based on Paradise Lost and the plot is essentially Kids vs. God. It's pretty dark. People die. I'm halfway through The Golden Compass, which is the first one in the series, and I can't say I'm that impressed yet, but it's full of nice animals like marmosets and basilisks who comprise people's familiars... The first one takes place in a fantasy world, the second in the real world, and the third somewhere between the two, according to the intro page. They're making a movie out of it, directed by the guy who did About a Boy.

Tarnation

Jonathan Caouette. I guess this is old news, but I just heard about this guy and his $218 movie. Dreamy.

"I think Jonathan Caouette's TARNATION is the shit," notes Van Sant. "I think I have always been waiting to see someone make something as moving as Jonathan's film with as little as he has had to make it. I knew something like this would appear, and I am glad that it finally has." This week, Gus called Jonathan about using iMovie for a possible project of his own.

Knoxious

I am in a motel room in Knoxville, Tennessee, one of a cluster of motels surrounding an exit called "Strawberry Plains" (nothing of the sort in sight). They form a bleak bouquet of square streetlights and neon signs, interlocking driveways and chain link fences, set to the ever-present soundtrack of interstate US-40.

It poured rain all day, and if I shut my eyes I can still see puddly mack trucks out of my peripheral vision spraying my windshield. Somewhere in the mountains of Virginia I saw a pick-up truck, not too far in front of me, spin out onto the grassy highway median, losing various pieces along the way. I wasn't sure whether to try and slow down and help the guy, who I don't think would have gotten injured. I didn't though, I just kept driving. There was no way I could have safely slowed down in time, but I thought I should call someone, although I was unsure what there was to say. "Hello 911? I saw a man's near-death experience and didn't slow down. What's that? Where was it? Um... there was a mountain on my right..." If I had left my last gas stop thirty seconds sooner, he would have spun out into my car at 80 mph, but I didn't and he didn't so there was nothing to do but just pass him, his car beached lopsided in the grass, hunched over his seat, doubtless breathing heavily and incredulous, as I was, that he wasn't a mangled corpse.

You start to feel like the only person in the world, even though it's only a 24-hour period between homes, but there are just things - I haven't received an e-mail for three days, I got here and I was the only person paddling around in the motel's creepy swimming pool, falling asleep in a bed that's big enough to lie horizontally or vertically in... It makes me almost want to be some sort of business-type whose life is a series of first-class cabins and hotel lobbies because the solitude is such a particular type, one that makes you think the world doesn't exist. I was tempted to book a room at a "Christianed-themed lodge" just for the experience, but it was earlier than I wanted to stop and I had visions of falling asleep under the scrutinizing gaze of a bloody icon that scared me.

I watched this movie last night, The Happiness of the Kakaturis, the weirdest movie ever and maybe not so good. It's like a Japanese claymation/musical/horror flick about these people who own a hotel that everyone keeps dying in. It has now taken on sinister (rather than totally ridiculous) undertones.

I listened to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on tape today and part of the Metaphysical Club. I gave up on the latter early in the morning, both me in the car and the progressing Civil War in the book reaching Gettysburg, PA at the same moment, I decided it was time to succumb to Harry Potter. It's no Tolkein, or even C.S. Lewis, but it was nice.

There is a spider in the shower. But no Woody Allen to call.

When I opened the paper this morning and read about a Joanne Levy who committed suicide I thought was that it was someone else, because the description said she had red hair and was 5'8. Except that obviously every other descriptive matched up: 23, second year film student, resident of Greenwich Village... Knowing Joanne to be impulsive and rather erratic, her intensity was always translated into her amazing films and this is so very tragic.

Joanne Levy was the very first person I met at Brown. I had just gotten to school and my dad dropped me off at the employment office so I could get an on-campus job (he had priorities). She was sitting at the job computer with Lili and we started up a conversation. I was always sort of bummed that they were in another unit, because I only met a couple other people I felt like I related to as much over the course of the next year. I hung out with them a lot during orientation week. I was absolutely miserable with Brown and thought I had made a huge mistake, but them, and Mike, Meghan, Albert and Lisa, who were all good friends immediately, made me think differently.

Last summer, Joanne and Lili came to the brownstone I was house-sitting in Brooklyn Heights and they stayed over a couple nights, post-juvenile slumber party style. Joanne had just gotten the list of films she had to watch over the summer before starting film school, and we watched Band of Outsiders, which is now one of my favorite movies, and something else I can't remember. She was always something of an intense presence -- on that day she had just returned from Providence, where she had accidentally set fire to her apartment and her cat had died of smoke inhalation. She had to go home early because she wasn't feeling well. (She had diabetes and didn't always take the best care of herself it seemed).

My friend Brandon, who was good friends with her and made a movie with her in intro to video (the one with the button for those who saw it) said it was always hard to know how she was actually feeling about things because she only let you get so close, and I feel the same way. Not that I was her best friend or anything (I haven't seen her since that time last summer), but I had no idea she was in such a situation. I got the sense that she was very close with her family, even if the press says she was in an argument with her father immediately before her death.

It's very sad, she was very talented, extremely hardworking and a total character, which are the three characteristics of a person I am generally drawn to. She was someone of greater potential than most, and if her death serves a purpose it should be to remind each of us of her focus, her drive and her talent, because she was someone who truly lived for her art. I was genuinely looking forward, even if our Brown-based friendship had lapsed, to see her succeed as a filmmaker.

beep beep beep beep beep

My radar is failing me. I can't distinguish the trash in my room from my clothing. The girls I may live with in Arkansas were just described to me as "Sex in the city of the Ozarks." I can't leave soon enough. Friday to Allentown, land of my birth, then my respects to Emily in Philadelphia then back to NY then away away away...

I saw Hero last night and I was a little disappointed, but also motivated to ask what could be done in a movie with such pretty colors that had a compelling story instead of what felt like various levels of streetfighter compiled into a piece of despotic propaganda. But really so pretty, and the guards in their black cloaks that scurried en masse reminded me of one of my favorite parts of Princess Mononoke, when the soldiers scurry around disguised as boars. There is something about masses of people engaged in the act of scurrying that I quite enjoy.

I feel like I haven't slept in years. It has only been days.

Fire Breathing Dragons and All

Walking past Madison Square Garden this afternoon with hundreds of thousands of protesters was like walking past a grave -- the day was full of people happily displaying their joviality and eccentricity, and then there they were: polo shirts, khakis, bulging stomachs and laminated necklaces. And the sense was not so much of hatred, even thought there were a few older people around me that just began yelling until their faces were red and their eyes were watering, like a baby screaming, but one of mourning, because even if there is a chance to put a halt to it, what is done is done. The moment after a joke told at a memorial service maybe, that makes everyone laugh and then in the silence that follows a much deeper sadness seeps in, that was the sadness in front of Madison Square Garden.

We turned the corner and waited for a friend under the Old Navy marquee on 34th Street. While waiting behind the barrier on the sidewalk, a scuffle appeared to break out to our left, people began running and the police cleared 34th Street completely and halted the march. It was strange, there was a bizarre smell, and then we saw a bunch of smoke wafting by from around the corner (in front of Madison Square Garden). There was no way to see what was happening, but all of a sudden the FOX News jumbotron across the street cut from some talking head to what was less than a block from us, the large paper mache dragon on fire. How strange that we were learning about what was going on around the corner at the same time some potato in Ohio was. Very strange, all this television business.

Later on the walk back downtown, there was some discussion from the marchers about what had happened. "I heard that a wagon was on fire," said one of the curious. "No," we said, "It was a dragon."

Indeed, the dragon we had passed only a short time before, its wings the breadth of the street, led by a fleshy product of post-punk wearing the tapestries of a sultan from the rococco and twirling a baton. Somewhere from beneath its wings London Calling was emanating. My friend Sara said that hearing the song gave her the chills - perhaps the icy hands of death were merely brushing by on their way to an inescapable grip around the neck of the monster.

It was a wonderful day, probably the only day of my life in which five strangers will ask to take my picture. And, that night, at the Downtown for Democracy event, the first person I saw upon opening the door to a bar was a sad and aged-looking Telly, from Kids. He looked so old, it was strange. Like all of that fuss, this movie depicting these delinquents and there he is, alive and well, with thinning hair. What was supposed to be so scary about that movie, if this is how we all end up anyway? Innocuous, and pale, quite ready to admit that an argyle sweater vest would complete the look - and probably make us so very happy besides.

Waiting for the subway on the way home a man came and played us a song on a trombone made entirely out of PVC piping. It was utterly charming, and the fog of drunken exhaustion and the creeping malaise that anticipates arriving home with a sigh cleared for one moment and everything was good.

He has a backbone

New jaw grown on patient's back! wow.

In case you weren't there

"And it’s not that I have a particular animus against self-help philosophy. I think it works; it’s even worked for me on a short-term basis. But no matter how much it’s spun as philanthropic, how it’s really about spreading the good vibes to everyone, self-help is a self-ish philosophy: The source of happiness or unhappiness, of health and disease, is always within, your fault rather than the product of political or cultural, forces, the flawed nature of human nature and the societies it gives rise to. Or the fault of the moral order (or lack of one) of the cosmos."

This essay, by the delightful Ron Rosenbaum, who brought us Manhattan Passions (that essential element to any well-rounded collection of 1980s literature), has now very nicely summarized a certain aspect of my play. Not so much in the quote above, but certainly in Mr. Rosenbaum's questioning the validity of an optimistic mandate. It's something that has found itself into much of my writing of late.

The following passage in particular -- I think this is perhaps a rite of passage for many of us:

"Pessimism is impermissible because it challenges the American orthodoxy that there’s always an answer, always a solution to every problem. And if there’s an answer, a solution, there’s no need to despair, because eventually we’ll find the answer and act accordingly. As if "acting accordingly" was a given. I know I grew up thinking, in a very American way, this was true. That eventually reason would prevail and all parties in any dispute, however grave, would come together on a compromise. No matter what the dispute, it could be resolved, with patience and good will. Some have called this, after a school of optimistic British historians, "Whig history," history as inexorable progress.

I don’t believe in it any more. My answer to Rodney King: Sorry, my friend, on the evidence, in fact, we can’t all get along. We’re too twisted by the irresistible push and pull of bad impulses and bad ideas. If history teaches us anything, it teaches us that. History is the nightmare we can’t escape from."

The rest of the story: Errol Morris Has A Very Blue Line: Curse Darkness

By the way, if anyone would like to *read* the play I will happily provide.

Star Crossed

I just saw Fassbinder's IN A YEAR OF THIRTEEN MOONS. Now, the introduction to the movie is the following explanation:

"Every seventh year is a lunar year. Those people whose lives are essentially dominated by their emotions suffer particularly strongly from depressions in these lunar years. The same is also true of years with thirteen new moons, although not quite so strongly. And if a lunar year also happens to be a year with thirteen new moons, the result is often a personal catastrophe."

The year 1978, when Meier (Fassbinder's lover) killed himself and Fassbinder made this film, was one of thirteen new moons that was also a "lunar" year. Supposedly. I wanted to verify. First of all, what is a lunar year? Typically it is defined as the normal, calendar year. Second, the moon does not seem to follow any sort of seven-year cycle whatsoever. 1971, moon-wise at least, does not bear much striking resemblance at all to 1978. I was trying to find some small characteristic indicative of a seven year feature and couldn't see any. 1978 was, however, a year that had 13 new moons, but that is something that happens not so infrequently, approximately once every 2.5 years.

1971 was a year of thirteen full moons.
1978 was a year of thirteen new moons.
1985 full moons.
1992 new moons.

But 2004 is a year of thirteen full moons too, although it isn't part of the alleged seven year lunar cycle. And most years will have either thirteen new or thirteen full moons (not so 2002, which had thirteen 3rd quarter moons). Anyway, I was looking for answers, and found none. I thought maybe the idea was that these years had BOTH 13 full moons and 13 new moons but that is impossible.

Silly. I liked the movie anyway, even though I thought it was Thursday instead of Wednesday and thought I was going to see Scorpio Rising and Vinyl instead of Fassbinder. It was rather Hedwig-ish, with some very poignant moments. For the past few days I've been feeling twitchy and sweaty and dizzy in a very uncomfortable way, like I am able to feel my fingernails growing and it is unpleasant. I had a hard time sitting still is what I mean. Now that I'm thinking a bit deeper about the movie though there are parts that I deeply loved.

The scene where they butcher the cows is amazing. I couldn't really read the subtitles because watching the cows get strung up and have their throats cut was such a visual spectacle. They're so nice the cows are. Pretty eyes. If anyone is in Minnesota right now make sure to catch the State Fair while the guernseys are on display because they're the prettiest. I also usually scheduled my visits around the rabbit contests, because I believe there are very few places on the planet that amass such a large collection of bizarre and extroardinary rabbits. Same goes for chickens.

People who grow up in the megalopolis are never afforded the opportunity to watch farm boys from 4-H have their projects judged. It makes you feel like life is worth living to see a smartly dressed Minnesotan child demonstrating the skills of their well-behaved sheep to a panel of judges in a small arena of green sawdust.

Anyway, if you would like to know the exact dates of every blue moon since 1700, the US Navy is only too happy to provide, right HERE.

I interviewed the director of Open Water today and was too shamefaced to admit that I hadn't seen it because it looks sort of scary. And sort of bad maybe.

I like #11

Naturist One-Act Playwrighting Competition
Suggested storylines:

Following are some suggestions for a story line. These are offered merely to help get your creative juices flowing. They should, in no way, limit or restrict your creativity. A play built from one of these ideas has no advantage over any other plot you may conceive.

1. A first experience.

2. A Naturist man or woman who introduces a reluctant spouse or girlfriend to Naturism.

3. Historical – When did we begin wearing clothes; When did we start wearing swim suits; When did it become mandatory to wear a swim suit?

4. Religious – Prophets used to strip and preach naked. What would happen if a modern prophet were to preach that way?

5.Contemporary society.

6. Hippies.

7. Being raised as a Naturist and then learning how different you are from the other kids.

8. What happens when Westerners come into contact with cultures less compulsive about dress.

9. An office staff discovers one of their co-workers is a Naturist.

10. A family accidently comes across a clothing-optional beach while on vacation.

11. SciFi – A space traveler (or time traveler) discovers another (or future) civilization which is highly advanced. Everyone there is naked.

Nota bene: I did not write this. Someone thought I did, but no, look at the website. Also look at the "Photos" section, for a pleasing visual poetry arrangement. ed.

Man in Tutu Interrupts Diving
Security has been tightened at the Athens Games after a man in a tutu jumped into the pool from the diving board during the men's synchronized springboard event.

Harumph.

Misc.

I was wondering about this. Every time I got on a subway as school was getting out it was like a teenage boy mumu-fest.

The little slide show on this is so sad. Its organs were crushed by its own weight? My head feels like that right now.

Two-armed robot top candidate for saving Hubble. More.

The most literate U.S. cities:
1. Minneapolis, Minnesota
2. Seattle, Washington
3. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
4. Madison, Wisconsin
5. Cincinnati, Ohio
6. Washington, D.C.
7. Denver, Colorado
8. Boston, Massachusetts
9. Portland, Oregon
10. San Francisco, California

Hmmmm... More.

The top 10 stingiest cities:
1. Hartford, Connecticut: 4.7 percent
2. Providence-Fall River-Warwick, Rhode Island: 5.1 percent
3. Boston-Worcester-Lawrence, Massachusetts: 5.2 percent
4. Buffalo-Niagara Falls, New York: 5.8 percent
5. (tie) New Orleans, Louisiana: 5.9 percent
5. (tie) Las Vegas, Nevada: 5.9 percent
7. Austin-San Marcos, Texas: 6.0 percent
8. (tie) Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: 6.1 percent
8. (tie) Miami-Ft. Lauderdale, Florida: 6.1 percent
8. (tie) Philadelphia-Wilmington, Delaware-Atlantic City, New Jersey: 6.1 percent

If I had to guess the top three I definitely would have said New England. Explains why it's such a shithole.

The top 10 most generous cities:
1. Salt Lake City-Ogden, Utah: 14.9 percent
2. Grand Rapids-Muskegon-Holland, Michigan: 10 percent
3. (tie) Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minnesota: 8.5 percent
3. (tie) Greensboro-Winston-Salem-High Point, North Carolina: 8.5 percent
5. (tie) Memphis, Tennessee: 8.4 percent
5. (tie) Dallas-Fort Worth, Texas: 8.4 percent
7. Nashville, Tennessee: 8.3 percent
8. (tie) San Antonio, Texas: 8.1 percent
8. (tie) Houston-Galveston-Brazoria, Texas: 8.1 percent
10. (tie) Oklahoma City, Oklahoma: 8 percent
10. (tie) Norfolk-Virginia Beach-Newport News, Virginia: 8 percent

More.

Takako is the very best.

So I think the woman that cut my hair the last time it was cut is the coolest ever, like even if she can't speak English really and calls it Engrish, she has the best sneakers in NYC and tonight I saw her at a sushi restaurant in Brooklyn. How crazy! She is in Brooklyn? I thought she lived some Japanese ex-pat high life. I wanted to say hi but I didn't think she would remember me. I want to be like Takako. She gives excellent hair cuts and her own hair looks like it was run through some destructive machine, all split ends and roots, and she doesn't give a fuck. Best of all, she doesn't put your hair up in sections in those stupid clippy-things, she does it all freestyle, yet it's even and perfect. And she eats at the sushi place on Flatbush, where my waitress tonight tried very hard to remember the word "quiche" to describe what Tofu Tamago was.