Clam's Pearls of Wisdom

It's funny (but also bordering on pathetic) when your best friend knows your DVD collection better than you do.

Me (holds up The Exorcist): I should really buy this.
Katherine: You own it.
Me: No I don't.
Katherine: Yes you do. You own The Exorcist boxset. The one with all the Exorcist sequels.
Me:...

A few weeks later I professed to Katherine that I didn't know why I didn't own Eastern Promises since it's utterly amazing. "I should really buy it," I said. "I need it in my life." Katherine stayed quiet. When looking for a DVD a couple days later I noticed that I DID own Eastern Promises. I called Katherine and told her the news to which she replied, "I knew you owned it but you were so passionate about wanting to own it I didn't want to break it to you."

Now whenever I'm browsing DVDs and pick something up I'm paranoid that I already own it. What's really sad is the fact that many of the DVDs in my collection are still in their wrapping (Eastern Promises included). So it is time to take action. As a personal project I will going through my DVDS one by one (in alphabetical order since I'm THAT OCD), watching them, and then writing up a little review.

( The disaster of a DVD collection )

First movie on my shelf: Fellini's 8 1/2

Okay. A small rant.

Art majors - at least the ones at Goucher - are ridiculous. Ridiculous in so many ways.

At the top of the list - their low intelligence. It is sad to say especially for those of us in the field that take it seriously, but I am convinced the people who get into college and have no idea what they want to do decide that art seems simple. Throw some paint on a canvas, be "expressive," look at some paintings and learn some dates. You can graduate with doing almost nothing! There are three results from this type of attitude:

1) You get the people in class that can't understand why a Greek Revival building is different from a Neo-Classical building and have the professor reiterate the last two class periods for them until it permeates their small brains. Meanwhile, wasting the classes time. If you can't tell a Cezanne from a Gauguin or identify a Northern Renaissance genre scene DON'T BECOME AN ART HISTORY MAJOR.

2) There are a good chunk of people who think that every answer must be answered with some elaborate and insightful observation. The person rambles on and on about non-constructive "opinions" without every articulating anything of importance. There is a common misconception that art is all subjective and nothing is based on fact or artistic intention. Yes, it is true, some analysis of paintings can be more speculative than concrete. But as an art HISTORIAN it is your job to research many different aspects and form a constructive opinion based on FACTS. Oh, let's ignore Monet's intentions, beliefs, and goals and say that he started painting in an impressionist manner because he decided to take off his glasses to paint the Boulevard Montmartre. On the other side of the spectrum, there are people who will dig and dig to find something in a painting that is based on little else than some ridiculous broad conception or idea of their own. When Mauric Denis says,"... that a picture, before becoming a battle horse, a nude woman or some anecdote, is essentially a flat-surface covered in color, assembled in a certain order" DO NOT go on and on about what he means is that the different interpretations by viewers can give painting a meaning where this is no meaning. And DO NOT - after the professor shoots you down (because IDIOT formalist ideas are different from symbolist ideas) - get your equally pseudo-intellectual friend next to you to continue on and on about how its referring to the artist as God. WHAT? Denis was referring to the process of art and its materials and saying that people need to stop looking at art as a real object. A painting is a painting. A battle horse is a horse.

3) Then there are the worst group of people. The ones that don't respect any art that is not their favorites. I'm sorry that you have to understand Redon before learning about your beloved Gauguin. DEAL WITH IT.

Ultimately, ART IS NOT JUST ABOUT NON-CONFORMITY YOU DEGENERATES.

Our campus has a new addition: a gray and orange stray cat.

I first met her one morning on my way to the library. With a little coaxing I got her to let me pet her. Since then I've been giving her love whenever I get a chance; she even recognizes me now and will trot up to meet me halfway. I was curious about her origin (we have a lot of deer and squirrels around but nothing of the feline species) and after some digging around - quite literally - I discovered her home. Behind and in one of the large bushes next to the library someone has sneaked a box covered in plastic, a bowl of food and water, and some fuzzys for her. It makes me wonder if the cat was kicked out of a dorm room and instead of taking it to a shelter its owner thinks he/she can take care of it outside. OR if it is a stray cat, someone was kind enough to help it out. I hope its the latter. I really want to take her home. I've named her Peanut Brittle.

The other night I was watching Aliens on Encore. This will not be a debate on whether it is better than the original (it is not) but something I found interesting and at the same time extremely hilarious concerning the movies as a whole. While watching the movie I was struck by the fact that movie and its companions all have a very strong feminist foundation. Spurred on by curiosity/interest in the topic, I decided to try my luck at googling it. I stumbled across this essay: Feminism and Anxiety in Alien

Made some interesting points, I say, but some of it was a bit far-fetched in its interpretations for me much like the Nemerov essay on Old West paintings from the late 1800s. Just read this:

"The alien is appropriately the locus of the most primitive --and alien--material which the film evokes, the sexual rage and terror, especially white male terror, which the threatened breakdown of gender roles provokes. With the exception of Parker, the alien is the focal point of all sexual energy in this movie. The alien, which is fond of womb-like and vagina-like spaces, is distinctly phallic, and it attacks Ripley, like a fantasy rapist, while she is undressing. But the alien is also equipped with a rather impressive set of vaginal teeth. It is born of eggs, and it continually gives birth to itself, once in a gory evocation of childbirth at the dining-room table. In this respect the alien is a potent expression of male terror at femal sexuality and at castrating females in general. Finally, the alien becomes the site of all anxieties which the feminist gestures of the film evoke; and it is the female hero who must manage them, an allocation of responsibility which can be read as an expression of trust in women's capacity for taking care of business--or as an exasperated insistence that women clean up the mess they've made."

Does this look like white male terror to you?


Aside from feminist aliens, I also watched In The Mood For Love which is such a phenomenal movie that I must move it to my list of favorites. I can see where some would be bored by the film - it could be considered slow with its little to no action. But I think its just an exaggerated subtly that works beautifully with the story. The dialog is sparse but potent, the shots are few but revealing, even the music - god do I love "Yumeji's theme - is only used when it would make the most of the storyline. Overall, beautiful and exciting film. Add that to another Criterion edition I need to buy with the money I do not have.

Other than that all I have to say is that Sunderdick is still the only man that has ever made my knees shake and they are shaking now.

Wednesday has cemented my belief that Goucher and all other college institutions are getting beyond ridiculous. It is an abuse of power that I'm not particularly happy with.

My tuition here is in the 40,000s. Let us just meditate on that absurd number. Every year I give the college 40,000+ and every semester spend 300-400 dollars on books (mind you its usually only for FOUR classes.) Not to mention I continue to feed the beast by spending my change on coffee in Van Meter. This, however, is not enough Goucher. No. They will charge me $50 for a parking permit. I do realize this number is pretty low for a college parking permit (just look at Towson University) but it is simply the principle of the matter. If someone here could show me EXACTLY where my 40,000 is going - give me a list, a pie chart, something! - then I would be satiated. But knowing that all that money is just floating around the campus sickens me. As I walk to class and pass other students all I see is a burning 40,000 marker above their heads. WHERE IS THIS MONEY GOING? I would like to think that this money is going to important things, things that will help my experience here. Of course, Goucher has done nothing but screw me over and employ incompetent people (I looking at you Pat.)

I cannot wait to get out of here in May. Then I can start putting my time to something I actually BELIEVE in.

Withdraw is annoying. Here is what I'm missing from my life at the moment:

1. Boston
2. Rat fluff
3. Rockband
4. Heather's good food
5. Money
6. Warm weather
7. Quality time with friends
8. My N64 along with Goldeneye and MarioKart
9. A good night's rest


In other news, I was told today what the Wizard of Oz was really about. No, it was not the warm-hearted silly fantasy tale we all love. It is, in fact, an allegory about the Populist party in the late 1800s South. Geez.

1. Pick 15 of your favorite movies.
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Fill in the film title once it's guessed.
5. NO GOOGLING / using IMDb search functions. Totally cheating, you dirty cheaters.

I'm going to try to make this difficult because everybody knows my favorite movies!

( Let the games begin )

There are many things in life that I both love and hate, and bitch magazine is one of them. I had stumbled into the world of feminism when I took Women, Art, and Society during the 2007 spring semester at Goucher College. The class, a perfect source for the pesky art seminar credit I desperately needed, I presumed would be more like the usual art survey courses I took with my professor Gail. Only this time it would be chock-full of women artists instead of inserting them as a footnote in the otherwise male dominated world of art.

I can't say that it ever bothered me in any of my art classes the exclusion of women artists. Hell, our classes, if big enough (and by that I mean twenty students instead of 12), would contain one, two at the most, men. But the fact was, I didn't notice this blatant exclusion until I took Women, Art, and Society. When it came down to it, the "why" that the class addressed was far more interesting than the "who" that I had expected. And when we started to cover the feminist art movement of the 1970s my interest was piqued, especially when Gail asked the women (and the one man) in our class whether they considered themselves feminists and a rather sizable portion raised their hands. My hand was firmly glued to my thigh, but my eyes made a nice long loop around the sockets. It was this event, however, that made me start thinking. What exactly was a feminist? Why was I so afraid and so quick to bad-mouth them? Was there something more to the stereotypical "fem nazi?" As the section of the class progressed, and the feminist art movement of the 70s and 80s was explored, I found out there was a hell of a lot more to it all. But I still wasn't completely convinced and so bitch made its grand entrance.

Shelving magazines one night at Borders, my attention was caught by the (rather small) feminist and feminist-tilted magazines in the section broadly entitled "Culture." There was the glossy and pretty Bust looking more like a fashion magazine with its smiling female faces on the cover. Then there was bitch with its raw (and large print) title and its artistic, creative cover. It even declares on its cover: "feminist response to pop culture." I flipped quickly through it and the next day came back on my day off to buy it. This started my love/hate relationship with the magazine and my struggle to declare or not declare myself a feminist.

There are many times where I have, in a form of shock and disbelief, read aloud articles to my sister because I needed to share my horror with someone else. I needed it confirmed that some of these women writing these articles are - for a lack of a more dignified word - stupid. If there is one thing I can't tolerate it is stupid people.

I was particularly appalled by one article in the latest issue that I picked up last week about the Product(RED) campaign. For those who don't know about the campaign check it out: http://www.joinred.com/

The author of the article, Miriam Perez, believes that the campaign is "more about image than benevolence." The companies are doing it because 1) it makes them look good and 2) its the trend of the moment. Her problem is this - while they are funding antiretroviral drugs in Africa they are responsible for inhumane labor practices. She says, "[Product(RED)] allows U.S. consumers to keep comfortable distance from the real problems: the geopolitical of healthcare funding, the pharmaceutical industry, and the international labor market, all of which allow companies to keep profit margins high and developing countries in poverty." I agree that all these are all equally as important issues and should not be overlooked, but this woman declares, "Antiretroviral drugs alone are not going to solve the AIDS crisis in Africa, and t-shirts, iPods, shoes, and watches definitely won't. So let's just keep our AZT sweatshop free." *screams obscenities* Instead of trying to stop a GOOD thing from happening why don't you address the other problems separately and so TWO GOOD THINGS happen instead of one good and one bad??? When has donating anything, giving money to help the AIDs crisis become a BAD thing? I was especially sickened with "Product(RED) allows consumers to keep distance from the REAL problems." Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize AIDS and lack of donation wasn't a REAL problem.

But for all the fury bitch spurs within me, it is also inspires and educates me. If anything, it creates interest (or in this certain case doubt) which pushes me to debate, re-think, research, and discover things that I would not normally seek out and explore. For instance, check out this wonderful website: http://www.racialicious.com/

Sorry, just had to bitch.

Just this warrants a second post within three hours:

Fuck You ET!

Minding my own business, trying to find a serving tray I can use for the couches that will be handed over to me for the basement, and the BAM! I almost peed.

Criterion finally announced the release of Berlin Alexanderplatz! November, baby! Just in time for my birthday.


I Heart Criterion

Katherine and I acted like cats today. At the mention of just a name uttered by my mother, our hackles rose and our tails poofed. I swear. We looked just like this:
( Say Whaaa? )

It amazes me how Katherine and I function in normal society. Our conversation before going to the gym went a little something like this:

Me: I made a White Stripes workout mix! Do you still want to talk while we workout?
Kate: well considering I have no access to music at the moment I want to talk with you!
Me: too bad. me and jack white have a date.
Kate: I'll break your ears
Me: I'll make Jack attack.
Kate: He can't because he's not physically here. He only lives in your iPod.
Me: *pause* You just smashed my dreams into teeny tiny pieces
Kate: I'm sorry. I guess there's a chance he could walk into the gym while we're there and punch me.
Me: I'll be looking forward to it.

5 minutes later...

Me: but then I would feel bad so I would face to punch him in the face.
Kate: Oh how conflcted your love is!
Me: You know how it is, bros before hos.


p.s. I can't help it. I love the movie Disturbia.

In honor of Ingmar Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni, two great film makers who died early last week, Katherine, David, and I decided to throw an "In Memoriam" movie night on saturday. The movies picked to watch were decided upon relatively easily. Since David, our supplier (he can actually afford to buy every new criterion release that comes out), was actually lacking Persona and since Scenes From a Marriage is five hours long, we made a few compromises. We ended up getting through three movies (actually, only two for me, I fell asleep within the first twenty minutes of the last) - Bergman's Winter Light (David's pick), Antonioni's L'Eclisse (my pick), and again, Bergman, with The Seventh Seal (Kate's pick).

Winter Light was beautiful and sombering. Gunnar Bjornstrand (who I believe Katherine has a bit of a crush on now) was painfully real. I loved it, loved it, loved it. Then came L'Eclisse...

I do not think I have ever been more infuriated by a movie in my life! Do not misunderstand me - the movie was done beautifully. If based on looks alone (and the looks of the stars of the film) it is stunning, poignant, and at times, chilling. But my god! nothing happened. NOTHING HAPPENED. I sat there for two hours (two hours that felt like three or four) and got absolutely nothing from the film. I guess my big question was "why?" And that was clearly not answered. David just laughed at me, he thought it was funny how angry I was. *sigh* Antonioni...

But the thing about L'Eclisse that did catch my attention was the main actress Monica Vitti. Before the film started David made the comment about her being one of the most beautiful women ever on film. I kind of ignored him, I was more interested in Alain Delon. However, when Monica Vitti came on the screen my first thought was "HOLY SHIT SHE LOOKS LIKE FALLON." It's true. If Fallon had a lighter complexion and blonde hair you would have Ms.Vitti. It's fitting; I always thought, if given the chance to meet, David would fall head over heels for Fallon.

( monica vitti and sexy alain delon )

I'm sitting here watching Psycho and it reminded me of the last time I decided to sit down for my periodical watching of the film. Meredith, who was sitting next to me, provided me with one of the best reactions to a "surprise" in a movie. As Norman runs into the room donned in his mother's dress and wig, Mere's jaw drops and she pulls her attention away from her computer and looks at me. "Whaaaaaat?"

I do not know how she went her life without ever finding out the twist to the film. It seemed so remarkable to me. I know I knew about the entire plot and surprise before I saw the movie. How did she not? I guess her rocks pretty comfortable.

I do believe I encountered real evil today.

As I was driving to mall to hit up Suncoast and their cheap used DVDs a white Nissan, deciding not to yield, flies onto the road beside me. It then precedes to jerk manic-like in between lanes using NO BLINKERS. As I check it out in my rearview mirror, it looks as if there is some sort of dead baby stuffed toy tied to the grill. If that wasn't bad enough, when the car o' evil passes me I see the Bush/Cheney sticker on its bumper.

It was horrifying.

My trip to Boston was as wonderful as always. Four days was simply not enough.

Though I did not make it to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the MFA did not fail to disappoint. Mostly.

I was fortunate enough to visit during an Edward Hopper exhibit. Now, I could always appreciate the work he has done, but I was not taken with him the way others were and certainly did not understand his immense popularity. That was until I actually saw his work up close. I spent the majority of the day among his paintings, hopping from room to room, returning to paintings - three, four, five - times. His use of colors (the bright azures and limegreens) and his mastery over the illusion of light was unbelievable. I think that's what made most of his paintings - his use of light, where he had sunlight or lamplight hit certain objects or people. ( Here are a few of my favorites )

In the MFA's latest contemporary gallery, War and Discontent, I found myself taken with one work in particular. It wasn't the Guston or the Picasso or even one of my favorites Manet, it was the video they shoot horses (2004) by Phil Collins. The video, two large screens on adjacent walls in a dark room, shows a group of young Palestinian men and women dancing for eight hours straight. Doesn't sound too interesting, huh? That's what I thought too. I popped my head in for about three songs worth and then left, figuring I've seen enough. But as I explored the rest of the museum my mind kept going back to the video. So every time I got near the gallery, I went into the room to check it out. I'm still thinking about it. So if you're in the Boston area, check it out. The exhibit is only there until the 5th of August. Here's a taste from YouTube.

Now for the disappointment. They took down one of my favorite paintings by Washington Allston, Elijah in the Desert. It hurt.

I didn't want to go to Borders, but David had left a book I wanted to borrow (plane reading for my trip to Boston!) in my mailbox, and so I went.

I had expected the usual amount of nausea when I entered the breakroom - dread building with each number I pushed into the keypad - but as the door swung open, I saw them.

Dozens and dozens of boxes piled along the hallway, stacked high and stuffed in any free space available. Each box declaring its contents in a captivating and quite alarming tint of red - HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS. All of them taped across the top with taunting adhesive that basically told the voyeurs, "If you open this before July 21st we, the publishers, will hunt you down and display your severed head outside the store as a warning to other idiots like yourself."

Ah, it surely was a beautiful sight. Just knowing the last HP book was laying only inches from me was frustrating but highly intoxicating. The rebel in me wanted to rip one of the boxes open and snatch a copy. Unfortunately, I have some will power and a dash of morals.

Of course, at midnight on the 21st, at the Borders bookstore in Timonium (with my sister dressed up in full Slytherin regalia and embarrassing me), I will be touching dozens of copies... as I work during the Potter Party. Can't wait.

David tells me that Berlin Alexanderplatz will be released some time during the fall season, but I cannot find any evidence that confirms or denies this information. However! I hope that it arrives in time for my birthday so I can ask several friends to contribute anywhere from $5-$15 in order to purchase the hefty criterion collection boxset. For those who know nothing about this wildly entertaining movie, read on.

The movie is 15 1/2 hours long. Yes, that's right. I got to sit through all 15 1/2 hours when I went with David to see the screening of it at the MoMA in New York City. For the sake of the audience's attention span, the human need to sleep, and the feeling in our butts, the movie was broken up into four screenings. But, in actuality, the movie was originally a miniseries adapted from the novel by Alfred Doeblin and broadcasted on German television. Directed by the wonderful and talented Rainer Werner Fassbinder, the movie follows an ex-pimp/hustler/gangster after he leaves prison (for beating his girlfriend to death) in Germany during the years between the World Wars. You can't help but like the main character even if he was a pimp, beats his girlfriend to death, uses women like tissues, experiments with the Nazi party, among other equally morally-debatable activities. Great flick all around.

So I will patiently wait for the release, but in the meantime I will focus on Melville's Les Enfants Terribles that will be out July 28th.

Tonight has taught me something very important: Friends are the most amazing beings in the entire world and they shouldn't be forgotten under any circumstances.

Brief recap. I had a miserable night that involved the breaking of my heart and quite a few drinks.

And, guess what?

My friends helped me through it.

I love you guys. Even if you are in Boston, LA, RI, Frostburg you are never far from me. *hugs*

I'm getting progressivally more drunk as the night goes on because I decided to celebrate Shannon's twenty-first birthday that will occur in two and a half hours.

I will not be with my friend, but I will damn well be with her in spirit. The intoxicated spirit.

I tried writing the other day and completely froze. I believe I got about three sentences before I gave up. Ever since I left Emerson I haven't been able to write, or anything I do write (even letters and role playing) I am convinced it could be better. Much much better. I'm going to take a psychological stab at this, but I believe it has something to do with leaving Emerson and parting with the major I had always thought I was going to get. I wanted to be a writer for so long and now that I've (given up? refused? run away from?) done with it educationally I feel like I need to give it up completely. Which, of course, is complete bullshit.

I guess I'm afraid. Afraid that I will fall in love with writing again. Emerson had killed that romance, and maybe now with other romances flittering around I might just fall in love again. It wouldn't be very hard to do. David Ford had recommended some books to me and after reading the first paragraph of Lolita I had forgotten why I had given up on writing. What a beautiful book!

David Ford, of course, may add to my confusion. The man is intelligent. Smart as hell. Funny. Fun. And amazingly in synch with people's feelings. I could just listen to him speak all day long. Wouldn't matter what he was talking about, though I love listening him speak about movies. He is so passionate that sometimes I just want to be in his head, feel what he feels. Too fucking bad that I'm just some guinea pig he gets to experiment on. I would love to kiss those lips, but he would rather mold me into some sort mini-him. Changing the world one person at a time. And I fucking hate him for it.

Kevin has left Borders. I can't imagine the store without him and I guess I'm going to have to tomorrow at eleven. How many people does that leave? They are all escaping in droves. And I will stay put. Not becuase the money is good, because it's not. Not because the work is stress-free, because it's not. But because I just love it in that bookstore. It looks like hell and it's falling apart rapidly, but it's still mine. I feel like in some sort of storybook way I'm suppose to save it. Stoney did start training me in the cafe, but only three hours were accomplished. I know how to make a latte! You don't know how exciting that was for me, haha.

Ocean City was fun. I got burned and tanned, but as I told Erica, I'm still pale as fuck. Oh well.

Thirty minutes until Shannon's birthday!

There is a spider hanging delicately in the corner directly next to my desk. I have postponed killing him because I don't want to use a tissue because its quite ugly. I don't want to use a shoe because I'm sure it's body will make a smudge on my wall. OH NO ITS MOVING. FUCK, it had been still for HOURS and now it decides to move closer to me. Okay, time for it to die.

Didn't create such a smudge as I expected.

Oh, got to call Shannon!

Damn, voicemail.

So.

I have fallen, hit the floor, tried to bounce back up, but have failed.

I am completely and utterly smitten with a guy at work.