Okay. I don’t know what it is about them, but I love airplane games. Not pilot games, but airplane games.
I think it all started with this online computer game called “Now Boarding,” which I actually bought after playing the free version. (Talk about commitment, right?) You essentially own an airline company, and you fly your planes around and try to pick up all the passengers before they freak out from waiting too long. (They get progressively angrier until their heads blow up. Sounds accurate.) I remember just loving the jazzy background music.
Then it was “Airport Madness,” the Air Traffic Control Game, where the goal was more so to make the flights take off and land without crashing into each other while the flights get more intermittent. I couldn’t have been the only one playing this one, since they went from version one to version four, most of which I’m pretty sure are still free to play online.
And then I forked over 99 cents to try out “FlightControl” for the iPhone, which...let’s be honest, wasn’t worth the price. It’s only landing flights, and you have to drag the planes across the screen to create the flight path. It’s...simple. And...I don’t know. Not cute enough.
But then I found “PocketPlanes,” which was much more my speed (a.k.a., free). Another iPhone game, but with this one you get to peak inside each of the airports you purchase access to, and they all have adorably bizarre info screens. Like, Saskatoon in Canada reads, “Saskatoon boasts the only burlesque group in the prairies, the Rosebud Burlesque,” or Chicago’s is “Chicago has many nicknames, including ‘Chi-town,’ ‘Windy City,’ ’Second City,’ and the ‘City of Big Shoulders.’” The game’s a great little stress reliever that’s non-demanding and not incredibly time consuming. Something simple, like...running an airline.
I was once told I had a dictatorship complex.
And the passengers (unlike all the other games I’ve played, “PocketPlanes” gives names to the passengers. And, you can also move cargo, which is another aspect previously unavailable to me) have a little section where they comment on the flights, usually a conjecture with whatever cargo you’re carrying on that flight. And the little section is called, “BitBook,” which is a blatant rip off of Facebook. Usually I ignore it because it has nothing to do with gameplay, but this one caught my eye.
Ugh. Lillie Freeman, so TRUE! I’m using that one day.
Every four months or so—right around the time I need to get a haircut—I have a serious serious internal debate about doing something with my hair.
Growing up as a military brat it was always no question, nolo contendere, that my hair was to be kept short and neat and plain. So the few chances I had to do fun things with it growing up (like straightening it in 4th grade, or twists in undergrad, or dreads at the beginning of grad school), I went for it. But every time, I’d look at a picture of myself and think, “really? That’s what my hair looks like? I look messy. I look messy all the time. I need a haircut,” and that would be the end of it.
But every so often I come across a guy with long dreadlocks, or a notably large afro, and all polite stranger interaction goes out the door. All of a sudden, curiosity overtakes me and I’m saying things like, “What products do you use?” “Did you do that yourself?” “How do you maintain that?” “WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?!”
Truth be told, I feel as though I’m too short to successfully pull off long hair. But damn do I want it. I want good hair so bad.
This week I went to the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square and saw a double feature—The Life of Brian, and A Liar’s Autobiography, both by the same men responsible for the infamous Monty Python skits, movies, shows, etc.
The Brattle Theater is amazing, because it’s an actual “theatre.” As in, main floor and balcony seating, an actual stage, and only one screen to talk about. And then the Creative Director of the theater came on stage and introduced the film on microphone, doing the usual “no talking, phones on silent please, popcorn in the lobby downstairs” spiel that’s almost always left to pre-movie slideshows. And they’re airing things like....Monty Python, for crying out loud. For Valentine’s Day, they’re doing Casablanca. I actually think it’d be a good date option, for my two cents.
(Speaking of money, it’s actually a cheap theater, and with a student ID discount, which is rare to find in Boston since “everyone” here’s a student.)
I hadn’t seen either film. I was a fan of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and that was my the limit to my knowledge of the genre. But Nora and Bill, who invited me, were aficionados and explained to me that diehard Python fans were fairly split in “Holy Grail” or “Life of Brian” camps. And just before the film began, they had a quick conversation about how controversial The Life of Brian was. They quickly agreed that if the film was a script today, it wouldn’t get made; it was that simple.
And now I understand why.
The Life of Brian is so tongue and cheek with the Christian religion that it would undoubtedly become an uproar of a film if placed in theaters nationwide. I imagine it was the very same back when it had been produced. And it occurred to me in the middle of it that Nora, seated to my left, was Jewish. And Bill, seated to my right, was also Jewish. My only two Jewish friends in the Boston area were hanging out with me, watching the three Wise Men screw up their expensive deliveries. And I wondered what role that played in their interest in the film; in contemporary Judaism doctrine—I am told—pupils are actively encouraged to be skeptical of all religions, including their own. And with this experience of religious scrutiny under their belts, I wondered if they were better equipped to see the playfulness in the jests and jabs of the movie than your average devout Christian.
And then I remembered that they’re both incredibly knowledgeable in musicals and broadway shows, and perhaps just really appreciated the pivotal musical number when Brian was being crucified.
But what really caught my attention was A Liar’s Autobiography, which is a film made last year in dedication to Graham Chapman, using the audiotapes he created before his death in 1989. The film was a compilation of several different animation companies, creating a hodgepodge of different animation styles, which is a very unique thing to watch. In true Python style (for me), there were moments that were absolutely entertaining, and moments that really stood out there on the limb. But if The Life of Brian would have been controversial, I feel as though A Liar’s Autobiography would have be burned and buried in a mound in someone’s backyard. The sex scenes! The musical, musical sex scenes! When I sat down in the theater, this card was attached to the seat:
It reads, “‘I had no idea until recently that Graham Chapman is in fact dead—I thought he was just being lazy,’ MONTY PYTHON’S TERRY JONES”
And the flip side contains the lyrics of the singalong. (Yes, we were encouraged to sing along. No, I don’t think anyone actually did. But yes, I had a hard time not singing aloud to the catchy tune while going home on the subway. Awkward.) The sing along lyrics go a little something like this:
Sit on my face
I’ll sit on your face
And tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you o-ra-lize,
When I’m between your thighs,
You blow me awaaay.
Sit on my face
And let my lips embrace you,
I’ll sit on your face
And then I’ll love you tru-ly.
Life can be fine, if we both 69,
If we sit on our faces
In all sorts of places
And play...’till we’re blown awaaaay.
Oh, here’s a video of them singing it, so you can have the tune stuck in your head too. (It’s not the piece from the film, but it’s still vaguely NSFW, depending on your stringency of butt protocol.)
There’s just so much about Monty Python and their late 80s British comedy style that’s worth analyzation. I’m sure someone somewhere has written a thesis about it. But when we get past the sex (easy) and even the religion (done), and the artwork of the animation (not so easy, but bear with me temporarily), what we have with A Liar’s Autobiography is a narration that is mostly true, but brazenly untrue. That sort of toying with the lines of fact and fiction is daring. I left the film with a strong sense of what was true, but unsure about which moments were untrue. And I left the film with the understanding that not knowing which was which didn’t mess with my conception of the takeaway value. For a guy like me—who loves to do a little research—that’s a pretty powerful achievement.
....So sit on my face, and let my lips embrace you~......
On the bookshelf I built (it leans dramatically to the left, and threatens to collapse under the collective weight of Flynn, Karr, Handler, Wolff, Foster Wallace, and a few other likable kooks), there is a picture my mother took of my cousin and I at the Guggenheim. I’m standing there, smiling, next to my cousin, who at 6’2 was a track star in high school, who then graduated into modeling, followed by acting, to include several actual acting gigs, notably for me as an extra in Law & Order. He’s the New York to my Boston (literally). The three piece suit to my flip flops and ripped jeans. Quite frankly, compared to him, I am the black sheep.
And nothing was more liberating than that realization in my conservative family. I had a free pass to mess up because even doing my best I would still be standing in his shadow (also literally, the tall bastard). With all eyes on him, I was free to develop my own thing.
And of course my own thing got me nowhere, as these stories go, but I’ve had fun carving out my own path and discovering what works for me and what doesn’t. For example, I’m absolutely loving my studio professor and her take on teaching. This week’s project is to take an 11x17 bristol board and turn it into a veritable marble maze—we have to get a marble to start at one end of the paper and stop on the other, while moving at two different speeds, and explore encasement/exposure. It’s all about considering volume and form and space in a different light. I’ve got to come up with two more models for Monday, but here’s my first one so far.
Eh, eh? What do you think? I think I might get lampooned for it being too symmetrical, but...who cares? I made it, and I think it’s awesome.
Ok, I care, and will work against that for the next model. Twist my arm why don’t you.
But later on today, I’m going to go to my first cold read, for—get this—a Law & Order spoof. They’re looking for someone to play Ice-T. Should be fun! I always pictured myself as a late in life actor, because I essentially want to be Betty White (who doesn’t? It’s a thing), but wouldn’t it be cool if I became an on again off again actor like Kristen Schaal before Bob’s Burgers, or Clea DuVall before Argo? (We can argue semantics, but my point here is that I loved them both in low budget items before they became starlight capturers.)
But mostly I think it’d be fun just to have the experience of trying out for something art related that I know isn’t going to become mainstream. I guess I’m just black sheeping it.
I used to hate the clichéd phrase "sometimes it's the little things that count." Maybe hate is too strong of an emotion. Let's just say I never fully appreciated it. I'm a BBW standing at 6'2. This makes me not so little. Still, it hit me that I do little things all the time as I go through my day.
Ice in Florida is definitely not a little thing. Even now, in January's heart of winter (Florida winter is nowhere as bad as Boston winter, but it does get cold and hot on days you least expect), you can find people getting large bags of ice. With no ice maker, I'm one of those people now.
At two in the morning, there's no way I felt like going in Walmart for just a bag of ice. Ice and alcohol? Definitely. Just ice? No.
So my magic idea (it is magic thinking this time of morning after downing a pitcher of Sangria and a mint chocolate alcoholic milkshake, thus proving my point of alcohol needed being involved) was to drive through Del Taco, order something and offer to pay for two large cups of ice. I said offered. Doesn't mean I wanted to pay for it. College student is synonymous with cheap.
I didn't ask for it when I ordered. I waited until I saw a person at the window. I was super nice. I apologized for it being busy, even though it wasn't my fault. I smiled my head off even though I was dead tired. And you know what? She gave me two FREE large cups of ice. Not the small water courtesy cups. The super large Mucho cups so large, you wonder if people actually finish the liquid inside.
This may seem small, but that's my point. It's the small things that add up. I wasn't kissing up or bribing her. I was genuinely friendly and interested in the interaction. Because of that, she was kind enough to give me free ice. It's the small things I'm starting to appreciate.
I’ve grown obsessed with handless mugs. I just really like how I have to wait for the tea I drink (which I drink constantly—it borders on obscene) to cool before I try to drink it. It’s like a great lesson in waiting, slowing down, and considering my actions before giving in to my desires.
I have two handless mugs I bought from an oriental market in Cambridge that I use all the time for that sort of beverage contemplation. Knowing what I know about Junichiro Tanizaki, I appreciate these mugs even more. Tanizaki is the author of In Praise of Shadows, which, as you can imagine, is a book...about...praising...shadows. But seriously, in it he makes some really good points (e.g. miso soup should be consumed from a dark bowl, because when you drink miso soup in a white bowl, you’re too focused on the fact that the soup’s broth is all chunky and heterogenous instead of actually just enjoying the soup), and while my mug is dark all around, there’s a ring of dim light that you can see near the bottom if you finish your tea.
So, there’s this alarm that goes off at 6:30, and it just vibrates. I’m not sure whether it’s in my room or not because every time I think it’s coming from one corner, it then appears to be coming from another. (A very funny, but mean trick so early in the morning.) But I think maybe that helps.
Not because of typical classroom jitters—that feeling of meeting all of these new people who could make the next several months awesome or awkward, depending—but because of how late Massachusetts is on delivering financial aid. Like, a month and half into the semester. And I’ve budgeted for this after experiencing the fall semester, but I’m going to be cutting it close, and I don’t like close cuts.
So last night I did some snow removal at a local school & church, which really helped patch some financial gaps. And then I went and deposited the check this morning, and on my way home this old man had paused to put on his gloves near the subway. And what hair he had left was white, and he had rested his cane against one of those newspaper dispensers, and seeing me coming, he says, “Good morning, sir.”
He sirred me. He SIRRED me! The man’s practically 80, and I haven’t even hit 25 yet (although the thought of reaching that milestone this year sent me reeling last night), so I responded with, “No, YOU good morning sir!”
Because I guess that’s the kind of thing I say when I cut coffee out of the budget.
Ok, those were Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics, but seriously, I’ve started working out to this new song, and I’m not sure if it represents where I’ve been, or where I’m heading, and what scares me most is not knowing which.
Ok, so I live with three girls, an extra guy, and we all only have one bathroom to share. (Welcome to Boston.) We go through toilet paper like mosquito spray out in the Everglades. I get that. But really, what excuse do we have for buying cheap toilet paper?
Quote me on this, but be aware that I’ve adopted this concept from somewhere else—the two things in life you should always splurge on are toilet paper and underwear. If it’s going near your privates, it better have passed some quality inspections.
I freely admit to not having lady parts, and so I can probably use some schooling here, but why should it take more than two or three squares of high quality toilet paper to get the job done? Maybe four-six if you wipe twice. But when you’ve got toilet paper you can see through, how could you not use 8, 10, 12+ squares, and still somehow continue to feel unclean? But of course, the role is so thin, they’ve wrapped more around the cardboard, so it seems to take even longer to finish it? Like, whose idea was that?
People who hate their private parts. That’s who.
You know what? Treat your poonanner. (I don’t know whether that refers to the front, the back, the middle...frankly, I find a map of Africa less complicated.) Treat your butt, guys. (Simple, am I right?) Go for the good stuff. You’ll thank me.
Whaaaaaat? (Also, I feel the need to state that I didn’t take this picture. Don’t know why.)
Ok, in all seriousness, this is why I go ga-ga for Walt Jr. in Breaking Bad, and I think Tamra will agree—the reason RJ Mitte is so hot is because he’s so real. Nothing about him says plastic surgery, personal trainers, or high-and-mighty. His look is asymmetrical, and therefore surprisingly real and yet striking.
It’s sort of like this long standing conversation I’ve had with friends about orthodontia. With a perfect row of pearly whites, a person can start to look a little stepford-y. But with a nearly perfect smile...(I now feel like I’m trying to justify not wearing my retainer.)
Whether or not Mitte uses trainers, has had work done, or throws his water bottles at his assistants, I don’t want to know. Sometimes the beauty is in the not knowing. I, behind on pop culture, am just starting the show and just discovering Mitte. But, I’m curious where this path will take him.
To quote Patti Smith:
“Where does it all lead? What will become of us? These were our young questions, and young answers were revealed.
It leads to each other. We become ourselves.” —Just Kids, by Patti Smith
I hope to see more people of disabilities in the public eye. People who have actual disabilities. I hope that graphic narrative artists like Genevieve Tyrrell will bring them to the forefront in print, and that shows like Breaking Bad will keep them in the media.
