Untitled.

I need to start griping about horrible things I read here, rather than on Tumblr, where no one cares.

First order of business: Neil LaBute and Chris Rock are remaking the British film Death at a Funeral*. WHY?! That movie is from 2007! Alan Tudyk runs around completely nude for most of it! It doesn’t need to be remade, it's so genius!!

Peter Dinklage may be reprising the same role as he had in the original... because no one else could ever match his performance; at least that fact has been acknowledged. Apparently, to make this edgy and American, the whole cast, other than potentially Dinklage, and the gorgeous James Marsden, has to be black? I don't have a problem with that, I just have a problem with the whole concept of remaking a movie that came out less than three years ago and was amazing.

Also, it makes the family dynamic pretty different. Just saying. Less subtle. Which... I guess would also make it more American.

I hope at least James is playing Alan Tudyk's part and runs around naked on acid the whole time. That, OR THIS MOVIE GETS CANCELED RIGHT NOW. Okay, Danny Glover and Ron Glass are cast, as well. At least we have another Firefly alum? That's pretty much my litmus test for anything I watch (almost not kidding).

*I linked to the IMDb page for the original. For obvious reasons.

Next, we have... The absolute worst "review" I've ever read. FEAST YOUR EYES: EW gives The Decemberists' Hazards of Love a... D+?

Frontman Colin Meloy has many unique gifts as a songwriter — gifts that have all but deserted him on this regrettable attempt at a prog opera. Hazards of Love drowns in convoluted plots, blustery guest vocalists, and comically out-of-place guitar shredding. D+

Pitiful. That's literally the whole thing. A two-sentence review. How can this person even get paid for such bullshit. And, did he just call Shara Worden "blustery" in a negative way? OH, NO. Did this man even listen to the whole thing?

My favorite comment:

"What a worthless review. In a time in music when everything has devolved to the MP3 single, The Decemberists put out something that takes a lot of thought, musicianship, and "guts" - and succeeds on all levels. In a two sentence stroke, the reviewer and EW prove themselves to be a joke."

Amen to that.

3/1/2007

I'm always looking for you everywhere;
Dust on an empty picture frame.
Residue left from rain.
Bookmark, shoe box,
Lightbulb, warm socks.
I'm always looking for you,
In other eyes.
You're never there.
Can you sympathize?

This is not like home.

Someday I hope to have a special chair. An armchair, all my own, soft and perfect, with pillows and blankets and a side-table with a calm lamp and a stack of books. And anywhere this chair is, is a place I can feel at home.

I'll never have a laptop on my lap when I sit there; I'll never face the TV; I'll never curl up with work or distraction.

I've been thinking about this chair a lot, lately.

Bench thoughts.

My intention was to read, but I ended up scribbling on post-its instead.

On photography

I have sorely missed photography. The feeling of anticipation, the pay-off of pictures like this. So, maybe I missed the chance to touch David Cook's shirt Friday night; I got a picture of all the girls around me doing it, and I remember the energy, their ecstasy in that moment.

For a long time, I haven't been taking pictures. I've been making excuses.

My camera frustrates me, it's a piece of shit, I made a bad choice.
Everyone's always told me I need to live my moments, rather than photograph them; they've never been convinced that taking pictures gives me such joy. It must be false, they've said, I need to stop.

I stopped. And a piece of me fell asleep in the snow and was frozen and buried.

But I think I'm going to reclaim that. That dormant feeling is stirring a little in me; I find myself reaching for my camera more often, wondering if I should bring it with me when I leave the room. An opportunity may present itself, one a cell phone camera just wouldn't do justice to.

I'm remembering how happy this used to make me. I want it again.

Little things.

I love idiosyncrasies. I think those little, insignificant things about people, the things that really make them them, are the most beautiful things.

Alexis has a different voice, vocabulary, and set of facial expressions for each person she talks to on the phone.

Sophia has the most sophisticated artistic eye of anyone I know. You could show her a mess of photos, fonts, colors, graphics, and she could pick out the very best ones right away.

Maybe I feel this way because I'd like to think someday, someone might really love me, and the thing that makes them realize it is my habit of eating tuna fish sandwiches for breakfast or my dislike of blue-ink pens.

"We're remembering."

Sometimes I wonder about my life. Whether I have affected or ever will affect someone's life in a way that they aren't the same after I've passed through it.

So I started thinking about the people I know, the people I used to know. Even the ones that made me feel like dirt underfoot. Maybe their purpose was to make me feel like dirt, so that someone or something else could come along and make me feel like a person again. It comes down to this balance... I have to be confronted with something frustrating and unfortunate, in order to truly appreciate something that is good to the core.

This is all underdeveloped and barely articulated. But I hope more people remember me for being good than for being frustrating.