what if i'd gone to the movies

Murukami's Norwegian Wood in the morning, (500) Days of Summer at night. In both works, majority of the plot revolves around what love isn't but both end with the promise that this time could be it. Or not, depending on how you see things I suppose. Neither one takes on the burden of exposing what love looks like, but it does a good job of what pining for it is like. Both capture something very human, no matter how seemingly painful and hopeless the process of falling in and out of love is, all of that fear can be obliterated by the possibility that this next time it's going to work. We're like rats that keep buzzing for that electric shock.

Is it all up to chance? Our dispositions and our situations in life are constantly in flux and it seems like many things need to line up before either party is ready. In the movie, the process is less defined, less systematic, like blindly shooting at a target. In the novel, the decision is made to love but with that decision comes the assiduous task of waiting for hearts and minds to heal, to die, to be born again before love can be fulfilled.

Currently, I'm more cynical and from yesterday's cross-art form immersion to love and all its demons what resonates the most is this:

Just because she likes the same bizzaro crap that you do doesn't mean she's your soulmate. Rachel Hansen, 500 Days of Summer

muriel's wedding

The nice thing about cable TV with too many movie channels is that somewhere in that haystack of old and new, classic and forgotten is that occasional needle that sews purpose back into your movie-watching experience. (Also great is having TV Guide as your metal detector).

"Muriel's Wedding" is the story of a young woman in her twenties driven to lie, cheat and steal by her one and only goal: to get married. It sounds light-hearted, as if it could be the plot line for the next Lindsay Lohan/Hilary Duff chick flick, but don't take "lie, cheat and steal" too lightly nor "getting married" to be as happy and heart-warming as it is often symbolically presented.

I don't know if it was the fact that the movie is from the early 90s or that it's Australian that makes the plot and the character development surprising at times, breaking out of the formulaic romantic comedy we know and I, genuinely, cherish. It doesn't quite follow the mold where the audience is taken to gentle slopes of joy, frustration, grief and delight. For example, Muriel is, in a word, insane, and at times so horrid she deserves no sympathy at all. While there is the traditional naive, ugly duckling to the confident, made over woman transition, there isn't that core good but oppressed person you're rooting for through the changes. As for the story, the "happy ending" comes in the middle and "ever after" isn't quite what one would expect. But it works, and for all it's surprises, it shines on its own.

If I ever have to make a "Favorite Movies" list, I have to remember to count this one.

ladybugs, think of the ladybugs

"I used to spend hours looking for ladybugs. Finally, I'd just give up and fall asleep in the grass. When I woke up, they were crawling all over me."

I was chatting with Jelly today who reminded me of this movie, and this quote in particular. What is it about happiness that makes you forget about patience during the down times?

I never had much trouble catching ladybugs when I was little, but I remember it took me a while to master the art of capturing grasshopers. Dragonflies are particularly tricky as well. Fireflies were the most fun of course and spiders took the most courage - we never figured out which ones were biters. Last weekend I was trying to teach my sister's brother-in-law's daughter how to catch a butterfly. It was a failure; it's hard now even for me to believe that I ever did it with such ease. Where have my bug days gone?

dreaming of the perfect world

A world without weeds.

Watched Constant Gardener today. As my friend Sheena and I like to say, I had my fix of social consciousness for the week. More seriously however, it made me not want to have children in this world. It made me want to jump off a building and die. I had a flashback of one of my Professor's lectures. Political philosophy is about what kind of world you want your children to live in. Or at least that is why we care. (Sometimes it seems as if philosophy has no room for sentimentality, but in the end, does it not have humanity at the core of its quest?) But perhaps rather than fear the potential for harm and suffering in all that we are, in all that we do and in all that we live, we'll be better off trying to make the world better for the next person - a family member, a friend, a lover, a stranger.

On a lighter note, saw the trailer for Brokeback Mountain. I'm excited to see how the Heath Ledger-Jake Gyllenhaal pair-up can pull it off.

Atlantic City was fun. Walked four miles and the closest I got to the ocean was from where I shot those pictures. The Atlantic will be my backyard for few days in a few days, so I'm not too bummed.

laurel canyon

Sara: That gets me off.
Sam: You're easy.
Sara: No. With you I am.

Who wouldn't be with Christian Bale?

OK movie. Good soundtrack. Lots of good-looking people. Promising plot. Disappointing ending. More and more movies have come to my attention with the same apparent deficiency. Maybe I'm the problem; I'm looking for something that isn't there. Closure? Perhaps when one is watching/reading a story one already has a bias on how things should turn out. With art, we're not merely waiting for things to unravel like we do with life; with art, we're expecting to be moved. To be jolted. Right now, my senses are only willing to resonate with awakenings that don't make you want to go back to the way things were, with stories of letting go and never looking back to fix what is broken. Tomorrow, I'll want the complete opposite. As Wilde pointed out, art is about the spectator. If I could rewrite the ending, I'll let Sam be with Sara, but that's probably only because I think I'm like her.

It baffles me that I can't write when I'm happier. On the phone all day, online when not - in constant contact with friends. I only want to write when I'm sad. I talk when I'm happy. Based on the minutes I've consumed on my phone (thousands), compared to how little I've blogged, it's pretty clear than I'm more happy than not.

Happiness: Ings, Ji and Yna. Blockmates and summer babies' quasi-surprise party. Sisters. Unlimited Nights & Weekends. Rollover minutes. YM emoticons. iPod. Oscar Wilde.
Sadness: the habit of reveling in sadness