Saturday, January 29, 2005

$&%@#$%&--- the fundamentals of Mormon swearing...

It's probably an oddity peculiar to the Ned Flanders-types of the world: the religious zeal that prompts one, when angry (though perhaps sinning in the anger itself) to feebly attempt to keep their language from matching their mood. I myself am guilty of a number of them, until my self-mastery dwindles and I unleash the more unsavory counterparts of the following...
Just a few words/choice phraseology from the bellicose lexicon of Happy Valley:
"a" (as in, "I'm going to come up there and kick your "a"---really threatening! I wonder what part of me corresponds to the letter z),"am" (a variant of damn that one of my roomies conocted---say it w/ gusto and you'll get the connection), dang, darn/darn it, fetch/fetchin', freak/freakin'/g, fudge, gosh (usually paired w/ darn it), heck, schnikes, sheist?, shoot, ship (no, really) Much of the above is used in combination; also, foul language will be omitted w/ the innuendo still included, as in "What the (pause)?" or "Let's get the (pause) out of here."

There are also the more sophisticated variants on "curses," as in "Oh drat" and "darn it all," "My heck!" and others...

Just an observation... No judgments, just linguistic curiosity... *devilish grin*

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

WARNING!!! A slew of parentheses ahead! Slow to 55 MPH!
Holy domesticity, Batman!!! A few observations:

#1---The prevalence of domestic "drive," as in, the celebration and exulting in courting, marriage, marriage, marriage, and child bearing, most vividly (and somewhat disturbingly) depicted in song and dance. For example, in the "June Bride" sequence, wherein the six young brides-to-be for the remaining brothers dance, clad essentially in their underwear (which was patently addressed by the more prudish sisters' attempt to avoid the window), and sing an almost ceremonial tune regarding an eventual (and quite impossibly perfect) wedding day, prompted no less, by the news that Millie, played by Jane Powell, is having a baby. I chuckled, but was inwardly traumatized.

#2---The aforementioned disregard for "chaste" behavior w/ regards to the movie audience, but high moral standards w/ regard to the world created in the movie. Why was it acceptable for the movie audience to voyeuristically view these women clad in undergarments from an earlier time (the name of which eludes me) and yet to the other characters in the film the portent of tawdry behavior was frowned upon, even shunned? Maybe it's a question that really has no answer, or maybe it's the two-faced moral treatment as old as Hollywood; satisfy the limits/parameters of the Hayes code/Legion of decency by demonstrating a revulsion for immodesty, only to draw the deviant elements of the populace with the promise of a glimpse of young starlets in their skivvies? I'm not certain. Obviously, the "immodesty" is a far cry from today's blatant music video debauchery, but it nonetheless fascinates me that we'll accept one element of immorality and reject another. Why the trade-off? I say be heinously wicked or doggedly pure, but not between! LOL... Sorry, I get carried away, and usually about things that may not really matter in the ultimate evaluation.

#3---One cannot enjoy a musical in the presence of film academics. I, myself, could not repress a scoff at the 1950's gender identities/values evident in a) women longing for marriage---it's not that the same cannot or does not occur in modern-day movies, it's just subdued and less... less patriarchal, less domestic. b) In this movie, men are still "men," whatever that means anymore, barrel-chested, burly, and boisterous, almost bullying--- (Let's face it: when the lead is Howard Keel our expectations of a man are assuredly stereotypical, almost cartoony.) c)Courting is a breeze; dancing is mastered at an acrobatic level almost instantly; emotional/romantic woes/angst is resolved in a song.

#4---Now, having said that, may I declare my unequivocal love for song and dance. (I LOVED the Nutcracker ballet, for example.) Furthermore, I LOVE musicals (Singin' in the Rain, Hello Dolly---thanks again Sam!), but whenever I sit in this semi-cerebral setting, the movie I'm watching, no matter how superficially I contemplated it before, becomes an object of excruciating analysis. And, as is the case with any true escapist film (especially the genre of musicals), save a rare few, this movie broke under the slightest investigation, as Darl Larsen astutely pointed out to me previous to our watching it. I don't remember disliking, or even demeaning Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, even though I know I've seen it at least in part. Truthfully, I want to like it, even embrace the sugary goodness. But, well .... eh?

#5---Our society, not necessarily smarter, (though perhaps more diverse) is one that is decidedly more self-conscious and film savvy (the holes of which statement do not elude me (e.g., the successes of TERRIBLE films like Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, etc.)) If anything, as homogeneous, light, hopeful, whimsical, and escapist as musicals are---perhaps the perfect representation of an illusory America---they just don't stand for long in modern-day USA. (My guess is that Chicago and Moulin Rouge were either so self-aware, and/or racy, and/or pastiche, and/or heterogeneous, etc. that they could survive the roaring current of eclecticism and cynicism. Admittedly, I'm simplifying.)


#6---One last note: the women in this movie SWOONED. I won't say more. (Er, I did, but I deleted it.... sigh. Anyway....)

So, I think I'm frazzled just thinking about good ol' fashioned values, easy courtship, and rosy cheeks. Au revoir...

Wednesday, January 26, 2005


Someone recently accused me of objectifying women. While the semantics of said slander are debatable, I cannot argue that I have not put women on an unfair pedestal, both to them and myself. I'm guessing this individual feels that I see women as simply physical spectacles, which is invariably false; in fact, the true reasons for my intrepidation are the numerous evidences that there is something else internal a hundred times more provocative than their physical facets will reveal. Granted, this "else" is perceived chemically, metaphysically, in the vague way I understand much of the world around me, so I may be misleading myself down again more romantic roads. There could be little else but physical beauty inducing an ignominiously overpowering euphoria.

I, being so introverted, cannot deduce more. I can say that for many long years I've been exposed to the aesthetics of Hollywood, magazine covers, etc. and have thus become something of a connoisseur (or dilettante) regarding feminine beauty. However, instead of confining my perception of beauty to a certain twisted mold (I, for one, despise the Barbie look) I've found that innumerable tiny non-traditional features make a woman more than lovely. The crook of a nose, the gleam of a robust cheek, a heartfelt and thus heartwarming smile, a lilting walk, a tuft of hair hanging about the ear, etc. And these observations (in their infinite variations and combinations) only lead me to wonder what's on the inside, and that's where I make my approximate (and rarely final) analysis. In short, I do not assume that a beautiful woman is kind, understanding, profound, versatile, intelligent, engaging, etc. Rather my experiences with women both recent and long since past have taught me the opposite.

Though no one else but me is likely reading my BLOG anymore, perhaps because I've managed to unintentionally piss off the whole of my small circle of might-have-been friends, I still hope that my defense stands, if only to provide an explanation.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

The Lens Cap Caper

I spent the better part of my day taking pictures in order to consume the roll already in my camera and make room for another roll of slide film I need for my Cinematography class. Of course, w/o suitable and/or willing persons to shoot, I went up 'round the mountains looking for some lofty perch and/or natural, hence beautiful setting. This, of course, is winter, so I was more or less halted by the bare spindle-trees and yellow grass, which in a way may be considered lovely but not for my purposes. I did, however, stop behind the temple and snap what will most likely turn out to be silhouettes of the Moroni capstone on the Provo temple. Some poor college girl taking a brisk walk gave me a nervous look; whenever I'm in public w/ a camera people get skittish. No, I don't want to take a photo of YOU. Not that I'd mind, of course, but I was attempting to get into a mode preparatory for the assignment, which precludes photographing people, at least this time. So I'm reduced to snapping picturesque architecture and nature scenes, though there's no dearth of those if I look hard enough.

Anyway, as I was taking photos I put my camera case down as well as the lens cap, all the while worrying I'd forget to pick them up as I was leaving. So I packed up after taking what shots I thought were worthwhile and jaunted down to campus to see what other photos I could take. I managed to finish the roll, though too late to really take many photos for the class roll. I couldn't find my lens cap, and with some frustration contemplated the debris circling my bed, my cluttered desktop, and the backseat of my car. It was lost to the gremlin-ruled oblivion of my memory. Lacking any means to locate the cap I went to grab a bite at Bajio's.

(By the way, Bajio's is a crude copy of its former residence; it used to be Q'doba's, and the burrito wraps were much better in those days ---(there was lime and cilantro in the rice blend)... now it's really as plain jane as I consider Cafe Rio to be... Not that I'm as proficient a gourmand as people w/ greater financial means, mind you.)

Just as I sat down to eat the goodies in my apartment, I realized that I may have actually left the lens cap behind the temple. So I left my food sitting on the couch, vaguely nervous that according to some sit-com turn of events a roommate would return and eat it in my place or sit on it .. . well, you get the picture.

Suffice it to say that my search at the temple was as hurried as it was nigh impossible. The sun had already rested on its haunches next to the horizon by now, or at least as far as one could discern through the cloud cover. I could barely tell what color the grass was, let alone if a lens cap was hunkered down in the grass. Scooting a dark spot around with my shoe I descried a shuffle of particles and a consistency that was familiar in my younger days: dog "stuff," feces, excrement... ick. Naturally I decided on a less direct examination of the mottled spots. Despite some 10 or 15 minutes of searching, with my skeletal fingers stiff w/ the cold, I could see nothing resembling my lens cap.

Why the effort? My camera was given to me by my father, and, given that the bond between us is slim (at least in my opinion) through no fault but my own, I hold on to what pieces of family I can. It's silly; I know.

I came home, and thankfully though my roommates entered just before I did my momentary nightmares were not realized. Also, as is the irony w/ my lost items, and I'm guessing others' also, I found the lens cap resting in a box in my room, along w/ other camera accoutrements. I had done some attempted cleaning of my 135 lens earlier and forgotten all about the lens cap. Guffaw. Chortle. Phooey. :)

Monday, January 24, 2005

A captive audience ...

I've just realized the ignominy: the flaming counter at the bottom of my BLOG doesn't distinguish between visits I make to my BLOG and those of true "visitors." Therefore, I am likely the most faithful patron to my lonely corner of the cyberverse. That's right. Cyberverse. Somebody copyright it quick!

Of course, what this also means is that my BLOG is less me reaching out into the void than me finding another void in a virtual world, another case of me judging myself a better sounding board than everyone and their dog. Admittedly, I long ago dispatched any hopes of being truly humble, unless a miracle happens---(naturally there's a vast difference between crossing one's fingers and taking up one's cross)---so I'm really just relishing myself again, not superficially, since being so superficial I hate the way I look; it is my mind, however, in which I've come to exult. No, I do not consider myself a genius---that's too lofty a title. It's this labrynthine means of examining everything and strangely in that exploration making everything ten times more intriguing than it most likely should be that captivates me. How did I come to it?? Too many hours musing upon fictional landscapes, home-made narrow escapes, and partial adventures? Maybe I've lingered in my personal expanse, absent-mindedly forgetting ultimate realities... or perhaps embracing them more than immediate imperatives. I don't know... and again, that's the spectral punctuation that fuels my fascination: the question mark.

Maybe the tragic reason I'm not married is because I want someone who can walk this imaginative, pseudo-obsessive road with me, even though it clearly is a road that I've taken deliberate pains to protect against intrusion. Maybe the reason I've ever been alone is because I, in emotional, possibly romantic, fatalistic martyrdom, feel like I'm doomed to it. This because I've probably seen too many movies... or too few.

I wrote more, but got lost in the rumination, and didn't like it afterward. Yet another joy of the internet and associated technologies: the power to edit! Hurrah!

So adieu, me, myself and I... brethren. Until next we congregate.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Calumnious cacophony

I'm not certain about the rest of the world; I spend too many hours sequestered in my cavernous corner of the Villa to have peered into the minds of others, but I'm regularly beset by a stream of pestilent voices, bellicose, sneering and senseless: anti-social to say the least. It's yet another reason I abscond with my heart tucked away, lest I "radiate" any of my sinister tendencies to the typical gaggle of Mormon goody-goodies spelunking very near my doorstep.

Of course, over the years I've painted careful portraits of these motley characters, some of them bent-faced ogres, others poisonous beauties, all of them adding to my narrative lexicon. I suppose it's a mixed curse. Suffice it to say, however, that I wonder if when I'm flustered by their bickering and derisive tones I don't reveal a twitch or a tick commonly associated w/ the clinically insane. Once a friend noted that I was moving my jaws without parting my lips, sort of talking with my mouth shut. Too creepy, eh? Maybe I should locate a shrink, or find myself nouveau riche before things get terribly atrocious. That way my dreams of having some macabrely-dressed secret passage-way (or 2, or 10) in my future chateau would be counted eccentric and not psychotic.

Ah well ... here's to early lunacy...

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Mirrors behind a woman's magic...

So I visited my "ex" last night/this morning, and can say little for my new steely bravado. Where was the Dirty Harry in me? In the fog-ridden ride up I was nothing but grimacing grim; however, as I approached, my reserves of macho misogyny turned tail and I transformed into a fawning fop again. Wishing to remain impervious to the rather impish inclinations to which I have typically clung when it comes to women, I maintained what moxie I could as I hunted for her door. It was short-lived. She's... well, she's sensational.

Not surprising, as to whether my amazement was reciprocated I do not know. How women can remain so apparently unaffected by men is beyond me, but I think I've covered that before, and to no discernible conclusion. Let's chalk it up to the nature of gender differences. I only wish that we actually followed nature more (or as it's portrayed on the Discovery channel) wherein at least a few species exhibit the male as alluring, like in the case of the peacock... LOL. Not that I want to be a peacock.

Of course, this is me going on again about the same ignoramus rigamarole as always.

I've also realized that besides being a mangutang, I'm also a porcupine. So no peacock; I've enough of the animal kingdom in me.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005


I also like "pseudo"... sounds like a martial-arts style or italian pizza bread. Anyway, amongst other things I tried to pay off a speeding ticket that for some air-headed --(I must be doing marijuana unintentionally... you know, like sleep-bonging)-- reason I thought was only $9. You're thinking, "Yeah, right, in Guam!!!" So I'm half-skipping (in a manly way, just so you know) to the local courthouse to pay the niner and go on my merry way with little more than a slap on the hand. Ha! Not so, my dear speeder friends... it's $82 "dalla." That's right. (BTW, if anyone wants a crack at the stuff I must be smokin', you just need to give me a good offer--?-- and a kilo or two is as good as rolled in your pocket.)

So I'm going to put my arm and a couple fillings in hock to pay this off, and then I'll have to walk the earth like Cain from Kung Fu. Hopefully not like Cain from the Bible.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled madness...

So, what to write??? I've been busily indulging in video games and forgetting the mirthful outside world... even to the point of my roommates' endearing attempt at an "intervention." Why? Who knows, except the coterie of odd-ball characters now burned into my brain, thanks be to the miracles of RPG. (That's Role Playing Games, not Rocket-Propelled Grenades for you kids at home.)

I've just decided that I'm not cool enough to "hang," ... that I'm too cowardly to bear the brunt of my numerous insecurities that only show themselves when I'm forced to have a conversation with another person; additionally, I don't feel as if I'm being my true self when I talk to people at times, though anymore as to what the true me is I cannot ascertain. Of course, it may just be that I revel in my own madness/eccentricity and delight in seeing others perplexed by it. Muuuuahahahaaha!

Ultimately, it may just be that social inadequacies and assorted idiosyncracies aside, I'm a melodramatic oaf. I like that word. Oaf, oaf, oaf. Oafmeal. Oaf de toilette. Oaf a cryin' out loud!

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Not so back-to-school

Wow. I may not get to take classes this semester!!! Darn parking tickets!!! Must they give me a parking ticket at 3:45 p.m. if the parking limitation only lasts until 4?!? Nazis. Parking Nazis!!! Hehe.

Anyway, I'm suffering super-lag after going several hours w/o R.E.M. sleep. I had about 0-1 hours of half-waking slumber before I hopped on the plane at Houston's George Bush International... I got my first bit of sleep this morning after taking 5 minutes to manage the whopping ton of debris on my bed... (This debris would include a decrepit VHS camera, my framed diploma, and a slew of papers that most likely were relevant six months ago... I need a secretary! or personal assistant! Any offers?)

I'm using too many exclamation points considering how proverbially wiped I feel. Oh, and I look it, too. It's no small coincidence I'm wearing my scrubs because I am one this not-so-early morning. Ugh. I look like a binge drinker. :) Much to my chagrin, I don't have a snazzy digital camera I can use to show you, mah peeps.

Anyway, kids, this is where I leave you... lingering on the edge of suspense... (How bad could he look? ---That much and more will be revealed: Same Bat Time! Same Bat Channel! Nanananananana---aw, nevermind.)