...rosebud...

Now, I'm no film snob or anything, but I happen to love old movies. I find such a great sense of comfort in them - I like the fuzziness of the black-and-white shots of glamourous women with lace covering their porcelain faces and of stern men in thin mustaches and bowler hats. Something about old-fashioned settings and scenarios always makes me feel better after a long day.

I have my dad to thank for most of my "tidbits of culture" - from music to movies. However, I was outraged when he failed to show me what I just recently found out was widely considered the greatest movie ever made - Orson Welles' Citizen Kane. And I was doubly outraged when I found out that we've had a copy of it for a very long time and he's neglected to even put it on.

Well, this past weekend I was bedridden and miserable with the stomach flu, and I decided to finally put on the greatest movie of all time.

And from the second I saw one of the very first shots of Kane's lips muttering the word "Rosebud" and his hand dropping a snow globe, I knew this movie would be a true work of art. I was not wrong.

For its time, the style that Citizen Kane is shot in is incredibly modern, from the long-focus shots of long corridors to the silhouetted figures against a background of light that

illuminates floating dust particles to create this airy, ethereal effect. This was the movie that truly started modern filmmaking.

Every single second of this film is a masterpiece - I was continuously blown away as each scene passed. It's very rare that I feel this strongly about a film, but I do believe that Citizen Kane deserves to be called the greatest movie ever made - not only for its beauty, but for its earthquake-like effect on the world of filmmaking.

A little past halfway into the movie, however, the DVD started breaking up and freezing - ah, the dreadful curse of disk scratches has come upon us again. I was in utter despair for the rest of the day. And alas, I have not seen all of this movie.

However, there is no doubt in my mind that Citizen Kane is not an excellent, excellent movie. But sometimes I wonder if my opinion on it would have been different if I hadn't been telling myself that it was the greatest movie ever made, before I even started it. Is that causing me to twist my ideas unknowingly into something they're not? Hm.

ps...sorry about the tiny pictures. i think something's wrong with the computer.

ye olde mentor bloges.

I am one of those mean/selfish/inconsiderate interweb personalities that becomes absorbed in their own blog and only the comments they receive, meanwhile neglecting to comment on the blogs of peers. That doesn't necessarily mean I do not read other people's blogs, it just means that I am too "busy" basking in my own blog comments. Which is terrible, I know, and I feel very bad about it.

However, here are some of my favorite blogs and the links to them, in case you are a nicer person than I and can actually take the time to make someone else feel happy by commenting on their wonderful posts.

My brother Ben's blog. I find it incredibly fascinating to be able to so easily access his work when he is always so protective of it at home. I have never been able to read so much of his writing normally, and I feel like I am seeing a whole other side of him when I can read his posts. He is extremely creative in his posts and I love the poems he writes and his interesting opinions and connections with books. I feel like his blog really stands out from others because he writes about such unique things and has such a special writing style. The post that really exemplifies this creativity is one of his first posts, Mrs. Whatsit, The High Priestess. It was really interesting to read about the connections between tarot cards and A Wrinkle in Time. Fascinating. Nice work, bro.

Secondly, there is my friend Izzy's blog. And I'm not just writing this because we're close friends - Izzy writes about interesting books and topics with unexpected and thought provoking angles to them. She doesn't limit her blog to just school-related posts, however - she posts about music, movies, and other aspects of pop culture that are so interesting to read about. I look forward to reading her posts each week because she never fails to be creative with her writing. One of my favorite posts of her is called Congratulate Me..., where she talks about Alfred Hitchcock's movie Shadow of a Doubt. I personally love reading movie reviews and opinions, so this was so much fun to read. She also leaves great comments, and I thank her for that.

Then there's Pia's blog -- how could I leave this lady out? Pia never ceases to amaze me with her impossibly advanced and developed writing style and vocabulary. Her posts are marvels in themselves - it's as if a doctor or some other really smart person wrote them. But on top of all that, she writes about interesting topics and great books and with such creativity - it is clear that Pia is a very gifted writer. A great post is this one on the book Looking For Alaska by John Green, called The Great Perhaps. She gives an excellent interpretation of a wonderful book. Not much to say here - keep up the good work, Pia.

Lastly, there is a blog by a classmate that I admire so much for her bold, creative writing style. This is Audrey and her blog "My Infinite Reading Post". Besides writing about good books, Audrey always presents her readers with an entertaining, humorous, and very creative blog post that's almost casual - she doesn't overanalyze things - instead, she addresses her ideas and opinions with a voice that is unique and always a pleasure to read. One that shows so much of her unique voice is Are We Allowed to Have Co-writers? PLEASE!! Even by just reading the title of this post, you can tell that she has so much personality. I love how she lets her younger sister write part of it - it adds a whole new feeling to the post. Great blog, Audrey.

Please check these blogs out, readers, they are well worth reading.

Tom Waits and Edward Hopper

I have a weird thing where I often inform my parents about what I've blogged about, yet I prohibit them from reading my posts. When I told my father about my poem inspired by Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, instead of him immediately asking "Can I read it?", he offered me one of the thousands of music facts stored in his brain. And now I know that Tom Waits has an album called "Nighthawks at the Diner", whose album artwork is apparently inspired by the Hopper painting. I was intrigued, but my laziness kept me from immediately rushing to the computer and researching it on the Interwebs.

However, lately I've been reacquainting myself with the Tom Waits album "Rain Dogs" and having major flashbacks of the songs playing in our stuffy car while on a long trip to some far away state. Ben and I have happened to love his song "Tango 'Till They're Sore", so I guess I possess a sentimental sort of love for this singer and his husky, sandpaper voice.

I still haven't had the chance to listen to the entire album yet, but I'm intrigued. I'll listen to it this weekend and see if it resembles the painting in any way. I find this so interesting.

Inspiration Drawn From Hopper

Nighthawks

Edward Hopper

counter

i've only come here to sit

i say wearily

He passes me a cup of desperate coffee and nods

careful, don't spill

offering me a smile of faded hope and unfulfilled dreams

and we understand each other,

as he wipes the counter down.

i sometimes like to imagine

secretly

that all those empty stools were filled with the friendly folks i've never met

and that spark of flame was my girl

not his

as i stare at the two of them in silence

envy masked by the brim of a hat

cheaper than his

envy staining the counter at phillie's

cheaper than the place cross the street

but glinting with bleak pride

nonetheless.

he wipes

steady circular motions

even though there's never a stain

on the counter at phillie's

and the only sounds hitting our lonely eardrums

are the gentle squeaking of an old man's meticulous hand

and the soft giggling of my spark of flame

as he touches her hair

and i watch the fiery reflection drift

across the polished wood.

and maybe when she gets home

she'll comb out her red hair

and he'll hang his jacket on a hook

and she'll kiss his cheek

and i'll be alone

just me and the counter and the old man

trying to scrub away my impurities.

but tonight

leaning on the steady wood

underneath our hair and cheap hats

the future is wiped away with the imaginary stains

for we are all nighthawks

placing our burdens on tattered wood

staying out later that we should

and wishing that the old man

would rest his withered fingers

and let the counter get dusty.

The Persistence of Song

The Persistence of Song

by Howard Moss

Although it is not yet evening,

The secretaries have changed their frocks

As if it were time for dancing,

And locked up in the scholars' books

There is a kind of rejoicing,

There is a kind of singing

That even the dark stone canyon makes

As though all fountains were going

At once, and the color flowed from bricks

In one wild, lit upsurging.

What is the weather doing?

And who arrived on a scallop shell

With the smell of the sea this morning?

---Creating a small upheaval

High above the scaffolding

By saying, "All will be well.

There is a kind of rejoicing."

Is there a kind of rejoicing

In saying, "All will be well?"

High above the scaffolding,

Creating a small upheaval,

The smell of the sea this morning

Arrived on a scallop shell.

What was the weather doing

In one wild, lit upsurging?

At once, the color flowed from bricks

As though all fountains were going,

And even the dark stone canyon makes

Here a kind of singing,

And there a kind of rejoicing,

And locked up in the scholars' books

There is a time for dancing

When the secretaries have changed their frocks,

And though it is not yet evening,

There is the persistence of song.

I have this book that I generally turn to when nice poems are needed for miscellaneous assignments at school; Good Poems, selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor, who hosts and writes the (since cancelled) radio station The Writer's Almanac. This poem, The Persistence of Song, is one of those that I usually skip over because it's too confusing or too long and I don't have patience. However, I thought I should shed my cape of poetic ignorance and try to decipher this poem, which I later realized was totally worth it. This is one of those poems that you have to reread several times to fully grasp the meaning of it. There's some strange and complex metaphors and the writing style is deceptively simple, so it requires some extra thinking power. But after the third or fourth time reading it I saw that this was a truly beautiful poem that shouldn't be tossed aside like a stale bagel. Ms. Robbins told us to pick a poem that's changed our lives, and this poem has. On, like, so many levels, man.

First, I will observe. This poem doesn't have much to pick apart technically, because there's no rhyme scheme or real rhythm. One of things that stood out about this poem for me was the sort of rewind style of the whole thing. The first two stanzas are said and then stated again, but backwards, and almost with the exact same sentence structure and whatnot. It's almost like the author wants to reinforce the ideas of the poem, yet the poem takes on almost a totally new meaning when rewound, which is probably intentional. I also noticed that strange, unexpected metaphors are very prominent in this poem - "who arrived on a scallop shell with the smell of the sea this morning", "at once, the color flowed from bricks, as though all fountains were going". They don't seem to really belong in the poem and might confuse the reader. In fact, the entire thing seems all over the place and all weird and stuff and doesn't really make sense.

Ok, now that the boring stuff is over with, I can get to the cool stuff. In-ter-pre-tation. Ok. So what is this poem really about? It took me a couple of rereads to actually get it. The author does this wonderfully balanced thing of only putting down a few things that evoke "song" to him without sugar coating it and putting in stupid things like rabbits and dandelions. It's not what someone would usually think of as being happy and sunshiny and song-like. It's the sheer simplicity of this poem that makes it so meaningful and appealing to me. Howard Moss is saying that even in the smallest actions we do each day, like changing our dresses even if we don't need to and reading a book, there always this underlying sense of joy and hope. Howard Moss is really expressing his love for music by associating song with a feeling of rejoice. This poem is different from many others that are about music because instead of addressing the topic directly, he sort of slides it in to a poem that appears to be about something else. Hm... clever. In many ways this poem evokes a sense of extreme hope - I was enlightened by the message that it was sending. In simple actions of hope and beauty, there is always song because this poem is saying that joy is song, and song is joy.

Right, I find myself verging into that state of blog posts where it all becomes mushy and repetitive. It's been happening a lot lately. Sorry.

It's so hard to interpret a poem like this because it's all mushy and there's so much simple complexity (oxymoron) in it. I feel like those metaphors aren't meant to confuse you, but it's just that the author is trying to express his complicated emotions of happiness to us and we might not understand them. Yet by comparing these joys and small moments to music, he's making it easier for us to understand.

oh goodness, this was a terrible blog post. i'm losing steam...not using capitals...i'm so sorry, readers, but i'm falling into a pit of crappy blog posts. forgive me... this sucked. i'll rewrite it when i'm not feeling so brain dead. i didn't do justice to a poem that really means so much to me.

Just A'wonderin'...

alas, i call once again upon the bountiful world of bloggists for advice. here is my question, which all are free to answer at their own leisure.

does one "follow" their own blog? i am considering doing so merely for the gluttonous satisfaction of seeing my name come up upon the newsfeed on the virtual dashboard. but other than that, there is not a specific purpose.

i require answers! please comment.

Dissecting Comedy

I've been feeling so strange lately. It's as if my personality has migrated south for the winter and has inhabited another being. In return, my emotional immune system seems to have reacted by unearthing every trait I've tried to smother. Frustration, confusion, fatigue, extreme curiosity and desire to rebel against people and things that frustrate me. Each trait impacts one another, and although I've done my best to keep them under control, they affect my life daily and cause me to think about things differently and more deeply, which, unfortunately, ultimately leads to utter frustration and/or rebellious tendencies. Even the things I love most, like food and music, I've been psychoanalyzing to the point where they become almost totally foreign and unappealing to me. It's as if I'm molecularly deconstructing a mass-produced brownie and finding all the animal by-products and such. Suddenly I don't want to eat it anymore.

Over the span of the few months I've been labeled as an "eighth grader", I've realized that comedy is one of my true loves, and it loves me back, apparently, because some of its wit rubs off on me (occasionally) and I can apply it to my writing.

Now, reader, if you have put two and two together you'll be thinking right now that it's utterly inevitable that Annie is going to destroy her love for comedy by questioning its very existence. Well, you would be wrong there, my friends, because it's already happened.

That's right. I've been engrossed in the thick, funnies-packed object which is Steve Toltz's A Fraction of the Whole. (Yes, this is my fifth post on it.) My whole life has been revolving around comedy, from catching the occasional re-runs of Saturday Night Live episodes from 2001 or simply making mental jokes about my cat's obesity. There's a battle going on between the world of satire and my newly uncovered emotions, and the emotions are winning. I keep asking myself the same questions: What makes things amusing? Why am I laughing at this joke? What makes other people's misfortunes funny? What is comedy? Instead of wallowing in my own confusion and eventually going mad with answerless passion, a new idea sprung upon me--I would answer these questions myself, applying my obsessive inquiring to the things that actually required it. And then, what-ho! I had a blog post! Funny how these things work out so well.

So why exactly are certain jokes funny? What makes a man in an office cubicle wearing a banana suit while eating a giant hot dog amusing? Many hours of intense theorizing has brought me to a conclusion. We, as humans, have a specific agenda, whether we believe it or refuse to admit it. We are used to things happening the way they're supposed to, and when suddenly, out of the blue, something occurs that we never expected to happen, even if it's a snippet of dialogue, a joke is born. A sudden change in a world that's expertly paced produces something that we chose to take as a signal for happiness. Why does it not make us cry? Several reasons. The first, easiest, and most obvious reason is that it's human nature (for most people, at least) to want to be happy. Also, the change is usually so small (yet able to leave some impact) that after it's finished, we can go on with our lives as if nothing's happened. Some people find this little quirk in space and time amusing, yet some people don't take it so well, which is what determines sense of humor.

So why is something that's still sudden and unexpected, like a cat impaled on a street lamp, not amusing at all, except to kitten-haters? I think that the trick to good comedy is to present something that many people have similar feelings for in an unexpected way without altering it too much. In the case of the office worker in the banana suit, it is only changing one thing, which is the assumed attire of office workers. Having something so blunt and out there that it becomes too opposing to society no longer seems funny. It must be subtle, kind of like that almost-clear nail polish that you can still sort of see. It must leave a slight tint on the fingernails of the universe.

Wow. After getting out all my ideas on virtual paper, I've realized that comedy is so much more complex than many people take it to be. Sure, it comes naturally to some people, but even then, before delivery, you have to take into consideration the impact it will have on certain individuals. I even admit that A Fraction of the Whole goes a bit overboard occasionally with its wildly revolting jokes. Yet the thing that makes it for the most part consistent in its humor is the fact that it's set in such a natural environment that's tweaked only in the slightest to leave a huge comedic impact. That's the genius of humor: the ability to screw up society's ideas in the perfect way for people to actually be able to laugh at them and not cry.