welcome to my mind

Lately, I have been researching good fats and bad fats. I got to thinking about all the oils out there and began wondering what you use each oil for. This led to crisco, which led to shortening, which led to that old song, Shortenin' Bread.

So, for the past few days, shortenin' bread has been swirling around my brain. I began thinking about how old-school and sweet the idea of shortening bread sounds. But that song... ! My god. How disturbing. Here are the lyrics (inserted with what I'm picturing in bold italics):

Shortenin' Bread

Three little children, lying in bed
Two was sick an' the other 'most dead (holy fuck. how disturbing is that? you're lying in bed and one of your siblings is 'most dead' next to you... talk about serious therapy for the rest of your life!)
Sent for the doctor, the doctor said
Give those children some short'nin' bread (what the hell doctor is going to prescribe shortenin' bread? where are the drugs?)

Chorus
Mama's little baby loves short'nin', short'nin'
Mama's little baby loves short'nin' bread,... (×2) (this part is sweet and comforting except, i beg to ask what exactly is shortenin' bread? well, i found out that this song was originally a plantation song and according to wikipedia, these are the ingredients in shortening bread: corn meal, flour, hot water, eggs, baking powder, milk and shortening. It does sound kinda good... comfort food-y; very southern. And considering that this was a plantation song and then adapted in 1915 by someone in Tennessee, it's all clicking into place very nicely.)

Put on the skillet, slip on the lid
Mama's gonna make a little short'nin' bread
That ain't all she's gonna do
Mammy's goin' to make a little coffee too (well, this is a lovely image- mama in the kitchen by the stove making shortening bread and coffee... yum.)

When those children, sick in bed
Heard that talk about short'nin' bread
Popped up well to dance and sing
Skipped around and cut the pigeon wing (what the...?! cut the pigeon's wing!!!??? what kind of devil children are they? first they're sick in bed, then they hear the doctor and the mom talk about shortening bread, mom starts to cook it up for them and they jump to cutting a pigeon's wing? and anyway, how did said pigeon get in their room? maybe the bird had it coming?)

Slipped to the kitchen, slipped up the lid
Filled my pocket full of short'nin' bread
Stole the skillet, stole the lid Stole the gal makin' short'nin' bread (let us make sense of this. at this point, we're talking about another person; a man is breaking and entering, stealing food and kitchenware and kidnapping the children's mother which is actually quite fucking frightening.)

Caught me with the skillet, caught me with the lid
Caught me with the gal makin' short'nin' bread (we're talking the cops, here, buddy, why are you still singing this catchy tune?)

Paid a dollar for the skillet, a dollar for the lid
Spent a year in jail eatin' short'nin' bread (you should have spent longer than a year for kidnapping the mama. and a dollar in the early 1900s... i still think it should have been more money. hope you're getting your comeuppance in prison, dude. you definitely don't go around kidnapping gals!)

Read more: http://toneway.com/songs/shortening-bread#ixzz1kVQG5Iuh



I grew up on these songs and never thought anything of them until I got older and they would still swish around my head. My grandmother used to sing this one to us:

Clap hands, clap hands 'til daddy comes home;
daddy has money and mommy has none! (well, this one was quite accurate for my grandmother's generation, but i certainly won't be singing this to a child ever; it just doesn't hold true anymore.)


When I was little, my mom used to love it when i sang the chorus to Al Jolson's My Mammy:

Oh mammy, my little mammy,
I'd walk a million miles for one of your smiles,
My mammy. (actually, i used to say, 'i'd walk a hunda miles for one of you smiles, my maaaaaaaaammy!' my dad used to make fun of the way i said hundred. come on, i was probably two or three at the most! the weird thing is, i totally remember singing it and my dad teasing me...)



And I also used to love to sing Crystal Gale's Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue with my mom but to be honest, I still don't understand what that song means. She's basically singing about taking a man for granted, feeling remorse and sadness that now he's gone and don't it make my brown eyes blue. I just don't get that one. But I do know that everyone in my family (mostly my aunts) thought that blue eyes were stunningly gorgeous and so I took that to mean that blue eyes were best (i'm so very black and white; as a child and always) and so, to me as a child, I thought Crystal Gale wanted her brown eyes to turn blue because then she'd be more beautiful. Your guess is as good as mine.



One night, and I remember this quite vividly, my parents went out and left my aunt Maria and her good friend, Donna, to babysit us. Maria and Donna brought over ingredients to bake oatmeal cookies and the VHS of Hansel and Gretel. I remember the coziness of baking the cookies with my favorite aunt and her cool friend and then settling down with warm cookies and milk to watch a fairy tale. And remember, this is the 80s; the whole VCR thing is still super exciting and special. Well, that damn fairy tale freaked me the fuck out. This evil old witch lures these kids in with delicious candy and puts them in a cage, attempting to fatten them up so she can EAT THEM?! And then, the kicker is, at the end, the kids escape and boot her fat ass into the oven and slam the door and make a run for it, leaving this old bitch to roast to her death. I was frightened for days upon days. But that's just me. I'm a sensi.

From oil to shortenin' bread to hansel and gretel... my mind sure does jump topics. To tell you the truth, I rather prefer it this way.

Just Say No and GROW UP!

I came home from school feeling like my own personal hero. Why? Had I gotten through to a child? Did I save one of my students from certain danger? None of the above. The reason I came home practically fist pumping was because I just said "no."

You see, I have a terrible addiction that causes me to tremble and shake and weaken and rationalize and throw away periods of time that I have gone without. This addiction is to baked goods. Today, there were pretty mini cupcakes in the office. These were the types of cupcakes I would have normally gobbled up without thinking twice about it. Each one was perfectly topped with sugary, buttery white and pink frosting for Valentine's Day. I stood there looking at these cupcakes and thought to myself, "if not now, then when?" Every day, I cave in, eat whatever the hell I want, then suffer the wrath of the inevitable sugar crash. And then the beating up of myself begins. Today, I proved to myself that I have the power to just say no to baked goods. But this actually isn't the point of my post today. Let us segue into the real topic.

I was thinking about writing about how proud I was of myself and about my addiction to sweets and beauty and beast that is a simple sugary cupcake. And then I got to thinking about how often I think about, ponder, plan for, indulge, focus on, and finally write about food. I decided to look at my little heart diary with the lock for proof that other things had to happen in my life. This is
what I found:



How simple! How sweet! I had a day in the spring of 1987 where nothing went wrong and had to write about it.

Here's one where something terrible happened:



My day was ruined because my little brother scribbled all over my Betty Boop shirt. That would still piss me off today, no doubt. You better believe that if someone scribbled all over one of my favorite shirts now, I would be writing up a furious storm about it.
*sidenote- they were playing Betty Boop shorts at the movie theater before a movie I went to see a few weeks ago and that was one fucked up show. In this episode, she was breathing in laughing gas and tripping her face off with a clown... a clown!!! So weird and creepy... and wonderful!

Now let's look at a journal entry from February 2010, while I was in Barcelona:




I was in Barcelona on a trip I was so excited about and I was writing about candy and snacks at a place called Lady Jasmine's. I could have written about the people I saw, the language, the streets, the culture, the smells. Nah. I'm going to focus on the wide abundance of gummy and marshmallowey candy at my fingertips. In my defense, those are my favorite types of candy.

My fear here is that maybe I haven't changed that much. Then again, when you really think about it, maybe my life is just so wonderful that I get to write about candy as an adult... I could think of it as a luxury rather than a detriment.

Who knows? But it does illustrate that, as an adult, sweets have taken quite a large role in my life and today, I showed the ultimate restraint. I just said NO! And it wasn't no to a crumby chips ahoy or an oreo... it was a solid NO on three seperate occasions to beautiful pastel cupcakes. I did that. Now I am going to have to do it for the next few weeks unil Hellentine's Day is over...

cooking with oil

When I meet someone who is skilled in the kitchen, I am immediately filled with a mix of awe and envy. As it turns out, even though cooking and baking looks easy enough when I watch someone do it or I watch Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, as I go about my own adventures in the kitchen, my creations always come out either flat, dripping with olive oil, or burny. Not full-on burned, but just enough for it to replace the flavor the tiniest bit. "There's a nutty flavor with smoky, burnt overtones." Not so pleasant on the ol' taste buds.

I'm going to a potluck tonight. Needless to say, I've been wanting to mimic this knock-out sweet potato salad this girl made two Christmas Eves ago. However, as all my creations do, it morphed into something completely different. I decided to do away with the lettuce and replaced the hazelnuts with chia seeds, and roasted the shit out of these little cubes of orange yumza that I got fresh from the Farmers Market just yesterday. I coated the cubed sweet potato with olive oil, cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, and sage. I roasted it at 400 f for about 35 minutes, until it was tender, transferred all of it to a new baking dish to get rid of the excess olive oil, tossed in a tiny amount of mustard, more brown sugar, and sea salt, then broiled it to attempt a crispy top. The crispy top never came.

I want to be one of those people that cooks like a genius. I feel like I don't know how to cook without using insane amounts of oil and butter. Sometimes, after I've eaten a meal that I've made, I can feel my arteries tightening up. That's an exageration, of course, but I am aware that the oil and butter consumption needs to stop or be greatly reduced. I also tend to go overboard with the sea salt. If I'm using nutritional yeast, same problem. Garlic too, which is kind of the worst. Working out after eating my over-garliced mashed potatoes is none too pleasant.

I can cook some things really well. I'm not a complete mess in the kitchen. I make killer popcorn, a mean lasagna, and delicious coconut french toast (even that gives me a hard time sometimes). But when I try to get the least bit creative, it seems that somehow, my dishes turn out schizophrenic... "what? you mean garlic, nutmeg, rosemary, cumin, and onion powder don't go together?" Is there a class I can take to teach about what seasonings go best with what? I wish there was a Cooking for Dummies class offered somewhere. I recently took a pie making class and actually did really well, but the teacher had the filling done for us and everything was measured out and we had all the tools, ingredients, and, answers right there within earshot or arm's reach.

When my roasted sweet potatoes were cool enough, I gave them a little taste test. To my delight, they were delicious... then I looked at them and realized that I hadn't made nearly enough for the six people that will be there. CRAP! I guess now I have a reason to pick up those cupcakes I've been thinking about.

You're on my Good List

When I was in the twelfth grade and my early years of college, I used to hang out with a girl named Karen. We still talk today. We used to drive around in her blue subaru or my tiny blue corolla hatchback with the one functioning door and listen to Tribe and Ani DiFranco and Phish. We would wax poetic about the world over cigarettes and cups of coffee with chocolate cream from 7 eleven and eventually make our way back to her incredibly comfy home where her mom always had a full stock of peanut m&m's and a cabinet full of the best cereals ever. But one of my fondest memories lie in our blank notebooks.

I was always a diary-keeper. When I was eight, I had a little white one with pink hearts on it. In it was information mostly about meals I'd had and how my brother beat me at board games and one day I wished that I could beat him. About a year later, I traded that one in for a better model, literally, another diary with pink hearts but this one had a lock! I was nine. I don't think I had anything juicy that I needed to keep private but it felt so delicious to hear that click of the lock after I'd finished writing half a page about snack or whatever I thought was super important when I was a geeky nine-year-old. In middle school, I stole my mom's mead notebooks, tore out her stuff (I knew she didn't need it anymore) and fill it with things like drawings of boys I liked and lists of names that I liked. Names like Hillary and Geneva and Azalea graced those pages in the early 90s! I wrote things like Mario Loves Laura 4-EVA! I really did write that, I really did like a guy named Mario in 9th grade. I had some periods of time that was journal-less. In the eleventh grade, I was in my first ever serious relationship and for some reason, didn't feel the need to document any of that. Not Junior Prom, not the sweetheart ring he gave me, not all the time I spent at his house learning what love was, not any of it. It's a bit odd.

Karen and I met in 1994. We were Seniors at the same time but in different schools. Karen was an avid writer and reminded me of all those books I'd filled and abandoned over the years. One of the things we liked to do together from time to time was make lists. We would just write one thing after another of things that we loved or liked or simply appreciated. It's a good list. And it can be as deep or as simple as I want it to be. And it changes all the time as I change and grow and come into contact with new things and new people. So, the list of things I love on January 14, 2012 is about to unfold:

long hair
short hair
watches
bad TV
spandex
warm hiking boots
movie theaters
hot cocoa
popcorn
a good work out
FINN
fam
friends
coconut french toast
cheese
being in on a freezing cold day
car rides
the fact that I still hang out with some people from my 1998 study abroad experience
ocean breezes
landing in a brand new place after being on an airplane for a while
beginning a movie I've been waiting to see
writing my blog
watching people draw
seeing a friend that I really missed
just finishing cleaning
autumn
singing
geysers
hotsprings
thunderstorms
chubby hubby ice cream
tomatoes
bread soup at Loki in Reykjavik
thickly sliced dark rye bread with butter and cheese
men with smoldering eyes
perezhamilton.com
the discovery of something great that consumes you for a bit
putting on a new piece of clothing and having it look great

I guess I will end it here; I could surely keep going but there's a movie on that I want to watch on this cozy Saturday evening.

I think everyone should make these lists every once in a while. One thing I recently started to do was to force myself to find that thing; that one good thing in any situation because there always is one. Well, not always, of course, there are those situations that are just terrible and it would be shitty of you to say anything close to "look at the bright side" but in most situations, it's there for the taking. I like my lists.

push it! push it good!

When I was a little kid, I remember not understanding how a blind person couldn't force him or herself to just see. I thought to myself, if my legs didn't work, I would make them! I definitely recognize that a large part of this was due to the fact that I was a little kid and I was fortunate enough to be able to see and hear and walk, etc. I didn't understand how something that came automatically to me might not to others. But the other part of this is that when you are a child, before you've begun to compare yourself or to let your pride and/or vanity get in the way of doing things that maybe you're not so great at but that you enjoyed, you believe with all your heart that there is nothing in this great big world that you can't do. I do believe another part that may play into this is the fact that I used to believe I could do anything.

My dad used sit me on his lap and let me "drive" when I was four or five. I believed that I was a prodigy. I was the world's best (and first) four-year-old driver in the world as far as I was concerned. I also used to sing and dance in front of everyone in my Kindergarten class, without fear of ridicule or looking funny. As far as I was concerned, none of my classmates had my moves or could touch my ability to belt out a song from Annie. I strutted around toyshelves and the art center and our cubbies thinking I was the biggest bad-ass these five-year-olds had ever seen. When I found out that we were putting on a production of Annie, I knew I had the lead role in the bag. So, when my teacher announced that Annie would be played by some two-bit daughter of the PTA president, I was deflated. I was given the role of orphan. ORPHAN! I had no lines of my own, nothing that would allow me to stand out just a little on that stage. I sunk to the back with my friend, Maria, and we zoned out and disengaged from all that was going on. I remember Sister Enez yelled at us once because everyone had moved on to another scene and Maria and I were still mechanically "scrubbing the floor" whilst staring into space. Point is: screw them.

From pre-school up until the fall of fourth of grade, I went to Catholic school. It was a nice little school where kids were pretty much kids but no one lived in my neighborhood and that made it hard. Eventually, this wore on me (and the high cost wore on my folks) and it was decided that I would switch to public school. First day there, I realized that I was way ahead of where they were and once again, I thought about how smart I was and how special and fabulous. But pretty soon, we began entering into new territory, things got challenging and I started to shrink back, taking up an almost permanent residence in lala land. As a teacher, I can say that is one of the things that annoys me the most; when a kid is constantly daydreaming in class and has no idea what I say, like ever. I was that kid. Once there was a challenge or a hurdle of any kind, I fell back and hid from it.

Where does this come from??? Well, for one thing, there's the little reason being my upbringing. My parents weren't one for pushing us to perservere or give things a chance. When I was five, I took ballet and tap. One day a few months in, I announced to my mother that I didn't want to go back because the basement smelled. There was no talk of sticking with it or giving it a certain amount of time. She simply said, "ok" and I was free of ballet and tap. When I was in fourth grade, I convinced my mother to rent me a clarinet. I practiced until it got hard and then I buried it in my closet and those days were over. Also in fourth grade, I took karate. For two weeks, I was convinced I would love it and would become a black belt and beat the crap out of the bigger boys at my school. Well, after a few weeks, it got harder, I got "bored" and so announced to my mom that I would no longer like to take karate. Excuse? Too hard. Now that was the chance! Too hard?! Who the fuck did I think I was? I was this lazy, bratty eight year old calling all the shots when it came to my life and what eight year old, when given the chance, will make good decisions for themselves, I ask you? Maybe a few will, but I certainly opted for the easy way out. Always. An eight year old who learns that the way out is to say something is too hard is like a robber learning about a mansion loaded with goods with broken locks... game ON.

I am not blaming my mom. It may seem like it, but the thing is, my folks did the best they could. Please, four kids by the time they were in their early thirties, dealing with a single income and a mortgage. And we weren't the easiest of kids; screaming, fighting, throwing, breaking, crying, all with our unique set of ways of dealing with crap... my mom probably was thinking, "fine, I don't feel like driving your scrawny ass over there anyway! I've got to cook, pay bills, help with homework, fight with Dad... I'm busy as fuck!" But, I never did learn that lesson as a child. We never really learned the value of perserverence, and specifically, exercise early on, which is why the minute my muscles start to tremble or I have to stay in a plank position for longer than a few seconds, my immediate reaction is: "I can't; it's so hard!" and I'll fall into child's pose. It's embarassing, really.

Tonight, I went to a Vinyasa Flow class and in the beginning, I was breaking poses and that little voice in my head was saying, "I can't! It's really uncomfortable and hard and it hurts!" but something switched in my brain about halfway through where I knew that if I did it, did what the teacher wanted me to do to the best of my ability, I would grow just a little bit from pushing myself, I'd leave there feeling more proud of myself than if I gave up, and I would feel better about coming back next time. So, that drove me to get through the rest of the class with the knowledge that I can...

Because, really, that strutting, can't-touch-this, five year old is still kicking around somewhere inside me. Inside me, somewhere, is the thought, I CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT AND WHAT I WANT IS TO KICK ASS!! I don't want to kick somebody's ass... just life's.

Because when all is said and done, in the words of my hero, Annie, it's a hard-knock life but the sun'll always come out tomorrow. And when that sun comes out, I want to have the most killer mind and body in the world! Or at least in my neighborhood.

Top Ten List of All Time Disturbing Movies According to ME

I love movies. I don't fancy myself a film buff because I know people who have seen far more movies than I have and I also haven't necessarily seen all the staples. Citizen Kane, the Godfather movies, Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings have never had the pleasure of meeting my DVD player, (hell, I haven't even seen any of the Twilight movies) but I have seen a few movies in my time. And living in NYC, I have an abundant amount of quirky art house movies that don't play many places. This is one of the reasons I love NYC so much- the movies.

Some questions I use to gauge how much I liked a movie include: Did I leave the theater wanting to talk about it? Did I have questions that I wanted to see if I could find the answers through conversation or a little Internet search? Did I wake up the next morning thinking about it? Those are generally the guiding questions. Sometimes, I leave the theater content, having enjoyed the movie, but have nothing to ponder or discuss or research... this is one of the "forgettable movies." Sometimes I leave or turn off a movie before it's over because I know I can't sit through it. This is an "unwatchable." Sometimes, I'm watching a movie and I am so transfixed that I know I'm going to watch it again very soon to catch all the things I might have missed. And then there are the movies that I know has, in some way, buried a little egg under my skin to be hatched. This egg is going to cause me to itch and scratch (obsess and read mass reviews) for a loooooooong time. And I know it sounds unpleasant (and sometimes it is... thank you very much, Martha Marcy May Marlene!) but in so many ways, it's not. You see, I like to think and I really enjoy thinking about disturbing and strange things. And I like when things aren't wrapped up in a neat little bow because that is not realistic and we all know that.

So, my list, my Top Ten List of All Time Disturbing Movies According to ME, is made up of those movies that have laid their eggs in my brain, so to speak. These are the movies that I still reference and think about can't seem to shake from my mind grapes.

Without further ado, I am going to list out, complete with a brief synopsis, the Top Ten List of All Time Disturbing Movies According to ME:

10. Requiem for a Dream (2000)
Directed by Darren Aronofsky
Darren Aronofsky does an excellent job of throwing the viewer into the middle of these four peoples' messed up lives. We've got three junkies and an ill-advised, television-addicted mother who desperately wants to lose weight for a day that will never come. The camera-work and coloring of the film helps add to the change that develops over the course of the story. I give this movie EIGHT ABSCESSES.

9. Half Nelson (2006)
Directed by Ryan Fleck
Ryan Gosling plays a middle school Social Studies teacher in Brooklyn, New York. Hey! Just like me! The only difference is I'm not addicted to crack. I don't smoke crack on school nights, weekends, or in the girl's bathroom at my school. So, if you haven't seen this movie, you might be thinking, "so what? a teacher is a crackhead and I'm supposed to go rent this movie?" Yes. Mr. Dunn (Ryan G.) is spiraling and it is a train wreck that you cannot take your eye off of. You are given minimal glimpses of what few relationships he actually has and those few interactions tell you so much about this character. He does a phenomenal job (duh. it's my man, ryan) and the co-star also does some kick-ass acting as an eighth grade student who is privy to information beyond what a 14 year-old-kid should know. They become friends, in a sense. She is kind of his only friend and vice versa. And if that doesn't make you want to watch this movie, than I question your taste in movies. I give this one NINE FAT CIVIL RIGHTS BINDERS.

8. Grey Gardens (1975)
Directed by Ellen Hovde, Albert and David Maysles, and Muffie Meyer
According to my sources, this was the very first "reality show," setting the stage for the plethera of genius television shows ready for our viewing pleasure. Meet Big Edie. Now meet Little Edie. They are a mother-daughter duo so comical, they'll have you whizzing in your pants. No, seriously, this is not a comedy and it's not for the faint at heart because there are aspects of their home that may make you want to throw up a little in your mouth... just a little though. The Edies are relatives of Jackie O. They were aristocrats, if you will. Husband leaves. Not having any clue as to how to take care of herself or her sprawling Hamptons estate, Big Edie's life, as she knows it, falls apart. Little Edie decides to come home for a bit to be with Mom because she, too, is having a tough time. Coming home for a little bit turns into forever. The two of them let the once beautiful mansion go to the raccoons and the cats that eat their walls and their food (they feed them) and they take up residence in the one functional room left. And this room is gross. I give this one SEVEN FLEA-BITTEN CATS.

7. Valley of the Dolls (1967)
Directed by Mark Robson
Sharon Tate. Patty Duke. Barbara Parkins. There's a song that plays and replays throughout by Deonne Warwick; you can't hate this movie. Well, you can, but I can't. AND I WON'T!!! It is based on the Jacqueline Susann novel that was considered edgy and ahead of its time. This movie is oddly comforting to me. I love the fashion aspect of it and seeing the old entertainment industry and ladies ordering a sherry at dinner, with their elegant evening gowns and their thick false lashes. We watch three girls in the entertainment world, all at various phases. And you know what happens when you mix dolls with booze? Well, nothing good! The movie, very unlike the book, takes an up-turn at the end. That's probably the only complaint I can think of. I give it SEVEN DOLLS.

6. Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011)
Directed by Sean Durkin
The littlest Olsen sister proves to be the best Olsen sister in her role as Martha, a conflicted young adult who runs away from a cult and has to do her best to pick up the pieces of her messy life and try to act like a normal human being. Tall order for this girl. She has been through some heavy shit, which we, the viewers, get to see in flashback style. And you can see this girl's descent through the layers of hell as the cult she joins goes from sunshine hippie, music-playing, orgie-having, vegetables growing in the sun commune to misogynistic, fucked up, mind-controlled, crazy-ass twisted don't know who to trust and can't express what you're thinking, can't tell anymore reality from fantasy because you've been mind-raped so hard cult. This movie stuck with me for a long time and I still find myself thinking a lot about it, mostly because that shit happens. Cults are real. It was like the Manson Family- started out so happy and comforting and free and ended, well, in pretty much the same way. Patrick, the cult leader in MMMM didn't re-enact the crucifiction of Jesus while they were all tripping their balls off on acid, but he did fuck with them with his own brand of messed up flavor. I give this one TWO SUN-RIPENED TOMATOES, TWO PROTEIN BARS, and FIVE DATE RAPE DRUGS

5. Synechdoche, New York (2008)
Directed by Charlie Kaufmann.
I watched this movie one day, not realizing what a gem I had been missing all those years. I can't explain this movie. It's a play within a play, actors and rehearsals getting ready for a play that never happens. Actors become writers, What we thought was only a week turns out to be years, people disappear. There's a house that's always on fire. There's a twelve-year-old that's been encouraged to tattoo her entire body for fame. There are cartoons playing in the background with the characters from the movie. With so much weirdness, it's no wonder I had to re-watch it within days. And I still don't get this movie. But I do know it is one of my all time favorites. Phillip Seymore Hoffman plays an amazing self-absorbed, aloof, hypochondriac. Katherine Keener (who I am in love with) plays the perfect bitch artist. This movie is a work of genius, as far as I'm concerned. I give this movie TEN BURNING HOUSES.

4. Leolo (1992)
Directed by Jean-Claude Lauzon
I really don't know that many people that have seen this French Canadian film. I think this movie is so bizarre and beautiful and painful to watch. It's also quirky. You've got these odd scenes of fantasy mixed in with this mentally sick family. The protagonist escapes through his imagination, allowing him to live the life he believes he was meant to have. The family is in and out of the mental institution, leaving Mom and Leolo (Leo) to remain the pillars of strength for the family. The end of this movie is so sad, I think I may have cried all three times that I've seen it. I give Leolo EIGHT AND A HALF PIECES OF RAW LIVER.

3. The Baby (1973)
Directed by Ted Post
This movie is a cult classic, rife with an insane story-line and bad acting, but god does it work! A family of women (mother and two daughters) have an odd case that goes to an idealistic social worker. The mother has given birth to a baby boy and thirty years later, he is still a baby. They even call him baby. There are ridiculous dubbed baby cries when he opens his mouth and it's so silly, but in so many ways, it's one of the more disturbing movies I've seen. Especially this one scene involving a cattle prodder... I give this movie SEVEN MAN-SIZED SETS OF FOOTY PAJAMAS

2. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)
Directed by Mike Nichols
This movie is disturbing simply because of how two seemingly normal people could be so incredibly ugly and scary to each other. Especially after they've had many cocktails. It takes place over the course of a single night but it feels like an eternity. George and Martha are a bitter couple who seem to get off on the alcohol-fueled fights. I give this movie EIGHT AND A HALF CIGARETTES.

1. Gummo (1997)
Directed By Harmony Korine
The first time I saw this movie, the VHS (see how long ago it was?!) was sitting at my boyfriend's apartment up in Plattsburgh, New York. I said that I wanted to watch it and he said it was very disturbing. I assured him that I could handle it and popped in this Harmony Korine flick. Well, within the first five minutes, there was a teenage boy wearing bunny ears (known as the bunny boy and who I would later find out would haunt me for the next 14 years of my life) peeing off of a bridge and then quickly switched over to a boy shoving a cat in a barrel of water. At first, I watched, detached. And then I thought, 'I don't want to watch this trashy kid kill a cat!' So, I turned it off. At that point, it was logged in my mind under unwatchable. But even though it had only played for a few minutes, that egg was implanted and just waiting to hatch; scratching and moving around. Eventually, I watched Gummo, for real, but not until 2010. Set in Xenia, Ohio, Gummo is a series of vignettes of the residents of this backwater town, showing their boring, self-destructive lives. In the aftermath of a hurricane, everything seemed to get swept up and simply stay where they landed for the next decades or so. The characters are pretty twisted (we meet a guy who pimps out his sister who is retarded, boys who hunt cats and sell them for money to buy paint to huff, and a gay midget to name a few); we get vignettes of the people who live in Xenia. We go in and out of houses that could show up one day on that show, Hoarders. Some of the footage taken was real, like a chair-wrestling scene, that apparently was an actual party. These characters all weave a tapestry together (a trashy tapestry, but a tapestry, nonetheless) of life in a once disaster-stricken town. I give Gummo NINE DROWNED CATS.

So, there you have it. I hope that if you're like me, you will be inspired to be disturbed by these mini-reviews. Do it! Oh, and YOU'RE WELCOME!

new year's day

Today is January 1st, 2012. I have waited 24 hours for this day. You see, while I often like to take myself out of the New Year's Eve equation, I do so enjoy the freshness that January 1st always offers. You don't get very many chances to start over in life, but, every year, without fail, a new year comes and with it, another chance to get fabulous. You get another chance to right your wrongs, to change your weary ways, to nix your bad habits.

I very often don't make resolutions, or if I do, I am drawing a blank. Last year's resolution (if I made one) may have been to enjoy spending time alone, which is why I took those solo trips to Spain and Iceland... and why I completely depleted my savings, also. But, really, isn't following your New Year's resolution totally worth it? I also took a few improv classes, which I did alone. I meditated last night, alone in a group, instead of going to my friends' party or out to a bar with my other friends. Sometimes, I feel like I purposely forsake a good time with friends in lieu of doing my own thing, but I guess that's just how I need to do things. If that's what I needed for serenity, than that's what I have to do. SERENITY NOW!!

This year, I shall make a New Year's resolution. My resolution will be to try to live more simply and to get more quiet with myself, at least for a few minutes every day. I have time to take a few deep breaths and quiet my mind. Everyone has a different path. Some people have to make an effort to go out in public or to take classes. Not me, I have to make an effort to be quiet with myself. Maybe I'll make it a point to "forget" my cell phone when I go out, at least once a day. Maybe, I'll even turn it off for an hour every day. I need to stop bombarding myself with so much information that is inane and pointless. Facebook is pointless and yet, I check it every day, more than once... who am I kidding, I check it way more often than I care to admit. The thought of deleting the app from my phone just went through my mind, but for some reason, this scares me.

Maybe I should check myself into one of those camps for teenagers and kids in Korea and China who are addicted to the Internet. Maybe I need to go cold turkey. Do they make a patch or gum for kicking the ridiculous information overload addiction from which I suffer? Maybe, my New Year's resolution should be to create Interette, the new Internet gum that helps people kick their addiction, one chew at a time. Then, I could complete my other resolution of acquiring a shit ton of money. Did I mention that resolution? I would also like to wrap my hands around a sweet amount of money. And I'd like to put it into a place to watch it grow.

My last resolution, which I know I've already written about, is to get those abs I've been talking about. I want abs so tight that if someone were to punch me in the stomach, I would laugh at them. I want to be able to do crunches that would put a fit celebrity to shame. I want to put on a bikini and have people look at my abs in envy and ask how I have such amazing abs. And I would say, "oh, I work out a little bit, you know." This is how I do things.

As I write this post, I think to myself, I should just make one resolution. That resolution is to stay focused. Stay on track. Stop going off on tangents and creating reasons for myself to get distracted. This post is a perfect example of how I am in life. I get so distracted that I forget the original reason that I want to do certain things.

May we all make attainable resolutions for the year 2012. May we all have love in our lives, love in our hearts, serenity in our souls, piles of cash, and washboard abs.