I visited some friends in Richmond this past weekend. One of them lives on Monument Avenue. Monument Avenue is aptly named because... there are quite a few monuments on it. Most of these are famous Confederates. You know us Virginians, ever so proud of our Confederate past.
Stonewall Jackson, for instance.
Jefferson Davis also.
Some oceanographer dude named Maury?
However, no monument on this street captures my interest quite like the one build for Arthur Ashe, a famous tennis player and Richmond native.
Joh had warned me about the slight creepiness of this statue. Here you see Arthur Ashe, with some books in one hand and tennis racket in the other, standing before a small group of children who are reaching out to touch him. He looks like he's either going to throw the books at the children or beat them with the tennis racket. There's something malicious about the expression on his face.
I'm sure the real Arthur Ashe wasn't really a child-beating creepster. I'm sure he was a very lovely man. He also died before the debut of this sculpture, so I won't put him at fault. I'm all for honoring hometown heroes and whatnot, but ... isn't this just a really creepy statue?
There was a time in my early teens when I was obsessed with grunge. I watched the movie Singles enough times that I can still quote very large chunks of dialogue from it (particularly any of the scenes that the members of Pearl Jam appeared in). I worshipped Eddie Vedder, grabbing any Pearl Jam related video or single or item that I could find. I stole my brother's Alice in Chains CDs. I read Michael Azzerad's book about Nirvana, Come As You Are, multiple times. On a related note, I also read Poppy Z. Brite's biography on Courtney Love several times (both are actually fascinating reads that I would recommend). I suppose it was fortunate that I got my teenage angst phase over with pretty early. I look at that time now with some fondness, but mostly embarrassment. While I still love Pearl Jam, my obsession with most other music of that time has died down considerably.
However, this did not deter me from the somewhat morbid desire to visit Kurt Cobain's house in Seattle.
Yes, peeps, this is the place where, on April 5, 1994, Kurt Cobain took his own life. Supposedly. You might be a part of that "Courtney did it" camp or whatnot. Technically, it happened in a greenhouse on the property which has since been torn down.
We stared at the house from across the street for a few minutes, taking photos and feeling a bit awkward. I could picture the current residents of the house pulling aside the curtains and staring at us in disgust. The fact that the lights were on in the house did not help. I could only assume that they're used to people coming by every day to gawk, but I couldn't help but feel like a morbid, morbid tourist. You don't really get a sense of Kurt Cobain looking at this house. A nice, big, but not ostentatious home in quiet residential Seattle on Lake Washington. It does not seem like the kind of house a tortured, drug-addicted, suicidal rock star would choose to live in. This is a man who used to sleep under bridges. Right next to the house is Viretta Park, where Nirvana fans from around the world come to scribble messages on these benches. One person saw it appropriate to leave a book. Others saw it fitting to use the bench as a platform to spout some vitriol against Courtney Love.
Jimi Hendrix got a statue in front of a record store in Capitol Hill. Kurt Cobain gets scribbled-on benches. It seems fitting though. Nirvana's music spoke to a lot of people in a really personal way. It seems appropriate that they can personalize their own tribute to him. Despite the fact that some of the graffiti on the bench was stupid and non-sensical, there were plenty of ones that said things like "You changed me" or "Your music saved my life". Cobain never managed to overcome his depression, and we'll never know what more he might have done had he not killed himself. Hopefully through his music, he's managed to helped some others.
Let me take this oppurtunity to tell you all about Verti Marte.
Verti-Marte is a small grocery/deli/carryout that exists on 1201 Royal Street in the French Quarter in New Orleans. If you're ever in the neighborhood, I would highly suggest a visit. Particularly later in the evening, so you can socialize with the crazies and the drunks who are standing in line to get their mac and cheese or their jambalaya.
As silly a reason as it sounds, my reason for wanting to go to Verti-Marte during my trip to New Orleans had to do with Greg Dulli. There's a song on the first Twilight Singers record entitled "Verti-Marte" and as soon as I found out about the deli, I wondered if maybe the song had been named after it. The song is an odd, moody, lush, mostly instrumental piece with random bits of dialogue repeated throughout. Does not conjure up the image of a place you'd go get a sandwich at 1 AM.
Verti-Marte, like all the best food places, is pretty inconspicuous. You walk in, standing in line and wait to order.
You can peruse the large menu up front, advertising "Real Food for Real People at Real Prices".
Finally, you get your chance to order. The food is worth the wait.
Anna and emerged with a muffuletta sandwich about the size of my face. It was seriously large...and delicious. Late at night sometimes, I dream about the sandwich. It was so big though that Anna and I, together, could barely eat half of it. I wish I had taken a picture of that sandwich now.
As we exited Verti-Marte, we were accosted by a drunk and/or crazy man eating mac and cheese who loudly exclaimed to us that it was the best mac and cheese he'd ever had. A few blocks later, we run into this man on Bourbon Street walking a miniature horse outside of a gay bar (where another very nice, hairy man complimented my Twilight Singers t-shirt).
A few blocks after that, another very drunk and/or crazy man yelled at Anna and me that we needed to "love each other more! There's not enough love in this world!"
Then we all had to meet up with our professor (who was taking a bunch of us college kids on this trip) who made us go to a bar to pick up his very drunk ladyfriend and drive her home.
To make up for missing the last few Mondays, I'll post two movie reviews today. These are movies I've watched recently and particularly enjoyed. Go check them out!
Caramel is a charming ensemble piece by first time director Nadine Labiki. Labiki is known for her work directing music videos for Arabic pop stars (Nancy Ajram, in particularly) and I was really impressed with this as her debut feature film. It concerns five Lebanese women living in Beirut and their everyday struggles. Most scenes take place in the beauty salon where three of them work. The film has a nice balance of drama and comedy. Despite the fact that it deals with some serious issues in Lebanese society, it never gets too heavy. The characters deal with such things as being in love, family issues, adultery, sexuality, marriage, re-virginification, homosexuality, living in a mostly conservative culture, and aging. The chemistry between all of the women is great and their dialogue and interactions feel very natural. Overall, this film shows an excellant, real slice of everyday life of women living in today's Beirut.
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Linda Linda Linda (2005)
Starring: Bae Doona, Aki Maeda, Yu Kashii, Shiori Sekine
Directed by: Nobuhiro Yamashita
Grade: B+
Linda Linda Linda is the story four Japanese high school girls (OK, well, technically one of them is Korean) who form a rock band to play at their school's Hiiragi-sai or cultural festival. Finally, a movie about Japanese schoolkids where they're not trying to kill themselves or each other! Granted, my exposure to movies about Japanese school children is limited to Suicide Club and Battle Royale but, you know, it seemed like a pattern. This film is an adorable, peppy, feel-good piece. When the story begins.Kei (Kashii), Nozomi (Sekine) and Kyoko (Maeda) are in a bit of a pickle. Three days before the school's festival, their lead singer and guitarist quit, leaving them in a scramble to replace them in time. Kei takes over guitar (though she barely knows how to play). They recruit Korean exchange student, Son (Doona) to sing, though her Japanese is a little rough. They decide to play three songs by Japanese punk band The Blue Hearts and the next few days are a series of grueling, non-stop practice sessions. Through learning to play together, the girls learn about each other, become friends, and become empowered through the power of ROCK. Although the pacing is a little off in the beginning and it takes a bit of time to get into this movie, I was eventually won over by its charm, energy, and spirit. When it's time for the girls to finally play the show they've worked so hard for, you're jumping up and down and rooting for them to kick some ass. Overall, this is a really adorable movie with some great music. It made me want to get some stuff by The Blue Hearts...but sadly I can only find imported copies on Amazon for $40. Sigh. I'll leave you with the following clip:
In recent months, I've sort of become obsessed with roller derby. This is through a combination of attending several bouts with the DC Rollergirls and watching the movie Whip It a couple of times. The obsession became big enough that I went out and bought some derby skates, a helmet, and pads and spend a good chunk of my idle hours dreaming of my future glory as a derby girl...kicking ass and taking names.
I'm not sure what it is about derby that captures my interest so much. I've never really been into sports. While I like going to the occassional baseball or football game, for the most part I can't be bothered to get into any sports or learn their complicated rules. I went to my first derby bout out of curiousity. I liked it immediately. I liked the punk-ish DIY aesthetics of the whole things. I liked the bad-ass aliases that the players use (the DC league has players called "Guantanamo Babe", "Marion Barrycuda" and "Condoleeza Slice", for example). I liked watching the blocks, the spills, watching the jammer whip around the track in a merciless pursuit of points.
With each bout that I've attended, I've gotten more into it, learned the rules, the penalties, and what to watch for.
Maybe the thing that attracts me is that roller derby is a sport in which women are encouraged to kick some ass, to be strong and aggressive and awesome.
Maybe it's because I feel, deep down, that I need be strong and aggressive and awesome. That I need to learn to show a little nerve, to gain some confidence, to grow some balls (metaphorically speaking).
Maybe it's just because I want to learn to be able to wear booty shorts and fishnets without fear.
However, my dreams of being a derby girl are currently just pipe dreams. I cannot skate without looking like an old lady shuffling or without falling on my ass. But maybe one day I'll grow some balls, learn how to take a hit (as well as throw one), and get out there on the track....you can call me "Hate Winslet".
Today was St. Patrick's Day, a good day to wear green, drink Guinness, and pretend to be Irish. Silly as this sounds, it was a good excuse for me to get nostalgic and think back on Marianne and I's trip to Ireland last July. It truly was an awesome trip. Marianne sent me a bunch of her photos from the trip and I had fun looking through them. Oh, the memories...
There was the time when I felt a weird cumpulsion to hide behind this post in Cork. I am also amused that there's a sign on the post for an Easter Rebellion commemoration.
And then there was the time I partied with these statues at our hostel in Dublin.
And then there was the time I crossed that trecherous rope bridge in Carrick-a-rede.
And of course, at every bar we went to, Marianne and I declared it METAL.
At our hostel in Belfast with Kelly from Canada and Jean-Marc from Miami, who I liked because he loved Anthony Bourdain even more than I did. He's a chef and when I brought up Bourdain's book Kitchen Confidential, he exclaimed, "Oh my God, I read that book and thought, 'Holy shit, this is my life!'" He also told me the night before that I was an "awesome girl" because I was the only one "not giving him shit". The night before was pretty memorable, even though all that happened was a bunch of us hostel people hanging out in the back drinking vodka and beer. I think a game of Kings was played. Someone else got out a guitar and someone else played rap music and a bunch of people were talking and kicking a soccer ball around. Oh, Paddy's, you were a weird and magical place. I was possibly the only one not hungover in this photo, though I suppose it's hard to tell based on my facial expression.
And of course, what blog post about Ireland would be complete without the obligatory photo of a pint of Guinness?
At the end of each day, I took my Flip camera and recorded Marianne's final thoughts of the day, which we called our "Anthony Bourdain moment". Here's my favorite one, at some fish and chips place in Dublin, the night before I was to fly home.
Starring: Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, Matthew Goode, Nicholas Hoult
Directed by: Tom Ford
A Single Man, based on the novel by Christopher Isherwood, tells the story of George Falconer (Firth), a gay English professor who is struggling to move on after the unexpected death of Jim (Goode), his partner and love of sixteen years. The film shows a single day in George's life in which he prepares to kill himself. He goes to teach his last class, he empties his safety deposit box at the bank, buys bullets for his gun, writes letters to his friends, and picks out which suit he's going to wear at his funeral. Along the way, things get in the way of George's impending suicide, some of them even comical. Among these are a student (Hoult) who becomes fixated with him, a meeting with a Spanish hustler, a drunken visit with his friend Charley (Moore), and recurring memories of his time with Jim.
This film is a very strong debut by fashion designer Tom Ford. Considering Ford's background, it's no surprise that the overall design and visuals of the film are fantastic. The story takes place in 1962, right after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the set and the costumes really evoke that era. If you like the look of Mad Men (which I do), then you'll probably love this movie. It's easy to get hung up on the lush and meticulous visual aesthetic of this film. As Firth's character goes through what he assumes will be his last day on Earth, everyday occurrences become more meaningful and poignant to him. Colors turn from dull to blooming and saturated as George experiences things that touch him. A memory of George and Jim on the beach is shown in gorgeous black and white. Everyone frame is filled with a kind of heartbreaking poignancy. However despite the emphasis on the visual aspect and design of this film, A Single Man is not an exercise in style over substance. The movie is an exquisitely told story of a man dealing with grief, trying to live in a world which he no longer feels worth living in. The fact that he's a gay man in 1962 doesn't help matters much. With the cultural atmosphere at the time, he is never really allowed to show his grief and what he's feeling. Everything about him feels buttoned-down, contained, and his whole existence feels like nothing but a mask. Colin Firth gives a revelatory performance. I had written him off as a serious actor (particularly after the Bridget Jones sequel...yikes), but he's really amazing in this movie. Julianne Moore is also great as his lush of a best friend who has been in love with him for years.
Overall, I highly recommend this movie. It has an intriguing story, lush visuals, a beautiful score by Abel Korzeniowski and Shigeru Umebayashi, and great performances all around.
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