I've been nursing functional anxiety about this paper for months, but I've been fucking freaking out the last two weeks. The complete draft is due in six days. This weekend is the last clear chunk of time I have to produce pages.
I'm a good writer; I know I can do this. That's not the thing. The thing is, I chose to write about my most core emotionally triggering issue: death anxiety as it manifests in intimate relationships. And so whenever I sit down to write, on some deeply unconscious but visceral level, I think of loved ones dying. When Astrid leaves the apartment to go to work, my eyes well up with tears thinking she might get into a car accident. When a sentence finally emerges from my fingertips, I imagine my sister calling me with the news that my mother is dead. That's what the anxiety is about. It's the core of the procrastination, the stop-starts, the binge eating, the grasping at every possible distraction: if I write this paper, I will kill everyone I've ever truly loved.
Okay, that's off my chest. Now I guess I need to write.
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Friday, June 13, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Final Countdown
The last term has commenced, and it's the worst one yet, in terms of the content of the classes:
Advanced Family Therapy (not so bad)
Psychological Testing (blech!)
Psychopharmacology (double-blech!)
No, unfortunately I can't write you a prescription for good psychotropic drugs. I just need to know this shit for the licensing test, and to understand the meds my clients may be on (or may need to be on.) The psychopharm professor is a character, to say the least. He's a psychiatrist, and being that he's an MD and into the proprietary order of things, he's insisting we address him with the "Doctor" in front of his name. When he writes on the white board, each word is like two feet tall by four feet wide. I don't know if he does this for emphasis, or because he assumes we can't read normal sized penmanship. He talks through the entire class, and the only discussion permitted is if we have a question, which he will directly answer, and then move right back to his lecture notes.
The complete draft of the thesis is due the week of June 19. After that, I'll get feedback for revisions, and have to turn in the final draft by July something or other. If I had a page written for every time I complained about this thing out loud, I'd have a fucking PhD dissertation by now. I just have to say, once again, that I wish I'd decided to write about the psychology of Buffy rather than the death anxiety in intimate relationships. If there were a topic ripe for putting off, this would be it.
Apropos comic by Kelly at the Onion.
Advanced Family Therapy (not so bad)
Psychological Testing (blech!)
Psychopharmacology (double-blech!)
No, unfortunately I can't write you a prescription for good psychotropic drugs. I just need to know this shit for the licensing test, and to understand the meds my clients may be on (or may need to be on.) The psychopharm professor is a character, to say the least. He's a psychiatrist, and being that he's an MD and into the proprietary order of things, he's insisting we address him with the "Doctor" in front of his name. When he writes on the white board, each word is like two feet tall by four feet wide. I don't know if he does this for emphasis, or because he assumes we can't read normal sized penmanship. He talks through the entire class, and the only discussion permitted is if we have a question, which he will directly answer, and then move right back to his lecture notes.
The complete draft of the thesis is due the week of June 19. After that, I'll get feedback for revisions, and have to turn in the final draft by July something or other. If I had a page written for every time I complained about this thing out loud, I'd have a fucking PhD dissertation by now. I just have to say, once again, that I wish I'd decided to write about the psychology of Buffy rather than the death anxiety in intimate relationships. If there were a topic ripe for putting off, this would be it. Apropos comic by Kelly at the Onion.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Not Knowing
"Becoming a therapist is a narcissistically-wounding process." This is what my supervisor told me last week, as I was crying in her office, so afraid that I would say the wrong thing to a client and cause them harm.
It's so hard for me to say "I don't know." Intellectually, I'm all about the ambiguities, the grey areas, the blurry. Unresolved chords--bring 'em! Tangential philosophical conversations that lead to unworkable paradoxes--rock on! The feelings these in betwixt ideas inspire, however, become more complex. The vagaries of life and death that I feel capable of playing with conceptually terrify me at a raw, emotional level. What should I do? Why can't I bring myself to do any solid work on my thesis? What holds me back? What if I don't find a paid internship next year? What if she leaves me? What happens when we die?
I don't fucking know.
Good. I said it, in spades. But then there's the self-flagellation. Why don't you know? You're incompetent and naïve; you really should know. Terrible things will happen if you don't produce the answers. Clients will suffer, my self worth will plummet, fathers will drop dead unexpectedly.
It's your fault, you know.
I don't know.
It's so hard for me to say "I don't know." Intellectually, I'm all about the ambiguities, the grey areas, the blurry. Unresolved chords--bring 'em! Tangential philosophical conversations that lead to unworkable paradoxes--rock on! The feelings these in betwixt ideas inspire, however, become more complex. The vagaries of life and death that I feel capable of playing with conceptually terrify me at a raw, emotional level. What should I do? Why can't I bring myself to do any solid work on my thesis? What holds me back? What if I don't find a paid internship next year? What if she leaves me? What happens when we die?
I don't fucking know.
Good. I said it, in spades. But then there's the self-flagellation. Why don't you know? You're incompetent and naïve; you really should know. Terrible things will happen if you don't produce the answers. Clients will suffer, my self worth will plummet, fathers will drop dead unexpectedly.
It's your fault, you know.
I don't know.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Getting in Touch
Last week, I had a session with my very first ever psychotherapy client! I'm sure there was nothing particularly healing about the session, other than the simple Hawthorne effect - here was an eager psych intern listening intently and asking detailed, very personal questions about someone's life, and maybe they did or didn't benefit or feel better as a result of just being paid attention to by me. But we had a good rapport, the client was open to sharing stuff with me, and I was a lot less anxious and more grounded than I thought I'd be. After I got back to the clinic from lunch break, I mentioned to a colleague that I thought, in the minutes before seeing my first client, that I would feel out of my body, like I was floating, and I that I actually didn't feel that at all. I was also worried about how much I'd be sweating from nervousness in the session, but that too was under a reasonable amount of control. Focusing on my breathing really helped. Keeping alert and attuned to what was being said (and not said) by the client kept me centered on the task at hand. And recording my progress notes directly after the session was a useful exercise in remembering a lot of the detail that may have escaped my mind by now.
The other really cool thing that happened was that I had a phone appointment with a local psychotherapist who has some expertise in grief work and running bereavement therapy groups. Graciously, she gave me about an hour on the phone to give me some insight and pointers about starting a grief group at the clinic. Talking to her really put me in touch with why I want to do this work: I want to help people hold and move through their suffering, particularly as it relates to loss and grief. Essentially, she was inviting me to play on the "existential playground" as she called it, to join a community of healers who help people navigate this life/death threshold. I feel very new and humble right now, not taking myself so very seriously or trying to sound self-important. Of all the playgrounds, this is certainly one of the scariest to choose for myself, like being a two year-old at the top of the spiral slide on the "big kid's" side of the park. But this is where I want to be.
The other really cool thing that happened was that I had a phone appointment with a local psychotherapist who has some expertise in grief work and running bereavement therapy groups. Graciously, she gave me about an hour on the phone to give me some insight and pointers about starting a grief group at the clinic. Talking to her really put me in touch with why I want to do this work: I want to help people hold and move through their suffering, particularly as it relates to loss and grief. Essentially, she was inviting me to play on the "existential playground" as she called it, to join a community of healers who help people navigate this life/death threshold. I feel very new and humble right now, not taking myself so very seriously or trying to sound self-important. Of all the playgrounds, this is certainly one of the scariest to choose for myself, like being a two year-old at the top of the spiral slide on the "big kid's" side of the park. But this is where I want to be.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Me/You
Where do "I" end and "you" begin?
Patrick Swayze thinks he knows the answer.
"This is my dance space; this is your dance space," he asserts, with confidence.
I don't buy that whole idea, though, that we exist as totally separate entities with precise boundaries (not that Patrick Swayze was making an analogy about human interaction, and not that I seek some permeable merging of self with Patrick Swayze, either, mind you) but as I live and love and experience the world, I'm coming to realize that the concept of "self" itself is a much more ambiguous notion than we tend to conceptualize here in the West.
I'm coming at this from the context of being a very green psychotherapist- in-training: what is my client's shit, and what is my shit, when I'm sitting in the room with him/her/hir? Will I be able to suss out what the client is expressing (or not expressing) from my own feeling states as they arise in our interaction? The operative technical terms here are the transference and the countertransference, which are generally used in a psychotherapy context, but can obviously be applied to any interaction we have with a particular person, or with people or institutions or objects more generally. Crudely put, transference phenomena are the projected feelings a client puts onto the therapist (or a person puts onto another significant person), in an enactment of unconscious, deeply ingrained relational dynamics. The classic example might be the client regarding the therapist as a parent figure and unconsciously acting out as if one was with a parent. On the flip side, the countertransference refers to the therapist's feelings toward the client, and is understood in a couple different ways. It can refer both to the therapist's personal unconscious processes being enacted with the client and to the therapist's conscious utilization of the feelings that are generated in the presence of the client in order to forward therapeutic ends. It's at this very early stage in my development as a therapist that I am beginning to understand how crucial these concepts will be.
This is a very simplistic representation of how I'm imagining the interaction I'm describing:
The main anxiety I'm feeling about beginning therapy with my first clients (which will be within about two weeks' time) is how to negotiate that intersection: when is that intermediate space well-boundaried and productive, and when is it a mushy-boundaried, collapsed space? Certainly, my boundaries with clients need to be kept quite intact, and just permeable enough in order to have a human, real interaction, but when might a collapsed space actually be fruitful, if not totally inappropriate, over-exposing, or detrimental to the curative work of the therapy?
Of course, these anxieties are not contained just to my work as a therapist-in-training. As a person moving about the world with all my particular emotional baggage, I do this delicate dance of intimacy all the time. How much of myself is melding into my lover, and how much of her is melding into me? Are we creating enough space for each other to be wholly ourselves, or are our personal boundaries becoming ever blurrier, to the point that we will dissolve into this indiscernible mass of Bree/Astrid – Brastrid? Astbree? And even in the face of this fear of overlapping, of losing myself, I experience moments when I want nothing more than to completely merge with her, stripped, both of us, naked bellies pressed as far together as possible before we come out the other side. Ah, sweet collapse.
Patrick Swayze thinks he knows the answer.
"This is my dance space; this is your dance space," he asserts, with confidence. I don't buy that whole idea, though, that we exist as totally separate entities with precise boundaries (not that Patrick Swayze was making an analogy about human interaction, and not that I seek some permeable merging of self with Patrick Swayze, either, mind you) but as I live and love and experience the world, I'm coming to realize that the concept of "self" itself is a much more ambiguous notion than we tend to conceptualize here in the West.
I'm coming at this from the context of being a very green psychotherapist- in-training: what is my client's shit, and what is my shit, when I'm sitting in the room with him/her/hir? Will I be able to suss out what the client is expressing (or not expressing) from my own feeling states as they arise in our interaction? The operative technical terms here are the transference and the countertransference, which are generally used in a psychotherapy context, but can obviously be applied to any interaction we have with a particular person, or with people or institutions or objects more generally. Crudely put, transference phenomena are the projected feelings a client puts onto the therapist (or a person puts onto another significant person), in an enactment of unconscious, deeply ingrained relational dynamics. The classic example might be the client regarding the therapist as a parent figure and unconsciously acting out as if one was with a parent. On the flip side, the countertransference refers to the therapist's feelings toward the client, and is understood in a couple different ways. It can refer both to the therapist's personal unconscious processes being enacted with the client and to the therapist's conscious utilization of the feelings that are generated in the presence of the client in order to forward therapeutic ends. It's at this very early stage in my development as a therapist that I am beginning to understand how crucial these concepts will be.
This is a very simplistic representation of how I'm imagining the interaction I'm describing:
The main anxiety I'm feeling about beginning therapy with my first clients (which will be within about two weeks' time) is how to negotiate that intersection: when is that intermediate space well-boundaried and productive, and when is it a mushy-boundaried, collapsed space? Certainly, my boundaries with clients need to be kept quite intact, and just permeable enough in order to have a human, real interaction, but when might a collapsed space actually be fruitful, if not totally inappropriate, over-exposing, or detrimental to the curative work of the therapy?
Of course, these anxieties are not contained just to my work as a therapist-in-training. As a person moving about the world with all my particular emotional baggage, I do this delicate dance of intimacy all the time. How much of myself is melding into my lover, and how much of her is melding into me? Are we creating enough space for each other to be wholly ourselves, or are our personal boundaries becoming ever blurrier, to the point that we will dissolve into this indiscernible mass of Bree/Astrid – Brastrid? Astbree? And even in the face of this fear of overlapping, of losing myself, I experience moments when I want nothing more than to completely merge with her, stripped, both of us, naked bellies pressed as far together as possible before we come out the other side. Ah, sweet collapse.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Death Poll
So I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I'm doing my masters thesis on the subject of death. More specifically, I'm going to be exploring the effects of our uniquely human capacity for the awareness of death, or our ability to anticipate death. How does this consciousness of our own demise shape our emotional lives, our psychology, our ability to live in the world, operate in relationships, and exist in our finite bodies? Does it drive us to destruction, violence, and war? Does it give the privileged in the world (white, global north/west, wealthy) a way to disavow death and project it onto people of color and the poor through war, economic oppression, environmental devastation? And on the other hand, can our terror of death motivate us to put forward lasting creative projects in the world (to write books, make babies, found religions) to ensure our own symbolic immortality?
In my reading and research, I'm coming across a lot of different theories, ideas, frameworks. Major influences right now are Ernest Becker, and post-Freudian psychoanalysis (Melanie Klein, Otto Rank, Lacan, and Frantz Fanon). I want to branch out into other disciplines as well, and I'd be interested if anyone has any suggestions for research areas I should check out. I'd particularly like to read more women writers.
Some questions I'm generating at this early stage of the game are as follows. Please consider answering any or all of these questions in the comment section. I'd love to know other people's thoughts in order to get a bigger perspective than just what's been going on in my own head and in my reflections of what I've been reading.
1. Do you think the fear of death, or the denial of death is a "universal" fear, or anything close to a "universal" fear? Can you think of ways in which the fear of death manifests itself either psychologically at the level of individuals, or socio-culturally?
2. Do you think there is such a thing as a "death drive" or an instinct that drives us toward, or compels us toward death psychologically, not just biologically toward entropy and decay?
3. What do you think happens when we die? Do you know what your parent/s think/thought about death? Do your beliefs differ significantly from theirs?
4. How often do you think about, have anxious or curious feelings about, or fantasize/daydream about death? (your own death and/or the death of your loved ones?)
I hope everyone feels very free to leave comments. If you'd rather email your thoughts to me personally, leave a comment with your email address, and I'll send you mine if you don't know it already.
Peace,
--Bree
In my reading and research, I'm coming across a lot of different theories, ideas, frameworks. Major influences right now are Ernest Becker, and post-Freudian psychoanalysis (Melanie Klein, Otto Rank, Lacan, and Frantz Fanon). I want to branch out into other disciplines as well, and I'd be interested if anyone has any suggestions for research areas I should check out. I'd particularly like to read more women writers.
Some questions I'm generating at this early stage of the game are as follows. Please consider answering any or all of these questions in the comment section. I'd love to know other people's thoughts in order to get a bigger perspective than just what's been going on in my own head and in my reflections of what I've been reading.
1. Do you think the fear of death, or the denial of death is a "universal" fear, or anything close to a "universal" fear? Can you think of ways in which the fear of death manifests itself either psychologically at the level of individuals, or socio-culturally?
2. Do you think there is such a thing as a "death drive" or an instinct that drives us toward, or compels us toward death psychologically, not just biologically toward entropy and decay?
3. What do you think happens when we die? Do you know what your parent/s think/thought about death? Do your beliefs differ significantly from theirs?
4. How often do you think about, have anxious or curious feelings about, or fantasize/daydream about death? (your own death and/or the death of your loved ones?)
I hope everyone feels very free to leave comments. If you'd rather email your thoughts to me personally, leave a comment with your email address, and I'll send you mine if you don't know it already.
Peace,
--Bree
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Master and Servant
Yesterday was a day of celebration in the Astrid-Bree household: Ms. Astrid took her oral exam and is now an M.A. in comparative literature!! She read a core book list of thirty works and had to prepare a 20-minute presentation in a specialty area. Yeah, she's smart 'n' shit. Yesterday proved big for me, too: I got a phone call from the clinic director of an M.F.T. training program where I interviewed this week letting me know they want me to come work with them! I start the internship in August! So, while Astrid is now a master, I have become an indentured servant, and will be working 20 to 25 hours a week at the clinic for free. And getting good clinical training, I remind myself.
Astrid and I celebrated by eating orgasmic tapas at Ramblas and getting drinks with Calisto, Dave, DJ, and Raquel at the Lex.
Anyway, hurrah!
Astrid and I celebrated by eating orgasmic tapas at Ramblas and getting drinks with Calisto, Dave, DJ, and Raquel at the Lex.
Anyway, hurrah!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Malaise
I feel a familiar setting in of the doldrums which hasn't visited me in a long time. The weather isn't helping (cold, wet, icky. It's fucking May, okay, weather?) Now that the funeral is over, there is less chaos and tension, but there is still a faint sadness permeating everything. I picked up my studying yesterday for the first time in two weeks, but in class, I felt removed, wondering why I was even there, wondering what good it does for people to be trained as psychotherapists, when we can't control the fucked up things that happen to people.
I dreamed about Andrew last night. I was with a bunch of people, and we were lost on our way home, as if we'd never been there before. I don't know which "home" it was supposed to be, but it was apparently somewhere between Los Gatos and San Jose, and off the Monterey Highway (where the cemetery is), and there was a beach. A beautiful beach, mind you, but a dirty, rocky beach, not a smooth sandy one. Mom was there, and Andrew was sitting by her. We all acknowledged that the problem was that he was misunderstood somehow, and Andrew, with relief in his voice, said, "Yeah, THAT'S the issue!"
I dreamed about Andrew last night. I was with a bunch of people, and we were lost on our way home, as if we'd never been there before. I don't know which "home" it was supposed to be, but it was apparently somewhere between Los Gatos and San Jose, and off the Monterey Highway (where the cemetery is), and there was a beach. A beautiful beach, mind you, but a dirty, rocky beach, not a smooth sandy one. Mom was there, and Andrew was sitting by her. We all acknowledged that the problem was that he was misunderstood somehow, and Andrew, with relief in his voice, said, "Yeah, THAT'S the issue!"
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Rest in Peace, Beautiful Andrew
My mom called me this morning with the "you'd better sit down" kind of news. My cousin Andrew is dead. His body was found by some kids in a park in San Jose. We don't know the cause of death yet--may have been exposure (it was cold, and he was without a jacket or sleeping bag like he's been so many nights in the last few years), may have been an overdose (he'd been off heroin for months, but I'm guessing a fix at his normal dose might've done it), may have been a recurrence of the alcohol-induced pancreatitis that'd almost killed him a couple times before.
Some of you might remember the discouraging stories about my cousin that have emerged over the last couple years. He's been walking around without proper diagnosis nor treatment for several years, getting more and more paranoid, isolated, and depressed. He most likely had paranoid schizophrenia, and the delusions of conspiracy and being under attack ruled his consciousness to the point that he wouldn't eat food offered him (poison), couldn't sleep in the homes of people who loved him (he was constantly afraid of being gassed), wouldn't take showers (he was convinced that whoever put the toxins on his body wanted them to wash into his body) or accept offers of clothing or help with his mental health (of course drugs or any kind of intervention were all part of the conspiracy). The safety and solace that we offered to him were received ambivalently at the very best, but often, in his delusional perspective, seemed malicious, poisonous, murderous.
He was never violent--only turned terribly inward to his despondence and sadness and fear. He was an amazing blues guitarist, but hardly picked up an instrument in the last two years because he was so defeated. His life was (I can't believe I'm using the past tense) emblematic of how tragic the loss of someone young can be: he was boundlessly creative and talented and funny and kind, and by the end, he had no idea that he was capable of beauty and happiness. We all knew that it had the potential to end this way, but we all prayed that he would finally decide to reach out for help. The only good that will come of his death is that he's not suffering anymore. But I can't say the same for Aunt Rhoda, or anyone else who loved him. I can't imagine the horror of watching your kid deteriorate and die like this. It's just so wrong.
Good bye, Anj. I love you, man.
Some of you might remember the discouraging stories about my cousin that have emerged over the last couple years. He's been walking around without proper diagnosis nor treatment for several years, getting more and more paranoid, isolated, and depressed. He most likely had paranoid schizophrenia, and the delusions of conspiracy and being under attack ruled his consciousness to the point that he wouldn't eat food offered him (poison), couldn't sleep in the homes of people who loved him (he was constantly afraid of being gassed), wouldn't take showers (he was convinced that whoever put the toxins on his body wanted them to wash into his body) or accept offers of clothing or help with his mental health (of course drugs or any kind of intervention were all part of the conspiracy). The safety and solace that we offered to him were received ambivalently at the very best, but often, in his delusional perspective, seemed malicious, poisonous, murderous.
He was never violent--only turned terribly inward to his despondence and sadness and fear. He was an amazing blues guitarist, but hardly picked up an instrument in the last two years because he was so defeated. His life was (I can't believe I'm using the past tense) emblematic of how tragic the loss of someone young can be: he was boundlessly creative and talented and funny and kind, and by the end, he had no idea that he was capable of beauty and happiness. We all knew that it had the potential to end this way, but we all prayed that he would finally decide to reach out for help. The only good that will come of his death is that he's not suffering anymore. But I can't say the same for Aunt Rhoda, or anyone else who loved him. I can't imagine the horror of watching your kid deteriorate and die like this. It's just so wrong.
Good bye, Anj. I love you, man.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Anxiety or Indigestion?
I feel happy and motivated for the new term* at school. I feel cozy and homey and lusciously fulfilled in my new home with Astrid. So what is this rumbly, tense feeling in my stomach? It might be that I've applied to three sites for clinical internships, have been rejected by two and am waiting on the other still, while most of my classmates already have placements for next year. It might be that I hate bookkeeping and I can't believe I still have to show up and work tomorrow, Friday, and every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next several months, and that even though I'm quitting all my paid gigs come summer in order to make time for school, internship, and thesis, I really should continue to work 'cause I'm gonna be broke-ass-broke next year.
Or maybe it's the cheeseburger, fries, and shake I had for dinner between classes tonight.
_____________________
*My graduate program refers to terms as "trimesters," because we have three per school year. It's essentially a quarter system with no summer quarter, thus, the "trimester" system. As I tend to associate that word with pregnancy, you'll understand why I usually refer to the demarcation of time at New College by "term" rather than by "trimester." Though, as many friends have joked, after the third trimester of my second year, I'll have myself a bouncing baby master's degree.
Or maybe it's the cheeseburger, fries, and shake I had for dinner between classes tonight.
_____________________
*My graduate program refers to terms as "trimesters," because we have three per school year. It's essentially a quarter system with no summer quarter, thus, the "trimester" system. As I tend to associate that word with pregnancy, you'll understand why I usually refer to the demarcation of time at New College by "term" rather than by "trimester." Though, as many friends have joked, after the third trimester of my second year, I'll have myself a bouncing baby master's degree.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
What I'm doing instead of writing my term paper...
It's not like the topic is bland or anything: development psychology and queerness, basically. I'm working with a classmate on a paper and class presentation due on Thursday. What have I done today, my last free day to work on it?
- dustbustered the stairway
- installed a coat rack in the hall
- ate oatmeal w/ Astrid
- played around on Myspace, Friendster, and Orkut (and deleted my account on the latter)
- took a bath
- read Rolling Stone.
It's the last week of the term. I have an interview for a clinical internship next week. It's at a hospice program, which is one of the areas in which I'm most interested in working. Scary, though--the idea of several or all of my clients dying during the course of the year I'd be working with them. Strangely enough, working with dying and grieving people seems to me some of the work that I'm most suited for. I have yet to grasp how many of my old emotional buttons this will push.
Off to waste more time before sitting down with the paper.
xo
Bree
- dustbustered the stairway
- installed a coat rack in the hall
- ate oatmeal w/ Astrid
- played around on Myspace, Friendster, and Orkut (and deleted my account on the latter)
- took a bath
- read Rolling Stone.
It's the last week of the term. I have an interview for a clinical internship next week. It's at a hospice program, which is one of the areas in which I'm most interested in working. Scary, though--the idea of several or all of my clients dying during the course of the year I'd be working with them. Strangely enough, working with dying and grieving people seems to me some of the work that I'm most suited for. I have yet to grasp how many of my old emotional buttons this will push.
Off to waste more time before sitting down with the paper.
xo
Bree
Saturday, February 10, 2007
2006 Wrap!
Previous Years-in-Review
This shit's becoming an institution. Study up on the last three years of my life before moving on to Aught 6!
2005
2004
2003
Stuff that happened in 2006:
I'm opting for the bullet list, since I've been taking notes throughout the year. It's hard to convey how very much my life has changed in 2006, but the key words are: amazing new girlfriend and grad school. Here are just a few of the (mostly) high and (mercifully few) low points of the past year.
* became part of a writing group formed from my screenwriting class; continued to work on my script. I broke about 60 pages before getting distracted by the whole school thing.
* applied to motherfucking grad school!
* cultivated very important relationships with lovers and got myself some of the best friends in my life out of the process.
* took a trip to Asheville, North Carolina, with my family to see a stage production of Pippin directed by my neice, Halina (Read about a previous trip to Asheville here.) Took a few extra days out there to visit my dear friend Maggie and her husband and kids who moved to Chapel Hill a couple years ago.
* fell way the fuck in love with Astrid and asked her if she'd be my girlfriend while we were in the middle of drunken, passionate sex. She answered in the affirmative, though I remember her saying "Yes," and she remembers just nodding through teary eyes.
* been having the best sex of my life (see above)
*got accepted to motherfucking grad school!
* attended the weddings of two of my dearest friends, Lola and Ube.
* fell down a wooden staircase (at Ube's wedding, actually) and ended up with a thigh-bruise the size of my head.
* gave up my car and opted for the more pure, uncomplicated and less polluting (if a tad less convenient) non-motorist lifestyle. Viva la bicyclette!
* started motherfucking grad school!
* went to Astrid's high school reunion!! Met Ryan Brown, the most popular boy in school!
* met Astrid's family!!
* started another round of head-shrinkin' with a new therapist. This is a requirement of my grad program, but it's a well-timed foray back into this particular type of guided introspection. It's hard, but not nearly as excruciating as my last stint.
* discovered the joys of "drinking dreidel"
* rediscovered the joys of Tetris. The last time I was addicted to the game was, naturally, when I was a student twelve years ago and used it as a distraction from my reading. Old distractions die hard.
* when not playing Tetris, I've been reading about 200 pages a week for school.
* where previously I have identified as someone who gets into bands five to ten years after their heyday, this year I actually started listening to bands that, like, still exist. (Tip of the hat goes mainly to DJ for making me a shit-ton of excellent mixes, thus scoring the soundtrack to 2006. Thanks, man.)
* on a down note, my last remaining gradparent died at the end of the year. She was my dad's mother, in her late nineties, and had lived the last few years of her life in a nursing home in the Bronx. I bought a ticket for a red eye the day I heard the news and was able to make it to the funeral. I'm really glad I went, and was able to be there with my Aunt Melba and get to know my cousins and their kids a little bit. Rest in peace, Grandma.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And now, the annual run down of the (pop) culture I consumed.
My tried-n-true ratings system has two components, which I will dutifully explain here and now:
1. The Star System - to convey my idea of the "objective merit" of a piece of work (i.e. if I were a professional critic, these are the ratings I'd give).
zero = utter trash, and not in a good way.
one * = a redeeming aspect or two, but otherwise, shite.
two ** = enjoyable, but deeply flawed or ordinary
three *** = solid, definitely worthwhile.
four **** = truly stellar—highly recommended.
five ***** = flawless
2. Ranked-order - In each section, I will order from top of the list to bottom, the top indicating the read, flick, or show I enjoyed the most and the bottom being the work of least interest in the category. This ranking system may or may not correlate with whatever "objective merit" the thing might have.
I will share a brief example of my brilliant two-pronged rating system for the following three movies:
Annie Hall *****
Grease 2 **
Blade Runner ****
Annie Hall was fantastic, one of my favorite films of all time. In this case, my tastes gibe with the cultural zeitgeist, since the film was critically acclaimed and won four Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay. Grease 2 also happens to be one of my all-time favorite flicks, and I'm under no illusion that it was a "good film."
But nine times outta ten, I'd pick Adrian Zmed and Lorna Luft shimmying down a bowling lane singing about how they're gonna "score tonight" over Blade Runner, the beautifully filmed and innovative sci-fi classic that, I agree with all film nerds, is a truly compelling movie.
So you understand the system, right? Good. Let's proceed. Oh, and there might be a spoiler or two, just so's ya know.
The Books (and other printed matter) I read:
This section does not include my reading material for school. Nor does it include online reads, sides of cereal boxes, or highway signage. You're a little bit disappointed, aren't you?
The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton ***** An as yet unmarried 29 year old woman in turn-of-the-century New York, Lily Bart is driven to create a compelling future for herself. But her ambivalence to grasp at either love or the comforts of the Good Life lead to her descent from the apex of New York's upper crust society. Written in 1905, Wharton's beautifully crafted story remains uncannily comtemporary. It might actually be the best novel I've ever read.
Fun Home by Alison Bechdel ****
Illustrated autobiography about "Dykes to Watch Out For" comic artist Alison Bechdel's life and her relationship with her very troubled father. This graphic work of nonfiction was poignant, hilarious, disturbing, and strikingly detailed both in its visual artwork and written content. Highest recommendations!
Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link **** Kelly Link's words are amazingly evocative and her phrasing packed with meaning. Stranger Things Happen, a book of surreal fairy tales, ghost stories, and characters immersed in any manner of otherworldliness is her first short story anthology. Can't wait to read her more recent collection, Magic For Beginners. Astrid says it's outta sight.
Dibs: In Search of Self by Virginia M. Axline *** A moving and fascinating account of a year's worth of non-directed play therapy sessions with a very disturbed child. This book is completely accessible to lay people (almost too easy to read), and I read it during the summer before I started the psych program.
Strangers in Paradise, Volumes One and Two by Terry Moore ***
Yet another comic series I'm getting hooked on, thanks to Astrid. A very satistying strip about two women, best friends, one in unrequited love with the other, and with a very dark past. The only major flaw I find is author Terry Moore's consistent use of very tired clichés in his dialogue. I imagine this is meant to mimick old school comics and pulp novels, because his gifts as a storyteller seem above it.
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman **+ This self-described "low culture manifesto" provided me many moments of nerdy Gen-X bliss, particularly while reading the chapter entitled "Sulking with Lisa Loeb on the Ice Planet Hoth." Klosterman and I are exactly the same age, both born in 1972, and so share an inquantifiable number of pop culture references. But I'm not impressed with his self-important reading of meaning in pop culture, divorced as it is from the real political economy. And, actually, I'm not down with his take on women, either. I don't fault him for certain aspects of the personal experiences he shared, even the anecdote about burning the exact same CD for two women he was dating at the same time. While this may ruffle a few feminist feathers out there, I find that kind of honest self-exposure to be authentic and admirable, even. But when he referred to Cameron Diaz (in relation to Penelope Cruz, in the movie Vanilla Sky) as a "repulsive hoebag" I wasn't amused. Ultimately, he's a guy writer writing for guys.
Dykes and Other Carbon-Based Life Forms to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel **** The 10th book in the DTWOF comic series. Basically, Bechdel is one of the key historians (dare I say "herstorians"...um, actually no, I won't dare) of contemporary lesbo life in America.
Freud for Beginners by Richard Appignanesi and Oscar Zarate **** A really fantastic illustrated history of Sigmund Freud, the granddaddy of modern psychoanalysis.
Godspeed by Lynn Breedlove *** Every dyke in San Francisco has read this novel, so I felt it my mission to keep up with the Lesbo-Joneses.
I've seen Lynnee perform with Tribe 8 and I've seen hir read at spoken word events and, while s/he's hilarious, obnoxious, and a powerful performer, I didn't expect to be impressed with hir prose. The novel was fast-moving, emotionally resonant, and overall, better than I'd anticipated.
The Loss that is Forever: The Lifelong Impact of the Early Death of a Mother or Father by Maxine Harris, Ph.D. ** Being that my grief about my dead dad figures large in my life, and that I'm now pursuing a new career in psychotherapy, the timing was right for me to pick up a book about this big subject (just the title brought tears to my eyes in the bookstore). While I was moved by many of the anecdotes with the over 60 people interviewed by the author for this book, I found Harris's writing to be simplistic and unengaging. While she used her subjects' stories to illustrate useful psychological frameworks for understanding grief, her language remained flat, and the book is poorly edited. This would be a phenomenal subject for a documentary, in which these survivors of catastrophic grief could speak for themselves.
Some of the Parts by T Cooper ** An engaging, gender-bendy story about unconventional relationships in a loosely configured family unit, taking place in New York and Providence. I liked the characters a lot, but the writing, when I compared it to Kelly Link's first collection of stories (see above) felt pretty anemic to me. Sentences were just sentences. They weren't departures into the emotional worlds of the characters.
(A tip o' the hat to Astrid, who recommended or physically gave me about half the stuff I read this year. Thanks, dollface!)
Films in the Theater:
2006 was kinda lacklustre at the movies, I think. I didn't have time to see as many films as I'd have liked, though, so my list ain't exhaustive by far. I'm gonna try to be concise and stick to two or three line reviews here:
Little Miss Sunshine ****
One of the most genuinely funny movies I've seen in forever. In particular, an outstanding performance by Steve Carell and a plot that devolves downward and again into blissful comedic chaos.
Children of Men **** The last movie I saw in the theater in '06. A truly intelligent and provocative dystopian vision of the near-future—surprising fare from Hollywood.
Broken Flowers **** I loved this meandering, muted film by Jim Jarmusch. Bill Murray is great, as usual, and the supporting actors are brilliantly cast. Don't see it if you can't deal with a slow pace and a story that doesn't really "go anywhere." (I really liked that about it.)
Brick **** Inventive, fast-moving, and clever spin on the hard-boiled detetive genre, told from the point of view and millieu of suburban high school kids.
Nine to Five **** - revival at the Castro. One of the funniest social satires ever, and totally holds up more than 25 years after its debut. Fantastic performances by Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, Dolly Parton, and of course Dabney Coleman as everybody's favorite "sexist egotistical lying hypocritical bigot."
Xanadu *** and Roller Boogie ** - double feature at the Castro. I hope I don't need to explain to you the campy brilliance of Xanadu...maybe you should just watch a bit for yourself. I can't say that 1979's Roller Boogie is as timeless a film, but it's a pretty amazing period piece, and, hell, you get to watch Linda Blair's whole body spin around in this one! (Sorry, couldn't resist.)
Sing-A-Long-Grease **** - again, a revival at the Castro. I found the hosts of the feature to be a bit overbearing - they actually had the nerve to tell me when to throw my pink slip in the air, and how to react when Rizzo came on screen! But seeing the film on the big screen and singing how Greased Lightnin' "makes the chicks cream" at the top of my lungs - priceless.
Scoop *** Woody Allen's second film featuring his fantasy leading lady of the Aughts, Scarlett Johansson. I found it to be a solid Woody flick, except that his portrayal of a (what else but) neurotic magician this time 'round was enough to inure me to that bit of his for all time forward.
Pirates of the Caribbean II – Dead Man's Chest *** - very fun, glad I saw it on the big screen. I found the plot twist at the end to be a verbatim repetition of format from the first movie, but other than that, totally entertaining.
I couldn't stop picturing Davy Jones every time Davy Jones was onscreen though.
A Closer Walk *** - a documentary about the global impact of HIV/AIDS, narrated by Will Smith and Glenn Glose. I felt the narration to be heavy-handed, but the global devastation of AIDS pretty much needs to be pounded into our heads, so, yeah.
Why We Fight ** - I found this documentary unremarkable, probably because I'm already very fluent with the subject matter. The interviews and footage were compelling, and I would recommend seeing it if you are unfamiliar with the economic politics of the weapons industry and its influence on the foreign policy of the United States.
The Fountain ** - Darren Aronofsky movie with Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz. See the mixed reviews at Rotten Tomatoes for a good sampling of opinions. Other than the visual artistry of the movie, the flick sucked. Instead of listening to the sappy, redundant storyline, I wish I could've just muted it and put on Dark Side of the Moon.
Toward the end of the movie, when the protagonist assumes the lotus position as he is about to unite in cosmic love with a supernova, I couldn't muffle my laughter anymore. The woman in the seat in front of me turned around and told me to "Stop it!" I apologized, and explained that laughter was my authentic response to the movie. She didn't appreciate this.
On DVD/Video:
TV Shows:
Six Feet Under, Season 5 (the final season) ***** The finale fucking floored me.
Friends, Season 10 (also the final season) *** On the whole, the last three seasons weren't as good as the first seven. I think the shark jump was approximately the birth of Emma. Whadduya think?
Don't blame it on Chandler and Monica's new twins. Emma already ruined the show two seasons ago!
The L Word (finished Season 2, and watched the complete Season 3) *** The drama picked up with characters dying, babies being kidnapped--and despite the schmaltzy writing in a few of the episodes, the cliff hanger season finale was a doosey. Disappointment of the season: Max, the only transgendered character on the show, is a complete asshole, and the actress playing him is unconvincing whether male-identified or no.
Films:
The Squid and the Whale **** - uncomfortable, subtle, brilliant. A sixteen year-old boy (Jesse Eisenberg tries on different identities, including that of his asshole intellectual snob father (Jeff Daniels in a superb performance) while coping with his parents' divorce. Set in Park Slope in the 1980's and also stars the reliably nuanced Laura Linney. [P.S. I think Eisenberg would be amazing in the title role if there's ever a biopic made about Nick Drake]
The Conformist ***** (tentative rating) one of the best films I've ever seen, although the jury's still out because I kept dozing off while watching it (renting an Italian DVD with subtitles is not a good idea when one is jet-lagged).
Junebug **** Hilarious, realistic glimpse into the bowels of a Southern family as their metrosexual golden boy, the eldest of two sons, returns home with his girlfriend, a city-slicker art dealer intent on discovering the next Picasso in the backwoods.
Amy Adams as Ashley Johnsten in Junebug
Thumbsucker *** a 17 year old kid still sucks his thumb. Drama and comedy ensue.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead: A Way of Life and The Great Liberation *** Fascinating made-for-Canadian-TV documentary about the Tibetan Buddhist rituals for the dead and dying. Though the imagery of family members in prayer around their dead loved ones was moving and shocking to my Western eyes, the slow pace and Leonard Cohen's low drawling narration almost put me to sleep at times.
Match Point ** I liked it more than I thought I would, but it's not one of Woody's best.
Pirates of the Caribbean – The Curse of the Black Pearl *** Fun for the whole family.
24 Hours on Craigslist** we were long overdue to get a documentary about Craigslist, the beloved online community where you can find a new apartment, a new job, a new lover, and a new couch. Unfortunately, this one is pretty crappy.
Star Trek – The Movie** Despite (or, really, because of) its hokiness, I enjoyed this fantastically bad first installment of the Star Trek film franchise, part of a Star Trek-a-thon Astrid and I have been partaking in with our pals, Calisto and Dave.
The Lost Weekend ***
The Oscar-winner for Best Picture in 1946, I found this film technically good but tiresome to watch. I kept wanting there to be more of a premise for Don Birnam's draw to the bottle, other than his failure as a writer. One of the booziest movies ever made, DJ and I quite enjoyed drinking our Manhattans while we watched Don devolve into a drunken torpor.
Pippin ** I watched this in preparation for seeing Halina's play in North Carolina. All I have to say is Ben Vereen = good, William Katt = baaaaaadddd.
Friends with Money ** A few keepable moments and a compelling cast, but overall, kinda boring, honestly. DJ put it well when he said that the parts didn't add up to much.
Evil Dead II ** Would probably have enjoyed this one more if Dax hadn't been snoring in my lap the entire time I was watching it (it had been her request, after all!)
Art School Confidential * This review captures my feeling about this infantile, sexist romp. I loved Ghost World, but this flick has permanently turned me off Daniel Clowes and Terry Zwigoff.
Lonesome Jim ** I was excited to see this little indy film directed by Steve Buscemi, but alas, almost totally unremarkable. In honor of the milquetoasty, unlikeable and untrustworthy main character, played by Casey Affleck, Astrid has dubbed this film with the perfect alternative title, "Feckless Jim."
Julie Johnson
I give it Zero Stars, can you believe, with a cast including Lily Taylor, Courtney Love and my dear, departed Spalding Gray?—all of 'em, wasted, on one of the worst scripts that's ever been produced. For reals.
On the Rerun:
Hairspray
Star Trek II – The Wrath of Khan
About a Boy
Star Trek III – The Search for Spock
Live Music:
Pinback at Bimbo’s, San Francisco **** Fantastic live show.
Jonathan Richman at The Make Out Room, San Francisco **** As usual, Jonathan delights.
The Starlight Mints ****, Dios Malos ***, and The Octopus Project ** at the Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco
Aimee Mann *** and Seu Jorge *** at Stern Grove, San Francisco. I've seen Aimee Mann live a few times and this open-air venue wasn't the best way to see her. Seu Jorge was really great, though I'm not very familiar with his music.
Replicator – The Hemlock Tavern, San Francisco *** Loud fucking left-wing nerd-noise rock.
The Matinées ***, Warren Teagarden **, and The Slow Poisoner*** at the Edinburgh Castle, San Francisco
The Mekons, acoustic set at The Hardly-Strictly Blugrass Festival, Golden Gate Park ** I prefer this legendary and sorely underrated first-wave British punk band plugged in, myself.
Live Performances:
Orbit **** – The Erika Shuch Performance Project at Intersection for the Arts, San Francisco
Pippin **** stage production at Warren Wilson College in Asheville, North Carolina
Kathy Griffin *** at The Warfield, San Francisco.
Fin
This shit's becoming an institution. Study up on the last three years of my life before moving on to Aught 6!
2005
2004
2003
Stuff that happened in 2006:
I'm opting for the bullet list, since I've been taking notes throughout the year. It's hard to convey how very much my life has changed in 2006, but the key words are: amazing new girlfriend and grad school. Here are just a few of the (mostly) high and (mercifully few) low points of the past year.
* became part of a writing group formed from my screenwriting class; continued to work on my script. I broke about 60 pages before getting distracted by the whole school thing.
* applied to motherfucking grad school!
* cultivated very important relationships with lovers and got myself some of the best friends in my life out of the process.
* took a trip to Asheville, North Carolina, with my family to see a stage production of Pippin directed by my neice, Halina (Read about a previous trip to Asheville here.) Took a few extra days out there to visit my dear friend Maggie and her husband and kids who moved to Chapel Hill a couple years ago.
* fell way the fuck in love with Astrid and asked her if she'd be my girlfriend while we were in the middle of drunken, passionate sex. She answered in the affirmative, though I remember her saying "Yes," and she remembers just nodding through teary eyes.
* been having the best sex of my life (see above)
*got accepted to motherfucking grad school!
* attended the weddings of two of my dearest friends, Lola and Ube.
* fell down a wooden staircase (at Ube's wedding, actually) and ended up with a thigh-bruise the size of my head.
* gave up my car and opted for the more pure, uncomplicated and less polluting (if a tad less convenient) non-motorist lifestyle. Viva la bicyclette!
* started motherfucking grad school!
* went to Astrid's high school reunion!! Met Ryan Brown, the most popular boy in school!
* met Astrid's family!!
* started another round of head-shrinkin' with a new therapist. This is a requirement of my grad program, but it's a well-timed foray back into this particular type of guided introspection. It's hard, but not nearly as excruciating as my last stint.
* discovered the joys of "drinking dreidel"
* rediscovered the joys of Tetris. The last time I was addicted to the game was, naturally, when I was a student twelve years ago and used it as a distraction from my reading. Old distractions die hard.
* when not playing Tetris, I've been reading about 200 pages a week for school.
* where previously I have identified as someone who gets into bands five to ten years after their heyday, this year I actually started listening to bands that, like, still exist. (Tip of the hat goes mainly to DJ for making me a shit-ton of excellent mixes, thus scoring the soundtrack to 2006. Thanks, man.)
* on a down note, my last remaining gradparent died at the end of the year. She was my dad's mother, in her late nineties, and had lived the last few years of her life in a nursing home in the Bronx. I bought a ticket for a red eye the day I heard the news and was able to make it to the funeral. I'm really glad I went, and was able to be there with my Aunt Melba and get to know my cousins and their kids a little bit. Rest in peace, Grandma.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And now, the annual run down of the (pop) culture I consumed.
My tried-n-true ratings system has two components, which I will dutifully explain here and now:
1. The Star System - to convey my idea of the "objective merit" of a piece of work (i.e. if I were a professional critic, these are the ratings I'd give).
zero = utter trash, and not in a good way.
one * = a redeeming aspect or two, but otherwise, shite.
two ** = enjoyable, but deeply flawed or ordinary
three *** = solid, definitely worthwhile.
four **** = truly stellar—highly recommended.
five ***** = flawless
2. Ranked-order - In each section, I will order from top of the list to bottom, the top indicating the read, flick, or show I enjoyed the most and the bottom being the work of least interest in the category. This ranking system may or may not correlate with whatever "objective merit" the thing might have.
I will share a brief example of my brilliant two-pronged rating system for the following three movies:
Annie Hall *****
Grease 2 **
Blade Runner ****
Annie Hall was fantastic, one of my favorite films of all time. In this case, my tastes gibe with the cultural zeitgeist, since the film was critically acclaimed and won four Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay. Grease 2 also happens to be one of my all-time favorite flicks, and I'm under no illusion that it was a "good film."
But nine times outta ten, I'd pick Adrian Zmed and Lorna Luft shimmying down a bowling lane singing about how they're gonna "score tonight" over Blade Runner, the beautifully filmed and innovative sci-fi classic that, I agree with all film nerds, is a truly compelling movie.
So you understand the system, right? Good. Let's proceed. Oh, and there might be a spoiler or two, just so's ya know.
The Books (and other printed matter) I read:
This section does not include my reading material for school. Nor does it include online reads, sides of cereal boxes, or highway signage. You're a little bit disappointed, aren't you?
The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton ***** An as yet unmarried 29 year old woman in turn-of-the-century New York, Lily Bart is driven to create a compelling future for herself. But her ambivalence to grasp at either love or the comforts of the Good Life lead to her descent from the apex of New York's upper crust society. Written in 1905, Wharton's beautifully crafted story remains uncannily comtemporary. It might actually be the best novel I've ever read.
Fun Home by Alison Bechdel ****
Illustrated autobiography about "Dykes to Watch Out For" comic artist Alison Bechdel's life and her relationship with her very troubled father. This graphic work of nonfiction was poignant, hilarious, disturbing, and strikingly detailed both in its visual artwork and written content. Highest recommendations!
Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link **** Kelly Link's words are amazingly evocative and her phrasing packed with meaning. Stranger Things Happen, a book of surreal fairy tales, ghost stories, and characters immersed in any manner of otherworldliness is her first short story anthology. Can't wait to read her more recent collection, Magic For Beginners. Astrid says it's outta sight.
Dibs: In Search of Self by Virginia M. Axline *** A moving and fascinating account of a year's worth of non-directed play therapy sessions with a very disturbed child. This book is completely accessible to lay people (almost too easy to read), and I read it during the summer before I started the psych program.
Strangers in Paradise, Volumes One and Two by Terry Moore ***
Yet another comic series I'm getting hooked on, thanks to Astrid. A very satistying strip about two women, best friends, one in unrequited love with the other, and with a very dark past. The only major flaw I find is author Terry Moore's consistent use of very tired clichés in his dialogue. I imagine this is meant to mimick old school comics and pulp novels, because his gifts as a storyteller seem above it. Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman **+ This self-described "low culture manifesto" provided me many moments of nerdy Gen-X bliss, particularly while reading the chapter entitled "Sulking with Lisa Loeb on the Ice Planet Hoth." Klosterman and I are exactly the same age, both born in 1972, and so share an inquantifiable number of pop culture references. But I'm not impressed with his self-important reading of meaning in pop culture, divorced as it is from the real political economy. And, actually, I'm not down with his take on women, either. I don't fault him for certain aspects of the personal experiences he shared, even the anecdote about burning the exact same CD for two women he was dating at the same time. While this may ruffle a few feminist feathers out there, I find that kind of honest self-exposure to be authentic and admirable, even. But when he referred to Cameron Diaz (in relation to Penelope Cruz, in the movie Vanilla Sky) as a "repulsive hoebag" I wasn't amused. Ultimately, he's a guy writer writing for guys.
Dykes and Other Carbon-Based Life Forms to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel **** The 10th book in the DTWOF comic series. Basically, Bechdel is one of the key historians (dare I say "herstorians"...um, actually no, I won't dare) of contemporary lesbo life in America.
Freud for Beginners by Richard Appignanesi and Oscar Zarate **** A really fantastic illustrated history of Sigmund Freud, the granddaddy of modern psychoanalysis.
Godspeed by Lynn Breedlove *** Every dyke in San Francisco has read this novel, so I felt it my mission to keep up with the Lesbo-Joneses.
I've seen Lynnee perform with Tribe 8 and I've seen hir read at spoken word events and, while s/he's hilarious, obnoxious, and a powerful performer, I didn't expect to be impressed with hir prose. The novel was fast-moving, emotionally resonant, and overall, better than I'd anticipated.
The Loss that is Forever: The Lifelong Impact of the Early Death of a Mother or Father by Maxine Harris, Ph.D. ** Being that my grief about my dead dad figures large in my life, and that I'm now pursuing a new career in psychotherapy, the timing was right for me to pick up a book about this big subject (just the title brought tears to my eyes in the bookstore). While I was moved by many of the anecdotes with the over 60 people interviewed by the author for this book, I found Harris's writing to be simplistic and unengaging. While she used her subjects' stories to illustrate useful psychological frameworks for understanding grief, her language remained flat, and the book is poorly edited. This would be a phenomenal subject for a documentary, in which these survivors of catastrophic grief could speak for themselves.
Some of the Parts by T Cooper ** An engaging, gender-bendy story about unconventional relationships in a loosely configured family unit, taking place in New York and Providence. I liked the characters a lot, but the writing, when I compared it to Kelly Link's first collection of stories (see above) felt pretty anemic to me. Sentences were just sentences. They weren't departures into the emotional worlds of the characters.
(A tip o' the hat to Astrid, who recommended or physically gave me about half the stuff I read this year. Thanks, dollface!)
Films in the Theater:
2006 was kinda lacklustre at the movies, I think. I didn't have time to see as many films as I'd have liked, though, so my list ain't exhaustive by far. I'm gonna try to be concise and stick to two or three line reviews here:
Little Miss Sunshine **** One of the most genuinely funny movies I've seen in forever. In particular, an outstanding performance by Steve Carell and a plot that devolves downward and again into blissful comedic chaos.
Children of Men **** The last movie I saw in the theater in '06. A truly intelligent and provocative dystopian vision of the near-future—surprising fare from Hollywood.
Broken Flowers **** I loved this meandering, muted film by Jim Jarmusch. Bill Murray is great, as usual, and the supporting actors are brilliantly cast. Don't see it if you can't deal with a slow pace and a story that doesn't really "go anywhere." (I really liked that about it.)
Brick **** Inventive, fast-moving, and clever spin on the hard-boiled detetive genre, told from the point of view and millieu of suburban high school kids.
Nine to Five **** - revival at the Castro. One of the funniest social satires ever, and totally holds up more than 25 years after its debut. Fantastic performances by Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, Dolly Parton, and of course Dabney Coleman as everybody's favorite "sexist egotistical lying hypocritical bigot."
Xanadu *** and Roller Boogie ** - double feature at the Castro. I hope I don't need to explain to you the campy brilliance of Xanadu...maybe you should just watch a bit for yourself. I can't say that 1979's Roller Boogie is as timeless a film, but it's a pretty amazing period piece, and, hell, you get to watch Linda Blair's whole body spin around in this one! (Sorry, couldn't resist.)
Sing-A-Long-Grease **** - again, a revival at the Castro. I found the hosts of the feature to be a bit overbearing - they actually had the nerve to tell me when to throw my pink slip in the air, and how to react when Rizzo came on screen! But seeing the film on the big screen and singing how Greased Lightnin' "makes the chicks cream" at the top of my lungs - priceless.
Scoop *** Woody Allen's second film featuring his fantasy leading lady of the Aughts, Scarlett Johansson. I found it to be a solid Woody flick, except that his portrayal of a (what else but) neurotic magician this time 'round was enough to inure me to that bit of his for all time forward.
Pirates of the Caribbean II – Dead Man's Chest *** - very fun, glad I saw it on the big screen. I found the plot twist at the end to be a verbatim repetition of format from the first movie, but other than that, totally entertaining.
I couldn't stop picturing Davy Jones every time Davy Jones was onscreen though.
A Closer Walk *** - a documentary about the global impact of HIV/AIDS, narrated by Will Smith and Glenn Glose. I felt the narration to be heavy-handed, but the global devastation of AIDS pretty much needs to be pounded into our heads, so, yeah.
Why We Fight ** - I found this documentary unremarkable, probably because I'm already very fluent with the subject matter. The interviews and footage were compelling, and I would recommend seeing it if you are unfamiliar with the economic politics of the weapons industry and its influence on the foreign policy of the United States.
The Fountain ** - Darren Aronofsky movie with Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz. See the mixed reviews at Rotten Tomatoes for a good sampling of opinions. Other than the visual artistry of the movie, the flick sucked. Instead of listening to the sappy, redundant storyline, I wish I could've just muted it and put on Dark Side of the Moon.
Toward the end of the movie, when the protagonist assumes the lotus position as he is about to unite in cosmic love with a supernova, I couldn't muffle my laughter anymore. The woman in the seat in front of me turned around and told me to "Stop it!" I apologized, and explained that laughter was my authentic response to the movie. She didn't appreciate this.On DVD/Video:
TV Shows:
Six Feet Under, Season 5 (the final season) ***** The finale fucking floored me.
Friends, Season 10 (also the final season) *** On the whole, the last three seasons weren't as good as the first seven. I think the shark jump was approximately the birth of Emma. Whadduya think?
Don't blame it on Chandler and Monica's new twins. Emma already ruined the show two seasons ago!The L Word (finished Season 2, and watched the complete Season 3) *** The drama picked up with characters dying, babies being kidnapped--and despite the schmaltzy writing in a few of the episodes, the cliff hanger season finale was a doosey. Disappointment of the season: Max, the only transgendered character on the show, is a complete asshole, and the actress playing him is unconvincing whether male-identified or no.
Films:
The Squid and the Whale **** - uncomfortable, subtle, brilliant. A sixteen year-old boy (Jesse Eisenberg tries on different identities, including that of his asshole intellectual snob father (Jeff Daniels in a superb performance) while coping with his parents' divorce. Set in Park Slope in the 1980's and also stars the reliably nuanced Laura Linney. [P.S. I think Eisenberg would be amazing in the title role if there's ever a biopic made about Nick Drake]
The Conformist ***** (tentative rating) one of the best films I've ever seen, although the jury's still out because I kept dozing off while watching it (renting an Italian DVD with subtitles is not a good idea when one is jet-lagged).
Junebug **** Hilarious, realistic glimpse into the bowels of a Southern family as their metrosexual golden boy, the eldest of two sons, returns home with his girlfriend, a city-slicker art dealer intent on discovering the next Picasso in the backwoods.
Amy Adams as Ashley Johnsten in Junebug
Thumbsucker *** a 17 year old kid still sucks his thumb. Drama and comedy ensue.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead: A Way of Life and The Great Liberation *** Fascinating made-for-Canadian-TV documentary about the Tibetan Buddhist rituals for the dead and dying. Though the imagery of family members in prayer around their dead loved ones was moving and shocking to my Western eyes, the slow pace and Leonard Cohen's low drawling narration almost put me to sleep at times.
Match Point ** I liked it more than I thought I would, but it's not one of Woody's best.
Pirates of the Caribbean – The Curse of the Black Pearl *** Fun for the whole family.
24 Hours on Craigslist** we were long overdue to get a documentary about Craigslist, the beloved online community where you can find a new apartment, a new job, a new lover, and a new couch. Unfortunately, this one is pretty crappy.
Star Trek – The Movie** Despite (or, really, because of) its hokiness, I enjoyed this fantastically bad first installment of the Star Trek film franchise, part of a Star Trek-a-thon Astrid and I have been partaking in with our pals, Calisto and Dave.
The Lost Weekend ***
The Oscar-winner for Best Picture in 1946, I found this film technically good but tiresome to watch. I kept wanting there to be more of a premise for Don Birnam's draw to the bottle, other than his failure as a writer. One of the booziest movies ever made, DJ and I quite enjoyed drinking our Manhattans while we watched Don devolve into a drunken torpor. Pippin ** I watched this in preparation for seeing Halina's play in North Carolina. All I have to say is Ben Vereen = good, William Katt = baaaaaadddd.
Friends with Money ** A few keepable moments and a compelling cast, but overall, kinda boring, honestly. DJ put it well when he said that the parts didn't add up to much.
Evil Dead II ** Would probably have enjoyed this one more if Dax hadn't been snoring in my lap the entire time I was watching it (it had been her request, after all!)
Art School Confidential * This review captures my feeling about this infantile, sexist romp. I loved Ghost World, but this flick has permanently turned me off Daniel Clowes and Terry Zwigoff.
Lonesome Jim ** I was excited to see this little indy film directed by Steve Buscemi, but alas, almost totally unremarkable. In honor of the milquetoasty, unlikeable and untrustworthy main character, played by Casey Affleck, Astrid has dubbed this film with the perfect alternative title, "Feckless Jim."
Julie Johnson
I give it Zero Stars, can you believe, with a cast including Lily Taylor, Courtney Love and my dear, departed Spalding Gray?—all of 'em, wasted, on one of the worst scripts that's ever been produced. For reals.On the Rerun:
Hairspray
Star Trek II – The Wrath of Khan
About a Boy
Star Trek III – The Search for Spock
Live Music:
Pinback at Bimbo’s, San Francisco **** Fantastic live show.
Jonathan Richman at The Make Out Room, San Francisco **** As usual, Jonathan delights.
The Starlight Mints ****, Dios Malos ***, and The Octopus Project ** at the Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco
Aimee Mann *** and Seu Jorge *** at Stern Grove, San Francisco. I've seen Aimee Mann live a few times and this open-air venue wasn't the best way to see her. Seu Jorge was really great, though I'm not very familiar with his music.
Replicator – The Hemlock Tavern, San Francisco *** Loud fucking left-wing nerd-noise rock.
The Matinées ***, Warren Teagarden **, and The Slow Poisoner*** at the Edinburgh Castle, San Francisco
The Mekons, acoustic set at The Hardly-Strictly Blugrass Festival, Golden Gate Park ** I prefer this legendary and sorely underrated first-wave British punk band plugged in, myself.
Live Performances:
Orbit **** – The Erika Shuch Performance Project at Intersection for the Arts, San Francisco
Pippin **** stage production at Warren Wilson College in Asheville, North Carolina
Kathy Griffin *** at The Warfield, San Francisco.
Fin
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Words, Real and Imagined*
A Wordy Archive
9/25/07
autochthony (aw-TOCK-th∂-nee), autochthonous - 1. (psychology) the notion of self-creation rooted in the omnipotent fantasies of the earliest developmental phases. A solipsistic fantasy that the self, the other, and the world are all generated from within. 2. (hard sciences, anthropology, archaeology) denoting an object or condition native or indigenous to a region or part of the body, as in customs of indignous people, rock formations, condition originating and located within a certain place inside a biological system or body. An "autochthonous blood clot" would be a clot discovered at the location it originated. From the Greek auto ("self," "same," "directed from within") and chthon ("earth" or "of the earth.")
(expanded definition!)
9/23/07
Shrinkitude - 1. The aptitude for being a psychotherapist, as in "Her listening skills show some real shrinkitude." 2. The attitude required therein, as in "He sets really firm boundaries--he must have some serious shrinkitude." 3. The bestowing of power onto the therapist by placing him/her/hir onto a pedestal (facetious), i.e. referring to the therapist as "Her Shrinkitude."
*With thanks to the Words of the Week
column at the dspot
9/25/07
autochthony (aw-TOCK-th∂-nee), autochthonous - 1. (psychology) the notion of self-creation rooted in the omnipotent fantasies of the earliest developmental phases. A solipsistic fantasy that the self, the other, and the world are all generated from within. 2. (hard sciences, anthropology, archaeology) denoting an object or condition native or indigenous to a region or part of the body, as in customs of indignous people, rock formations, condition originating and located within a certain place inside a biological system or body. An "autochthonous blood clot" would be a clot discovered at the location it originated. From the Greek auto ("self," "same," "directed from within") and chthon ("earth" or "of the earth.")
(expanded definition!)
9/23/07
Shrinkitude - 1. The aptitude for being a psychotherapist, as in "Her listening skills show some real shrinkitude." 2. The attitude required therein, as in "He sets really firm boundaries--he must have some serious shrinkitude." 3. The bestowing of power onto the therapist by placing him/her/hir onto a pedestal (facetious), i.e. referring to the therapist as "Her Shrinkitude."
*With thanks to the Words of the Week
column at the dspot
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