Suicidal Transportation

Everybody has a curse. Everybody.

My messenger bag was so heavy I began to tilt to one side as I walked in darkness to my Toyota. My college education absorbed my entire day, and as I strutted to my automobile I was free. I was free from lectures, broken pencils, and vending machines that were usually out of peanut M&Ms.

The end of the day is always the best part of the day. I drove home like I was making a getaway. I could almost taste the macaroni and cheese I had planned to make when I got home. I knew thousands (or one) TV show awaited my arrival at home. Wilco sang through my stereo, "I know where I'll be tonight, alright Outta mind outta site."

The gas light flickered as I pulled into an ARCO station. ARCO is the poor- folk's gasoline but it gets the job done. After my tank was full, I turned my key and got nothing. Not even a mild rumbling came out from the engine. My car had commited suicide. I kicked the gas pedal and screamed inwardly. I thought for a moment and realized I was not surprised at my car's immobility. Destiny had arrived once more. I should have known...

I have driven 5 cars in the past 5 years. All of them died while I was gripping their ungrateul steering wheels. One was keyed with an 'X' and died in a Chick Fila drive thru. An eye-rolling teenage employee had to push me through the fastfood line. In February, I bought a red Saturn and it sizzled to an early grave 2 days after I gave my life savings for it. I have hydroplaned and spun out twice. I have been in 5 accidents. For an entire summer I had to duct-tape my keys to my dashbored to keep my air conditioning working. I have been towed 4 times and have gotten roughly a thousand parking tickets.

Everyone has something that never seems to work out: School, work, health, relationships, etc. Everybody has that one thing that with perfect performance always seems to fail.

I suffer from the car curse. It is a rare form of curse that has not proven to be fatal (yet), but rather punishes my attempts at succesful car ownership. I am in a constant game of checkers with the universe. Will today be the day my car murders me? I live in fear of the day the universe exclaims, "check mate" or whatever it is you yell when you win checkers (checkers mate?) When that day arrives, I'm pretty sure someone somwhere will be digging a car shaped grave.

The tow truck arrived two hours late to the ARCO. My sister and a dear friend came to support my trial. I turned the key about a dozen more times hoping that my car had acquired the ability to heal itself. My sister, out of compassion, bought a six pack of Squirt to help soothe my tired soul. Carlos, the tow truck operator, was disappointed that I didn't know how to open my car hood but he charged my car nonetheless.

I drove down Tustin Avenue and dreamt of living in a land without automobiles. I'm pretty sure there is a 'no cars allowed' rule in heaven. Gas leaks would look terrible on the streets of gold.

Death and Vacation.

My ears began popping as the plane drifted up and away from the paved runway and onward back home. I realized I could not hear the safety speech performed by the flight attendants but I assured myself I could figure it out. In the event of a crash, would I save the guy in the charcoal suit who keeps complaining about no cellphone use? Should I start forming alliances now? Confident I could untangle a bag of oxygen without the careless instruction of an air hostess, I searched for stimulation.

My thoughts drifted from methods of survival as I became enthralled with the Sky Mall magazine. A gallery of glow in the dark gadgets and dog brushes were at my fingertips. I contemplated how many Big Foot statues and laser pointers I needed. I wondered if anyone would notice if my microwave was also a radio as the guy behind me kicked the back of my chair.

I sipped silky wine in Napa and walked two miles uphill in San Francisco while I was away. There is something about the northern part of our Golden State that makes one feel so cultured and rebellious. Homeless hippies, fashion police, and embarrassing tourists all find a cause to live for in the bay area. There is just something in the air, the cleaner than LA air, that inspires political action and an appreciation for classy things like high-heels and used bookstores.

I locked myself in the underground garage of my dear friend's two story home the morning we were to leave for San Francisco. I was completely alone, minus the wiry little dog that kept following me around. My stomach imploded a little when the door locked behind me as I stood on the top of long wooden stairs. The tiny K-9 looked at me for instruction as I convinced myself that he would eventually bite/kill me. I began to forgive all those who had wronged me and prayed for forgiveness of those I had mistreated. I gently banged on the door without answer and then remembered garage doors usually open. I put pressure on a beige automatic tab and was immediately released from my killer dog dungeon. I congratulated myself for my survival skills on that weary morning while I popped airplane peanuts, which are always better than land peanuts.

As the backyard pools and helicopter pads became visible from my airplane window my travels had come to an end. My dreams of becoming a poet in Chinatown would have to be put to rest for now. Leisure and amusement are obligations while on vacation. In real life I had cars to drive and barbecue flavored pizza to serve. There is comfort in the known, predicable life, because crazy animals are less likely to trap me in a basement and methods of survival become interesting tidbits at dinner parties.

Goodbye, Target, Goodbye...

I often wander aimlessly around the wonderland of mass production. Many hours have been spent contemplating the practicality of stocking up on funny greeting cards while I meander down to the cosmetics aisle. There is peace in the white linoleum tile. The soft glow of fluorescent lights and the gentle breeze of a giant air conditioner bring tranquility to the tired soul. I count on Target for an escape and for a chance to dwell in the anonymity of low-price shopping.

The automatic red doors opened to a world of chaos at my neighborhood Target, Monday evening. The sparkling-plastic floor was replaced with taped off concrete. Red paint was splattered in all the wrong places, while every aisle seemed at least two feet too big. The DVDs were next to the baby clothes, and the pots and pans were adjacent to the make-up. I gasped as I tried to make sense of the horror. "Don't panic," I whispered without moving my lips.

I had four items to make it out alive with: contact solution, lotion, cat toys and one baby present.

The air conditioning was apparently on the fritz, as my sister and I started to realize the baking temperature of Target. I am ashamed to say the heat got to me. The boiling climate made everything a frustration. None of the baby bibs were adorable. No single cat toy was risky enough. All the lotion smelled like glue and the contact solutions looked too itchy.

I could not face my cats one more time without a gift in hand. I grabbed a few cat-nip injected mice as my sister fanned herself with cardboard nail clippers. I walked to the register and threw my disappointment of a purchase onto the flat escalator. I handed a twenty to the boy behind the register, while he applied multiple layers of lotion to his dry hands. Apparently he had trouble opening the shopping bags. This made me uncomfortable.

I could not understand how Target, my green meadow, had turned into a place of anguish. How could they destroy such a blessed place? My sister exclaimed with a intact whine, "A supermarket? Why would Target become a super market?"

It all then became undeniably clear. I wanted to hold Target in my arms and explain that Target needed to accept itself for what it was and did not need to be anything else. I do not need oranges or fresh baked bread from my bull's eyed friend. I needed Target to be the breath of uncomplicated consistency into my life. I needed Target to stay true to itself but alas it did not.

The next day, I hopped into my tiny car and headed for Trader Joe's. The doors opened to a refreshment of dim-lighting and stands of roses and daisies. The carrots, pasta shells and frozen pizzas were in all the places that I had remembered. Not a single item was removed or disordered. All was right in the world, once again.

Wilco Live (6/08)

Wilco lived up to their legendary status at the Fox Theater Saturday night.

            Jeff Tweedy strolled onto the Fox Theater stage Saturday nigh in all black as he tried to hold back a knowing smile. The crowd stomped and screamed under a cloud of thick smoke and colored lights as the rest of the Wilco members took position on stage. As the alternative rock-band exchanged subtle glances they burst into “Wilco (the song).”

             Wilco is marked by poetic and ironic experiences that make for perfect lyrics. It’s hard to think of a more dedicated band. Wilco has hammered out six albums and gone through multiple band members. They sell out shows around the world yet seem unconcerned with fame.

            Drummer Glenn Kotche sat sweat-soaked behind a clear acrylic drum kit that seemed an inch away from shattered glass throughout their entire three hour set. During the song “I Am Man Who Loves You” Kotche climbed up to his drum kit like a man on a mountaintop with his drumsticks lifted above.

            Nels Cline pulled out a red double-neck guitar with a furry strap for the song “Radio Cure.” The band’s careful details added a bit of playfulness to the stage that provoked the crowd into cries of laughter. Cline commanded every screeching note as he effortlessly played his complicated guitar.

            A chocolate cake with sparkling candles was carried on stage for multi-instrumentalist Patrick Sansone’s 40^th birthday. The entire crowd sang, “Happy Birthday” as Tweedy acted as maestro.

            Tweedy swirled his microphone cord like a jump rope before it crashed with a boom on the floor. Tweedy smirked at his fumble and quickly carried into “A Shot in the Arm,” while shaking his head of wild hair.

            Wilco has a reputation for variation in their music. Everything from country to electronica filled the Wilco set. The xylophone rippled in like raindrops during “Radio Cure,” while gentle harmonies weaved into the background.

            Since their formation in 1994, Wilco has seemed obsessed with experimentation and musical evolvement. Each album is distinctly different from the next, marking a refusal to stay stagnant.

            Tweedy skipped with a smile along the stage while singing the existential lyrics of “Walken.” Wilco’s haphazard acts of silliness downplay their pure musical talent. Tweedy inhaled the harmonica during “Pick up The Change,” while John Stirrat vigilantly tugged at his bass’ strings.

            Wilco returned to the stage for two encores after the crowd pleaded with roars of applause and cheering. The song “Misunderstood” blew into a crescendo that inspired a sing-along. Tweedy closed his eyes and belted in repetition with the crowd, “I’d like to thank you all for NOTHING,” as if from the edge of a cliff.

            The Fox Theater exploded with guitar solos and vibrating overtones.  Wilco’s melancholy lyrics and layered instrumentation proved they had enough energy and inspiration to continue on for generations. And with any luck, they will.

             

            

Ode to Zion Christian Center (12/08)

 

            

People scattered in from every corner of the building. There were two entrances that led to an immediate hug. The first was from the left door that tended to be a little backed up causing a line to form. The second was from the back door that filtered into a kind of waiting room. The second entrance was the infinitely more grand in comparing the two.  Two oversized white doors opened to pale-blue carpet that forked off in three directions. After being hugged and welcomed by three rose-colored elderly women one was free to choose a general direction. Children ran carelessly through the aisles as parents laughed with old friends. Teenagers giggled news reports of the latest life developments as retired couples sat holding each other’s palms. Musicians rattled around the stage preparing to a hit a calming note. Sunday morning is the day of rest and this random assortment arrived at Zion Christian Center to find refreshment.

            Zion Christian Center was opened next to the 22-Freeway in the City of Orange in 1983. Four different men have held the position of head pastor in the church’s 24 -year history. One passed away, one retired, another stepped-down, and currently Daniel Kurimay administers the services. Kurimay was just under thirty when he took the position of head pastor. Kurimay traveled to hidden places around the globe learning about God and the Bible before he found himself in his home church. On his first Sunday as Pastor he adorned a charcoal gray suit to counteract his reckless long hair.

            Mille Britt had been one constant in the Zion’s many shifts and changes. She was the Pastor of Children’s Education. Millie was a petite older woman with a voice that echoed in every room she entered. She wrote and directed all the children’s Christmas plays and musicals. Kindergarteners dressed as Magi, while 6^th graders were made up as shopkeepers. Millie was usually garnished with chocolate bars and one-dollar bills to hand out as awards to those particularly well behaved. One hectic Monday, in 1996, she drove one young cast member to the hospital after the girl carelessly cut herself while playing in the backyard. Millie gently rubbed her back as the young girl received three excruciating stitches. Millie also met with various people throughout the week, giving reassuring advice and intimate counsel. Her relentless eye contact could cause some to sweat but her persistent concern eased any tension.

            The donut table ran at Zion before and after the 9:00 am service. Children left quarters in the donation box and ran off with sprinkled delights and chocolate milk. Friends discussed weekend endeavors as they sipped coffee from Styrofoam cups. Prior to 2007 a round elderly man could be found sitting with a giddy grin behind the donut table. Bob Whittaker was a WWII veteran with a passion for percussion. He seemed to have a new joke for every day of the year. Bob did not sit on any official Zion board but held a position of respect from everyone who entered the doors. He wore a suit and tie every Sunday and carried white tic tacs in his coat pocket. Bob passed out humorous birthday cards, lined with 20 dollar bills to those who he’d seen grown up over the years. He told each person they were his favorite, and he meant it with every inch of him. Bob passed away in November of 2007.

            Teenagers piled into the upstairs meeting area on Wednesday night. Stirring with gossip or merely sleep deprived they all mazed in and out before their youth service started. Three girls squeezed together on a couch and discussed the latest fashion trends, while junior high boys sat a table showing off their latest cell-phones. One small boy hit the bongos while another played an off-key cord on his bass guitar. The service would start and they would forget their giggling and disregard most text messaging and prepare to take in and discuss the Bible and God.  They would come every week, growing older and closer as they swap stories and heartache. The youth service was a support group for the young. 

            The “Joy Renewed” group also met on Wednesday nights. The group was started as a safe harbor for recently released incarcerated women.  “Joy renewed” welcomed women and their families to find hope and gain a connection to God. Many of the women were homeless or considered working poor. Pat and John Nesbit, who founded the group, collected day old pastries and breads from local grocery stores to set out at the start of each night. Those who could not cook or afford to buy breads were awarded cinnamon rolls and English muffins. Passing by the big open windows at any given point during the service one was likely to see tears freely being shed as open palms soothed shaking backs.

            Zion offered a food pantry for anyone in need. Groceries were donated and collected to meet the needs of families and individuals. There were no questions about circumstance or situation but rather each person that was hungry was fed.

            In 1999 members at Zion started “Heart Outreach” which was primarily concerned with the plight of the homeless. People who slept under bridges, on park benches or in their car were given a hearty warm meal the last Saturday of every month. One Saturday one of the homeless men asked a volunteer if he could play a few notes on the piano. The volunteer smiled and obliged and led the man to large black piano. The man took a deep breath and effortlessly played Beethoven’s “Moonlight.” The entire church hall was quieted by the former classical performer’s romantic song.

            Zion Christian Center had its sorts with subtle controversy. The name often caused confusion among passersbys. “Center” was in the place where normally the word “Church” would be included. Many locals assumed the word “Center” denoted a cult because it was not assigned to any particular Christian denomination. Regardless of complaints, Zion stuck by its name and welcomed any suspicious inquisitors.

            The sanctuary held the morning and evening main services. The sanctuary was dimly lit and lined with long stain glass windows. Soft light blazed through the color glass rectangles, adding a warm glow. Silk flags from every imaginable nation cascaded across the ceiling, flapping gently to the air let in from the door. Long stretched pews sat in rows like flowers planted in a garden. Bearded motorcyclists, retired mothers, hyperactive preschoolers, and silver haired veterans all found a home at Zion Christian Center. 

Avoid "Sunshine Cleaning" (4/09)

Summary: Two sisters start a business cleaning up crime scenes to make some extra cash.

“Sunshine Cleaning” is not going to change the world. The film is not going to spark protest, revolution or amnesty. “Sunshine Cleaning” desperately wants and tries so hard to get the audience to cry, laugh and reflect on the deeper meanings of life yet settles in ambiguity.

There are moments in the film when a chuckle arises and bit of sadness sneaks in but overall “Sunshine Cleaning” does not leave a lasting impression. One is most likely to exit the movie theater thinking, “That was a pleasant film…anyway, where are my keys?”

“Sunshine Cleaning” introduces us to Rose Lorkowski (Amy Adams) and Norah Lorkowski (Emily Blunt) who desperately need to make enough money to send Rose’s hyper-active son to private school. The two sisters start a business cleaning up crime scenes. They enter bloody homes and storefronts to remove hazardous waste and tidy any soiled messes.

Adam’s Rose is a former cheerleader and single mother who attracts womanizers but still maintains a sunny disposition. Blunt’s Norah cannot seem to keep a job that fits her blue highlights, tattoos and cynical attitude. The two women find a sense of purpose cleaning up after suicides and murders and eventually come to appreciate their business amidst their troubled lives.

Alan Arkin plays Rose and Norah’s father, Joe. He seems to still be playing the same grumpy grandfather with the heart of gold from “Little Miss Sunshine.” Arkin brings a touching no-nonsense presence to his scenes with Rose’s son, Oscar.

The problem with “Sunshine Cleaning” is not that it’s a terrible story or that it’s not entertaining. The problem is that the film just skims the surface when “Sunshine Cleaning” has the potential to do so much more.

The tragedy of an untimely death is never fully explored. The obvious pain and heartbreak is given little attention. The connection that could have been created between Rose, Norah and the victims would have given the film a distinct meaning. Instead the audience is given insecure romances, baby showers, and a house burning down.

“Sunshine Cleaning,” premiered at Sundance Film Festival in 2008 and has been marketed as a drama/comedy but has few memorable funny scenes. The running joke is that two pretty girls are cleaning up bodily fluids and scrubbing blood-spattered walls when they should be in wild romances or modeling or something. The hilarity loses momentum towards the middle of film when the novelty fades and the two sisters fail to create a bond.

The lack of resolution in “Sunshine Cleaning” makes the film more of a disappointment. The sub-plots that are created are never really teased out or explained. A one-arm man, an orphaned lesbian, and a lonely widow are all introduced and then brushed aside. The audience is left to assume an ending. The film wastes so much time setting up various stories that it has to rush an ending. One leaves the film feeling a bit ripped off.

The obvious talents of Adams and Blunt are not utilized in “Sunshine Cleaning.” They both put every bit of energy into their characters but the material prevents them from fully making Rose and Norah relatable and memorable.

“Sunshine Cleaning” is a pleasant yet unremarkable film. No matter how hard it tries to be complex and tragic it still does not meet the emotional depths that other indie films such as “The Waitress” and “Little Miss Sunshine” accomplished. “Sunshine Cleaning” had all the right ingredients to make an interesting, complex film. The terrific actors, original story, tragedy, and humorous dialogue could have made the film great but it settles on being merely okay.

Goodbye Wolverine (4/09)

Summary: “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” attempts to uncover and explore the dark past of X-Men leader Wolverine.

 

            Superheroes cover bed sheets, sparkle on billboards, and dominate Halloween costumes.  We have become experts on the different categories and classes of superheroes. There is the type of superhero that can rescue a kitten out of a tree while saving the prom queen and defeating the bearded villain. There is also the passionately conflicted superhero that feels more comfortable in the depths of danger than heights of heroism. 

            Some are tragic billionaires while others are evolutionary science experiments gone AWOL. Whatever superhuman or comic book creator dreamed up our super friends they must have known that superheroes would capture our hearts and eventually our wallets.

            “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” invites us to uncover the haunted past of the X-Men’s super mutant leader. “Wolverine” is the name shouted by third graders as they place pencils between their fingers and attempt Karate moves.  He is a fan favorite and is heavily set with expectations.

            Hugh Jackman has adorned the silver claws for all three X-Men movies and returns blandly as Wolverine/Logan in “X-Men Origins.” We are introduced to Logan’s viciously brutal brother, Victor Creed (Leiv Schreiber) who has scary fingernails and Dracula teeth. The animalistic pair are freakishly invincible and use their immortally to serve as soldiers under the American Flag.

            There is a drawn-out montage at the beginning of  “Wolverine” in which Logan and Victor fight on the front lines of famous battle scenes. They claw and growl their way from Gettysburg to Saigon. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if Kid-Rock’s insufferable song “Warrior” started to blare over the combat. The montage is meant to explain Logan’s “too cool to cry” vibe but seems more like an ad to enlist.

            Will. I. Am, Ryan Reynolds, and Dominic Monaghan jump on the mutant party bus and show up as unimportant characters. The trap X-Men movies have always struggled with is the inclusion of too many minor characters. The Blob, Agent Zero, and Gambit all complicate the plot and distract from Wolverine’s evolvement.

            X-Men fans are likely to line the cinema hallways to unravel the mysteries of their beloved Wolverine.  Fans will learn Logan was betrayed, lost his love, and got an operation that made his skeleton metal. Through a myriad of explosions, fire-flooded fights, and 70’s attire we learn little to nothing new about Mr. Wolverine.

            It has become impossible to mention superhero movies without comparing it to “The Dark Knight.” Audiences were once satisfied with a few explosions, a forbidden romance and a secret identity but now they expect something more. They expect their superheroes to live up to what made them legends.

            “The Dark Knight” was not a success because it broke all the rules, it was a success because it felt so right. A superhero film finally tapped into the essence of the character, the depth and complication that made a superhero a human. “Wolverine” is too cluttered with cheesy lines and predictable clichés to be taken seriously. 

            “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” surrendered the analysis of Logan for the feasibility of a formulaic action film. Not that every superhero movie needs to be realistic or even dangerous but it should at least treat its audience as adults. A few bad guys and a few good guys fight each other. Guess who wins. 

Not so FIRED UP! (2/09)

Summary: Two high school football players join a cheer camp to get up close to hot girls and learn new skills.

            A poor excuse to see girls in sports bras while two dudes relentlessly high five each other, “Fired Up” is anything but a new idea. Guy number one encourages guy number two to do something ridiculous and deceptive in hopes of scoring an unforeseeable amount of hot babes. Guy number two grows a conscious, falls in love with the smart hot girl, while guy number two cracks jokes about butts and boobs. No revolution in media here.

            “Fired Up” starts its way with Shawn Colfax (Nicholas D'Agosto) and Nick Brady (Eric Christian Olsen), dreading the summer they will have to spend at a sweaty girl-less football camp. Brilliance strikes the two men when they realize girls are at cheer camps, therefore they should be at a cheer camp. Through a series of lies involving dying parents, cartwheels, and over-the-top flattery the two men arrive at camp in a bevy of pre-sorority cheerleaders.

            Through a mess of homosexual jokes and choppy dialogue “Fired Up” has few entertaining moments. The entire cheer camp watch “Bring it On” under starlight, and mouth the words to the raw-raw dialogue. It is unclear whether this scene is meant to parody cheerleading or celebrate it, but it nonetheless provoked a few chuckles from the audience. The entire cast of “Fired Up” seems to want desperately for the jokes to be funnier than they are as they overact and overindulge in the dim-witted dialogue.

            Eric Christian Olsen’s Nick frantically attempts to channel Vince Vaughn’s character in  “Wedding Crashers” but ends up doing a bad impression of Jim Carey. Olsen’s talent does not lie within comedy. The often hilarious John Michael Higgins seems to be going through the motions as the possibly homosexual head coach Keith. Molly Sims plays coach Keith’s wife Diora, who fits blandly as the slightly older forbidden love of Nick. Nicholas D’Angosto’s Shawn, and Sarah Roemer’s Carly are both predictable and plain, making them a perfect pair.

            The audience is meant to believe that Shawn falls for Carly because she is the exception of being one of the few girls with a brain. Carly quotes John Lennon and gives an excessive amount suspicious squints at Shawn and Nick’s schemes. Most of the other females in the film appear to be perfectly content with being used and gawked at. Fired Up supposes that most women are easily deceived by a cheesy smile and flattering charm.

            Shawn and Nick tire of swindling cheer-ladies and the two men magically begin to find some value in team spirit and friendship. There is an attempt at a moral, heartfelt message in “Fired Up” but it gets lost in between all the skinny-dipping and clique battles. The idea of two guys in a cheer camp could have been quite entertaining. Perhaps if Shawn and Nick were originally going to computer camp and were more uncomfortable and clumsy “Fired Up” could have had some spark of originality. But in Hollywood it seems best not to take a chance.

            “You gotta risk it to get the biscuit” is an embarrassing line that is repeated throughout “Fired Up.” Nick and Shawn repeat the phrase in hopes of encouraging others to take a chance and do something different, if only “Fired Up” had followed their advice. 

             

FaceSpace: Myspace vs. Facebook (4/09)

Does anybody remember life before Myspace and Facebook? How did we spy on our loved ones? Or inform our friends of a video featuring dancing cats? What did we do with all those pictures of ourselves taking pictures of ourselves? The questions are endless in the quest to understand our social interactions before Myspace and Facebook existed. Social networking sites have become a phenomenon and appear to be here to stay.

             Myspace launched in 2002, replacing Freindster as the top social networking site. Myspace allowed users to create a personality profile that included favorite movies, bands, and photos. Friends could comment on each other’s pages and check out a rising indie band. Over time Myspace pages began to become more and more littered with advertisements. Hackers began to spread viruses and friend requests from strangers began to flood inboxes.

            Facebook started on college campuses and quickly spread to the mainstream in 2004. Originally, it was set up like a phone book with a picture and a few tidbits of personal information. Facebook attracted users by including status updates, instant messaging, a friend finder and a clean interface. Facebook reports at having over 200 million active users, almost twice the amount on Myspace.

            Rio Roman is a pre-nursing freshman that checks her Facebook throughout the day on her phone. She explained that many of her friends have closed their Myspace accounts to make the move to Facebook because of the user-friendly interface.

            A few people have sacrificed their Myspace and Facebook to the online gods and returned to other forms of communication such as Junior Victoria Navarette. “I had a Myspace so I could keep in contact with people but it became the only way we interacted and was less personal. It was fake. People would only say ‘happy birthday’ because of the reminder,” said Navarette.

            With the obsessions with texting, Twittering, and instant messaging many have begun to question whether our social skills are diminishing. Facebook and Myspace have been at the focal point of the conversation. The sites allow us to interact without actually interfacing. We can have an entire conversation with someone without uttering a single word.

            “I have a real life, it’s just a substitution for life,” remarked Nadia Denherska, who is in the Linguistics MA program.

            We can spend hours on our Myspace profiles and Facebook pages but we often lack the energy to make a simple phone call. “Phone calls are too intimate. In a phone call you have to have something to say. Comments are just little funny things,” said Junior Stephanie Nguyen.

            There are some social advantages of Myspace and Facebook. Long lost friends and relatives can be found by the click of a button. Connections for future job possibilities can be found by adding friends with similar interests.

            Almost all of the people interviewed provided a quick excuse for possessing a Facebook or Myspace profile. “I’ve had it since high school,” “I just use it to talk to friends that live far away,” and “I’m too lazy to delete it, and I don’t use it that much” were all offered to justify their profiles.

            We seem to be embarrassed by the fact that we care what other people think. We spend time writing a clever update or retouching a dramatic photo in order for our friends and acquaintances to see us positively. There is no shame in wanting to be seen in a favorable light, however Facebook and Myspace keep us at a safe distance.

            The flaws and frustrations that make up a person are what we lose by relying on Facebook to maintain our friendships. The silly noise a friend makes when she sneezes, the philosophical conversations that spark over coffee, or the comforting pause of a dear friend are missed when we choose to check a Facebook wall rather seeing someone face to face. 

            Facebook is now the most popular social networking, making Myspace a bit out-dated. Perhaps in a few years a new site will emerge that will cause us all to criticize and abandon Facebook. For now, perhaps we need to accept the obsession with social networking sites but keep in mind that a real live friend could only be a phone call or car ride away. 

Mamma Mia at the Pantages (4/09)

A Broadway show generates excitement no matter the script, acting, musical notes or set design. There is just something in the air that makes a grown man giddy. The dimming of the lights, the slow lift of the curtain, the pews of people clutching yellow playbills all add to the expectant scene. The opening night of  “Mamma Mia” at the Pantages Theatre led to an uproarious applause from an eager audience before the performance had even begun.

            “Mamma Mia” transports us to a Greek Island where disco dancing to the hits of ABBA seemed to have never gone out of style. We meet Sophie Sheridan (Liana Hunt) a day before her wedding. She invites three men to her nuptials, three men who may be her father. Sophie’s mother Donna (Michelle Dawson) is forced to cope with the return of former lovers while her daughter prepares to choose someone to walk her down the aisle.

            There seemed to be an overall sense of energy and silliness in “Mamma Mia.” The unsual story is told through the dancing and singing of classic ABBA songs. The actors appeared to genuinely have fun while they danced in platform shoes and glittery pantsuits.

            Kittra Coomer and Rachel Tyler, who played Rosie and Tanya, added dimension and hilarity to every scene they were in. They portrayed the spoiled cougar and cynical spinster with extreme tact as they high kicked in high heels and swapped one-liners.

            Coomer belted ABBA’s “Take a Chance” while falling over dirty chairs and awkwardly posing sexy in doorways. Her embodiment of Rosie caused ecstatic laughter as she chased a man through a wedding chapel.

            Dawson and Hunt looked almost identical as a mother and daughter pair but their physical similarity were contrasted with their abilities to perform. Dawson has been in many hit plays and projected each song confidently. Hunt seemed a little nervous and was a tad hard to hear during a few solos. Both Hunt and Dawson were believable and sang with fervor but were often overshadowed by secondary characters.

            The sharp dialogue and vigorous dancing in “Mamma Mia” left the audience wanting more after each scene. The fog machine, flashing lights, and neon costumes were over-the-top without being overbearing. The sets were relatively sparse, leaving the characters room to create the setting and mood. Hair dryers, power drills and floppy hats were all used as props to add to the detailed humor.

            The film version of “Mamma Mia” starring Meryl Streep might deter some from seeing the play. The film awkwardly tries to hold on to scenes and moments that were meant for the stage. Although the film was far from a failure, its over indulgenence distracts from the subtle details that are electric in the play.

            We can watch “Gossip Girl” or “I Love You, Man” any time we want through the magic of TiVO and Fandango. We can sit on our couches or go to the movies in our pajamas. “Mamma Mia” offers something different. It offers the chance to see a live performance in a theater from Hollywood’s golden age. There is no retouching, voice editing or multiple takes.  Stage performances are given one chance to impress and excite the audience. “Mamma Mia” ended with the audience leaping and jumping to their feet to applaud the remarkable performance and join in the play’s excitement.

            

Duplicity of disappointment (3/09)

Imagine if Pepsi had covert spies wandering around Coca-Cola offices, or Microsoft sent undercover agents to work in Apple Inc. A corporate world dominated by espionage, a business enterprise undermined by top-secret leaks. Mystery would surround every paper clip, danger would lurk around every cubicle. “Duplicity” seeks to expose the secret world of corporations by giving us two hours of bantering dialogue and boring plot twists.

Ray Koval (Clive Owen) and Claire Stenwick (Julia Roberts) are two spies with a romantic past who hatch a plan to steal millions from two corporations. Paul Giamatti and Tom Wilkinson play the corporate heads that are introduced to us in a lengthy slow-mo fight scene. Ray and Claire seek to outwit their bosses by going undercover and keeping their ears open to profitable products.

“Duplicity” attempts to break the “spy movie” mold by limiting the action and replacing it with attempted humor. There are no car chases, no cool gadgets, no jumping off buildings. Not even a single evil boss or torture scene. Instead we get a cutesy romance and a secret million-dollar product.

Claire and Ray are separately hired by the two corporations to spy on the other company. Claire works with Ray to discover something that will score them a ton of cash. “Be in the right place, at the right time,” is the main course of action.

Roberts and Owen have already played their respective roles dozens of times. For years Roberts’ has been the tough, fast-taking beauty. Owen has repeatedly played a sweet Brit with a dangerous edge. Both actors have obvious time-tested talents, but they fall short of establishing warmth and complexity in “Duplicity.”

Claire and Ray are not very convincing or interesting as a couple. They decide they need millions of dollars merely so they can live in luxurious hotels and have endless romantic nights. “Duplicity” fails to make the audience care about Claire and Ray’s financial stability because they are neither noble nor well defined. We are forced through multiple flashbacks filled with tiresome banter. The couple seems needlessly greedy, giving their goal little credibility.

There is no clear antagonist and no definite heroes in “Duplicity.” Every character seems to be both good and bad, not really giving the audience the ability to connect or hate anybody. The corporate bosses are not evil, and the two spies are too cold to be heroic.

The attempts at humor in “Duplicity” are somewhat confusing. The film does not commit to being an action film, or a full-out comedy. “Duplicity” could have been a brilliant comedy, because the plot is fairly ridiculous. If Julia Roberts was replaced by Tina Fey and Clive Owen replaced with Steve Carrel, the film could have been worth watching. Roberts and Owen seem uncertain of whether to run with a joke or move on to the next scene.

“Duplicity” would have had a clear objective as a comedy instead of as an ambiguous spy romance. The columniation of the film comes when the product that is going to change the world is revealed. The product is meant to be a revolutionary idea but is actually quite embarrassing. If it was meant to be funny it would be one thing, but the audience is intended to be impressed with the product’s genius.

About ten people walked out of the theater while “Duplicity” was playing. The film is overly proud of its showy dialogue, characters and jokes and therefore unaware of its failures. If “Duplicity” was more defined and more focused it could have been a worthwhile movie. Instead we wait hours for a pay-off and but are left with nothing.

Delta Spirit interview and review (3/09)

  Indie rock-band Delta Spirit got up close with the Daily 49er at The Detroit Bar.               Delta Spirit shrieked their passionate lyrics, riffed their guitars, and experimented with percussion to a sold-out mob at The Detroit Bar in Costa Mesa Saturday night. The soulful rock-band played with hopeful desperation that set them above the average indie band.            

Delta Spirit combines elements of The Beatles’ modernism, The Strokes’ fervor and Bob Dylan’s folk soul to create poetic ballads on top of violent percussion and metal strings.             

Jon Jameson, Sean Walker, and Brandon Young rallied vocalist Matthew Vasquez and multi-instrumentalist Kelly Winrich into the San Diego based band in 2005. The five men played their beats on The Detroit stage as a soulful symphony, extracting wild intensity from each note.             

Delta Spirit has a unique philosophy about musicology made clear by the band’s front man Matthew Vasquez. The Daily 49er stole some time after the show with the powerful vocalist to absorb his methods, advice, and subtle humility.             

  “I think sincerity beats sarcasm. There is already too many cool people out there,” Vasquez remarked. “Maybe it’ll be good maybe or maybe they will tell us to fuck off but at least we’re good. Good in the sense that we cared and we were straight with you with what we thought and how we played.”         

Delta Spirit opened with “Strange Vine” from their self-released, self-produced album “Ode to Sunshine” in front of a backdrop of a mossy wooded forest. They played three fiery new songs throughout their set. Delta Spirit maintained a sense of chaos and spontaneity within each carefully crafted melody.           

Vasquez wailed into his microphone, like a man on a desperate edge. The veins in his neck protruded as he fiercely cried, “You make your own stand, you take your own stand” in the song “Children.”             

While sitting with Vasquez in a dimly lit booth he shifted to a subtler version of himself with messy hair and tired eyes. He began to quote Mark Twain but paused, chuckled a bit and said, “It would be vain for me to give you the impression that I’m smarter than I really am.”       Delta Spirit’s ability to blend honest vulnerability and brutal determination has made them a standout amongst the hoards of hipster/ indie bands. They maintained a haunting presence while proclaiming, “I always knew you were insecure, but loneliness is never the cure” in the song “Gimme Some Motivation.”             

Winrich seemed to be able to play any instrument on stage as he beat the piano, wailed on the guitar and hammered a trashcan lid during the song “Trashcan.” Vasquez and Winrich share the lyrical writing of most of the songs.              

“We kind of go at it like an AA program, like one day at a time,” Vasquez admitted. “It’s all grown through, lived through, experienced through. Pay for your successes through your defeats.”             

Delta Spirit sang through darkness in a few songs, as they lowered the lights to increase intensity. “Crippler King” and “Streetwalker” had an angry blues edge with deepened bass and rapid, electric strumming. Young collided with every beat as he hit the drums with a furious underpinning.            

 The culmination of the show came when members from the opening bands Dawes and We Are Barbarians joined Delta Spirit on stage. 11 musicians packed the platform picking up tambourines, bells, drumsticks, and microphones as they roared the song “People, Turn Around.”             

 “Learn how to play with people, don’t just sit in your garage,” Vasquez advised. “Anybody you play with has something to offer you. Whether it’s a good guitar lick, melody idea or singing technique or a drum beat.”             

In a world of Hannah Montanas and The Jonas Brothers it’s refreshing to see a band with such careful dedication to their musical craft.             

Downplaying Delta Spirit’s successes Vasquez said, “It is what it is. You do the best you can to explain how you feel and you hope that people identify with it, and if they do it’s awesome.”     In “People Turn-around” they proclaim that the band is, “Hoping and waiting for something to sing, like the angels of heaven or bones on the street.” At The Detroit Bar Delta Spirit proved their rise to success is because of their unrelenting talent and distinct dedication to melodic evolution.

TV on the Radio Review (3/09)

TV on the Radio explored experimental sounds and enthused the wild crowd at the Glass House.

            TV on the Radio radiated in a musical explosion at the Glass House in Pomona Tuesday night. The experimental rock band sparked with breathless energy, and ignited with industrial beats. TV on the Radio set ethereal sounds against dangerous percussion, while still layering fiery vocals.

            Tunde Adebimpe led TV on the Radio with his raspy, full-bodied voice. Kyp Malone infused his 70’s style vocals over Adebimpe as he clenched a mustard-colored electric guitar. Gerard Smith cued in with a commanding bass guitar while Jaleel Bunton hammered his drum kit.

            TV on the Radio formed was in 2001 by Adebimpe and pianist David Andrew Sitek and released their atomic album “OK Calculator.” The band embraced evolution and experimentation in their album “Return to Cookie Mountain” and their latest “Dear Science.”

            The Glass House performance featured mostly songs from the dreamy and variant “Dear Science.” Each song seemed to be perfectly placed to contradict the next. The rhyme rapping “Dancing Choose” led into the patient and eerie “Love Dog.”

            TV on the Radio maintained a kaleidoscope of sound as they shook reindeer bells and jolted through the saxophone, clarinet and trumpet. There seemed to be no level of absurdity and creativity the band could not meet. Adebimpe leaped in Converse shoes, and a sweat-soaked t-shirt as he cried out the popular “Halfway Home.”

            The lyrical prose of each song created a depth and level of emotion that released a playful despondency. TV on the Radio seemed to find amusement in exclaiming their deepest fears and regrets. Some words were masked in metaphor, but in their poetry there was a lighthearted sense of tragedy.

            The New York based band clearly embraced their urban environment as they untangled industrial sounds and incorporated vibrating tones into smoky rhythms. TV on the Radio played as if performing on a crowded city street. They energetically got the crowd stomping and clapping while Adebimpe whistled a soulful melody to “Staring into the Sun.”

            TV on the Radio seemed to cut their show a little short when they exited a little over an hour. It took the passionate rumblings of the crowd to inspire an encore. The band humbly returned to the stage and streamed into “Family Tree.” The powerful song mesmerized the crowd as orange and yellow lights sparkled above the stage. The band continued in two more songs before they departed to riotous applause.

            The captivating TV on the Radio seemed to connect effortless to congregation of fans while retaining a sense of whimsy and crisp exposure. They weaved their lyrics and chords like threads in a quilt. TV on the Radio dangerously mixed the poetic with the violent without sounding contrived. They embraced technology while still commanding instrumental skill. TV on the Radio will be swooping in at Coachella this weekend, where they are likely to put on another eloquent performance.