Depression Is A Bitch

Such a bold statement to throw out there for a blog post, but it's a fact jack. It's a hovering spectre that comes and goes, waiting to make an appearance when everything lines up correctly.

You can almost equate it to the tides, the effects of the moon, Haley's comet, and other celestial events that we have no control over. Have a stressful situation? Here comes depression. Conversation with someone that pushes the right buttons? How about a dose of depression to go along with that? Major change in your life, good or bad? Depression. I've had all of these happen. Depression rolls up the drive, walks in the house and tells you, begs you, orders you to go to bed. Hide away in that safety. It's like a strain of virus that makes you feel like you have been hit with a bit of the flu, but the only symptoms settle in your mind. Sleep is your only escape. Fuck it, life is just going to take another bite out of you anyway.

Guilt is what I get out of depression. What happens is that depression makes me want to isolate myself from my life. The thing is that I love my life. My family is my life. I want to be there and be present for them. An active contributor to our little commune. The thing is that when depression hits town it acts as a wall keeping me from that which I love. Sometimes I'm able to swallow that feeling and live and sometimes I succumb to the way it melts away the things I should care about and puts my focus on the bullshit. You fall for its graces and it leads down the road. You become almost like a disciple to it. It haunts your life because it never really goes away. And when you're laying there, isolated and doing what it told you to do you get to think about how horrible you are for isolating yourself. It's a no win.

I'm not here to preach and I'm not here for pity. I am writing this for purely selfish reasons. I have a need to spill these feelings out in a tangible form for me to digest and maybe get a little something out of it. My own personal therapy perhaps? I don't know why, but it feels good to write this out in my own hand and then typing it again to see if I feel the same when I enter it digitally. Hopefully, having this sitting there as a document will allow me to look at the big picture as opposed to being held down by this anchor. It's hard to accept anything when you're in that moment. For the people that love you it's a helpless feeling because they can't break through the wall of isolation that surrounds you.

I've been very lax in posting on this blog. I've been active with movie reviews on the sister blog, but not like I was before I really went down hill about five years ago. My goal is to post here at least once a week starting now, even if it's random bullshit (and it probably will be). I also plan on posting more regular reviews on the movie blog along with other projects I've started for myself. Keeping busy tends to keep those feelings that drag me down at bay, so that's what I plan on doing.

So yes, this is going to be a very selfish endeavor, but sometimes you have to be selfish for your own good.

Aloha.

Rambling ABout Reboots and Remakes and Re-Imaginings

Before I begin I want to make it clear that I’m not reviewing a trailer. Trailers are advertising and it would be the equivalent of me reviewing a commercial for a steak dinner as opposed to an actual dinner. What’s the point? It was a trailer that’s encouraged me to write some ramblings about a phenomenon that is plaguing Hollywood. I honestly thought the day would arrive where this phenomenon would be out of the worlds cinemas and be a small asterisk in a ledger. I’m overreacting, of course, but I had hoped that the remake happy Hollywood machine would reel in it’s crutch of attempting to “re-imagine” movies to make a few quick bucks. Sadly, I’ve been wrong. It’s bigger and better than ever and continues to fill screens every summer… and fall… and winter… and spring. And the trend is only increasing.

The ugly truth about remakes is that they are quick cash grabs for the studios. The foundation of your film is there and all you have to do is fill it in to deliver at least eighty minutes of screen time. It doesn’t have to be coherent, funny, scary, thought provoking, or GOOD. There’s no need for quality because the studio is going to recoup its investment quickly and quietly, sneaking out of town like a carnival hawker in the dead of the night, pockets filled with cash. You see, the great thing about remakes is that they already have a built in audience and if you can sucker 50% of them to drop their money for a ticket, you’re in. Then there’s people curious because of name recognition. Let’s get some of their money, too. The key is to get that money before word of mouth circulates and the movie is branded as garbage. And those who skipped out are assured to check it out on home video.

So why do we go see them? Are we forever optimistic that we'll get the same feeling that we had when we saw the original?  Are the youth of the world, lacking definitive films to hold on to being forced into taking the scraps from earlier generations of film? It's hard to say. I don't have the answer and will admit to being snookered before (A Nightmare on Elm Street). The plot is there, but the soul is dead. Why am I bothering to watch this when I could be watching the original, superior film. 

Are there good remakes? Yes, particularly John Carpenter's The Thing and David Cronenberg's The Fly. I am a fan of Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake, but I would not put it in the same league as George Romero's original vision. But for every one of those films there's another 20 remakes that are garbage. My only explanation for it, citing Carpenter as an example, is that there is a love for the original source material and he wanted to honor it as opposed to a regurgitated mass production. 

By now I'm sure you can guess what prompted this little tirade of mine. I saw the Ghostbusters trailer last week. There's been controversy on both sides. The gender swapping (that I feel is gimmicky, but that's Sony Pictures for you) has caused some very hostile remarks. The thing is that another Ghostbusters movie has been desired for a quarter of a century and this isn't that movie. Does it necessitate the hostile tweets and such? No, of course not. The thing is that now that we tangible footage to look at you can make a preliminary judgement on this reboot. I don't review trailers, but being that I have a film with so much negativity associated with it, I would roll out a trailer with enough scenes to impress my audience and convert some of the non-believers. Let's just say it's not looking good.

I believe it was Martin Scorsese that asked why we don't remake bad movies. Polish them up and make them better than they were instead of having the audacity of thinking we can do a better job. It's not the quality, it's the quantity. I really would like to see some films that wow me without being remakes or sequels or "cinematic universe" members. Hit me out of left field. But there's no money in that.

David Bowie 1947-2016

Like those of us under 40 (barely) my memories of David Bowie start with MTV and the whole Let’s Dance era of his career. I was just a kid in the 1^st grade seeing him in the endless sphere of awesomeness that was MTV in the mid ‘80’s. This is one of those cases where it was the good old days, but that’s another story. So Bowie was a part of that stream of ‘80’s consciousness. It wouldn’t be until the late 1980’s and the early 1990’s and my desires switch from G.I. Joe’s to music and girls that I could understand the value of Bowie’s entire catalog, culminating in his performance at the Freddy Mercury Tribute Concert and my discovery of Mott The Hoople and delving deeply into his catalog.

My first Bowie record (outside of the compilation Changesbowie) would be 1995’s Outside. This was at a point of reinvention for him as he accepted more of an industrial tone to his music. Outside is a great concept album, cover to cover as great albums should be. It was a shock to the system that remembered the artist from MTV and compilation albums. What Outside did was encourage me to explore his catalog and look at the many layers of David Bowie. From pop star, to alien androgyny, the Thin White Duke, MTV Bowie, Tin Machine, and the industrial music godfather. David Bowie was always reinventing himself. I wonder if he was getting bored or was it his natural progression as an artist. Who knows, but it made him happy obviously.

My son discovered Bowie in an odd place- video games, specifically Hideo Kojima, who worked his favorite musician into his games to the point that this teenager became curious and we were actually searching for Blackstar the days before his death. We couldn’t find it locally, so he was still selling records even before death. I look back on this week as not the death of David Bowie, but the idea that his life will go on. Bowie will continue to snowball as long as people pay homage to him and it makes the next generation curious. We could call him and enigma wrapped in a riddle, but he wasn’t. It was all out for the world to see. That’s why his legacy will carry on way beyond his mortal life on earth.

Return of the Knight in Shining Tin Foil

It's been three and a half years since I last posted anything on this failed experiment of a blog I started about the same time as the movie review blog (which was also abandoned for a time, but my heart is finally getting back into the groove there). This was supposed to be a place where I posted observations and analysis of the world in general. Complain and bitch, pretty much. It's a fact of life that this is what these things are for. I apologize to the few of you that actually stumbled upon this, probably in the wee hours of the morning.

The last time I posted anything on here was in July of 2011. I was married with a son and sitting in my home, probably killing time. I'm going to play Mr. Obvious and say that it was hot out. Today is January 4th, 2015. It's cold as hell out, though there's no snow on the ground. It has been flurrying, if that even constitutes a word. How cares, abbreviations are the new world order. Didn't u get da memo?

As of right now I'm married, with a son and a daughter on the way, sitting in my wife's office typing this as a way to kill time. Nope, it's not the same wife, but I did manage to keep the house. As I look back on the days since I posted about heat it amazes me how much has changed in the last three and a half years. Sitting here right now I can inform you that I have no idea what's going to happen three years from now.

Life kicked me quite forcefully and squarely right in the balls. When your nuts are being crushed by nature or karma or whatever you always wonder what you did to deserve this. Why, oh god, why? I don't need this! I thought I was good and my life was happy. Now it was slowly being torn apart. I was beaten. I was broken. I was finished. There was nothing left.

We're coming up on the third anniversary of that day when I tried to suck on an exhaust pipe and take the cosmic plunge (the derelict wouldn't start). That was the first day I hit rock bottom. I would hit it two more times before the summer was over, once ending up in a jail cell overnight. That was the summer from hell. I was used and I was broken, but when you're in the middle of that situation you can't see things the same way you did when it's in the aftermath. You don't have experienced eyes at that point.

So as I sit in this office I can say that I'm at my happiness place since in 20 years, since I was a young man. It's a pleasant feeling, yet I'm unnerved that I've spent over half of my life not being happy. There were happy moments, but there was always a layer of dread in them. I still get that feeling, but it comes from the almighty dollar and wondering if I'm going to have the house finished in time for our little girl. That shit passes. This never did. 

There's very little that haunts me about that summer now. It's over and I once again came out smelling like a rose, which is what I've been told is my forte. I have issue with how many son was pulled into The Mess of 2012, which shouldn't have happened, but that's the cross for someone else to bear. Mine is for almost throwing it all away over what amounted to very little because it had been trashed over the years. I would have never seen my son play basketball, become a creative smart ass, become a man, get married, be better than his father. I would have never met my wife, the archivist of Monty Python and Mel Brooks who I fell in love with that Christmas and continue to fall for everyday. Of course that would mean that little girl wouldn't be here either.

Those thoughts are what get to me. The big "What if...?" like the old Marvel comic book. Sometimes I can't handle thinking about the "what if". I know it's pointless now, but every once in a while I'm pulled back to it and beat myself up for about five minutes. Then I turn it around to the idea that, and I'm quoting Terminator 2, every day is now a gift. Don't waste it.

I'm sorry to get sappy as hell, but that's the story. I guess you can call this my excuse note for not posting anything during the last three years. I hope all is forgiven. Even though I'm sure you're just stumbling on this in the wee hours of the morning, I hope it's enjoyable and entertaining. Sometimes I need something constructive to do.

Aloha.

Heat

Looking at the weather channel as I write this it's 91 degrees outside, feeling like it's 102. 

Too damn hot.

It's been like this a few days and will probably continue for a few more. Was it this hot back in the day? My mind goes back in its little Rolodex, searching for a day when it felt like opening an oven when I opened the front door. 

I remember playing baseball in the heat, not thinking anything about it. Two, maybe even three games a day. Eight hours. We didn't quit for heat, just a break between games. This was war damn it. The constant sucking down of Mountain Dews from the soda machine in my po dunk home town also helped. There's nothing like a Dew out of a can on a hot day.

The myth that was perpetuated was that the Fourth of July was the hottest day of the year. That's a fraud now, just like the corn being knee high by the Fourth of July. I remember some hot July 4th's, though. One in particular had me soaking my feet in an old wash tub full of hose water. Please commence the banjo jokes.

I don't know if it's old age or what that makes the heat hotter than when I was younger. I could go on about global warming or the humidity coming from my beloved corn, or the ides that we may all just be burning in Hellinois. The sun is beginning to fall in my neck of the woods. 

I guess baking time is over.

Where The Stars Came Out To Play

The Illinois Theater circa 1981.

One day in 1981 I went to the movies for the first time. It's a sketchy memory because I was only four years old at the time and we all know how well four year old boys remember stuff thirty years later. My brother, who was either sixteen or seventeen at the time was taking me to a matinee at the Illinois Theater, which decades earlier had been the Fox Illinois and before that the Fox Morgan and so on (The Fox tile arrangement is still in place at the entrances to the theater).

I don't remember buying tickets or getting popcorn or a coke. The thing I do remember is sitting in that auditorium waiting for the movie to begin and looking at the curtain that covered the screen. Of course a four year olds mind races with "What's behind there" and "Where are the knobs?" on this over sized television. Once again the four year old played out as I started to get restless, eagerly anticipating something to happen. Anything! Everyone behind the curtain needs to finish up so I can see something. Eventually the curtain pulled away and "something" started. I couldn't tell you a thing about trailers or anything like that because the only thing I remember was the 20th Century Fox march, small letters appearing on the screen and getting the crap scared out of me as STAR WARS blasted in my face like 3-D. 

Re-release #2 in 1981.

 You see, to this point the only Star Wars I got my hands on were toys and storybooks. This was the real deal. I wasn't in line in 1977, I popped out four days after the movie was released. So on that day in 1981 I was amazed by what movies were, not long shows on TV buy something spectacular on the big screen. You could say I got spoiled early. I went back one more time in 1981 to see Superman II, vividly remembering that the curtain was open when we got there, yet the way the lights were playing tricks on this lad I thought I could see Superman on the screen made of shadows.

I remember the theater being closed for awhile, getting what cinema enthusiasts now consider a blasphemy- it was twinned into two theaters. From a business standpoint it makes sense. TV, cable, and home video had taken a bite out of ticket sales. Why not run two films instead of one.

It's funny in a way how this old building has been a backdrop in my life. I remember going there in the late 1980's with my dad to see Clint Eastwood movies (I could also discuss the slasher films, but they always played at The Times for some reason) and the only time in my life that my mother went to the movies with it: The Dead Pool, which also introduced me to a band from L.A. called Guns N' Roses. Rock n' roll sensibilities were starting to fester in that four year old boy.

One of many flicks my dad and I caught at the Illinois only for this one my mom actually went with us.

 
 The Illinois always played the big movies, you know what I mean. The stuff people wanted to see. I mentioned the Times earlier and I went there quite a bit, but the Illinois just had something about it and The Times didn't get the big movies. We had a joke about the Times from that era:


"What's the difference between the Times and a porno theater?"
"A porno theater actually mops its floors."


We'll leave the Times alone for a later post.


Like I was saying, the Illinois got the big ones. I remember seeing Batman twice (the first time I ever did that), forever erasing the Adam West camp from my conception of Batman. There was Terminator 2 on a weekday afternoon which also featured the first time I pumped gas and forgetting to put the gas cap back on (I played dumb and made like someone must of stolen it). It always rolled like that.Whatever the big summer movie was going to be was uptown on the corner. 


It wasn't just the movies or how big they were or good or bad they were. It was the memories that go with them.

The Illinois the way it looked during my teens and twenties. What the hell did they do to the marquee?

Over the years things have changed all over. The square, which was an actual vibrant square when the Illinois opened in the 1930's, became an urban renewal project during the 1970's that closed driving around it, only to be opened back up in 2010 to drive around again. Your tax dollars in action, kids. The Illinois was still there, hovering at the corner. The ticket booth is gone and I haven't bought tickets at the kiosk just inside the doors in decades. There aren't the lines like there were during the days before cable, DVD, and downloads. Recently there has been some renovations done, the most dramatic being the use of the old balcony as a small theater upstairs. It's a cozy little auditorium that I actually enjoy. It's very rare for anyone to use the side doors to leave anymore, but I still do.It's my little secret exit that everyone forgot about. Sure she's changed a little bit, but she's still the same to me.

The Illinois today with a new marquee.

 So in 2005 fate dealt the cards of coincidence. I was a father now. Star Wars was back in theaters, presumably for the final time (I do not count the crappy Clone Wars cartoon movie). And I had a four year old son. So on an late spring afternoon I took a four year old boy to the wonder that was the movies to see something spectacular. The movie may not have been as spectacular as the one I saw, but to a four year old it was something to behold. At that age there's a sense of wonder to everything.

The Illinois Theater may not be grand or exuberant like some of the other theaters out there. It's a small town place. It's special because it's full of memories like the ones I've written about above. It's events like those that give a place a soul and a life all its own. I'll see you up there sometime.

I Guess This Is Where I Go To Bitch

What is blogging?
Why am I starting it?
What's the point?


These are the questions that run through my head as I finally start typing on this thing I set up so long ago. In reality I've actually been blogging sort of with my movie reviews (shameless plug:  
http://sonoreviews.blogspot.com/). I've been kind of reluctant to type anything being the shy, useless bastard that I am. To the first two questions I can't answer them. I really don't want to either. It's whatever you want it to be. You want to bitch, then bitch. You want to dish, then dish. You want to tell me what kind of odors are coming from your body I won't read it. I have standards at times.


The question I will try to answer is what exactly the point is. Doing stuff like blogging on the Internet is the equivalent of going to a shrink. You get that stuff that you want to shout from the rooftops out in the air without getting a disorderly record. If Network was made today Howard Beale's line would have been all over cyberspace and not airspace. That's just where we are now. Think about it. Is the telephone going to die someday? The way texting has exploded onto the frontier it probably will with the phonograph and the CD. 


We love to see our words. It's so damn easy today. Kids made their own newspapers off mom's typewriter. Now we can start one in our own home with a possible readership of billions. Reading our words. Replying to our words. The only boundaries that are left are those age old ones that we've built up over the years. Maybe we've started to take them down, piece by piece. Maybe that's the real point of all this. 


If I was to map out all the people I have met over the great Internet machine over the last decade or so it would span the globe. I've talked to people that live right down the road a piece and I've shot the shit with others in areas of the world that I'll never go to. It's run the gamut, too. Music, politics, movies, bullshit. Bullshit is a universal language by the way. It's been a long, strange trip. I've read shit that would turn you white.


As I sit here pondering what exactly this is all about I've come to two conclusions. The first is that we do things like this as an almost psychiatric exercise. We're laying down on the couch discussing what is what and people may be listening, may being the key word. We like to know someone is out there and they care. We need reinforcement. We need to know that we're not freaks. There are others. The other thing I've come up with is that this is essentially the equivalent to masturbation. We get off on it and if other people want to watch, then hey, that's cool. Just kidding about that part, but is that what seeing our words and thoughts out there for all to see just like self love? I guess it depends on who you are. At the end of the day it's all thoughts. Presented to you out of billions of 0's and 1's. I guess we'll see whether I'm paying you by the hour or just jerking off.