August 23, 2008

action, tempo, rhythm

Posted in movies tagged , at 8:40 pm by placeinthestars

L. and I went to see Tropic Thunder, which I loved. I mean, yes, there are some problematic things in it, but I have not laughed so hard at a movie in I can’t even remember how long. I don’t generally like Ben Stiller movies, but dear god, Tom Cruise was funny – he needs to do more roles where he reminds us that he can act – and so was Robert Downey Jr. Also, I really liked the guy who played Alpa Chino (he was exceptionally cute. and also, hee! Lance!) and the guy who played Sandusky (who I thought was Colin Hanks but wasn’t). plus, the fake trailers before the movie were GENIUS.

Anyway, the movie was hilarious, and the music was perfect — all that typical Vietnam era movie music, and the use of Edgar Winters’ “Frankenstein” was perfect. As was that damn “Low” song that I hate. And I loved the song over the final credits, which I will have to track down.



August 18, 2008

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Posted in poetry tagged , at 4:42 pm by placeinthestars

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


August 8, 2008

The Life of Umbrellas by Rachel Dacus

Posted in poetry tagged , at 8:44 pm by placeinthestars

The Life of Umbrellas

I want to live the life of umbrellas,
full of sudden openings, of stealth and travel.
To sometimes fold my bat wing heart away
and reach over your head
to close you in a bubble.
On the path across the Ponte Vecchio
in light drizzle, I would parasail you, keeping out
the scorch of a moghul-arched cloud,
the rattle of a strong gust. I might turn
inside out, becoming the reverse
of myself, and you could follow,
unsuiting as fast as gypsy fingers
find a pocket on a March day
in a square dotted with drops.

~Rachel Dacus