"...the easier a thing is to write then the more the writer gets paid for writing it." - m. amis
Today, I started my seemingly neverending quest to watch the movies I'm supposed to capsulize for my little section in the Philadelphia Weekly -- fyi, my first paying gig of, like, ever, and mine for nearly a year and a half now. More fyi: I write the Repertory Film and Video section of the little rag's Film section, where I am to write a couple-sentence blurb on the films in question from a small variety of Rep houses. This week's first offering: The Cotton Club (1984, Francis Ford Coppola) and as of this afternoon, between shifts, I'm an hour into it. So far, semi-blech. Coppola seems to wish it were The Godfather Continued, with similarly gorgeous low-density lighting and, fuck, Mario Puzo's on the story credit. The only difference is this one's so far more slight/first-thing-that-pops-in-your-head (i.e., no surprises) and it stars people like Richard Gere and Diane Lane in lieu of Al Pacino and Diane Keaton. Maybe the second half's better. (On the way: Xiu Xiu, The Sent-Down Girl, Joan Chen's I've-heard-insipid directorial debut, and something called Mau Mau Sex Sex.)
I've also gotten back into reading (finally), thanks to the fact that I once again have to commute if I want to get anywhere (West Philly, by the way, kinda rocks). Currently, I've been banging 30 to 50 pages a day out of Martin Amis' The Information, on trolley/bus time alone. Very slow-to-go, but my giant breaks in reading it have been, I believe, helpful enough to make me think it's nearly-brilliant. The quote above, natch, is from this here book.
Overall, it's been a bi-polar day. Was feeling the need to "change" my world outlook since yesterday, and maybe write something for a change. Didn't do that, but then, I pulled a double shift at my evil telemarketing job. As usual, I got easily depressed there as my follow-ups invariably turn out to be forged by Lucifer himself and never end up buying. (One fuckhead decided between Thursday night and tonight that he'd rather put his Orchestra money into a new house. Hey, man, it's only gonna get bombed by Osama!) (Sorry.) Wound up much better in the last half of my second shift and made a bucketload of I think suitable follow-ups, several of whom actually uttered the words, "I want to buy a subscription." Don't fire me, Roger, I can nab them. One follow-up even said she wanted to distract herself from the news by way of buying a subscription, to hear orchestra music rather than watching the news. Not that I feel good in profiting from the tragedy that's going on these days, but I do wish more people felt like this -- at least someone seems to be in touch with their feelings. I think it's cool.
And oh yes, Marlene was not present tonight. I had two evening shifts in a row right bloody next to her last week and I can't stop myself from revealing her various completely insane memories of past movies (and movie news in general). Here are some:
- The Silence of the Lambs: It's about a clan of rebels trying to assassinate a Pakistani diplomat. When told that it was in fact about a cannibal who kills people (and other such stuff), she told me she thought he was the good guy.
- Apparently either Gene Wilder or Mel Brooks died this past August. I believe it was a double suicide.
- The Terminator: One of the best movies she's ever seen. It's about a group of union truck drivers fighting against the system, aided by an android who at one point goes to a truck stop and is found out when his eye falls out. That was apparently really funny.
There's more to come, surely.
And, yes, I feel a little better. See?
I've also gotten back into reading (finally), thanks to the fact that I once again have to commute if I want to get anywhere (West Philly, by the way, kinda rocks). Currently, I've been banging 30 to 50 pages a day out of Martin Amis' The Information, on trolley/bus time alone. Very slow-to-go, but my giant breaks in reading it have been, I believe, helpful enough to make me think it's nearly-brilliant. The quote above, natch, is from this here book.
Overall, it's been a bi-polar day. Was feeling the need to "change" my world outlook since yesterday, and maybe write something for a change. Didn't do that, but then, I pulled a double shift at my evil telemarketing job. As usual, I got easily depressed there as my follow-ups invariably turn out to be forged by Lucifer himself and never end up buying. (One fuckhead decided between Thursday night and tonight that he'd rather put his Orchestra money into a new house. Hey, man, it's only gonna get bombed by Osama!) (Sorry.) Wound up much better in the last half of my second shift and made a bucketload of I think suitable follow-ups, several of whom actually uttered the words, "I want to buy a subscription." Don't fire me, Roger, I can nab them. One follow-up even said she wanted to distract herself from the news by way of buying a subscription, to hear orchestra music rather than watching the news. Not that I feel good in profiting from the tragedy that's going on these days, but I do wish more people felt like this -- at least someone seems to be in touch with their feelings. I think it's cool.
And oh yes, Marlene was not present tonight. I had two evening shifts in a row right bloody next to her last week and I can't stop myself from revealing her various completely insane memories of past movies (and movie news in general). Here are some:
- The Silence of the Lambs: It's about a clan of rebels trying to assassinate a Pakistani diplomat. When told that it was in fact about a cannibal who kills people (and other such stuff), she told me she thought he was the good guy.
- Apparently either Gene Wilder or Mel Brooks died this past August. I believe it was a double suicide.
- The Terminator: One of the best movies she's ever seen. It's about a group of union truck drivers fighting against the system, aided by an android who at one point goes to a truck stop and is found out when his eye falls out. That was apparently really funny.
There's more to come, surely.
And, yes, I feel a little better. See?