Monday, December 7, 2009

Fantastic, not fanciful, love.


Tonight we watched “Paper Heart”, directed by Nicholas Jasenovec. Basic Plot: the ever smiling, dimpled chipmunk cheeked, Charlyne Yi, who had fallen out of the idea of love, falls head first into lack-luster love. She creates her own documentary interviewing: chemists, doctors, newly engaged, newly divorced, and married couples about their ideas of love. Through her journey, her lumming love is suppressed by her denial of its possibility. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this movie. I have no future plans on purchasing, renting, or downloading it to my ipod. In fact, we only rented the movie on account of its rental value, a dollar. Yet, behind the kinder-care crafted puppets of string, hanger wire, cotton balls, and construction paper, that scrunched my brow rather than my cheeks, I saw the unattractive, undocumented, and unembellished metaphysical power of fantastic, not fanciful, love! A true love story is embarrassing, quirky, and to someone else watching, incredibly dull.

 The power portrayed in the movie was not in the script, the actors, the film editing, or the director’s vision; the power was in the passive passion. A true love story doesn’t have a perfectly cued string quartet to usher in for the big moment, or a backlighting halo effect, or a fan whirling through each tendril, or a tickless meadow to frolic in. Lime Disease is always lurking in the fields and even with our personalized slow jams, we cue ourselves to the music rather than to the moment. The simple reality is the kiss, that zings from your lips to your toes, has the same electricity whether it made contact in a Venetian gondola or in a grocer’s frozen food section.

Honestly, the cold cuts, drop in temperature, reflective plastic wrapping, indirect florescent lighting and the 80’s love power ballads could tenderize my heart better than the butcher’s special. Heart-sacking moments of debilitating dilated pupils, sweaty palm paralyzing handshakes, nervous laughs with hints of pre-pubescent squeals, and a tooth chipping first kiss collectively, measure by measure, compose the most spectacular arrangement of two uncoordinated instruments. The Ode of Love, with whole hearted effort, can be transposed to any key or any instrument in tune.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Conversations can kill.

Conversation:

“Babe, there's a baby crab in the sink.”

“Hellwo, can me take your order now?”

“Stop it! There is a Real crab in the sink!”

“Me tink you got dee wrong number.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I'm listening. You got crabs.”

“Yes. I started washing the dishes and I thought it was a spider.”

“That means I got em too.”

“What? Ok, Forget it.”

“No, what sink?”

“I was doing the dishes so….”

“Well, pick it up.”

“And do what?”

“I dunno. Get rid of it.”

“I don’t want to kill it.”

“Ok so put it in a jar.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want it to pinch me.”

“So pick it up by the back legs.”

“Oh wait, it stopped moving.”

“Dead?”

“I think… yeah, its dead.”

"Alright then, I love you but, I got to go."

"Yeah, bye."

"Ok...love you....LOVE YOU."

"Yup."

"Talk to you later. I love you. Bye."

Funeral services will be held at 6:00 p.m. at the porcelain well.
To think our conversation killed a crabling.
Watching the critter curl up in it's stainless steel tomb,
I decided it would be nice if his memory was immortalized.
Here's to you crabling, may you enjoy sleeping with the fishes.