a Mongoose in Astoria

new year's eve.

2012-01-03T19:04:00.001-08:00

the BEST of 2011

2011-12-31T10:09:00.000-08:00

10. CONTAGION
9. THE TREE OF LIFE
8. WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN
7. the INTERRUPTERS
6. MARTHA
MARCY
MAY
MARLENE
5. EL LUGAR MAS PEQUENO

4. Drive

3. HUGO

2. TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY

1. A SEPARATION

top FIVE {documentaries} 2011:

5. SENNA
4. IF A TREE FALLS
3. GIVE UP TOMORROW
2. the INTERRUPTERS
1. EL LUGAR MAS PEQUENO

the Best / of the rest:

THE SKIN

I LIVE IN

Beginners

CIRCUMSTANCE

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO

W E E K E N D

MARGIN CALL

the
Descendants
M E L A N C H O L I A

Windy Seductions

2011-11-25T15:42:00.000-08:00

Geez Louise...I've been thinking about you way too often. I don't know what's gotten into me. Every other week, taking the subway to and from work, I catch myself fantasizing about you - those great, wonderful moments we had back in May and this past August. How you showed me things that I never thought I would like. How you made me open up my horizons, and forced me to think about new possibilities for my future...

But I'm not so sure it's such a good idea to be thinking about you. It honestly worries me, because I really do enjoy my current living situation. In fact, I'm very comfortable with it and I wouldn't like it to change. The life that I currently have brings me acceptance and a sense of security - like a warm blanket. You, on the other hand, bring risk - yet also a tantalizing allure.

Okay - I'll admit it, here and now. I became smitten with you the minute I laid eyes on you - you totally caught me by surprise! How was I supposed to know that you'd be so wonderful and accommodating? And how did you know that I would be receptive to what you had to offer me?

Back in May, I only wanted to try things out. That's all - nothing more. But the more days I spent time with you, the more I realized that I wasn't going to be able to stop visiting you. You had already made me rethink certain decisions, and I quite simply couldn't shake you off.

Seriously...what the hell makes you so appealing, CHICAGO!?

Is it the genial Midwestern charm of your people? The youthful, vibrant activity that is palpably seen and felt in & around Wicker Park/ Bucktown? Or is it the exuberance that exudes out of the different facets of your city life, whether it's politics (Rahm Emanuel as the no-nonsense leader), art (Hopper's Nighthawks), sports (daaaa Bears) or films (Bueller...Bueller)? In fact, all of these factors contribute to making you a very appealing city, indeed - and one that makes me reconsider how places and environments can bring out the best (or worst) in people.

If I lived there - would I feel as happy as when I've visited you? Or would I feel duped or cheated at having fallen for the illusion of a better, more laid-back lifestyle?

On first glance, to me you seem picture-perfect. Your breezy evenings are engulfed with lively music and attractive company, while your days carry a geniality to them easily manifested in people's demeanor. On a professional front, however, you don't have much to offer me just yet. All of the facets that make me love and enjoy my job are very much endemic to my living situation here in New York, and I don't see myself extricating myself from this city anytime soon.

Still...what lies deeper than that? Can we plant our roots anywhere and be able to find a strong identity of our own? Or are there just a few places in the world that truly speak to us, and make us better people because of what they provide on an emotional level?

While countries like Italy, Mexico and Switzerland have undoubtedly wooed me when I've visited them, Chicago is the only American city that has dispelled the notion that NYC is exclusive to a fruitful and culturally-rich lifestyle. It exudes an allure that I never really noticed until earlier this year, and in doing so, it brought to light a refreshing attitude that I hope to keep in mind for years to come: that places do not define us, but rather, prompt us to discover untapped aspects of ourselves.

Now, if only I could get those delicious pancakes from Bongo Room out of my mind...

Cupid is Not Online

2011-09-19T23:04:00.000-07:00

It's over. After 2 years of intermittent meet-ups and occasionally awkward conversations, I have finally extricated myself from the online dating world. I had never even considered trying it out in the first place, but in today's day & age, such an approach to sociability and love-seeking has become more acceptable (and readily apparent) than ever before. To me, it has always seemed like too much of an impersonal and unpredictable approach to meeting people, especially given the level of dedication that the process entails and the amount of work that you have to put in. However, at the recommendation of two friends of mine that had good experiences on a particular dating site (and became involved in semi-serious relationships), I decided to take the plunge myself to see what opportunities would arise. What transpired in the ensuing 24 months was a series of bizarre meet-ups and interactions that ran the gamut from the excruciatingly awkward to the too-good-to-be-true...

Now...keep in mind that, despite the fact that I was on this dating site for a span of two years, I would sporadically disable or delete my account for 4-5 month intervals. When consecutive dates wouldn't work out (either due to their lack of interest or mine), I would suspend my account altogether and re-assess how I presented myself in these meet-ups. Sometimes I would try to "dial it back" and not be as extroverted or proactive, while in other situations I would take the opposite route and try to woo them as much as possible. Both tactics often tended to backfire for me, and so, the time eventually came to delete my profile and never return.

My initial encounters started promising enough, with active back-and-forth messaging between me and several interested girls. While the first couple of dates were more casual and mediocre meet-ups (going out for coffee, "happy hour" drinks), a particularly promising girl eventually stood out among the rest - a cute Filipino girl named Alex. We had very pleasant conversations online, and one night we decided to have dinner together. Since I had never tried Filipino food before, we went to a favorite restaurant of hers that served authentic cuisine.

The dinner went well. Both of us awkwardly tried to get to know each other while we ate: the adorably shy Alex geeking out over her career as a science teacher, and me trying to be engaging while doing my best not to eat ravenously in front of her. Unbeknownst to me, the portions at the restaurant were way too small for my liking, and I had to pace myself throughout dinner so that I didn't come across as a raging glutton. I was still hungry after I finished my entree, yet Alex had barely touched her food and seemed consistently anxious throughout the meal.

Then the check arrived.

The waiter gently placed it on the table - more on her side than mine - and left. I glanced at the check...then I locked eyes with her. Alex smirked ever so subtly as the slip of paper lay on the table for several seconds...and she didn't even make the slightest gesture to grab it. I'm very much of the mindset that men should always pay during dates (and from the get-go, I was ready and more than willing to do just that), but it seemed to me that Alex was just a bit too comfortable with this sentiment. Rather than try to offer to pay in the most half-hearted way possible, just to make me feel better, she kept her hands in her lap and eyed me constantly, waiting to see a credit card or a couple of dollar bills leave my pocket. Even the most subtle grab of the check would've made me feel more at ease, but Alex's decision to remain inflexible when it came to paying gave off the vibe that she was high-maintenance. Needless to say, Alex & I didn't go out again.

While this wasn't an excruciating date by any means, I did experience one several months later that was, quite simply, atrocious.

It started one rainy weekend in the city. The kind of rainy weekend that makes you stay inside for days, flipping through channels and bingeing on junk food. One evening, I started chatting online with this petite, dark-haired girl named Brianna. We clicked so well during that first conversation that we spent the following three days messaging each other for several hours. She seemed genuinely interested in me, and I was very much interested in her. We both admitted to each other that we desperately wanted to meet in person, to see if this passionate vibe that we showed online would translate into a fruitful, in-person dynamic. Since I had learned that she was a fan of campy horror films, I asked her out to go see Scream Blacula Scream at the MoMA - followed by a picnic in Central Park. I brought a blanket with me and bought a cupcake to surprise her.

An hour before meeting her, I decided to catch some of the newer museum exhibits and have some time to relax by myself. When she arrived, she texted me and told me she was waiting outside. I made my way out of the galleries and thought about what she would look like in person, and whether it'd be instant sparks upon meeting her. As soon as I stepped outside and my eyes met hers, however, I knew that my expectations had been way off the mark. The Brianna waiting for me outside of the MoMA couldn't have been more different than the Brianna that I synched so well with online. This girl was cold, overtly serious and practically mute. After the movie ended, she barely talked to me as we walked towards the park. If I tried to make conversation with her, she would only respond in monosyllabic phrases that would completely halt any semblance of a rapport that I was trying to develop. We walked side by side for ten blocks, and I felt like I was reciting a monologue out into the open air. She simply did not contribute an ounce of engaging dialogue throughout our walk (and even seemed quite content to do so).

When we entered the park, I decided to try to charm her one last time and see if I could soften her detached & disinterested mood. I took the cupcake box out of my bag and handed it to her, and she immediately opened it to reveal a red velvet cupcake inside. Since the box had been inside my bag for a couple of hours, the cupcake's frosting had dropped to the side - which impelled Brianna to utter immediately: "Oh, good...a frosting-less cupcake." At that moment, I buried my anger deep inside and, instead, chose to make light of the situation. However, as soon as we exited the park a couple of blocks later, I immediately asked her in what direction she was heading, and I quickly went the opposite way and took the train back home.

These scenarios are, of course, mere isolated moments out of a two-year span where I did end up going on some wonderful dates. I saw Rififi with a beautiful Hispanic girl at Film Forum one breezy March evening, while in another occasion, I went out for breakfast one chilly winter morning with a super smart & funny South African girl. I do cherish and look back fondly on these encounters - however brief they were - because they allowed me to overcome a built-in sense of trepidation that I developed during a period of time. Rather than having embraced a resigned approach to dating and let life run its course, I opted to try to create my own future and dictate the path that I wanted to go towards.

Yet it turns out that things don't really work out that way. At least, not for guys like myself. These brief but vibrant dates were definitely pleasing (and still are, on a nostalgic level), but they're not an accurate depiction of what the pursuit of a 'connection' is in real life. Men and women dating online are persuaded - in some form or another - to get to know each other through strained personality profiles that, more often than not, are written to sell the idealized version of oneself. That pseudo persona that one creates is then prolonged and accentuated throughout the various dates - until one's true self inevitably comes out. When that happens, the superficial dynamic between the couple is exposed, and one realizes that there was never a strong base to work from in the first place.

In short, online dating spurs people to obscure the less personable qualities about themselves while heightening or embellishing character traits that they wish they had more of. While I'm glad that I persisted with this social 'experiment', I have now realized that some things are quite simply out of one's control. The best that we can do, then, is to open ourselves up to new experiences (and new people), and always keep your eyes peeled for that next special encounter.

rahm's chicago.

2011-05-30T08:34:00.000-07:00

SUPERficial PARTY!

2011-05-26T08:52:00.000-07:00

It's chilly outside. You shift your stance while standing in front of the building, but you can't do much else. You're not sure what the apartment number is, but you can definitely already hear the thumping music emanating from the basement. You make your best guess and ring a doorbell; seconds later, a random stranger lets you into the apartment. The stranger doesn't live in that apartment, but he figures that more people will continue to trickle in as the hours go by, and so it's better to leave the door open from now on. It's only a matter of time before the apartment gets so jam-packed with people that the mob spreads out onto the front stoop, sharing cigarettes and downing flasks.

As you make your way through the apartment, familiar faces and friendly smiles react to your arrival. People that you haven't seen in months (or years) embrace you or pat you on the back. You throw your jacket inside someone's bedroom and go serve yourself a drink. Now what? You take a good look at the crowd around you, and you spot a friend whom you've known for a while. Her presence makes you feel glad that you decided to go out this particular night, even though it took you forever to get there. While you're not necessarily chummy with her (or most of the people present), you realize that it's nice and comforting to see acquaintances in a social setting on a regular basis.

You're catching up with your friend and learning about the new developments in her life, when a guy suddenly grabs her by the arm, lifts her up and fondles her inappropriately. You barely know this guy standing in front of you. In fact, you two have never even spoken to one another - but you did frequent the same parties back in college and you do have many mutual friends. Not only is this person somewhat unknown to you, but over the years he's also been categorized by many people as quite the epic douchebag. You don't know this to be true (after all, you two are barely acquaintances), but you have heard substantial testimony from several friends affirming this statement.

At that point he starts talking to you head-on, which instantly makes the interaction awkward. You try to change the subject and duck his inane and cryptic rants, but it doesn't prove fruitful. Then you try to ignore him altogether by trying to catch someone else's attention. One again, it's pointless. As the minutes progress, you notice that this guy simply cannot sit still for one minute. The music gets louder and more pervasive, and he joins in with the beat almost immediately. He obnoxiously bumps into people while dancing - gyrating like a spastic monkey - and in the next instant he's yelling at the top of his lungs and chugging an entire container full of booze. At that moment - with the guy giddily causing a big scene and fondling any person he can get his hands on - you realize that your preconceived notion of him is, in fact, accurate. He is one unabashedly EPIC tool. Worse yet - he's the Michael Bay of tools.

Despite his obtrusiveness, you somehow manage to evade him effectively, and you re-orient your attention toward a newly familiar face - a girl you met in the last couple of months. You walk over to her and initiate a conversation - and she responds - but her slight nano-second of a pause makes you realize that she didn't immediately recognize who you were. Still, you ease into a conversation with her, and you two appear to be naturally comfortable with each other. She seems to be genuinely interested in what you have to say, and her lively personality and freewheeling spirit make you like her even more. Most of what you're talking about is trivial, yet now you begin to test her, to see if she is as understanding and receptive as she looks. She's locking eyes with you (a good indication that she's being attentive) and chuckles when you make a half-hearted joke. So far, so good.

Finally, you take the leap: you mention a private aspect of your life in hopes of connecting with her on a deeper level. You choose your words carefully and do your best to come up with an eloquent, insightful way to describe something personal to you. You're getting to the crux of the conversation - the moment where your story is injected with a witty punch-line to offset the serious, mature tone that came before it - when you notice her eyes shifting around the room. Oh no. Is she looking for someone to save her from the conversation? Then it happens: she is yanked away by another girl and, in an instant, quickly excuses herself and leaves you standing alone.

You approach the liquor counter and serve yourself another drink. This time around, though, you make the drink stronger. A lot stronger. That way (you think), some of these people will be much easier to grapple with. Most of your friends are walking around, socializing randomly...but what about those other acquaintances? You've spent inordinate amounts of time with them for the past five years, yet - do you really know them? Real friends are easy to pick out from a crowd - but then there are those other people. Faces that smile, laugh and compliment you on your shirt, your successes in life, even your dance moves - but never seem like they genuinely mean it. Faces that talk incessantly about seemingly complex issues - yet what comes out of their mouths is nonsensical. While deep down you try to think to yourself - they can change their ways, I know they can - the fact of the matter is, it's not your concern if they do or not.

Drunk and angry, you leave the party abruptly without telling anyone. However, despite your lousy mood, a more hopeful attitude begins to seep into your mindset. One that makes you realize that, for every insincere person in the world around you, there's always someone reliable and unabashedly loyal who will provide the much-needed levity and candidness that you're looking for. Amidst all the self-adulation and shallowness that permeates through one's social life, a little honesty does go a long way.

The Puppy & Don Draper

2011-02-20T00:37:00.000-08:00

There once was a diminutive friendly puppy that lived in New York, who loved the city a great deal and loved exploring the different boroughs as much as possible. It was quite a big change of environment from where he had been born, but the city had proven to be a nifty "playground" for him to take part in. Streets pulsated with life and activity everywhere he went, and he enjoyed interacting with strangers and new acquaintances alike. Young Brooklynite hipsters, older yuppie Upper East Siders, Astoria locals - he always found something to like in all of the social circles. In fact, this was the main reason why he enjoyed living in the city so much: he could stroll around anywhere and meet very different people without feeling out-of-place or detached from their likes & dislikes. He was quite the "social butterfly" of a puppy, and he embraced it wholeheartedly.

One day while chasing pigeons at a park, he met a young Woman. Her smile and free-spiritedness slowly but surely caught his attention, and impelled him to ignore the pesky birds that were easily getting away from him. The puppy saw in the young Woman a vibrant thirst for life, while she in turn seemed to be thoroughly amused and entertained by him, as he constantly made her laugh with his playful antics.

Days turned into weeks - and weeks turned into months - and the puppy and the young Woman continued to cross paths at the park. Sometimes the Woman would give the puppy a brief but affectionate petting, and be on her way - while other times the Woman would share her picnic blanket with the puppy on those sunny afternoons where she'd relax outside with a good book. The puppy saw these meet-ups as a habitual event. It was the only moment in his daily routine where he could freely interact with a human being in such a genuine manner, yet also be able to develop a loving bond with someone not usually attuned to his world or environment.

Abruptly one afternoon, however, the young Woman arrived at the park with a man in tow. The puppy didn't understand who this man was, only that his name was Don and that he was impeccably dressed. The puppy didn't understand human language that well, but judging from their physical interactions, it seemed to him that Don was more than a friend to the Woman. The day quickly went from bad to worse, as the puppy clearly noticed that the Woman was keeping her distance from him, and opted to spend all of her time flirting with Don while sitting together underneath a tree. As the puppy tried to keep himself occupied running around the field, Don smoked one cigarette after another, and every so often took quick sips out of a flask while having his hand treacherously close to the Woman's chest. The puppy then realized that the Woman didn't even know that he was there, even though he had spent time and effort performing silly tricks in front of her to catch her attention and make her laugh. Instead, she focused squarely on Don's seductive eyes and devilish grin, and was enraptured by his manly musk and brazen personality. At one point, the puppy could not hear the Woman's soft-spoken voice any more. When he searched for her, he realized that she and Don had already left. She hadn't even known that he was there, waiting to play with her...

Several weeks passed, and the puppy did not cross paths with the Woman - until a particularly bright Sunday afternoon when he spotted her from afar. She was in her usual spot - sitting on a picnic blanket, reading a book underneath an oak tree - but her demeanor was anything but normal. Her arms trembled ever so slightly as she held her book, and her eyes were red as if she hadn't slept in days. The puppy tried to keep his self-respect intact and not approach her, but seeing the bad shape that she was in, he decided to trudge over to her spot. As soon as she noticed him, her eyes grew wide and a genuine smile appeared on her face. The puppy, however, kept his distance, and this sudden rejection caught the young Woman off-guard. The puppy truly felt uncomfortable at being thrust into this position. Although he could not understand human language, he could discern that the Woman's troubles had to do with Don. The whole situation was none of his business, yet he knew that he couldn't remain inactive. Moving swiftly, he skipped towards her, got on her lap, and licked her cheek. The young Woman immediately started chuckling and wrapped her arms around him, petting him affectionately. The puppy, in turn, was glad that she was back in his life, and that his small gesture could - at the very least - brighten her day just a little bit more...

He ended up seeing her at the park a couple more times, and everything went smoothly until he finally noticed something that had previously gone unperceived by him. The puppy saw a sumptuous, sparkly wedding ring on the young Woman's finger. She also carried a different air to her that didn't fit with her usual personality, and it seemed like she was much more reserved than before. While the young Woman petted him, the puppy couldn't help but stare at the ring for a long time. Jeez. I could very easily swallow that thing in an instant. It would definitely delay Don's plans, at least for a bit! But this is more complicated than that. She's leaving for good. She chose him....Every week, she smiled and laughed with me - but she chose him.

In the end, after the young Woman was long gone and he remained living in the city, the puppy came to acknowledge a harsh reality: that, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he was - and would continue to be treated like - a puppy. He could continue to be as sociable and peppy as always (or even more so), but it wouldn't change the fact that his inner warmth and attentive spirit was treated as nothing but an amusing diversion by certain people. Affectionate and loving, yes - but a diversion, nevertheless. All that he could hope for in his future was to see if he could outgrow being a puppy, and in some forthcoming situation build a friendship into a lovely and lasting connection.

In the meantime, he would choose to continue on his usual path - getting into adventures, meeting new people - while keeping an eye out for the next sociable stranger that would invigorate his life again.

top ten {FILMS} ~ 2010

2010-12-28T05:05:00.000-08:00

1. BLUE VALENTINE

2. ANIMAL

KINGDOM

3. BLACK SWAN

4. TOY STORY 3

5. 127

HOURS

6. THE GHOST WRITER

7. DOG

POUND

8. THE KING'S SPEECH

9. WINTER'S BONE

10. the social network

A Riveting Aussie "Kingdom"

2010-09-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

From Vito and Michael Corleone to 'Jimmy' Conway and Henry Hill, classic characters like these have been ingrained in our collective psyche as representations of irrepressible control and power in organized crime. They did all of the 'taking' without any of the asking, and feared no one. To them, family was sacred, and their survival and longevity within their violent world depended almost entirely on that crucial bond. However...when these families saw their authority crumble, their intransigent bonds failed to remain intact, and an inner upheaval occurred when influence from the outside world seeped in.

Such is the predicament that Aussie director David Michôd hones in on in the excellent Animal Kingdom. His directorial debut, it is an uncompromising and gripping story about the weaknesses that people in control try to hide and the shades of evil that surface when that power is lost. Michôd focuses his attention squarely on the lives of the Cody family and how their barriers slowly break down once their criminal exploits catch up to them. The brothers - withdrawn Darren (Luke Ford), drug-addled Craig (Sullivan Stapleton) and disturbed, elder Andrew (Ben Mendelsohn) - see their dealings deteriorate as the cops begin to tighten their grasp. At the center of all this, seventeen-year-old nephew J (newcomer James Frecheville) moves in with the family and is thrust into his uncles' violent schemes, all the while an honest cop (Guy Pearce) tries to coax J out of the family's downward spiral. Michôd delivers a strong and assured hand in scrutinizing the more intimate dynamics of a crime-driven family, rather than their public manifestations. The film is not about sociopathic gangsters pulling off 'the perfect heist' or indulging in excesses of wealth and drugs. Instead, it focuses on the after-effects of these situations: the botched crimes they try to evade and the paranoid undercurrent that plagues their isolated domestic life.

While the film's American trailer markets it as a run-of-the-mill mobster drama, the Australian trailer perfectly captures the unsettling and tense mood that Michôd maintains throughout the narrative (even using Air Supply's "All Out of Love" in a refreshingly different way). Kingdom's strong suits derive not just from its realistic and grounded approach to the material, but also its potent performances. Pearce adds a recognizable face into the mix as the moral figure in the story, whereas Jacki Weaver oozes a calculating, sinister persona as the Cody family's resourceful matriarch. Under tightly-controlled pacing, the story's familiar genre elements are re-oriented to focus on new territory within that world, unraveling deep layers about the characters' psyche and in the process showing us that, yes, even gangsters can be weak and vulnerable, too. It is a kinetic and absorbing film, and assuredly cements Michôd as a filmmaker to watch for.

Animal Kingdom is currently playing at Cinema Village (22 East 12th Street).

ny summer.

2010-08-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

Sweaty Delicious

2010-07-29T10:05:00.000-07:00

It's official. New York City in July has been pure scorching hell.

You walk around through the streets, and all you see are uncomfortable people trying their best not to move as much so as not to sweat through their clothes. It's disgusting, I know. That's how this city is during the summertime. The humidity is unbearable, especially for someone like me who's not very fond of the heat. I grew up in warm Puerto Rico but never really got used to its year-round hot climate. One of the reasons I chose to study at Syracuse University - besides its great Communications school - was the fact that I'd be able to experience an entirely different environment to that of my own upbringing.

New York summers can truly aggravate and infuriate people very easily. Within the context of a given everyday routine (going to and from work, for example), the heat can become the main instigator in ruining one's commute. You feel sticky, tired, and not very clean. You try to avoid eye contact with people so that they don't notice what a sweaty mess you are. Then, when you do get to your destination, you're in dire need of a change of shirt and feel like a grimy outcast when the air conditioning at work barely cools you off. Overall, it's just an awful situation to be in.

However, in a different environment, these same unbearable conditions can also bring about a surprisingly enjoyable time - even if you feel like your skin is melting off! This summer has already delivered record-setting hot days, yet they've been accentuated by the plethora of activities this city has to offer. Not only have the warm weekends enabled me to enjoy the boroughs in their "full splendor" (so to speak), but they have also coaxed me into indulging in excessive amounts of food...

I attended the Coney Island Mermaid Parade with my friends Evan and Eleanor about a month ago, and it made for quite a beautiful and bright afternoon. After we watched the procession of half-naked men and women in mermaid regalia, my stomach began to growl loudly, so I proceeded to slither past the crowd in front of Nathan's and bought myself two hot dogs. Given the hot weather, I downed the food with a very cold PBR (a surprisingly expensive one) in a matter of seconds. The two hot dogs definitely staved off my hunger, but minutes later when we left the boardwalk, I realized that I was still unsatisfied and the blistering sun was taking its toll on me. Thus, I followed the "dogs" from Nathan's with an ice cream cone and a few bites of a funnel cake Eleanor had ordered. By that point, the ice cream had totally revitalized me and cooled me off; I was as pleased as I could be. Still, my friends wanted to get more food, so we took the subway to Metropolitan Avenue and had a bountiful late lunch at Fette Sau, an unbelievable BBQ spot nestled in an inconspicuous driveway in Williamsburg. The place exudes a bare-bones 'Americana' spirit - wooden picnic tables and local beers served in jars - as well as a laid back and communal, family-friendly vibe. Surprisingly enough, I ate a hefty amount of food there (pulled pork with bread rolls and potato salad) despite having already eaten a lot just an hour before. The cold Coney Island lager I drank definitely complemented the delicious food, and the overall experience was doubly enhanced because the place itself was a great "find."

Weeks later, Eleanor, Evan and I made another trip to Brooklyn on another pitch-perfect-yet-humid Saturday, this time to see the Andy Warhol exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum. Before going in, though, we crossed the street to Washington Avenue and had lunch at The Islands, a cramped Jamaican food joint with the tastiest jerk chicken I've ever had. After struggling to understand the servers' thick accents - and waiting a while for our orders to be ready - we took the food and sat outside the museum, where we enjoyed the jerk chicken along with rice and beans, curried goat, and an incredibly refreshing ginger lemonade. Once we saw the Warhol works, we strolled through Prospect Park and hitched a subway ride back to Astoria, where we spent the evening at Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden, drinking Krusovice (Czech) beer and yes, eating more food - potato pancakes and dumplings.

Throughout these days spending time around the boroughs, the weather was relentless in making every inch of my body feel sluggish and grimy. The less I thought about how sweaty I was, the better...yet, in an odd way, the very act of being outside all day and trying delicious new food around the city turned the uncomfortable aspects - i.e., the blistering heat and the constant sweating - into a somewhat playful obstacle to control and endure. In a rigid schedule, the hot summer climate in NYC becomes anti-productive and affects one's sense of comfort and social interaction. An office setting where there's no air conditioning (while it's 100 degrees outside) can quickly shift from being a dynamic working environment to an awkward and alienating one where everyone turns bitter and puts off work to pout by their lonesome.

Then - when that routine is no longer in effect and we delve outside to enjoy our surroundings, the suffocating heat is not a dire impediment anymore because it falls in tandem with the "fun-ness" of the adventure itself. Sitting at an office cubicle with no A.C., I would've probably eaten the bare minimum for lunch so as not to move as much and become even messier. Outside around the boroughs, however, my atttitude was similar to that of a young kid playing in a backyard - grimy, unkempt and totally unrestrained to do (and eat!) anything.

Summertime - in this city in particular - does that to you. I mean, seriously - where else can a mild-mannered twenty-four year old binge on hot dogs, ice cream, pulled pork and potato salad while also being able to eat authentic Jamaican and Czech cuisine located a few miles apart?

Could L.A. ever pull this off? I don't think so. It's not sweaty enough.

i _____ L . A .

2010-07-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can remember, I've always been a fervent East Coaster. My mom was born here in New York City, and my dad met her while she was studying at Manhattanville College. While I lived in Puerto Rico during my childhood and adolescence, I still frequented New York a great deal - at a minimum, five times a year. Even in those moments, when I was still in school, I knew that New York would eventually be my next home. Then as my college graduation unfolded and most of my friends made the brave trek to the West Coast, I stubbornly remained loyal to the Big Apple and moved here right after I finished school. Months passed, and as I enjoyed what the city consistently had to offer me, I still kept in contact with my friends in Los Angeles - always trying to get as much of a feeling for what their "West Coast experience" was like. However, at no point was I even entertaining the idea of moving there. I merely wanted to get a sense of the L.A. mindset without enduring the aches and pains of experiencing it myself.

About two months ago, some L.A. friends called me up one weekend as I was leaving my evening job (so, around 2:30am) and, in an oddly endearing sort of way, their drunken ramblings convinced me to finally travel to the West Coast and, yes - experience it for myself. I booked round-trip tickets for a five day trip, and about two weeks ago, I finally made it over there.

I arrived at LAX on a rather breezy Thursday afternoon. As I walked out of the airport and looked at my surroundings, I felt like I was back in Puerto Rico - except that it wasn't a stuffy ninety degrees outside. With my friend Matt's address jotted down, I relayed it to the cab driver and off we went. I reached Matt's apartment and realized that all of my friends were at work, and I didn't have any keys to his place. Deeming it the perfect opportunity (and time of day) to go out and explore, I asked the cabbie to give me a sense of how best to reach Venice Beach. He told me to walk west, and so I did...

With a bag in each hand, I strolled through Venice Boulevard, past Venice High School (the one Danny and Sandy went to in Grease), tattoo parlors and Mexican eateries. At one point, after having been walking for over fifteen minutes, I decided to check again to see if I was still heading the right way. I spotted a very thin middle-aged woman leaving her house and I approached her for directions, asking what the best way to reach Venice Beach was. The woman - holding a jar of iced coffee and slurping it through a straw - nonchalantly pointed in the direction I was heading towards and walked away. I hastily continued on my path and tried to quicken my pace, unsure of how many miles I had left. Then, about five minutes later, I heard a voice calling me.

"HEY! Do you want a lift?"

I was bewildered. What random Los Angeleno was offering to pick me up in the middle of the day? When I turned around, I realized that the stranger was, in fact, the coffee-slurping lady - now driving a beat-up pickup truck. She informed me that she was, after all, going the same direction as me; in turn, I reluctantly accepted her offer and got into her car. At that moment, my "East Coaster conscience" yelled inside my head, outraged that I'd ride with a random person, but I simply ignored it and took the situation for what it was - an L.A. experience.

The woman - a West Coaster for over 30 years, she told me - dropped me off at the main boulevard to the beach and I profusely thanked her for the ride, but she merely chuckled to herself and said that it had been no bother. The woman's airy disposition and generosity surprised me, especially because I've lived for over two years in a city that follows a starkly opposite pace. I spent the afternoon laying on the beach - soaking in the sun rays - and walking along the boardwalk, witnessing the various grungy dudes and girls that clamored for spare change as well as the well-put-together men and women that offered prescription slips for medical marihuana. To me, the people in and around Venice Beach make the hipsters in Williamsburg look like Mormons. Hipsters are all about putting forth a specific image of themselves (regardless of whether it's genuine or not), whereas the young people in this beachside area truly seemed like the real deal. Be they exchanging drugs on the sly or "turning tricks," they were definitely not trying to be covert, yet in doing so, they gave the area its eccentric flair.

The following night, I took part in a Scavenger Hunt throughout all of Los Angeles. To the group of friends I tagged along with, it was just something fun to do, but to me, it was the perfect way to discover and engage with the West Coast scenery. From midnight to seven in the morning, the empty highways and neighborhoods paved the way for easy access from one end of L.A. to another, as we relentlessly followed clues and zany instructions to earn as many points as possible. It was a manic and exciting seven hours, and, although we didn't come close to winning (almost dead-last is more apt), we had an excellent time traversing the nightly landscape together.

Throughout the five days that I was in L.A., my friends made the case for me to make the move there. They showed me other aspects to Los Angeles that I never took into account and also shed light on its particular allure. Despite everything that I was witness to during my trip, what encapsulated the city the most for me was the Good Samaritan who gave me a lift to Venice Beach. If that same situation had happened in, let's say, the Midwest, it would have been a different scenario. The woman would've probably been overwhelmingly selfless and would've even gabbed on about her family life. However, in Los Angeles I noticed that everyday people follow the beat of a different drum - they're accommodating without being totally straightforward about things. Unlike New Yorkers, they carry a very lackadaisical attitude about their daily routines - be it leisurely or professional. Whereas people in NYC are upfront about their feelings and will not mince words with you, Californians seem to retain any judgments they might have and, instead, exude a nonchalant approach that is more receptive...

...which brings me to this post's title. The laid-back attitude in Los Angeles - although surely refreshing to many people that live there - is nevertheless one that carries a deceptive aura. The town is bright and sunny year-round, with attractive people galore trying to make business deals while working on their tan - and there's never a palpable sense of urgency or importance in whatever people undertake. In L.A., work ethic is interconnected with leisure (and vice versa), while NYC falls more in tandem with a Darwinistic mentality: work hard by your own merits in order to survive, and then enjoy a leisurely life. Thus, like the "coffee-slurping lady," Los Angeles is easygoing and approachable but refrains from showing more character and emotion than it needs to.

By this parameter alone, I don't love or like L.A., nor do I hate or despise it. It is, to put it simply, a uniquely frustrating yet oddly tempting place to be.

When No One's Watching...

2010-06-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

I have an unusual work schedule. Early in the evenings, when people are arriving home from work, I'm usually starting the day off, taking the subway to my night job shift. I do work during the day, but whatever it is that I'm working on, I tend to do it from home. Over the past several months I've also been writing a short script, and I've tried to balance my schedule as best as possible to leave a couple of hours a day to brainstorm story ideas. I always aim to keep a calm work environment in my apartment, but sometimes, no matter how focused I am, I still perceive an uneasiness around me (the neighbor's blaring television, construction work outside) which, inevitably, leads to a great deal of irritation.

About a month ago, I reserved an entire day for scriptwriting. I had to work at night, but for the entire day, I planned to have no distractions and no pressing engagements to deal with. However, at the last minute, I had to contend with the fact that the cleaning lady was stopping by the apartment in the afternoon, and so, I had to find another place to lay low and write. This was an ideal moment for procrastination. My inner voice tempted me - It's a lost cause, buddy. Just go to a matinee showing before work. You can write some other day. I carefully weighed this option. After all, I didn't have a lot of time on my hands before my evening shift. How much writing could I realistically get done? At some point I realized that I wasn't going to make it to the film and had to settle for roaming around the city looking for something to do. Since I've been trying to restrain myself on weekly expenses, I did not want to do something that would make me squander money easily, so I opted to spend my afternoon brainstorming ideas at Barnes & Noble.

When I arrived at the bookstore, I immediately headed to the cafe, where people were doing the same thing that I had in mind - looking for some peace and quiet. I swiftly snagged a table and plopped down with an iced coffee, a muffin and my notepad. However, curiosity got the better of me very quickly, and my gaze began to drift towards the people around me. Most kept to themselves, studying or eating a snack - but then I noticed a few that stood out. Next to me, a balding short man with a gray beard - wearing a brown suit and glasses - chatted with a thirty-something young woman. As I watched the bespectacled man, the voyeur in me immediately perked up. The man was only a couple of feet away, yet he had no idea that I was scrutinizing his rapport with the woman. Was he her father? A close family friend? Maybe a college professor, desperate to get into her pants? Perhaps he invites her on these supposedly platonic "coffee dates" to talk about her graduate work on Nietzsche, but deep down he just wants to ditch his dull, overweight wife - who doesn't even find him sexually arousing anymore - and delve fully into a torrid affair. My mind quickly let loose a variety of case scenarios, all of which made me feel surprisingly giddy that I was relishing this so much. I couldn't stop jotting down notes, one right after the other. Although I wasn't working on my script revisions at that moment, I was still nevertheless coming up with new, totally irrelevant 'character situations' that could serve as fodder for future story concepts. The scenarios I imagined in my head were unrealistic, but my imagination conceived them because, to me, it fit with the pair's demeanor and body language.

As the "college professor" and his "desired female companion" carried a low-key interaction, I re-directed my attention towards other tables throughout the cafe, to other people reading magazines and writing on their laptops...until I spotted a young man and woman passionately arguing with each other. The man, dressed all in black and looking like a beat poet, gesticulated wildly with his hands as the woman locked eyes with him and tried to calm him down. She never withdrew her gaze - always staring into his eyes with concern and compassion - while he looked everywhere except into her eyes. What I found most surprising about their very dramatic interplay was that no one reacted to them at all. There was palpable tension between the couple, as if he were concealing something from her and was trying to disregard it by feigning outrage. In return, the woman was oddly calm and in control, and exuded a great deal of power just by her demeanor alone. Once again, my imagination ran wild - what were they arguing about? Why was the man lashing out at her so angrily? Why was the woman so calm and collected? These questions kept recurring in my head like a mantra. Perhaps one possible reason why the man behaved this way was because he truly believed in what he was arguing about. He had no qualms about gesticulating like a maniac in front of total strangers because, to him, he was 100% in the right about the opinion he was expressing to the woman. He was going to protest and bicker as much as possible, judgmental people be damned. The louder he argued, the more genuine and truthful he probably thought his words would sound. On the other hand, the woman seemed to be very aware of her surroundings and barely responded to the man's entire rant. She wasn't in the mood to pontificate - only to exude a silent resolve and a cool demeanor.

I spent over two hours sitting at that bookstore cafe. At no point during those two hours did I feel the least bit bored or disinterested. A day that began with me having a procrastinating attitude about my work resulted in a surprisingly productive and enriching afternoon. Not only did I effectively come up with new story concepts to toy around with, but I did so by simply watching everyday people do ordinary things. It made me realize that, when all creative vestiges dissipate, it's useful to forget whatever illusory idea you're "chasing," go straight to the dramatic source and just observe people in their own environment.

Now, if I could just focus on my script from here on out...

Film by Day & Music by Night

2010-05-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

The sun was out for most days at the end of April, and what did I do? Watched films inside a darkened theater! Yes - as Spring enthusiastically arrived in the city, I planned my schedule around the Tribeca Film Festival, catching at least a movie a day and balancing it out with my evening job. Despite constantly fighting back sleep - as well as any enticing notions of a day in the park - I highly enjoyed my visits to the festival. The hustle and bustle around the theaters - plus the fact that most days were sunny and warm outside - enlivened the festival's atmosphere. What was most satisfying about this year's experience was that I was able to view as many films as I wanted (for free), and that is definitely a luxury that I never get to have in this city. There were several strong features, but these three were the stand-outs for me:

The Disappearance of Alice Creed (UK; dir. J Blakeson) ~ Two men - irascible Vic (Eddie Marsan) and his partner Danny (Martin Compston) - kidnap a young woman (Gemma Arterton) and demand a hefty sum of money from her rich father. However, as tensions rise inside the claustrophobic apartment they're secluded in, secrets are revealed and allegiances are weakened. Director Blakeson pulls off a surprisingly satisfying "kidnapping thriller" and slyly evades most conventional devices akin to this sub-genre. All three principals deliver strong performances (especially Marsan as the volatile 'leader' of the duo), and although certain plot revelations are not wholly effective in execution, they still manage to keep the tension engaging.

{Noteworthy} ~ the film has one of the most absorbing openings I've seen in a while; a very taut montage that shows the disturbing dedication and professionalism that these two men apply to their plan.

The Killer Inside Me (UK; dir. Michael Winterbottom) ~ based on a Jim Thompson novel of the same name, the film has already caused quite an uproar on the festival circuit for its brutal depiction of violence against women. The 1950's-set "noir thriller" centers on small-town deputy sheriff Lou Ford (Casey Affleck) and the sociopathic nature that rages within him as he involves himself with a local prostitute (Jessica Alba) and evades suspicion of his actions from acquaintances and his fiancee (Kate Hudson). Like Thompson's novel, the film is told through Ford's perspective as he narrates about his misdeeds and disturbing mindset while he superficially tries to maintain an upstanding persona in the community. Winterbottom executes a twisted, 'slow-burn' narrative that unsettles more due to its desolate atmosphere and expressionistic cinematography rather than its controversial scenes (which, yes, are very graphic, but also very faithful to the book). It is by no means an easy film to like or approve of, but that's what Winterbottom aims for: to disturb the viewer by luring us into the protagonist's sadistic mind. And you know what? He succeeds completely.

{Noteworthy} ~ the stellar cast. Besides Affleck, Hudson and Alba, the film boasts perfect roles for Elias Koteas, Simon Baker, Ned Beatty and Bill Pullman, all who deliver rich, dramatic performances.

Dog Pound (France; dir. Kim Chapiron) ~ the winner of the Best New Narrative Filmmaker prize (and deservedly so), the film is a stark look into America's correctional facilities for juvenile delinquents, and follows three teenagers inside one such prison as they face constant physical abuse by other jailed youths and endure harsh reprimands by the guards. The film kept me gripped to my seat from the first shot to the last, not only because of the raw and no-holds-barred approach that director Chapiron undertakes in his material, but also in the authenticity of the characters and story. The attention to detail and realism depicted within the enclosed environment - as well as the simplicity of the dialogue - further add to the narrative's true-to-life sensibilities. Although Chapiron employs some customary "prison film" elements into his story, his keen sense for characterization and dramatic conflict elevate the narrative to a gripping level. On the whole, it's a visually-potent and socially-relevant film with one of the most realistic presentations of brutal youth violence in recent memory.

{Noteworthy} ~ the impressive performances by the three principals (Adam Butcher, Shane Kippel and Mateo Morales) - who manage to show both vicious rage and heartbreaking vulnerability in their respective roles - not to mention the rest of the cast, most of them nonprofessional actors.

While I did spend the entirety of my days at the festival, I always opted out of the evening activities because I had to go to work every night. However, on my night off, my friend Gabriel invited me to catch Rodrigo y Gabriela at Radio City Music Hall. It was Gabriel's birthday and he had a spare ticket to give out, so I happily tagged along with him. After having watched a Colombian film that same morning at the festival (Blood and Rain, a solid, assured drama), I was more than excited to catch this talented musical duo from Mexico City. As expected, they did not disappoint. The raucous crowd inside Radio City - both young & old - fed off Rodrigo and Gabriela's charismatic, energetic vibes, and it made for quite a rollicking good time. Here's a taste:

A Worthy "Secret"

2010-05-04T07:34:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago I went to see "The Secret in their Eyes" (El Secreto de sus Ojos) - this year's Oscar winner for Best Foreign Language Film. Since I had already seen Michael Haneke's "The White Ribbon" and Jacques Audiard's "A Prophet" - both excellent films in their own right that also competed for the Foreign Film prize - I wasn't feeling that enthused about "Secret." After all, I was one of many 'film snobs' that were shocked and disappointed that this film beat Haneke's and Audiard's. Now that I've seen the Foreign Language winner, however, I can firmly attest that it is, indeed, a very effective and gripping romantic drama.

The film (directed by veteran TV filmmaker Juan José Campanella), spans over twenty-five years and focuses on the grisly rape and murder of a young woman - a case which a dogged criminal investigator (the always excellent Ricardo Darín), becomes committed to resolving. The murder occurs in 1974, at the same time when Darín's Esposito begins working for the newly-appointed Assistant D.A. (Soledad Villamil). Soon enough, the investigation gets hastily resolved and forgotten by everyone except Esposito, who - decades later, and now retired - decides to write a novel about the case, and in turn, re-connect with Villamil's Irene, whom he always had a deep love for. The film presents a sprawling story that weaves a police procedural/"thriller" with romantic elements. At its essence, Campanella's narrative deals with the impermanence of time and the struggles we endure for love despite all the insurmountable obstacles. "Secret" does not necessarily 'reinvent the wheel' in its plot construction, but it does provide top-notch performances from the cast (particularly Darín, who's been perfect before in Nine Queens and The Aura) and an equally-gripping story with a realistic socio-political undercurrent. Despite the nonlinear structure, Campanella executes a fairly conventional plot in how he addresses and presents his story. However, in one particular chase sequence through a soccer stadium - with Esposito and his alcoholic partner (Guillermo Francella) running after a murder suspect - Campanella employs masterful camerawork by covering the entire chase in one kinetic, free-roaming shot (similar in style and approach to this film's opening).

While I don't wholeheartedly agree with the Academy's decision to bestow the Best Foreign Film Oscar to this film, I can nevertheless understand why they did so. Oscar voters tend to opt for safer, audience-friendly choices over gutsier fare (last year's "Departures" winning over "Waltz with Bashir," the criminally-overrated "Life is Beautiful" winning in '99) and, while this year was no different with "Secret," the film still deserves the acclaim it's gotten. It is a potent narrative that keeps you engaged throughout, and one that continues to herald the strong and assured filmmaking in Argentinean cinema.

"The Secrets in their Eyes" is currently playing at the Angelika Film Center (18 West Houston).

I Bleed Orange, After All

2010-04-22T14:13:00.000-07:00

The majority of people in my life know that I graduated from Syracuse University's Newhouse School, yet many of them are unaware that, when my ''college search'' began, Syracuse was not in my purview of top university choices. The reason behind this was because my middle brother graduated from its School of Architecture in 2004 and, having gone to tour the campus when he was applying, I had already witnessed first-hand its not-so-pleasant surroundings and gloomy weather (and knew full well of its intense winters). However, after my top two choices - Ithaca College & Fordham U. - didn't pan out, I interviewed with the friendly Admissions people from Syracuse and consequently took the plunge, deeming it the best fit for me.

I honestly cannot say anything bad about my college experience. Most of my strongest friendships were cemented in Syracuse, and they've truly become an intrinsic part of my life. We all came to share common inclinations because of how well we bonded while studying the same (or similar) concentrations. In doing so, we consistently went out and did most activities together - from enjoying 'indie' concerts on campus to frequenting bars downtown - and it enforced our union even more. We were all, in effect, a big cluster of a family forged by our mutual interests. However...when it came to college sports (i.e. Syracuse basketball and football games), I was always MIA. This wasn't because I disliked the teams themselves, but in fact due to my own particular personality...

Throughout my entire life, I've never had a passion or interest for sports. Nothing. Zilch. While growing up in Puerto Rico, my mom placed me in different after-school sports in hopes of finding which one could be my 'calling,' but none of them ever stuck. Although I did end up in a swim team for over eight years, any other sport was - to me - a waste of time. Flash-forward to present time, and I'm still very much the same way. At Syracuse, every time I saw throngs of college students, 'townies,' and families decorated in orange regalia and heading to a game, I was usually walking in the opposite direction.

As shocking as it may be to some, let me put my aversion to sports in simpler terms: In my four years of college, I NEVER WENT TO A SINGLE BASKETBALL GAME.

At Syracuse, though, I could more or less evade the crowds and commotion from the games and focus on things that truly interested me. Now, living in New York City, I've found that it's a bit harder to brush off talking about Syracuse sports, primarily because of its endemic nature here on the East Coast. Whether they're Syracuse alumnus or not, lots of people living in New York state follow the Orange faithfully, be it during football season or the NCAA basketball games - and it's this latter sports season which recently exposed me to this world that I ably evaded during my college years - that of the obsessively die-hard 'Cuse fan.

About a month ago - in the midst of the NCAA season - my friend Jamie invited me to see a Syracuse game at a bar in midtown Manhattan. When I arrived at the place, there were many people decked out in orange t-shirts and baseball caps - while I stood out with a gray hoodie and blue polo shirt. I greeted Jamie and we talked for a while until her friend Megan joined us to watch the game. Like Jamie, Megan is also a Syracuse alum, but this was my first time meeting her. Right off the bat, she tells me that she is indeed one of those 'Cuse fans - and she proves it by showing me the blue & orange socks she was wearing, plus informing me she has 'Cuse basketball memorabilia adorning her cubicle at work. I was already liking this girl - more so because of how friendly and funny she was - but I knew that I hadn't yet seen her "hardcore phase"...

The rest of Jamie's friends soon arrived and we congregated in a corner to watch the game with pitchers of beer in hand. What followed was a tumultuous clash between Syracuse and Indiana's Butler University. Throughout the entire game, I felt as if I was conducting an ethnographic study on sports aficionados in their natural habitats: witnessing a varied display of pure emotions being poured out in unabashed glory. While Jamie's male friends mostly kept things on an even keel - with only sporadic crude yells and the occasional expletive - others, particularly grown men who should've long gone abandoned this behavior, tended to immerse themselves in violent screaming and tantrum fits. As all of this went down, I would occasionally glance at Megan and see her with a grim face - our college team's failures visibly represented in her demeanor. One minute, she and I could've been laughing about something, but then in the next, her facial expression would change dramatically - as if she had just learned that her entire world was coming to an end. What struck me about Megan was not so much the fact that she was sad at Syracuse's effort in the game, but rather the manner in which she reflected this to the people around her. Whereas others in our group would lash out at the plasma TV in random bouts of anger, Megan would simply shake her head solemnly, like a mother disappointed over a child's behavior.

The ending to the game, as we all know now, was unfortunate. Butler pulled off a very surprising win over the Syracuse Orange, and that shocking feeling was truly felt inside the bar once the game concluded. Most people hustled out of the place almost immediately, while others remained in their seats and silently drank the rest of their beers. As for Megan, she swiftly turned to me, uttered a sad "Nice to meet you" and walked out the door without saying goodbye to anybody. Afterwards, as I left the bar with Jamie, I kept trying to understand the passionate display of sports allegiance I had just witnessed. How can a person invest so much of oneself - time, affection, scrutiny - into something that is so trivial and, yes, unpredictable? Even more mind-boggling to me - how is a fixation on the ups & downs of a given sport lead you to feel more connected with - and valuable to - the institution that the sport embodies?

Players do what they're trained to do, and do so because they are fulfilled by the dynamism of the sport and of the games themselves. Sports fans, realistically speaking, have no input that directly affects this process, yet they always act as if they do have a say over matters.

After having read a book about Alabama's Crimson Tide football team and their obsessively-loyal followers (a great, insightful read, by the way), I've come to better understand the reason why certain people latch themselves so strongly to a team that can, at any moment, crush their spirits only by losing a mere game. This 'Cuse fanaticism I had just experienced was a clear representation of this, yet, despite grasping better the feelings behind this behavior, I still couldn't see myself devoted to such a concept or idea - especially in this case so endemic to my alma mater. It's one thing that my younger self in Puerto Rico didn't take part in sports because of their lack of zest - but why not now? When people as agnostic to sports as I am still wear their orange shirts to watch 'Cuse games, mostly out of an innate sense of pride and loyalty?

Now, several weeks after the NCAA games finalized, I finally understand that passion. Because now, as we speak, Syracuse students that are about to graduate in May are facing a challenging fight of their own: to "take back Commencement" (as their chants defiantly affirm) and remove JP Morgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon as their graduation speaker. Not only have my friends and acquaintances voiced their concerns strongly about this tone-deaf selection, but they've gone much further and undertaken a ''grass roots'' protest of sorts: enacting an online petition to oust Dimon, loudly championing their cause in the middle of the QUAD and even placing this fight in the national spotlight - with many blog sites (like this one) reporting on it.

For the first time in a long while, I'm jealous that I'm not at Syracuse anymore. In this current dilemma - with a new roster of graduating students facing down one of the men who's had a hand in fracturing their future and millions others - I think I could surely feel comfortable letting out an angry rant on campus. This is a fight I'm more than happy to rally behind. Even if students don't get their desired result in the end, they've already gone above and beyond as a communal group - they've shown an institution that they have a powerful voice, and one that won't be shut out for the sake of corporate interests.

This makes me feel proud to be a Syracuse alum. It makes me want to yell energetically, lash out, and yes - maybe throw a tantrum or two.

It seems like I bleed Orange, after all...

Can You Hear Me Now? ~ I Don't Want To

2010-03-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

About six weeks ago, my iPod passed away.

As many of you that have gone through this can probably attest to, it is a downright annoying predicament. Also, like many of you, I use my iPod wherever I go. When I jog, I always rely heavily on music so as to energize myself through the work-out routine. When I go to museums, I also take solace in my music playlists; they enable me to more fully enjoy the artwork and, quite simply, be in my own world when I'm appreciating them.

Now, that meditative aspect of my life is no more. At least for the time being.

I will surely buy another iPod very soon - a cheap, simple one - but, for the past several weeks in which I've been devoid of "on-the-go" music, it's been a bothersome experience. Now when I take the subway, I'm exposed to random strangers' rants - from the trivial to the insanely idiotic - not to mention having to withstand subway performers making my ears bleed with their music (I'm looking at you, ranchera singers). Given that I haven't had an iPod to save me from the surrounding noise, I've been reading a lot on my commute in hopes of blocking out as much banal jabber as possible. What I've realized these past weeks is that, when I don't have an iPod to envelop me in my own 'bubble,' every single thing in my environment vexes me:

A man chewing gum loudly, and popping it every other five seconds? Yes.

Young Hispanic kids bragging about the 'b*tches' they like in school? Oh sí.

A lovey-dovey couple raving about "Jenny's upcoming bridal shower"? For sure.

I truly don't want to know about people's private lives. Unfortunately, music - that which centers me and helps me ruminate about my own preoccupations - is now absent in my commuting life, and I'm forced to take part and listen in on other individuals' personal matters. However, the cases mentioned above aren't that bothersome for me. After all, people have every right to converse and rant freely in public places (and I'm just the guy who has to deal with it).

The ones that I truly have an issue with are people who go to both extremes - who enjoy talking on the phone about very intimate matters or unbelievably banal topics. These people are forcing us - the public - to be witness to their conversations because they refuse to have these phone dialogues in their own private space. Why do they want to inflict other people to listen to their insecurities and issues, when in fact we all have problems of our own that we appropriately keep hidden from everyone? We do not need to know that you just had a nasty fight with your girlfriend, or that a co-worker of yours was calling you childish names by the water cooler. Things like that, I tend to rant about in the privacy of my own home - or perhaps walking on the street when no one's around. But when I'm packed like sardines with overweight people inside a stuffy subway car? No. That's reading/iPod time, baby.

The other day, I was doing laundry at a neighborhood laundromat and this girl walked in talking on a hands-free cellphone. She had her earplugs on and her phone was inside her coat, and she was conversing animatedly with a friend of hers. I was trying to read a script on my laptop as my clothes tumbled and twirled in the washing machine - but her constant presence in front of me and her vivacious speaking style kept distracting me. Her animated rant was so noticeable that I even managed to form a pretty accurate characterization of her just by conversation topics alone! Throughout her 30min+ conversation, she talked about Broadway shows and auditioning for producers, so I immediately had her pegged as a recent Musical Theater college grad now actively trying to land a gig somewhere. Her very public outpouring of details about her life annoyed me, yet I couldn't extricate myself from analyzing her as she kept gabbing on to her friend.

I desperately wanted to finish doing my laundry so that I could evade her for good. Then, as I tried blocking out her voice, she started enumerating recent movies and her likes and dislikes, singling out Up in the Air as one that she loved. Then, when she mentioned The Wolf Man, she suddenly went on a tirade, repeatedly stating that she loathed it and reiterating this in overtly dramatic ways - the signs of a true Musical Theater spirit. At one point - when she was referring to her sentiments after seeing the film - she uttered this doozy of a line:

"I want my money back, and a personal apology from Benicio Del Toro."

The phrasing alone is funny. This girl was so turned off by this weak, inconsequential horror film that a decent reimbursement for $12.50 wouldn't be enough to satisfy her. Benicio would have to fly over to JFK, take a cab to Astoria and find this girl, and tell her, "Lo siento mucho por 'El Hombre Lobo.' " At that point, my vexation towards this girl dissipated, and I started to chuckle out loud inside the laundromat.

People love to talk everywhere and about anything, no matter how private or inappropriate. In some respect, they want to show other people that they have a life - not only relay the fact that they're going places but that they're doing so by interacting with others, regardless of whether it's in a positive or negative way. In reality, people's lives are - quite simply - incredibly dull, but by reiterating its fragments out loud, people make themselves feel known, like productive members of society.

As for me, I'm fine with being just a small cog in a big machine. I keep my agenda and destination hidden from everyone else. I don't even know what my plans will be tomorrow, so for now, getting my "on-the-go" music back and reading my book will suffice....

la isla.

2010-03-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

"Terribly, Happy" is Crazy Good

2010-02-14T12:30:00.000-08:00

Boy, what a pleasant surprise this was. During a film season like this one with dumbed-down stories, squeaky-clean characters and criminally-overrated Oscar contenders - from the moderately good (Up in the Air) to the cliche-laden bad (The Blind Side) and an atrociously ugly one (Precious) - it's a true treasure to find a film like Terribly Happy, one that's anything but conventional and breezy.

The less you know about the film before seeing it, the better. However, the story in effect revolves around a cop with a checkered past who's relocated to a small Danish town outside Copenhagen to serve as local sheriff. Despite the town's oddball citizens - who aggravate the newly imposed cop - the town is calm enough that nothing much ever happens...that is, until a domestic abuse situation between a married couple draws the cop inwards and forces him to deal with the weird townspeople head-on. Although the trailer doesn't invite that much allure, the film itself is an excellent manifestation of subverting audiences' expectactions with plot and character. At no point do you perceive where the narrative is going, nor who the protagonist really is. All we get are allusions to his past actions and, as the story progresses, glimpses of his true inner nature. Director Henrik Ruben Genz toys with neo-noir conventions in a very assured and satisfying manner: while the first act of the movie follows a more standard approach to the genre, Genz slyly shifts gears at the onset of act two and injects the story with clever twists and a darkly comedic tone, not to mention a rich and complex leading character that consistently surprises throughout the narrative. What is most satisfying about the film is that it is never overwhelmed with forced quirky noir tropes for the sake of unconventionality. Instead, out of its ingrained 'thriller' parameters, it leads us towards presupposed outcomes which covertly deviate into darker - and weirder - unconventional areas.

Tired of being disappointed by mediocre "Oscar-caliber" films? Don't want to waste $12.50 on a film that advertises Julia Roberts & Bradley Cooper falling in love, when in fact the latter turns out to be gay? Then the answer is this: Terribly, Happy is currently playing at the Angelika Film Center (18 West Houston Street).

Snubbed by a Rose

2010-02-10T08:50:00.000-08:00

What I'm about to speak of isn't of much importance to me, but it's still something I want to publicly share - a situation I had last month that ties in to the incoming February 14th commercialized holiday....

One particular evening last December, I was finishing work at my part-time job and decided to kill some time browsing through random clips on YouTube. Ever since I was younger, I've liked to watch certain movie trailers over and over and be engaged with how each project was marketed and how they're able to stir up emotions in the viewer. On this specific night, however, I caught this trailer, which provoked great discomfort for me - not only because the premise and execution of it is downright obnoxious and superficial, but also because that damn song kept repeating in my head for hours. Since I was hopped up on numerous cups of coffee, I started going through a "mental rant" in which I tried to validate the overall message that the trailer posited:

{Beautiful people have lousy Valentine's Days, too! Even if they all have chiseled bodies, perfect smiles and dynamic, assertive careers - they still go through heartbreak and rejection!}

That, in a nutshell, is what this trailer exudes in its plot and in its all-too-perfect roster of characters. As I left work, I chuckled to myself at the superficiality of this movie. After all, it is very obviously 'packaged' to make lucrative business at the Box Office come Valentine's Day weekend (given its high-profile, ridiculously good-looking cast). Are we supposed to believe the trite concept that 'love is around the corner' for all people, and that random encounters are indeed fateful? Not a chance.

I got on the subway and rode it all the way up to Queens, standing next to the door throughout the trip and trying to rest my head to quell my drowsiness. Once the train crossed over to Queensboro Plaza, I opened my eyes and noticed a tall girl sitting in front of me. She repeatedly glanced in my direction but I thought nothing of it. However, once we went inwards into Queens, I could tell that her fleeting looks were no accident. At one point, I sauntered over to her side to move out of the way for the exiting passengers and I ended up standing next to her. I glanced down and noticed she was reading a pamphlet written in Spanish. On the next train stop, when the doors opened, a shivering cold breeze swept into the cart, and the mystery girl turned to me and made a comment about the freezing wind. There it is, I thought. She gave me an opening! For the next few minutes, I chatted with her about her Spanish literature (she had recently traveled to Spain and spoke the language well) and our fondness for Astoria. I rode with her for one more stop after mine, and at that point she asked me for my name. I gave it to her and she gave me hers - Rose.

Once we exited the station together, Rose waved me goodbye and proceeded to walk away, but I didn't move an inch. I walked up to her and blurted out an invitation to meet up sometime in the near future. She immediately accepted and I added her number to my phone. As I sauntered back to my apartment, confident and proud of my 'suave' deed, I thought back to the irritating trailer I had seen an hour before. Hmmm...perhaps there is some truth behind it. After all, I had not sought Rose out, but instead we were brought together by a chance encounter - a random meet-up in the subway. Two days later, before my trip back home to PR, I called Rose and checked to see if she was interested in having dinner with me when I returned from holiday break. She said "yes" and even asked me if I could bring her a postcard from the island...

Cut to a week later. I arrive back in NYC and call Rose to see if she's available for dinner. She amicably informs me that she's busy working, but that I should check back with her in the coming days. At this point, I sensed something was 'off,' but I didn't dwell on it. Then, when New Year's Eve arrived, I texted her to find out what her plans were, and she once again told me she was working that night. I casually told her to let me know if she wanted to meet up in the coming weeks, and in return, Rose replied with a dry "Happy New Years!" text. No allusion whatsoever to my invite. As soon as I received that text, I deleted Rose from my phone, and to this day, I haven't heard back from her.

What was that all about? Well, it really doesn't matter to me. She was, after all, just a random girl in the subway. However, it does intrigue me somewhat, for the fact that my views on what that trailer conveyed shifted almost 180 degrees just because of my casual interaction with a flirtatious girl. Earlier that night, I had fervently panned the trailer's superficial and sappy makeup and wholeheartedly rejected its message. Just two hours afterwards, however, I almost fully believed in the idea it was selling. Am I that gullible that my viewpoints on something can shift so rapidly because of a pleasant but fleeting experience? She was just a girl riding the subway! There was no sign whatsoever that Rose and I had anything in common, yet by the end of the night, I didn't find that cheesy trailer so cheesy (or inane). Albeit for a brief moment, this film was able to win me over just because a random girl had flirted with me and asked me for my name in a public place. For that split second, I was Topher/Ashton/Taylor - a guy who just so happened to meet a cute girl in a random way. However, once Rose subtly brushed me off, that 'bubble' burst. I reverted back to my original viewpoint and recognized the reality of it all: that love on Valentine's Day (or any day, for that matter) isn't about a cinematic encounter between two people in which time and space are inconsequential and in which both people immerse themselves in each other's dashing, polished good looks. In realistic terms, it's simply all about sharing common interests with someone you like or care deeply for.

Because, really...a flirtatious girl in the subway, more often that not, is just that. What should validate this commercialized holiday is the notion of companionship and shared interests (as opposed to a co-dependency between couples to enrich superficial needs). After all, picture this:

You're pushing eighty and having "early bird dinner" with a loved one at a restaurant. A waiter brings your partner a strawberry cheesecake, and you immediately reject it and tell the waiter, "I'm sorry, but he/she can't eat this. He/she is allergic to strawberries." By that point in time, superficiality is no longer prevalent. All that persists is a strong link between two people...

...and that is something Garry Marshall can NEVER take away from you.

queens.

2010-01-31T12:34:00.000-08:00

top ten {FILMS} of ' 09

2009-12-31T12:57:00.000-08:00

1. M O O N

2. ThE hEAdLESS WOMAN

3. SIN NOMBRE

4. THE HURT LOCKER

5. THE ROAD

6. A SINGLE MAN

7. A SERIOUS MAN

8. Fantastic Mr. Fox

9. Up

10. AN EDUCATION

Welcome Home

2009-12-25T23:18:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this within the confines of my home back in Puerto Rico. If I look out my window to my right, I can see the ocean. That's very comforting to wake up to, let me tell you. I wish I had this sense of peace and tranquility back in NYC. But of course, I don't. However, I think I wouldn't feel this inner calm if I spent all year long living here in my native island. This composure that has swept over me is due to one thing, and one thing only: I'm on vacation. In these past 10 days, I couldn't stop day-dreaming about my incoming trips to the beach, the deliciously greasy Puerto Rican food I would eat, and the overall lethargic state I would heartily adopt during my stay here. How I got here was inconsequential to me, just as long as I had plenty of time and days to swim in the ocean, get a tan, eat and sleep. Like any marathon runner, I didn't care for the race itself - I just wanted to reach the finish line and feel satisfied. Oddly enough, what proved a mentally-taxing experience for me, was, indeed, the process of getting 'home for the holidays'...

I was working my late night shift on Monday evening, and so, since I usually leave work around 2am, I had decided not to go to sleep and instead pack my suitcase and watch TV before my 8am flight. Subways weren't running so frequently, so I hitched a cab and I arrived at JFK a bit earlier than planned - around five in the morning. When I got there, however, a line of people equivalent to one you'd see at "Disney World" greeted me - throngs of couples and families anxiously waiting to go past Customs and reach their terminal. The line moved rather briskly, but these two young boys a couple of feet in front of me made the wait seem eternal, as they would not stop crying their eyes out. Their Nuyorican mother, who accompanied them and was visibly resigned, kept asking them to stay close to her, but the two kids consistently kept roaming in-between people, with one of them in particular plummeting on the floor and crying loudly, tears streaming down his face. At five in the morning, this was one scenario I did not want to encounter. The people around me kept staring incredulously at the mother and her young boys, and one older woman even volunteered to help out the young mother and carry one of her bags to the front of the line. As people looked on, I kept my mouth shut because, at this given moment, I did not want to be associated with this loudmouthed Hispanic family. Harsh as that may sound, I felt sheepish having people of my cultural background behaving in such an unrestrained, obnoxious way. I was running on fumes, what with zero hours of sleep, and I didn't have the patience to withstand these children's tantrums...

I ably deflected them and passed Customs. When I reached my gate, I plopped down on a seat and drank yet another cup of coffee to keep my spirits up. As I surfed the Internet, however, my efforts to stay focused and do some work on my laptop were thwarted by a walking cliche of a man: a moustached, middle-aged Hispanic individual sitting a few seats nearby who couldn't stop guffawing with a pal of his. What the hell could be so funny at five in the freakin' morning?, I thought to myself. I tried to listen to music and focus on whatever I was reading on my computer, but "Mr. Bigote" - with his pearly white teeth beaming every time he howled - kept disconcerting me. The man's jovial mannerisms, coupled with the blaring PA announcements overhead of a woman speaking Spanish very loudly, made me wince over how exasperating my surroundings were. I felt like Alex from A Clockwork Orange: unable to close my eyelids while being subjected to unpleasant voices and people in front of me.

Finally at one point, the waiting passengers settled into groups and people started congregating in front of the gate, waiting to be called in to board the plane. I began to gather my belongings in hopes of reaching my seat on time, but at that moment, a Puerto Rican man in a wheelchair appeared next to me. He quickly started talking to me, and I politely replied back and conversed with him. He told me that he had missed his original flight to PR and didn't know if he was on the "stand-by" list for the current flight. After exchanging a few words, the man suddenly offered his cellphone to me and asked if I could contact his son. He was confused as to which flight he was boarding and couldn't accurately talk with any of the attendants around. As I talked to the son on the phone, I realized that his father, the older man, was very incapacitated to be handling all of this flight mix-up. Although I did not want to abandon the frail man, I was also not under the best mindset (cranky, sleep-deprived, etc...), and I needed to take care of my own travelling issues. While we waited for an attendant to show up at the gate, the old man revealed to me that the reason he was in a wheelchair was because he had suffered a stroke last May and had been hospitalized ever since. His son, who lives in Connecticut, had dropped him off at the airport and thought he'd easily catch the flight to PR, but the father's vulnerable mental state and frail health prevented him from fully making sense of his flight situation. As soon as I saw a flight attendant at the front desk, I approached her and reminded her of the wheelchair-bound man, reiterating the fact that he was unattended and needed assistance to get home. I then walked back towards the man and wished him luck with his holiday travels, hoping deep down that his son would return to the airport on time and help him out...

I boarded my flight and settled into my seat. Now I could doze off and spend the next three hours sleeping! Then, as soon as I closed my eyes, I heard a whimper. But definitely not a human whimper. I turned and looked around, but I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary....until the yelping started, and then I realized that people had actually brought small dogs into the plane! Several American tourists were laughing among themselves at the sheer absurdity of it, obviously surprised at such a scene. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore this kooky behavior as much as possible. It would only be a couple of hours before I arrived home and I wouldn't have to deal with all this craziness...

My mom picked me up at the airport in Isla Verde, and I immediately ranted about all of the situations I had encountered. As I mentioned each one, she chuckled to herself and shook her head, but it didn't faze her much. You're not used to all those things anymore, she told me, as if yelping dogs inside airplanes were a common airplane routine. I'm not sure whether the owners of the dogs were Hispanic, but still, on a general level...has it really come to this? Are people's (*but specifically in this case, Puerto Ricans') behavior when traveling that predictable already that even the zaniest act is deemed ordinary, or normal? Most people are eccentric when they travel, but I have always known my 'people' to be a rambunctious kind (much more so than others), and this experience traveling home to PR opened my eyes once again to these idiosyncrasies of ours, so much so that it caught me off-guard and in turn made me restrain myself from showing my own 'Puerto Rican-ness.' All these taxing scenarios have now become a misconstrued representation of a certain part of my culture. However, despite indeed being flawed projections of who my 'people' truly are, they also conversely evoke a sense of familiarity and nostalgia from my upbringing, and pinpoint to me the realization that home is always within reach.

That's sort of nice. I think.

Dance. it. Out!

2009-11-30T23:08:00.000-08:00

[Note: Once again, I've been slacking on writing posts. Well, it's not that I've been putting off having to blog; it's just that there hasn't been anything worthwhile to write about. I prefer to blog on a sporadic basis about things that matter to me, rather than to bombard people with daily (or weekly) posts about trivial, rambling nonsense. I'm using this blog as a meditative tool to vent about my life but also to promote certain things within the city that make me happy. That entails my posts being sporadic but also having some substance to them - as opposed to them being very frequent and going on rants about "why I think winter is neat." But I digress...]

Jeez Louise...I've had a nightmarish ten days. I've been trying to juggle my 3 (!) jobs as best as possible for the past two weeks, but it's truly been getting to me. I really shouldn't be complaining about being busy with work, and I'm not. What I am frustrated with is the lack of consistency in my life. Sometimes I spend several consecutive days without much work, the weeks passing me by at a sluggish pace. Then in other instances, I barely find time to actually sit down and eat a home-cooked meal, instead relying on various snacks and leftovers to push me through the days...

I've recently felt a lot of pent-up frustrations deep inside and, for a couple of days, the feeling kept gnawing at me. I would be home doing laundry and the very act of carrying my heavy bag full of dirty clothes angered me a great deal. I've had tantrums boiling deep down, but I realized that letting them out would just come off as immature and fruitless. My lack of sleep - given my late-night job and my days spent doing work at home - has also been a factor in my bad mood. After a suffocating and hectic 10-day "job-balancing act," salvation came in the form of a concert last Tuesday - Norway's duo Royksopp, who played at Webster Hall. Before going in to the venue, me and my friend Jamie had a couple of drinks and talked about the best concerts we've been to in the past. A difficult question to answer, yes, but an interesting one to think about. What is it about a given show that truly makes it great? The band's performance? The mood you're in, or the company you're with?

Whereas I easily affirmed that the best concert I've gone to is Daft Punk at Coney Island ('07), Jamie had a harder time to come up with a solid reply. However, once the Royksopp show got underway, my "best of" list definitely shifted, and I can honestly say that this one was a spectacular concert. Like Daft Punk two years ago, this concert was the last show of their tour, and they did not disappoint. Once the encore came in, the duo kept at it for another good 30-40 minutes, and me and Jamie couldn't stop dancing. That night, all the inner rage I had felt in previous weeks dissipated as I moved rhythmically to Royksopp's beats. I emptied my mind out of all preoccupations and simply thought about nothing. I didn't care about the work that awaited me the following day, or about my lack of full-time employment in general. I cared even less about how silly I probably looked, waving my hands around as I gleefully jumped and gyrated all around. At that moment, for two hours straight, no problem or worry dampened my spirits. Jamie probably felt the same, as she also grooved like a madwoman throughout the show, but as for myself, I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt so blissfully happy or free. The feel-good rhythms of the DJ duo, coupled with the positive vibe of the crowd around us, made the experience a highly enjoyable one, and, like a soothing body massage, the dancing relaxed my whole being and relinquished all of the issues that were plaguing me.

Now I'm back to reality, of course. I still feel an overwhelming feeling of frustration that is difficult to ignore or fend off. However, at the Royksopp concert, I was made aware of something that, as cheesy as it sounds, I find very satisfying: the true power that dance can have on the human psyche/soul. Sometimes, all it takes for one to feel better about oneself is to "dance it out": to let go of decorum and constraint and simply let loose.

Here's a sampling of the excellent Royksopp concert, in order to give a hint of what the experience was like:

Care for this "Devil"

2009-11-05T10:18:00.000-08:00

While a certain ultra-low budget horror film has been making quite an impact at the Box Office (with a sequel in place, and bringing certain filmmakers out of 'retirement'), another one has been quietly flying "under the radar" and should be getting much more traction and attention.

Ti West's House of the Devil is an excellent homage to 80's horror films, but more specifically, a 're-branding' of the aesthetic of these genre movies. Although the plot may seem conventional (teenage babysitter all alone in eerie mansion), West's use of ambience and characterizations make Devil into a unique gem of a horror film.

West unabashedly presents stylistic 80's flourishes (freeze-frames, a kitschy musical score) but never talks down to his audience like many "slasher films" of that decade tended to do. He orchestrates the horror through mounting tension and character dynamics until he unravels everything in a spectacular, horrific climax. After having been overwhelmed by despicable horror films that relish in one macabre sequence after another in a loud, obnoxious way (I'm looking at you, Jigsaw), it's refreshing to see one that takes its time in emphasizing the protagonist's creepy surroundings and actually caring for the actors' performances. In this case, West provides the film with cult actors Tom Noonan & Mary Woronov as the creepy couple living in the mansion, and they're pitch-perfect in the roles. Also look out for Dee Wallace (aka Elliot's mother in "E.T.") at the beginning of the film, as 'the Landlady'.

For all those in dire need of a good "horror film fix," swing by the Angelika (18 West Houston Street) to catch this nifty flick.

An Audience "Under the Influence"

2009-10-24T22:23:00.001-07:00

I've been somewhat MIA for the past two weeks (occupied with my various jobs, applying to full-time ones...), but this weekend I knew I needed to write about a particular film screening I went to yesterday.

I got my "film snob" fix last night when I caught John Cassavetes' 1974 masterpiece A Woman Under the Influence at the MoMA. Many people may read this and think, "Okay, Jose, we get it. You go see artsy films in museums and fraternize with turtleneck-wearing, uber-intellectual filmgoers," but that's not really 100% true. Yes, I go see films at the MoMA a lot, but it's more due to the fact that I have a museum pass that gets me in for free, and in this specific case, they were screening a film that truly impacted me when I first saw it in college. I had rented a cheap, grainy version and watched it one weekend during my Freshmen year (and yes, this is how I spent most of my nights my first semester in college). I'm not ashamed to say that I cried a couple of times throughout the movie, and sat transfixed at the raw emotions and affecting performances that Cassavetes presented. After that night, I Netflixed all of his movies available on DVD and soon bought and read a biography of his (Marshall Fine's Accidental Genius, which I highly reccommend). To this day, A Woman Under the Influence has continued to enthrall me every time I see it, and so, when I saw that MoMA was not only screening it, but also having Gena Rowlands in person to introduce it, I immediately jumped on the chance and bought my ticket.

I arrived semi-early, about 45 minutes before the screening started, in order to stay in line and get a good seat. However, as people started congregating outside of the theater - and the line grew longer - people began clamoring to go inside. A MoMA security guard came over and was completely unaware of how the line had been formed, and he proceeded to start an entirely new line with the people at the tail end of the main line, thereby angering every single person (myself included) that had arrived early and had been waiting for over forty minutes. The minute the guard set up the new line, people started clamoring - "Where's your manager?! I need to speak to your manager NOW!...No, you weren't here before, we're not doing that!....", even to the point that an odd-looking British man yelled "You're a FOOL!" to the guard for disregarding our protests. As the yelling died down, we all made the most of it and incorporated ourselves into the new line, while I chuckled to myself at the sheer ludicrousness of what had just happened. This was, after all, a screening of a John Cassavetes film - one of the most obscure, artsy, marginal filmmakers that ever existed - and people were behaving as if they were at a town hall health care debate.

Finally, we were let inside, and after I chatted with the person next to me - also a big Cassavetes fan - the lights dimmed and in walked Gena Rowlands, with the entire audience giving her a standing ovation. She thanked everyone present for attending and introduced the film in an affectionate way, deeming her experience shooting the film "the most beautiful" in her career.

The movie deals with the disaffected marriage between Mabel (Rowlands) and Nick (Peter Falk), and how he struggles with her troubling behavior and tumultuous mental state. Cassavetes painstakingly scrutinizes their interactions in long, sometimes taxing scenarios, with the scenes themselves delving into an array of contrasting emotions. One minute, Mabel is having a laugh with Nick and his work buddies, and in one split second, she embarasses one of them and is crudely yelled at by Nick. What's always astounded me by Cassavetes' narratives is the realism he injected into his characters' expressions and idiosyncrasies. Although the actors' behavior all seem improvised, they mostly followed Cassavetes' thematic "blueprint," which blended his ideas with those that the actors contributed to the material. The social climate presented in the film has shifted greatly since the movie's release (i.e., the gender clashes between Mabel & Nick regarding her illness), but it nevertheless amazes me how well Rowlands' and Falk's performances have held up. The movie is raw and uncomfortable, but startlingly real in evoking restrained, hidden emotions.

For those interested in catching this newly restored landmark film in American independent cinema, head on over to the MoMA (11 West 53rd Street). It'll be screened there 'till Friday, October 30th.

college.

2009-10-17T08:21:00.001-07:00

My Best Frenemies

2009-10-04T19:54:00.000-07:00

Picture in your head a group of your closest friends. The ones that are indispensable, always hear you out - and also put you in your place when you get a "big head." You may have ten years invested in the friendship, or perhaps just ten months, but there's a palpable, close link between each other. It's not a rocky rapport or a fleeting bond, but something steady and enriching. These friends of yours, despite living far away from you, still remain in active contact with you and call you up to see how you are (regardless of whether it's your birthday or not...)

Now, of that cluster of great friends, how many of those did you really, really like when you first met them? How many of those buddies were somewhat obnoxious on the first impression? Did any unnerve you a bit when you started talking to them? If you've had the same experience as I have, then you've probably thought about these questions before. But don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining about the friends I have. I've actually been missing these people a great deal since I graduated college (when they all moved out to the West Coast), and so recently I've been thinking back to when I first crossed paths with them in such a misconstrued way...

In two separate situations, two girl friends of mine have told me that their initial impression of me was negative. Last year, my friend Becca revealed to me that, during a class we took together in college, she disliked me for actively participating in daily discussions. Although we sat next to one another, we never talked, and every day after class she'd complain about my "know-it-all" attitude to her housemate. Then, at one particular party, she came up to me and confronted me. We spent the night talking and dancing, and we quickly "clicked" and became friends, probably because she realized that her perception of me had been flawed.

Another girl friend, Mollie - with whom I lived with for an entire school year - told me soon after we moved in together that she straight up didn't like me when a mutual acquaintance of ours introduced us. She had mischaracterized my "jokester" nature and sociable demeanor as being self-involved and obnoxious. My personality has apparently been misinterpreted by a couple of my friends, but I have to admit that I have also formed incorrect opinions about most of them.

Case in point - on my first day of freshmen orientation in college, I had to attend a group meeting with fellow Communications majors. I didn't know anyone there, so everyone pretty much kept to themselves. Ten minutes into the meeting, a tall black-haired dude with black glasses walked in somewhat awkwardly and looked around for a seat. As everyone stared at him, he very ably made a wise-crack about him starting college on the wrong foot, and his affable nature clearly came through, making others laugh and smile. Yours truly, however, thought to himself, "Geez...who's this jackass? Who does he think he is, making everyone laugh like that?!"

That tall guy, Steve, ended up becoming one of my closest friends months after this initial encounter. He is very much one of those type of friends I categorized in the first paragraph above, yet my initial reaction to him was unabashedly narrow-minded and brash. So, much in the same way Becca and Mollie had misconceptions about me, I also had misconceptions about them (and Steve). These three people are some of the best individuals I know, but their upstanding true selves weren't enough to override my powerfully immediate "first impression" of them.

Why do we behave this way when we meet our "eventual friends" in situations like these? I think it's because their initial behavior and quirks resemble so much our own that we're instinctively wary of embracing their familiar personality, thereby putting our guard up as a defense mechanism. We're allured to, yet also somewhat threatened by, their innate quality - whether it's charming introversion or unabashed sociability - because they exude something identifiable to us. Either they remind us of ourselves ("Who do they think they are?! There cannot be someone else like me. I'm unique") or they show us the kind of person we aspire to be ("How do they pull that off?! What a guy/girl!"). That love/hate vibe we initially feel upon meeting our "eventual friends" becomes the link that cements the rapport. We immediately note their weaknesses because they're similar to ours, whereas their strengths make us want to get to know them better. The result therefore ends up being a satisfying one, if anything for the fact that people can start off disliking one another because of certain quirks or attitudes - and then have those same qualities be what endears them together...

Well...this is only on those lucky and very rare occasions. Usually people like this do end up being total dicks.

A "Fat" Slice of 1970's America

2009-09-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

I always get excited when I "discover" an underrated or overlooked film, and today I saw a really good one - John Huston's Fat City, which is being screened at Film Forum. Released in 1972, it was considered to be a bona fide 'comeback' for Huston (a legendary director in his own right, what with The Maltese Falcon and The Asphalt Jungle, among others), and it was also warmly received at that year's Cannes Film Festival.

The story deals with two boxers - an alcoholic "has been" (Stacy Keach) and one who's just starting out (a very young Jeff Bridges) - as they cross paths and try to reach the same goal of success inside the ring. Whereas the elder boxer is desperately clinging to the shred of life he has left, the young one has his whole career in front of him but is not aware of the harsh obstacles that may loom ahead. Huston relishes on the consistent moments of silence between characters to reveal more about their inner frustrations and anger, and opts to hone in on absorbing character drama through Keach's interactions with "Oma," a boozy young woman who gets involved with him, excellently played by Susan Tyrrell. Her fluctuations between bouts of hysteria and silent, emotional breakdowns add a nice touch to the conflict, whereas Keach himself delivers a soulful performance as the aimless, tortured boxer.

Fat City will be playing at Film Forum (209 W. Houston St) through October 1st. Otherwise, you could watch it online (with limited commercial interruption) right here.

Zzzzzzzzz....Ouch!

2009-09-18T00:30:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was little, I've had certain dreams that keep popping up in my sleep every so often. I think we've all experienced these in one form or another, and they reveal a lot of insights about who we are. Whether it's dreaming about going to school without any clothes on or having one's teeth fall off, these scenarios seem to come about due to the given circumstance we're experiencing at that moment in time. The "being at school stark naked" dream usually happens during our childhood or adolescence - alluding to youth angst - whereas the "losing one's teeth" dream usually implies a feeling of insecurity we might be harboring inside. It's interesting to me how we all come to share these somewhat universal dream scenarios. Of all the crazy, ludicrous things our subconscious can bring up when we're asleep, these particular "situations" keep recurring in our heads over the years. The dreams are zany and outrageous, yes, but they represent concrete preoccupations - things that impact or worry us on a habitual basis. Be it teen angst or low self-esteem, we're constantly struggling with these daily experiences, and they end up influencing what we think about when we sleep.

However...what explanation is there when our dreams aptly deal with situations or things we haven't experienced, or aren't familiar with?

I can remember when I was around five or six years old, I would dream of kissing a certain girl I liked from school. At that point in time, I had never been kissed before, yet the dreams perfectly encapsulated the full feeling and emotion of locking lips with someone. When I did have my first kiss, I realized that my childhood dreams had been completely "right on the money." How could this possibly be?! How did the dream so minutely capture the feeling and tone of that situation when in fact I hadn't experienced it yet?

Obviously as we grow older, our dreams turn more serious and mature in subject matter. Scenarios start revolving more around concrete ideas rather than silly actions...yet still - in whichever situation - every single "life rite" I dreamt about when I was younger, that I was not yet exposed to, ended up validating itself once I did go through it in real life. If we're able to concretely feel and undergo varying positive emotions (physical love? the exhilaration of skydiving, perhaps?) in our subconscious before we get to experience them in real life, then, can it also ring true for negative feelings?

For example - we've all had twisted nightmares in which we're being chased by some crazed lunatic or we fall off a ledge and plunge to our death. I myself have had numerous dreams where I'm stabbed or shot by a psychotic stranger. I always feel excruciating pain when I endure these dreams; I can barely breathe and I'm incapable of waking up. If I dream about falling from a tall building, I always get a hyperventilating feeling in my stomach and I force myself to open my eyes before my body hits the ground. Although these are extreme situations, my insecurities and fears (of the unknown, of loneliness) are brought forth and personified; they're issues I can grapple with and relate to because I struggle with them every day.

Still, if these dreary scenarios manifest themselves in my mind in almost the same way as my pleasant ones do, then by this correlation, am I supposed to infer that if I do get shot or thrown off a building in real life, it'll corroborate what I felt in my dreams? How can my dreams accurately make me feel a type of love (or pain) that I've never experienced before?

People can argue that we infer most of it from popular culture (what films/TV/literature tell us about how certain things feel like without us having to undergo them), yet there still is that very powerful, tactile and sensory connection in our subconscious that makes the "dream experience" a visceral one. It's one thing to watch a film or TV show about a guy getting shot, and somewhat come to terms with how that would feel....and it's another thing to actually feel like you're in that person's situation and undergo that feeling of having your arm be blown off or something. Your mind somehow decodes the essence of the experience and relays it inside a dream in a way that alludes to a given situation in your life.

Mind-boggling as it is, I just hope the weirdo who threatens me with a gun in my dreams never appears before me "in the flesh."

However, having my "secret affair with Natalie Portman" dream become a reality wouldn't be bad at all...

"Headless" & Brilliant

2009-09-01T13:18:00.000-07:00

Last week I caught a film that completely blew me away - Lucrecia Martel's The Headless Woman (La Mujer Sin Cabeza) - and I wasn't planning on writing about it because its run was supposed to end today. However, I was pleasantly surprised to find out this morning that it's been held over through September 15th! Here's the official synopsis:

"A mysterious and intriguing tale of a woman who may have killed someone or something while driving on a dirt road. Dazed and confused, she tries to piece together what happened..."

The film is a brilliant visual masterpiece that needs the audiences' consistently active attention in order to fully understand and immerse oneself in all of its puzzling and intricate plot details. Director Martel ignores many conventional film norms and presents her story in a mesmerizing way - shooting most of the film in tight close-ups and eschewing the need for establishing shots - while framing her subjects in odd, off-balance compositions. Martel also never "spoon feeds" information to the viewer, instead relying on us to catch the details of the action and the subtleties between the characters on our own. She beautifully subverts conventions in narrative and turns what would ordinarily be a straightforward "mystery/thriller" into a deeper and more affecting experience.

The Headless Woman is playing at Film Forum (209 West Houston St.) until September 15th. The praise has been almost unanimous, so if you live in the city, you should opt out of dreck like this and go check out this unbelievable film.

Smiles? Not Part of Job Description

2009-09-01T13:12:00.001-07:00

For the past two months or so, I've been working part-time evenings as a survey question writer for a media company. It's a sometimes taxing experience, but it's really decent pay and a comfortable working environment. Ninety-five percent of the people working there write questions for shows like The Daily Show and Letterman, whereas the remaining five percent are composed of writers working on Telemundo and Univisión programs. Us Spanish writers are a small bunch - about eight or so - but we get along really well and watch out for one another when we struggle with a particular show. Whereas we're a surprisingly tight-knit group, the other 95% give off a consistently alienating vibe. At first I thought the "issue" was just with me (i.e., "the New Kid"), but it turned out it's apparently with the entire Spanish Language Writer troupe. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out why this is so, but no answer has presented itself to me. When I started in June, I thought I'd be able to socialize freely with people, given the laid back environment there. However, every time I make a small gesture - a pleasant wave or a friendly nod - to anyone nearby, I just get a blank stare in return. If I smile at a girl passing me by, she'll almost definitely reciprocate with a deadpan look.

One evening that I had the night off, I went to see Contempt at Socrates Sculpture Park. As I waited for the movie to start, I noticed a bearded man sitting next to me, sharing a picnic with an attractive girl. I definitely recognized his face from somewhere, but I was drawing a blank as to his name, or where I knew him from. I went to work the following night and saw the bearded guy there. Perfect!, I thought to myself. A great way to 'break the ice' with him. He had decent taste in films, after all, so he showed promise as a guy to have a good conversation with. I saw him in the break room and awkwardly told him about our coincidental Contempt encounter. He in turn smiled and nodded politely...

Cut to a week later or so: Beardy is sitting behind me, focused on his work, as I eat a snack before I start to write my questions. At one point, I get up to walk around and he and I lock eyes - one of those moments where you're supposed to give a "hello" nod and acknowledge the other person - but he completely snubs me and just keeps on typing as if I weren't standing in front of him. Then, this past week, I saw him again in the break room and tried once more to make contact - waving modestly to say "hi" - but Beardy this time looked completely through me and kept on talking on his hands-free cellphone. He was on the phone, yes, but the guy still nevertheless could've acknowledged my gesture with a quick nod or smirk. Nope. He chose to disregard me altogether.

Needless to say, I don't care much for Beardy anymore.

I've realized the scenario pans out differently if an attractive Latina sits next to me. The other day, a pretty Puerto Rican co-worker of mine came in and said hola! to me as she sat down to start working. The hola! was clearly directed at me, but a dude sitting behind me got a good look at her and decided to cut in, saying, in awkward Americanese, "oh-lah! (hola)." She exchanged pleasantries with him while I tried to ignore him completely, but this one comment that came out of his mouth caught my attention and unnerved the hell out of me:

"You know, you Spanish-speaking writers need to socialize with the rest of the people more. You should all mingle more with us."

I bit my tongue and kept my mouth shut, but it wasn't easy. Why is there such a discrepancy between the different working groups? Is it a "culture clash" thing, in which both sides are reluctant to make the first move towards befriending/getting to know one another? Or is it simply a situation in which everyone just wants to be left alone - no interruptions or "small talk" - in order to do their work peacefully and go home?

If it's the former, then it's truly disappointing for me. People behave that way in middle school and in summer camp, but not when you're 21+ and living in a freewheeling and diverse city like New York. If it's the latter, then I can somewhat sympathize and understand their reasons. I'm also not keen on being overtly friendly with co-workers (or co-workers being overtly friendly with me), because it can be truly off-putting - but - that is not my intention. It's not like I want to become their BFF's or go out drinking with them. In effect, it's a question of common decency and good manners. Pure and simple. We're all working in the same space together, enduring long hours of survey-writing, and a nice gesture like a smile or a wave can help ease off the tension we might be feeling. Unless someone's clearly done you wrong, why carry on with such an attitude? Are people really that insecure with foreign-speaking individuals that they prefer to ignore them altogether?

Should I even bother to keep trying to be friendly? I've already made the "first step" numerous times, and it hasn't made a dent. One thing I do know for sure: if Beardy blatantly ignores me one more time, a cup of subpar coffee from the break room is going in his face. Oh-lah!

I've Got A Fever, And The Only Prescription Is More Good Movies

2009-08-27T00:50:00.000-07:00

Last week, after leaving early from work, I decided to spend my afternoon at the movies. Not a lot interested me, but I had heard strong positive buzz about District 9 , which I was anxious to see. The trailer hadn't won me over, but the marketing for it had allured me quite a bit. I hadn't slept much the previous night (because of a 7:30am shift at the museum), but, thinking the movie was going to be a tense sci-fi story, I thought I would snap out of my drowsiness in no time and be gripped to my seat. As it turns out, I dozed off about ten times throughout the movie, and by the end I was struggling to keep my eyes open and enjoy the narrative.

I left the theater feeling confused and very disappointed. Why had the movie been such a let-down for me? Perhaps it was because I had been drowsy the entire day and wasn't in a particularly energetic mindset - or maybe, given the lack of sleep, I was just plain ol' cranky. Regardless of my bad mood, I felt District 9 was trying way too hard to be topical (what with the whole "apartheid" symbolism and everything), and the protagonist came off as irritating in his actions and behavior, with his character arc being very predictable. Overall, the film's message was laid on a bit too thick for my taste, and it didn't pan out to be the nuanced, thought-provoking film I thought it was.

I got home, plopped on the couch and relaxed for a while - but my moodiness persisted. Why had this movie put me in such a rut? I couldn't figure it out...

A week later - this past Monday - I had an almost identical experience. I barely slept on Sunday night (painful cramp + neighbors hammering on the wall next to my bedroom = bad morning), and so, after doing some work during the first half of the day, I decided to keep myself busy and go see Inglorious Basterds. Surprisingly on this ocassion, I was fully engaged throughout the entire film and enjoyed it very much (despite Tarantino's constant self-indulgence in his long-winded dialogues). So - two similar situations in which "lack of sleep" was at play, and yet, each had different outcomes. With District 9, I went back home angry and disappointed at my choice of movie...yet after Basterds, I felt an inner "high" that cheered me up for various hours.

Big deal, right? So WHAT if I liked one movie over the other? Some movies are good and others are bad...Yet, why does this happen? Why did District 9 provoke such hostility in me - as if I had just been spurned by a girl - and Basterds made me want to whistle as I rode the subway train? Watching movies can be, in and of itself, a full-on sensory experience that can brighten - or bring down - any given time of day. Much in the same way that eating a Spicy Tuna Roll cheers me up, so does watching Jack Nicholson chase down Shelley Duvall through a creepy snowbound hotel. Along these same lines - having to eat olives, to me, is akin to being forced to see an awful Pulp Fiction "rip-off" with two horrible actors as protagonists. Yuck.

We all have our idiosyncratic passions in life. Sports fans camp out in tents outside of stadiums for days (and even weeks) just to get great seats to season games. This fervor is validated when their "interest" manifests itself before them in an emotional and spiritually-enriching way. If the fan's respective team plays spectacularly well, it reinforces the attitudes and reasons for why they follow this particular interest the way they do. However, if they play badly, the very opposite occurs: fans get belligerent and are quickly disheartened by everything they thought they stood for and believed in. Their zeal drifts off (albeit temporarily) and the cycle begins again as they try to regain that inner passion that they once felt.

Same thing happens with me with movies. One mediocre film can quickly ruin my day and vanish any sense of hope and optimism that I had for new, groundbreaking narratives. The feeling of emptiness that I get inside of me can only be gotten rid of by watching a good film that WILL once again reinforce that innate zest in me - the reason why I still keep caring...why I still "pony up" $12.50 every week to see a movie that I could very well download online for free - or could possibly be an atrocious piece of crap.

It's love, is what it is. We may get hurt 9 out of the 10 times we visit the movie theater - and feel heavily disappointed, rejected, cheated (sometimes even "used") - but it's all worth it, just to experience that one instance that comes along every once in a while that makes you a firm believer in your passion all over again.

Ctrl+Fbk+Del

2009-08-22T12:02:00.000-07:00

Like many people, I have a volatile relationship with Facebook. Well, I'll be honest with you: I downright hate it. However, one cannot ignore the fact that it's a very helpful networking tool, and so, no matter how much I dislike it, I always end up caving in and accepting its validity. It is indeed an effective way of reaching out to potential friends (and employers), not to mention it's got unlimited photo-upload capabilities, which I enjoy.

When I'm not editing photos and posting them, though, I don't do much else on the site (save for the occasional "stalk"). I feel like there's not much to like about it, yet I've come to shamefully rely on its availability, so much so that every once in a while I have to suspend my account. Mainly it's because I hate myself for spending so much time on the site, simply doing nothing (i.e., stalking). Another reason is because I can't stand some people's meaningless statuses, and they force me to disconnect myself entirely from that world.

See, with a site like Facebook so available and useful to us, we tend to drop our guard and feel as though we need to share everything and anything with people, no matter how dull it is. We judge each other with a personal and watchful eye on how we express ourselves and react within the site. We communicate so ably and freely with people that every single gesture, statement and thought or idea that is stated on the site is heavily scrutinized and dissected:

"She removed her 'In a Relationship' status and is now 'Single'?! That bitch!"

"He removed his 'Single' status and is now 'In a Relationship'?! What a dick!"

"What does she mean by ' Cute pic ; ) ' ? I think she digs me, bro."

On Facebook, you usually have two types of people: (1) Your friends, and (2) everybody else. This latter category usually consists of individuals you've come across whom you've never had a substantive conversation with:

People that lived on your floor freshman year of college
People that talked to you at a party or bar and apparently did remember your name well
Co-workers that try a little bit too hard to be your best friend
Estranged family members (2nd cousins, Grandma's new boyfriend, and the like...)
Your neighbor's sister's best friend's nephew

(The list goes on...)

Having people like this on my list made me feel awkward and insincere, so, about a year ago, I decided to be honest with myself and do something that I find completely acceptable, yet some deem improper: I began to delete them from my account. Yup. A healthy "FB House Cleaning." But don't misconstrue this - I didn't delete people that didn't have it coming to them. I've only removed a handful since last year, but the reason I've done so is because I don't qualify them as my "friends." They're more like far-away acquaintances; if there was a "My Acquaintances" list on the site, they'd surely be on it. Also, it's not because I don't want to hear from them ever again - it's because I feel cheap and disingenuous having them on my list when in fact I don't know who the heck they are. Some people enjoy having 2,000 "friends" on their network, but not me. What good is it to have a bunch of strangers on your list if you can't stand half of them - or can barely remember their full name?

The acquaintances I have "let go" from my list, I've done so in a painless, easy fashion. However, I've had a couple of actual friends of mine (or close acquaintances) whom I've had to delete in the past year. I had my fair reasons for doing so, but, to be honest...I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. The downside to deleting a friend or close acquaintance is that...they'll actually notice that you deleted them. (Yikes.) For instance, this guy I met in college - "Brad" - used to date a girl friend of mine. He was a nice guy, but I always thought he didn't like me very much. He would sporadically lash out at me for no apparent reason and our interactions were consistently odd. So, after a couple of months, I felt Brad didn't think too highly of me, and so I removed him from my list.

Cut to a couple of months later, when I received a message from him:

"have you been deleting me as a friend on facebook? hehe, it's cool if you have."

I shied away from answering him at that moment, but after more months passed, he asked me again, and I came out and told him why: because he had lashed out at me on several occasions and I just felt he wasn't interested in us having a rapport of any kind. Surprisingly, this turned out to be incredibly therapeutic - he acknowledged his past mistakes, I told him I had no qualms with him, and now we have a solid friendship.

In another instance, I had a relapse last summer with a girl friend, "Hannah." I had invited her to a concert - one that she was really eager to go to - and she abruptly cancelled on me just hours before the show. Her excuse was somewhat flimsy and lame, and at that specific moment I was miffed by the "brush-off" - so, in a fit of annoyance, I deleted her from my list. Maybe I overreacted, but I did so out of my own, hurt emotions. Whereas Brad had lashed out at me, Hannah had made me feel unappreciated as a friend - she did not give me the consideration I deserved in telling me of her cancellation in advance.

Once again - months later - I received this message from Hannah on my Inbox:

"omg jose, did you just 'limited profile' me on facebook???"

My reply was clear and concise:

"i didn't 'limited profile' you. actually, i deleted you."

I don't necessarily feel good about having acted this way. I, too, would be mad if I ever were in the position I put Hannah and Brad in. It's understandable. But I did it for a reason. I didn't undertake these actions out of spite or out of an ingrained "superiority complex." They had done unfriendly things, and I needed to assert myself with them - send a symbolic message. My actions may be deemed unusual, but think about it: if this exact situation unraveled in real life - and not through an online networking site - one would undertake a similar behavior: ignore their phone calls, blatantly brush them off at parties, etc...

I find it surprising that people take it so personally. It's not like I literally erased them from existence. What it all comes down to is this feeling of interconnectedness we share when we're on Facebook - freely reacting to (and with) a multitude of people at any time during the day - and the isolation and disconnect we feel when that link is shattered. Like online dating, Facebook is a fantasy world of sorts where we can re-make ourselves - downplay our shortcomings and embellish our strong suits. If a person leaves Facebook or deletes someone from his/her list, the "outlet" of communicating is made more visible and apparent. We thus realize not only the appeal of the site - to bring people together from different backgrounds - but also take closer note of people's existence and attitudes. Yes, these moments I had with Brad and Hannah were awkward and unfortunate, but they were essential in putting everything out in the open and addressing issues within the friendships. As of today, I have patched things up with both people and they're back on my FB list.

The impersonality and scrutiny within the site will undoubtedly continue, but we can embrace it and use it for positive change - to learn about people and "build up" on relations. After all, isn't that what social networking is all about?

Saturday of Summer

2009-08-16T22:51:00.001-07:00

This past Saturday I finally went to t h e H i g h L i n e, the integrated landscape park that runs along Gansevoort Street all the way to 34th Street. It was erected in the 1930's to support the freight trains that ran through that area. The day was hot, humid and very sunny, but the park was quite a sight to see - I even spotted Ed Helms passing me by! People sell fresh lemonade on wooden stands, they mingle and sit along the boardwalk, and/or make their own picnics and enjoy the afternoon there.

Afterward, I went to see (500) Days of Summer (which I was skeptical about in the first place, but I decided to give it a shot). Although I definitely think the film is overrated, it's still nevertheless very amusing and entertaining, and for once in a long time, the "romantic comedy" genre has been given a much-needed "reboot." The movie unfortunately perpetuates the quirky "hipster" style that we've seen ad-nauseam since Garden State, and it does have an air of pretentiousness (the blending of sketches & live action, the "hip" soundtrack), but director Marc Webb keeps things fresh and breezy, and effectively distances his film from the other, idiotic "rom-com" fare. It very much falls in accordance with genre conventions, but it's still clever and engaging within its own formula. One major reason I went to see it is because of the film's stars. Joseph Gordon-Leavitt is a very talented young man (have you seen Brick? You really should), and I'm completely infatuated with Zooey Deschanel. I wouldn't say she's a great actress, but she's a terrific singer. She and musician M. Ward have a folk/country/pop band - She & Him - and I was lucky to catch them playing at Terminal 5 last summer (7/26/08). Here's a taste of this amazing gal's talent:

"Got Away" for Good?

2009-08-13T21:24:00.000-07:00

After the Eagles of Death Metal concert, I kept thinking about the young man who proposed to his girlfriend in front of everyone, but more specifically, I reflected upon the comments he made regarding their relationship. He said he came to the realization of undertaking the proposal because he had spent far too much time away from her and it had been too unbearable for him to go through again. Obviously, I don't know the context of their "situation", but many possibilities arose in my head. (1) Perhaps they had been dating for a while now, and a long vacation time away from her rattled him so much that he realized what his priorities were; or (2) perhaps they had just recently met, but their time together had been so potent and enriching that he decided to throw caution to the wind and pop the question. However, a third possibility also kept bouncing in my head, and it's one that I've been thinking of constantly for several days: the "The One that Got Away" possibility.

We've heard and seen this expression used before - in sappy "romantic-comedies" and lovey-dovey TV shows. A good-looking guy removes a photo of a girl from his wallet, and his best friend leans over and says, half-mockingly, "Ahh...the One that Got Away." In most of these cases, the guy ends up tracking the girl down, confronting her directly and professing his love to her, and she reciprocates by affirming she's always felt the same way about him. They hug, they kiss, rain starts pouring, they giggle, the credits roll...but that's Hollywood for ya'. If you really think about it, what does this term really mean? What's the real, contextual significance behind "The One that Got Away"? Is it just something we keep overusing because it is familiar and part of the common lexicon, or does it have a specific message behind it? Do we simply use it to refer to a guy/girl with whom we were unable to "hook up" with? Or does it signify something deeper than that?

The reason I'm positing these questions now, after I witnessed the couple at the concert share a "moment," is because I've been struggling with this predicament for a while now, with a specific girl from my past - "Reese." For the past year-and-a-half or so, I've been thinking about Reese a lot. Not only because I haven't seen her at all - and I've barely talked to her - but more so because she is, to put it succinctly, the one girl who's truly shaken me to the core. I've gone out with a couple of other girls since her, but they simply haven't been comparable to Reese's warmth, humor, and unique personality. It's crazy to think that a handful of brief, fleeting moments can impact one's love life so dramatically, but that is how I've come to perceive and think back on my moments with this girl.

As it happens, at first I wasn't so keen on wooing her, even though I knew that she was interested in me. I would ask my friends for advice, and most of them would egg me on and tell me she was an amazing catch. I knew this to be true, but, given the fact that I was graduating college in a few months - and she still had one more year to go - I kept looking ahead into the future and felt reluctant to "act on it," both because I was unsure of my true feelings for her and also, more critical for me at that point in time, because I didn't want to deal with the consequences of what a long-distance relationship would inevitably bring. As I struggled and thought it through, I would still nevertheless spend nights hanging out with her. Reese made me laugh like no other girl could, and I always felt comfortable and at ease when she was nearby. She would come over to my place and we'd watch a movie she had never seen before, and in other instances I'd swing by her place and she'd introduce me to a filmmaker I wasn't so familiar with. I soon started to perceive an easygoing, affectionate vibe between the both of us - a strong bond between two quirky/funny people who share similar taste in films. However, whereas I would regard these "movie meets" as just that, I started to realize that she enjoyed them a great deal and loved spending time together. One time at her place, as soon as the movie ended, I said a quick "goodbye" and darted out unusually fast. There was no motive behind that - I think I was running late somewhere - but she saw it as a snub of some sort. Afterward, she confronted me while we were talking online. Why did you run off so quickly?, she asked me. I had no real answer to give her, but from her reaction, I realized that I needed to behave better and enjoy the time I spent with her.

Spring Break arrived, and I was terrified of having something so potentially great happen to me. However, one drunken night - as we texted each other while being miles and miles apart - we acknowledged the interest we had for one another. I was having a great vacation - immersed in sandy beaches, beautiful vistas and attractive girls in bikinis - and, yet, all I could think about was Reese. Even though we affirmed our mutual appreciation, I was still skeptical of what might come about - again, not because I didn't like her (I did, very much), but because, if I did agree to start seeing her, I wanted it to be as perfect as humanly possible. Once we were reunited back on campus, we kept up with our "movie meets" yet still maintained things at a platonic level. Then, one night, Reese and I watched a film at her place. As the movie went on, we became more at ease lying close to one another. At one point, she turned to look at me. She smiled and laughed. I leaned in and kissed her, and she kissed me back. I felt as if firecrackers had gone off inside of me. Never before had I experienced a kiss like this one. This feels good. This feels right!, I kept shouting over and over in my head at that moment. Everything made sense. It was an unabashedly romantic moment, but one made more uniquely poignant for the simplistic essence of it. It wasn't a bombastic display of love - the kind you see in musicals or romantic melodramas - but instead, a subdued and quaint moment: just me and her watching a film on her laptop, embracing each other and enjoying the silence, with the computer glare being the only thing illuminating us in the darkened room. I left her place grinning like an idiot and going through a flurry of powerful emotions. For the next couple of days, I thanked my friends profusely for having courted me through this. I felt like a better man because of them, and I felt like a better person because of my "moment" with Reese.

With most wonderful dreams, there's usually a downside or "reality check." Mine came when I started to dwell too much in the unrealistic notion that we'd be together in a seamless way, without any difficulties, and it started to dawn on me that this great bond that I had just discovered would be disrupted in a matter of months. I started to question my potential within the "connection" I had made with Reese, and before I knew it, I had convinced myself that I needed to be single (or alone) in order to evade the pain that was inevitably going to land on me. Reese herself was mulling over similar things, and during one online conversation, she told me that she thought it'd be best if we remained just friends. Instead of arguing against it and saying what I truly felt, that I had never met anyone like her and would not take "no" for an answer, I did a really stupid thing: I agreed with her.

I should've fought for her. I realize that now. Was she expecting me to take charge and denounce what she had just told me? Tough to tell. But, that's what pains me most of all when I think about it nowadays - that I took the news lying down and didn't tell her how much she meant to me.

I immediately perceived the shift in our interaction after we parted ways. She kept emphasizing that she didn't want things to change, but she started calling me less often to meet up and hang out. She stopped wanting to watch films together, and instead would only call me up when she needed someone to have lunch with. As my last semester came to an end, my friendship with Reese became almost nonexistent; tattered and consistently awkward. A whole new batch of emotions flooded me: why had it come to this? When had it 'gone off the rails'? I was furious. Furious because I let our bond dissipate very easily, but also furious (and heart-broken) that she had also not fought harder to maintain what we had built up. At one point, I decided to let go altogether, and in doing so I brushed away all of our moments. What I had hoped to evade since the beginning (the second-guessing and eventual heartbreak post-college) still nevertheless ended up finding me and hitting me hard. I constantly kept analyzing it in my head, like a bad team strategy after a failed game, but no new answers popped up, and so, in effect, I ended up putting the matter to sleep for good.

Until now.

As I was mulling over writing about this topic, I mentioned it to a friend of mine who lives in LA. When I told her the post would be about "the One that Got Away," she quickly replied, "Oh, yeah...I've got one of those." We've all been in this situation, in one way or another. To some, it merely signifies a "lost tryst" of some kind, whereas others fall in a latter category - the one I'm realizing I'm also a part of - a missed opportunity at love. Now, after all this self-reflection, I can honestly say that Reese is very much "the One that Got Away" for me. But - does it end here? Do I have to keep alluding to Reese in that way? More importantly - do I have a choice on the matter? Perhaps the Eagles of Death Metal kid was in my situation, and he had cut ties with the girl but couldn't deal with it and so sought her out...His story obviously has a happy ending, so, to that effect, could all of our "Ones that got away" situations be resolved? It seems like it's up to us - to be like the Death Metal kid and take the risk.

Apart from our own romantic preoccupations, one also has to consider the "grand scheme" of it all. Are my parents soul-mates, or did they end up marrying each other because their "Ones that got away" truly disappeared out of their lives? Food for thought.

I don't really know where Reese is nowadays. Probably back in her hometown, probably in love with someone. All I know is that, personally, I cannot take the risk again and confront her about this. All I can do (which is what I'm doing now, as we speak), is reflect on the one true girl who really made me feel alive. She may read this - she may not - but it's out there, and all of it is 100% genuine from the heart. I love her for liking me so much when I was too blind to realize it, and I'm grateful for having fond memories to look back on. Whatever happens, this is me coming to terms with it, and, at the very least, I can take solace in this often-used expression whenever my subconscious starts to reminisce about the past...

Love and Death Metal

2009-08-11T09:37:00.000-07:00

First blog post!

Last Thursday, I went to see Eagles of Death Metal at Webster Hall. The venue was considerably packed, mostly with people my age or older. As the lights dimmed and the band took to the stage, Kool & the Gang's "Ladies' Night" played through the speakers - the Eagles were definitely setting up a particular mood. What followed after was 100 minutes of hardcore rock - with a side of "frisky." Lead singer Jesse "The Devil" Hughes charmed the hell out of the audience, consistently blowing kisses to the girls in front of him and proclaiming his love and affection to everyone present. With his gyrating hips and quirky dance moves, he was a total "character" and made the overall experience a richer one.

An hour or so into the show, when it came time to do an encore, Mr. Hughes came out onstage and brought along with him a young man. The kid was probably around my age, and was definitely not part of the band. Hughes let the young man speak for himself, so he did, and he in turn asked his girlfriend to come out on stage. When she did, and saw the chaotic crowd before her, she kind of realized what was about to happen. Everyone went wild as the young man told his girlfriend that he had recently been separated from her for far too long, and he did not want that to happen again. He then got down on one knee and proposed, and she very happily accepted - as Mr. Hughes stood to the side, grinning from ear to ear, with his young son next to him. I'm not sure whether Mr. Hughes is still married or not, but one could tell he was unabashedly excited about what he had just seen before him. Although I've read that his politics are more center-right, his enthusiasm for his line of work - and the way he gushed about the "newly-engaged" couple - makes him seem more like a 21st-century hippie more than anything else. It was a genuine and heartfelt ending to an otherwise raucous night, and it made me take notice of the "high" that one gets when groups of people come together to enjoy a given experience. We were there for the music, and, in turn, that young man felt the need to share his love for his gal with all of us in the crowd. That's pretty neat.