greygirlbeast | Entries tagged with wes andersen

It's hard to think of much of anything right now but the catastrophe unfolding in the Gulf of Mexico, the oil still spewing from the broken pipe five-thousand feet below the remains of the Deepwater Horizon. It's pretty much a given, at this point, that coastal ecosystems and economies from Louisiana to western Florida will be devastated. Now, I'm also seeing reports that the oil will likely enter the Gulf Stream and hit the beaches of eastern Florida, and that it may even affect much of the Eastern Seaboard. In theory, it could reach as far north as Rhode Island and Cape Cod. Humanity creates disaster that will, at least in the short term, leave scars on a geological scale. I cannot help in the wildlife rescue efforts, because I'm not there, and I have no money to donate to the efforts. And I loathe this feeling of helplessness, and the knowledge that I'm as much to blame for this nightmare as anyone else who uses gasoline and oil and plastic. My complicity is explicit.

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All of yesterday was spent getting Sirenia Digest #53 out. Reading and editing the two new stories, writing the "prolegomenon," laying out the issue, etc. If you're a subscriber you ought to have the issue by now, as it went out early last night. If you've not received it, email Spooky at crk(underscore)books(at)yahoo(dot)com and she'll fix you up. New subscribers always welcome. Here's the cover from #53:

Last night, we watched Wes Anderson's The Fantastic Mr. Fox, based on Roald Dahl's book. Another very wonderful film from Wes Anderson.

And there's also a photo I snapped yesterday, Hubero bathing on my desk while I was trying to work. It's behind the cut:

( 1 May 2010 )

And here's a very fine thing, a short (interactive) film using Arcade Fire's Black Mirror. I have to love anything that manages, simultaneously, to evoke Fritz Lang, Lovecraft, and Busby Berkeley.

And here's the link to the current eBay auctions. Please have a look. Thanks.

Current Mood: quietly horrified
Current Location: Iamuna Dorsa
Current Music: Arcade Fire, "Ocean of Noise"

I've just not been up for much in the way of blogging since an especially black mood settled over me on Wednesday evening. It was the gaudy fucking tyranny of Xmas and all the ghosts it dredges up every year (only, this year, hitting harder than I've come to expect). It was my usual depression and the bad dreams and having too much to write and not enough time and energy to get it all written. It was the peculiar homesickness I get for places that never much wanted me around to start with, so it seems odd and masochistic to miss them. It was the way I begin to feel when I do not leave the House frequently enough. It was all of these things, and then the news of Vic Chesnutt's suicide.*

I don't think 2010 can come soon enough, because 2009's been bloody brutal (and there's a popular delusion, that turning a calendar page, or changing calendars, will lead to better times). Anyway, at least I had a nice assortment of sweets and pain pills and benzodiazepines on hand to help get me through the so-called "holiday." I was thinking I'd try to recap the last four days...but I'm not sure I'll do anything but make a mess of it. And it's nothing very exciting. But, here goes:

Wednesday (12/23): I wrote 1,010 words on a new vignette for Sirenia Digest #49, which after monumental dithering and near lock-up, I called "Untitled 34." Truthfully, I've no idea how I wrote that much, as I was in a rage most of the day. It's my first Skogsrå story.

Thursday (12/24): I wrote another 1,074 words on "Untitled 34." The writing was much easier on Thursday than on Wednesday. It helped that I didn't have to fret over the silly artifice of a title. Later, I went with Spooky to the market, and saw that the snow had hardly even begun to melt. Later still, what better way to show Xmas the middle finger than watch Bad(der) Santa (2003) on Xmas Eve? Willie and the Kid and Mrs. Santa's Sister actually lifted my spirits for the first time in days ("Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa!").

Friday (12/25): I usually make it a point to work on Xmas, but this year I figured if the rest of the country can fuck off for no good reason, then so could I. We had an all afternoon marathon (stretching into the evening) of Die Hard films. Seemed sort of appropriate. John McTiernan's Die Hard (1988) is still probably the best of the four, and I was glad to see it has aged so well (despite all the 80s horridness). Not such a fan of Renny Harlin's Die Harder (1990), though. It's a bit of a mess, and lacks much of what made the first film work. But, fortunately, McTiernan returned in 1995 with Die Hard With A Vengeance, which is really rather delightful. There's a great chemistry between Willis and Jackson, plus we get Sam Phillips and Jeremy Irons as villains. I think it's best to pretend that Die Harder never happened. Die Hard With A Vengeance is a far, far better sequel to the original film. Alas, we didn't watch Len Wiseman's Live Free or Die Hard (2007), because we don't have a copy. Oh, we had hot dogs for "Xmas dinner," because, more importantly, it was Kindernacht. Spooky baked gingerbread.

Saturday (12/26): I sat down at the keyboard yesterday determined to finish "Untitled 34," and finish it I did. I wrote a very respectable 1,707 words. Later, we watched Doctor Who— "The Next Doctor" —and Wes Anderson's The Royal Tenenbaums (2001). Somehow, it often seems this is the film that all but defines mine and Kathryn's relationship. Make of that what you will. And it is a comfort film. Also, yesterday I finished reading the paper on Massospondylus kaalae and began reading "The Postcranial Osteology of Rapetosaurus [Sauropoda; Titanosauria] from the Late Cretaceous of Madagascar."

Yeah...I sort of made a mess of that. But you should get the gist. I left out all the WoW. We've played a lot of WoW the last few days. We'd decided to forsake the Borean Tundra and return to Dragonblight, but then we wound up fighting with the Tuskarr against the ghosts of sea giants, and that was actually very cool. Seeing Suraa and Shaharrazad, flanked by Tuskarr warriors, charging across the ice towards a line of phantom Vrykul sailors who were just clambering off their boat– exquisite. For that, I can almost forgive the ugliness and mess of Warsong Hold. Then we entered the Scourge's Temple City of En'kilah and the floating city of Naxxanar above it and assassinated Prince Valanar and his two lieutenants Luthion the Vile and Vanthryn the Merciless. After that, we aided in the evacuation of Taunka'le, which took us back Dragonblight and Agmar's Hammer. And...well, lots and lots more. We're now at Level 74, halfway to 75, and finally made it to Dalaran, where Shah's taken residence at the Filthy Animal in the Horde Quarter.

You know...it's been time to make the doughnuts for the last half hour. Sheesh. No one's going to read all this crap.

* Here's a link to Kristin Hersh's eulogy.

Current Mood: trying to press on
Current Location: Galaxias Fluctus
Current Music: Arcade Fire, "Black Wave/Bad Vibrations"

Yesterday I did 1,252 words on the new vignette which, as of this writing, is still named "Exuvium."

The weather here in Providence has been grey and chilly and on-and-off rainy for days now. Or so it seems. I can't recall the last time I saw the sun. Then again, I've not left the House since Tuesday. Which really isn't that long, not for me. But the sun would be nice, shining in my office window.

The sea would be nice.

Please consider observing "Black Friday" by bidding on the current eBay auctions, which include a copy of the lettered edition of my long-out-of-print first novel (though it was published after my second and third novels, just before my fourth). Also, check out the Cephalopodmas ornaments in Spooky's Etsy shop, Dreaming Squid Dollworks.

Last night, we had trouble deciding whether to watch Wes Anderson's The Darjeeleng Limited (2007) again, or, instead, watch Jim Jarmusch's The Limits of Control (2009). The Darjeeleng Limited won out, as we were both in need of a comfort film. Later in the night, we played WoW, our new undead characters, and met up inworld with

scarletboi and

memkhet.

No sun yet. It's not the sort of thing that comes when you call.

Current Mood: shadowed
Current Location: Noctis Labyrinthus
Current Music: PJ Harvey, "The Piano"

An especially unnerving dream this ayem, and I've not been this dreamsick in——I don't know——weeks. I'm trying to focus on the sunlight in my office, the music, the coffee, these words. Anything but the events of the goddamn dream.

I think the micro-vacation has turned into a nano-vacation, as I'm going to spend today assembling Sirenia Digest #38. This month, subscribers get two new stories, "The Thousand-and-Third Tale of Scheherazade" and "The Belated Burial," and, the former will have an illustration by Vince. This is, you'll remember, the Edgar Allan Poe tribute issue, so there will also be art by Harry Clarke, I think, and there might be a very special surprise. I hope to get the issue out to subscribers before midnight tonight. If you are not a subscriber, that's easily enough remedied. Just click here.

The recent short interview I gave regarding A is for Alien, to SCi Fi Wire/Tor.com, will be up on February 2nd, I think; I'll post the link as soon as I have it.

As for yesterday, I spent most of it in bed. We watched Wes Anderson's Bottle Rocket (1996). Anderson is one of my favourite living directors, but I'd never seen Bottle Rocket (and still haven't seen Rushmore [1997]). Anyway, I loved the film, which is no surprise. The man is frakking brilliant. Also, I got some reading done: comic strips by Windsor McKay, papers in the latest Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology. I didn't sleep, which had sort of been the plan. Spooky got takeaway wonton soup for lunch, from our regular Chinese place. There was a small seizure, which, of course, did nothing to make me less exhuasted. Then, last night, I got back to WoW after mostly avoiding it the last couple of weeks. Shaharrazad made Level 57, and earned the "accomplishment" for completing 500 quests. Mostly, I've had her running low-level missions to become exalted with Undercity. I am not a power leveler. I figure by the time Spooky and I finally finish The Burning Crusade, we'll be able to pick up Wrath of the Lich King dirt cheap. June or July, maybe. After WoW, there was some good rp in Second Life, my paraplegic vampire. And after that, I went to bed, but proceeded to watch two episodes from Season Two of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. This is called avoiding sleep.

I think I've decided to proceed with the podcast idea. Likely, I'll record two or three stories from early issues of Sirenia Digest. I'll first make one available exclusively to subscribers for free, then offer them all via iTunes. Also, I'm going to have someone local make mp3s of all the old Death's Little Sister recordings, and get those up on iTunes (more as a curiosity than anything else).

And now, it's time to start assembling the Digest.

They're starting to open up the sky.
They're starting to reach down through.
And it feels like we're living in that split-second
Of a car crash.
And time is slowing down. (NIN, which I quote here against the goddamn dream)

Current Mood: awake
Current Location: Aesacus Dorsum
Current Music: NIN, "Zero-Sum"

Somehow, yesterday turned out to be a halfway decent writing day, despite my expectations. I think it helped that I managed to poop out a chunk of the frustration and morosity (new word) in the "tearing myself a new one" entry. The alcohol and caffeine helped, too, and the little yellow pills, and Spooky, and I wrote 903 words on "Bainbridge." I reworked part IV of the story ("The Soldier and the Angel") and made significant progress on part V ("Pensacola Beach [December 1982]") — the story occurs in ten sections. I'd only expected to read through what I'd written on Friday, call it quits, and go see a matinee of Memoirs of a Geisha. But I sat here and wrote, instead. The words started coming. I'm half tempted to write today, but we have plans with friends.

On Xmas Eve ten years ago I was sitting alone in the carriage house in Athens, trying to write the most unpleasant scene in Silk (Spyder, her maniac father, and the jar of black widows). That was the same year as Elizabeth's suicide. About 10:30 p.m., I realised I was just being a masochist (and not in the good way), writing stuff like that while the whole silly Santa-loving world did all their silly Xmas crap. So I went to the movies alone. I saw Heat and Jumanji, back to back. It didn't really matter what I was watching, it was just better to be in the theatre than alone in the carriage house. By comparison, last night was superb. Though I tend to forget it, things were a lot worse in 1995.

I'll spare you the details of the ridiculous Odyssey that was mine and Spooky's frantic search for supper last night (during a thunderstorm, thank you very much). I swear, every decent frelling restaurant in this quadrant of Atlanta had closed its doors by 5:30 p.m. (6:30 Caitlín Standard Time). After striking out with about ten of our favourite places, we ended up in the parking lot of Whole Foods on Ponce, which was bless'dly open. We were slightly drunk and more than slightly grumpy, and I think Spooky was so hungry she was getting ready to break into the Majestic and dine on the leftover grease from the deep-fat friers. Isn't it obvious that all this Xmas malarkey is just an excuse for people to slack off? Good thing we made it to the liquor store at L5P before it closed, as I needed to lay in supplies for a long winter's day of cosmopolitans. Because there will be no Georgia Aquarium for me today, thanks to some silliness about reservations. What kind of @!%!#@! aquarium requires @!%!#@! reservations, I ask you?

Anyway, we watched The Royal Tenenbaums last night, because I adore Wes Andersen, and Spooky hadn't seen it, which I found most peculiar. Fortunately, Videodrome was open. Those guys know better than to let some damned commercialised patrifocal Judeo-Xtian holiday (no commas, please) come between a movie geek and her unspeakable need for a Dalmatian mouse fix. You bet'cha. Er...okay, now I'm definitely rambling.

I'm not so good at this sort of thing, being such a damned doofus and all, but I need to say thanks to lots and lots of kind people who commented encouragingly in the LJ yesterday or e-mailed me. I wasn't fishing for encouragement, just trying to be a little more honest. Still, thanks.

setsuled even made me cry, in a good way, and I'm woman enough to admit it. And a special thank you to Aimee Mann. She knows why (I think).

Oh, and another thank you to

tjcrowley, for pointing me towards still more Cephalopodmas lyrics.