This is How We Balk on the Moon
When I Can’t Move, I’ll Savor The Pause For Awhile
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Now I understand if you already have lost trust in me, as I’ve totally bombed when it comes to updating. I thoroughly believed that I would be able to fit in at least one entry per week, even with adjusting to a new land and preparing to shoot a short 16mm film (more on this in about 110 words). It would not be out of place for the common reader to expect at least this much output, and yet, your expectations, so far, have gone unfulfilled.The only good that comes out of us this appalling blogging (ugh) is that it is a touchstone in the creation of a unifying theme for this entry. Expectations, whether of Dickens’ stature or not, simply cannot be expected to be actualized. Unless we’re discussing a new Bronson Pinochet TV series- then you can expect with all of your heart that it’s going to be out of the park.I guess I purposedly didn’t mention that I was going to be studying abroad in Prague until mid-December in my first entry, as I didn’t envision this to be a blog devoted to this excursion, hopeful that this will be a lengthier endeavor than just four months. But anyways, through my college, American University, which some consider a frontrunner for third best school in Washington DC which lacks an African-American or deaf majority, I am in Praha to study at FAMU, the world-renowned film school.The school is responsible for the schooling of basically every important contributor to the Czech New Wave, such as Milos Forman, Jiri Menzel, and Vera Chytilová, among many others. It’s amazing to watch Closely Watched Trains, which has steadily become one of my favorite films over the past year and a half, and have the Director of Photography Jaromir Sofr be in the audience with you, as he teaches at FAMU now. The history at this school and standard of excellence consistently astounds me, and it’s hard not to be inspired to produce a meritorious product while matriculating here. Plus, there is a bar in the basement of the school that has one of the cheapest half-liters of Budweiser Budvar on tap that I’ve come across thus far.
As for the city itself, I find it’s really hard to explicate what is so appealing already about the place. I’ve been reading friends’ blogs who discuss their study abroad experiences so far, and what I read is usually the same: that it’s an amazing place, that they are having the time of their life, etc. And to be fair, I could easily say that and mean it, and I’m not knocking my friends who write the aforementioned bit. It is an overwhelming and truly blithesome venture to just make it to another place and be able to live, no matter if there is a language barrier or any other roadblocks. The everyday interactions and challenges faced, big or small, make up my time here, and I could never remember/detail these for you, especially those that occured in my first three weeks here. However, I could tell you the little facts about the city that I have found out so far; that I’ve never seen so many dogs (and so much dogshit) on the streets, that Smažený Sýr is the real currency here, that there’s a little bakery on the corner of my street that has perhaps the best smell I could ever ask for at eight in the morning when I walk to class. These start giving a slight indication of what my life is like here, but I’m not sure what context to put them into- yet. Maybe that’s what the city is about, figuring out what to do with it’s greatness, but I will spend a lot of time in this blog trying to figure it out, as best as one can in less than four months’ time.
Right now, I often just feel exhilaration at being in a different place, having to create a very different state of mind, where I can’t expect people to speak my native language, where I can’t expect anyone to understand my Drew Cool For School sweatshirt, where I can’t expect ladies to throw a smile my way even if I look fly and fresh to death. I just have to be buoyant and let the proverbial Czech waves take me, a feeling laid to sound very well by Guillemots on “We’re Here” (a title which always reminds me of this animated gem) from from last year’s “Through The Windowpane.” The band treads a line that could easily delve into a Coldplay-sounding shitshow, yet almost always impressed me greatly, and while “We’re Here” isn’t as wow-inducing as “Trains to Brazil” or “Made Up Love Song #43″, it still gives the impression of a wonderous magic carpet ride, if Aladdin was trying to score some indie punani. Guillemots- We’re Here
When it comes to expectations, I also found myself recently stung by actually believing that Kanye West would produce something unlike his last two albums with Graduation. I have never had an opinion that Kanye was ever anything more than a weak emcee at best, but I have always tipped my bowler towards him when it comes to his producing skills. For some reason, as he has been propelled into mythical music status, his personality and ego have started consuming anything they touch, leading him to become one of the most hard to stomach celebrities I can think of. Someone else has already concocted a list that highlights a few reasons why his self-aggrandizement is a bit too much, but more importantly, he has placed himself as the savior of not only hip-hop but of pop music, or more likely, human beings. I have come to believe that a new album by him will feature great production on half of the songs and maybe two or three songs with any semblance of enjoyable rhyming. I figured I would get around to hearing the album when it came out, content to not expect much from it, but once again, many music review websites championed him, and my interest was piqued. Reviewers said that this new album was different, that he had matured and was a consistent rapper now, but sadly, there is not much difference between what he’s spitting on Graduation and The College Dropout.At times, even his production work falls flat like “Barry Bonds” or “I Wonder,” which another music blog rightfully said sounds like the music you would hear over the closing credits of a late-90s Japanese RPG. And Lord Sam Cooke, is he still sometimes unbearable to listen to on some cuts. Admittedly, when he succeeds, it is generally pretty golden, such as “The Glory” or “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” but how many times can I hear “louis Vuitton” featured in every other line? Of course, I also could deal without ever hearing Chris Martin on another rap song, and “Stronger” is still as much of an abomination as it was four months ago. To me, he has had a miniscule growth rate as a rapper since “Through The Wire,” perhaps the last time he was likeable, and the huge annoyance that his real-life personality more and more becomes is now more and more present in his raps, and that’s not a good thing. He does have an extreme predilection for now saying “dykes” in his raps, which seems weird coming from a guy who is public about his crusade to eliminate homophobia in the rap world, but it actually seems more weird than offensive, sort of like Wes Anderson’s usage of handjobs as a status symbol in Rushmore.Maybe, judging from that example, I hold him to a different standard because of his ego and musical status, as some of my favorite rappers drop homophobic, misogynistic, and incredibly egostical comments in all of their rhymes, and yet, I still support them. So I guess I respect the fact that he is one of the most popular artists in the world now and he is trying to improve and include new elements in his music, as compared to a, say, 50 Cent, a laughable foe. If anything, I have to give him credit for giving us two tight music videos this year:I do have to wonder what my expectations will be, and if I will be burned once again by them, when his fourth album comes around (most likely titled GRE Status).Of course, after seeing a grandfather and his grandkid nailing some ollies on a shoddy halfpipe in the south Cesky Republiky, what else is there to expect from this life?
Sincerely,Drew R.
A Salty Salute
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Here’s the conundrum: part of me wants to begin this new blog by mentioning that I feel like I have been down this road before, at least once or twice. But so much of me wants to immediately follow up that statement by saying that it doesn’t matter, because where I’m going, I won’t need roads. And then a sliver of my soul is appalled that any facet of me wants to commence a new blog with consecutive clichés.
I have before typed up my thoughts and placed them in a public setting twice, to varying degrees of success. Both of these could best be described as online journals, and both were integral to my high school life, in various ways. But since arriving at college, I have forsaken these avenues of expression, for no particular reason, other than the fact that I thought that I didn’t care to let the world in on my life in what I thought was a trivial outlet. Recently, though, I returned to view my past journals, and I was filled with a bit of unexpected emotion.
Going back to printed fragments of your five-year-old psyche, replete with sophomore year yearnings and utterly naïve delusions of relative normalcy is, as could be expected, a somewhat painful act. However, I found that being able to look back on a time period, not just through my memories which have been refined and sculpted to my liking with the filter of time, but actually through my own words of that moment led to a much more accurate script to follow. Nostalgia is malleable, but actual written accounts from the past are (by and large) not. Also, it’s a superb way to knock myself off my high stallion of music elitism when there’s proof that there was a time in my life that I championed …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead. And anytime I wish to create my first big screen melodrama, I will likely cite the journal entries circa-me getting dumped junior year alongside Douglas Sirk and Falcon Crest as primary influences.
The point, however backwardly I finally arrive at it, is that by reading journal entries from the past five years of my life, which charted at least a bit of my evolution (which, to be fair, is not anywhere as entertaining or soulful as the Evolution of Robin Thicke), I discovered a reserve of avidity when it came to writing about my life again. Not under the thin guise of a screenplay or short story, but to actually just put my thoughts down and let the world view them- it occurred to me that I wanted to be able to look back at my life a few years from now and be able to read something that I constructed from way back when. If the past is an edifice that we are eternally locked out of, then it’s a benefit if there are at least a few windows to peek through, and I think that’s what makes this a worthwhile endeavor.
To clarify, the title is a reference to “This is How We Walk On The Moon,” a song by
Arthur Russell, one of my favorite musicians. It is, admittedly, not my choice piece by him, but it is one of my best-loved titles; in a way, it’s the titular companion of “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love”, a fabulously-named short story by one of my most admired authors, Raymond Carver. There’s a very thin line between imitation and homage, and while I aim to fulfill the latter, I in no way intend to place the substance featured here in the same category as these two visionaries- that would just be substance abuse (Sorry, I had a pun in the oven.)
For the guidance of the audience, here’s a breakdown of a few choice words featured in the title:
How — An operative word that leads to a pressing question: How? Likely, by means of substandard syntax where meaning becomes mired in way too many words, shoddy diction worthy of my 12-year-old cousin’s Myspace bulletins, a myriad of pop culture references to convey a trace of relevance, and more cheap gimmicks than the last season of Roseanne- these are a few of my favorite things.
We — See, this could have been changed to a singular term, but I wanted everyone to join in on the fun. So when you read the inevitable “Girls don’t like me, fuck, I should just castrate myself for attention” post (over/under: three entries in), we- you, me and Dupree- can all commiserate by commenting and cheering each other up. When used in conjunction with “how,” it indicates that this is a learning process for not only the creator but the observer, as well- edification for all!
Balk — In all honesty (a trait that you can hopefully expect throughout), this is just me trying to be snarky (a trait that you can sadly expect throughout). This was the main word that had to be changed, in order for it to not just be straight copycattery, and this was the best I could do. There are only so many four-letter words that end in –alk, so it came down to this or “talk,” and while the latter may have proven to be a more appropriate title, I really just find the word “balk” to be an ace of a word. But if I have to force any significance upon this word choice, then let it serve as the first representation of this blog’s unerring effort to consistently bewilder and leave the audience guessing what will come next. Feel free to balk at this suggestion.
Moon — Offers a wonderful vantage point to look at our world, and is not made out of cheese, contrary to popular belief.
Okay, now that a handful of key terms have been haphazardly defined, I feel like it’s time to come clean about this new pursuit of mine. This is, undoubtedly, the embryonic stage of this blog, and I am aiming to try numerous methods and styles of expression. Sometimes it’s going to be a bear to read, as I already notice by looking back and cringing at the list of terms clarified above, but that can be expected with any fresh start. Perhaps these first entries will be nothing like future logs, serving only as a remembrance of an inchoate beginning before undergoing aesthetic transmutation for the better. I don’t think you will just find recounting of my daily doings here, as I have a premonition that there will be features dedicated to pieces of art I marvel at or hold my nose at, and there may even be essays about certain pressing issues. Of course, sometimes it will just be a forum for me to post my Buffy fan-fiction. No, that’s not true at all.
I turned twenty a few days ago, and because I am at home, awaiting to go abroad, very few of my friends, either from high school or college, are anywhere close to me. So after a day of getting a haircut (I aspired to look like Drumline-era Nick Cannon), getting treated to seafood by my parents, and getting a smattering of phone calls from distant friends, I decided to go driving in my pops’ car late at night. The album I listened to was The Queen is Dead, by the Smiths, and as I drove around, I thought that it was ironic that my 20th birthday was not that different from my 16th birthday. For some reason, I thought that this was what I did four years ago, and while it’s not an off-base guess, since Morrissey and Marr were as reliably present in those youthful days as backne and tight tees, it also just isn’t true. I couldn’t drive the day I turned sixteen, and furthermore, I didn’t own The Queen is Dead on CD until senior year. So as much as I would have liked to have experienced a moment of cyclical transcendence on my birthday, the facts proved otherwise. And I had to laugh at this, because it felt comforting that I somehow was able to recapture some truth about an earlier time in my life. The past shouldn’t always be romanticized, because it usually leads to verisimilitude being excised for the sake of wistfulness. Truthfully, I could deal with more moments like that, and that’s where thisishowwebalkonthemoon.wordpress.com comes in. So while I may never exactly remember what I did that September 1st in 2003, I will know what happened that same date in 2007- at least when it comes to musical choices.
In summation: New blog, ever-changing life, Wild n’ Out haircut.
Sincerely,
Drew R.
