I am not a writer. I am not a teacher. These are my chosen disguises. I walk down the hall, sure-footed, professionally dressed, and see my reflection in the fish tank, dark with purple-black rocks, and wonder who that might actually be. 
He vanishes like a wave and I listen to my steps down the next hall. I think of being something else, a truck driver, a goaltender, an emperor, a porn star. 
I think of myself in these modes where I might not hold my thoughts so tight, not be so worried about others laughing at my stupidity. I wonder about choosing again, being another me. I look at those around – these nincompoops in nincompoop hats – and cringe. I forge on, alone, less of anything, but less a marionette, a sitcom bit player, stumbling in for my laugh. 
I have to be happy with that. And tell myself that again and again.
Category Archives: sex
Strength in a Line
It is impossible to define what makes beauty. We tend to think it is in the face. 
The nose can’t be too big, nor the ears, eyes, teeth, lips; the skin cannot have a scar, a mark of any kind.
Most important of all is in the jaw, the line from neck to chin, defined, curved, a strength of line upon which all else sits.
The look must be full and indifferent, demanding, subsumed, terrified, trapped, raw, all at the same time, a performer desperately nervous for her debut.
It’s a lot to ask.
My Whirling Brain
I don’t drink coffee. And for good reason. My brain is on constant whirl. It starts from the moment my eyes are half open. 
My dream? What was that? What did I do? I was a lawyer? I was that. And a murderer? No, that was him. And he got off. 
I was all right. My health was good, even if I always had the pain deep in my back and ribs. What was the point of any of this? I was alive. Yes. I had to get to work. I had to get back to the book. How were the Leafs? Oh right. Shit.
Sometimes I want to hide from my head, get into the corner of it and let it spin on itself. It never stops, whirling from the banal to the introspective back to the banal. Lots of doubt. Lots of darkness. Lots of sex. 
Sports too. That helps tone everything else down – the nothingness and all that. 
And then I do what I have to do. I eat and walk, teach and talk, email and grade, write and plan, blog and argue, reason and mount the elliptical, try to make some sense of what’s to come. 
And then I have a drink and think and have another and try to ride the round slow arc, going up, my arms almost out, warm and clear, and chase that well, and slump, giving in to my urge to play Texas Hold ‘Em. 
Watch something and something else, sleep and do it all again.
My Problem with the President’s Selfies
President Obama is a fine leader. Calm and judicious, he has tried to apply common sense in a time where few seem to give a damn.
Although he hasn’t applied the same reasoned approach as of late.
Nelson Mandela’s funeral
It seems that he has forgotten that selfie tomfoolery is beneath his office, connecting him too much to ‘folks’ like these…
He just needs to be reminded of where this road goes.
Carlos Danger
Exotic Shock in Cormac McCarthy’s “The Counselor”
Cormac McCarthy and Ridley Scott’s joint project The Counselor shocks to sell. 
Brutal imagery and non-stop sex banter aside, a main selling angle is in the exotic cats. 
Offered as colorful metaphors, the cheetahs – to say nothing of the film – quickly become blunt and unwieldy. 
Meant to convey, as Cameron Diaz’s puerile character explains, examples of killing “a quarry with elegance”, they are realized only as gimmickry, much like Diaz’s cheetah tattoo. 
“It is our faintness of heart that has driven us to the edge of ruin. And the slaughter to come is probably beyond our imagining.” Hopefully not words for a sequel.
Shock to Sell
Lars von Trier’s cinematic mission to shock audiences continues with the release of Nymphomaniac.
Lars von Trier’s “Nymphomaniac”
Using scandalous images to sell isn’t a unique plan.
Henry Miller’s early work
Sarah Lucas’s “Nud Nob” in New York
Fat White Family perform at Pianos in New York
But instead of shocking, this tack becomes more a source of amusement, the kind of thing that sells t-shirts. 
Which seems to be all they’re trying to do.
Hollywood Hills: Realistic Life
I wandered the hills of Hollywood and found dust and heat, sadness, a relentless need to be understood. 
A leftover from a Justin Timberlake video?
Cheryl Strayed’s “Wild”
Cheryl Strayed’s auto-biography Wild is a painfully honest account of how she processed the death of her mother and confronted her own shattered sense of self. 
Using her remarkable solo hike on the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT) as the central image, she confronts her fears, loss and short-comings with a relentlessly detailed and direct manner. I dreamed of my mother incessantly. In the dreams I was always with her when she died…I tied her to a tree in our front yard and poured gasoline over her head, then lit her on fire.
Strayed’s honesty is striking, tearing herself apart, not only reflecting on her loss but also her isolation and her sexuality. My hands running slowly up into his curly hair and down to his brawny back, holding his gorgeous male body against mine. There hasn’t been a time that I’ve done that that I haven’t remembered all over again how much I love men. 
Because of the consistently self-reflective approach, Strayed’s book does read long, conveying the relentless aspect of the trail she hiked and the problems she faced with perhaps excessive detail.
For a glimpse into the unforgiving style – and soul – of Ms. Strayed, her autobiographical essay, The Love of My Life is a stunning piece.
Also of note, Reese Witherspoon has optioned Wild, aiming to use it as a vehicle for herself one day. We’ll see.
Aspiring to the Enigmatic: Five Film Scenes
Advertisers want to give us answers, all of our confusion beaten into sell-able pulp.
Christian Dior selling purses.
Movie trailers are the same.
Baz Luhrman’s “The Great Gatsby”
All of it so simple and pornographically direct. 
The failure is in their intent, attempting to answer everything, give our lives a clear, cohesive narrative, when it is just the opposite.
Spike Jonze’s “Being John Malkovich”
Real questions don’t do well under the spotlight; they wilt and are never clear. Sudden and enigmatic, they only offer a glimpse, making us stop and think, “Wait. What was that?”
5. Being There (1979, Hal Ashby) Chance watches cartoons in a limousine.
4. The Thin Red Line (1998, Terrence Malick): American soldiers walk by a local in Guadalcanal.
3. Punch Drunk Love (2002, Paul Thomas Anderson): A car crashes in an empty street.
2. The Graduate (1967, Mike Nichols): True love is realized…and then what?
1. Aguirre, Wrath of God (1972, Werner Herzog): In the end, only monkeys are left for the revolution.
Who is with me?
Five Things To Look At Instead of Being Thoughtful or Productive
In the spirit of the internet’s ever-spiraling plummet toward complete and utter meaninglessness, I offer my Five Things To Look At Instead of Being Thoughtful or Productive.
5. Look! It’s a cute animal photo-shopped to be cuter!
4. What the…? A submarine that’s shaped like a shark?! I want one now!
3. Rob Ford mocking a drunk driver…oh, the irony!
2. Celebrating perfect GRE’s!
