American Splendor
I'm sick of all of my movies. But I wanted to watch something last night after a long and productive work day followed by a long and productive meeting that caused me to miss "The Office" and I didn't want to watch "Pan's Labyrinth", one of two at-home Netflix offerings. So I dug through my movies, evaluated how sick I was of each one of them, and decided I was least sick of "American Splendor".
About the time I sat down with the remote, Kevin pulled in, triumphant from finally getting caught up on the stone blasting (finally! after a week of late nights). He really should watch our other Netflix choice, "Maya Lin: A Strong, Clear Vision". I've seen it a few times now and he's seen it once, but he should watch it again now that he is a professional "funeral architecture memorialist". We stuck with the Splendor, not unaware of the american splendor present in the room. Two adults, in ersatz pajamas, settled into their cheap furniture that's mostly comfortable and surrounded by little piles of folded laundry that no one (me) has gotten around to putting away because, well, there will be more tomorrow. Might as well wait and get it all at once. After a brief debrief, we pushed play.
If you've never seen "American Splendor", you probably should. It's about Harvey Pekar, the real-life man behind the real-life comic book series about his real-life called "American Splendor". When I first watched it, I was hoping it wouldn't be as disturbing as that other comic book hero documentary, "Crumb". That movie creeped me out. This one didn't--not at all. It's really clever and interesting and Paul Giamatti does an amazing job of keeping his face in a painful-looking scowl throughout. Grade? A-.
The reason I'm writing is this: I've often thought about just why I blog, and why I get so personal, so 'refreshingly raw'. I've wondered if I'm some sort of exhibitionist, or if I'm a megalomaniac who thinks my life is so beautiful that I must share it with a underprivileged world. After some shallow searching, I can assure you, dear reader, that it is neither of those.
It's more of a cathartic thing. I'm purging the bowels of my soul here! I've often batted around the idea that there is nothing more interesting than a regular life well-told, and after that same idea was voiced in the movie last night it hit me full-force, 'Yeah. That's true. That's why I blog'. See? Full-force. I realize that my telling isn't always, shall we say, eloquent, but it's honest (though I do keep some things in reserve) and it is most definitely real. What do we do with the short time we have? How do we get through each repetitive day? What keeps us going, why do we make plans (or not), who do we shack up with, how do we deal with the other monkeys that surround us, what makes us the same and different? It is the minutia of life that I enjoy hearing about and writing about. There's a lot of good stuff in the mundane.
And another thing I know is that I am an educator by nature. Whenever I learn something new, my brain immediately begins working on how I can transfer that knowledge to others. I like knowing that about myself, about my 'nature', and I'm pretty good at it and enjoy sharing. So, when I reveal "personal" things that others won't touch, like withering bank account balances and marital issues and the like, it does open me up to unspoken judgment I suppose, but it also (I hope) shows people how certain people do certain things like start a business or raise a couple of kids. If you enjoy reading about it, I'm glad. If you don't, well, there's lots of other things to do.
It is also a direct rebellion against those articles I've spoken of in the past that talk about people who give up the rat race for country tranquility and then don't offer any details about how in the hell they managed it beyond "Mr. Farmer used to be a high-powered investment banker in NYC." Well, hell, it's not real tough for a multi-millionaire to make his "country dream" a frickin' reality! What about the rest of us chumps?
On that bitter note, I just got my new issue of Country Living magazine which, I can assure you, has NOTHING to do with the realities of country living that, for now, I can only read about in real country living magazines. It's all about suspiciously wealthy 30-somethings who live in these suspiciously manicured (but beautiful) homes that I want to live in filled with suspiciously expensive things they pick up from quaint--and suspiciously yuppie--flea markets (most of which I really don't want. I'm really, really getting sick of so much shit in the world and in a house). In other words, it's all about style, and it does make me a little envious, and I'm thinking of writing a nasty letter before cancelling my subscription. But I might not. In a world of things to fight for....
Yesterday I donated about $40 to a hospital that is trying by the skin of its teeth to help the women and girls who are being raped, mutilated, and killed by guerilla fighters and even UN peacekeeping troops in the Dem. Rep. of the Congo. I read an article about it in my mom's Glamour magazine (I know, right? It made it that much more difficult to give a dang about the ridiculous wares offered up on the other pages) and then promptly did nothing. But I got all over it yesterday, donating AND printing off form letters to the do-nothing president of the DNR, addressing and stamping envelopes, and sending them to people to sign and send. Then I attended a meeting of the Concerned Citizens for the Black Community and took some of the burden off of the one increasingly frantic woman stuck doing all of their grant paperwork. So I fought the good fight yesterday. It was a good day.
About the time I sat down with the remote, Kevin pulled in, triumphant from finally getting caught up on the stone blasting (finally! after a week of late nights). He really should watch our other Netflix choice, "Maya Lin: A Strong, Clear Vision". I've seen it a few times now and he's seen it once, but he should watch it again now that he is a professional "funeral architecture memorialist". We stuck with the Splendor, not unaware of the american splendor present in the room. Two adults, in ersatz pajamas, settled into their cheap furniture that's mostly comfortable and surrounded by little piles of folded laundry that no one (me) has gotten around to putting away because, well, there will be more tomorrow. Might as well wait and get it all at once. After a brief debrief, we pushed play.
If you've never seen "American Splendor", you probably should. It's about Harvey Pekar, the real-life man behind the real-life comic book series about his real-life called "American Splendor". When I first watched it, I was hoping it wouldn't be as disturbing as that other comic book hero documentary, "Crumb". That movie creeped me out. This one didn't--not at all. It's really clever and interesting and Paul Giamatti does an amazing job of keeping his face in a painful-looking scowl throughout. Grade? A-.
The reason I'm writing is this: I've often thought about just why I blog, and why I get so personal, so 'refreshingly raw'. I've wondered if I'm some sort of exhibitionist, or if I'm a megalomaniac who thinks my life is so beautiful that I must share it with a underprivileged world. After some shallow searching, I can assure you, dear reader, that it is neither of those.
It's more of a cathartic thing. I'm purging the bowels of my soul here! I've often batted around the idea that there is nothing more interesting than a regular life well-told, and after that same idea was voiced in the movie last night it hit me full-force, 'Yeah. That's true. That's why I blog'. See? Full-force. I realize that my telling isn't always, shall we say, eloquent, but it's honest (though I do keep some things in reserve) and it is most definitely real. What do we do with the short time we have? How do we get through each repetitive day? What keeps us going, why do we make plans (or not), who do we shack up with, how do we deal with the other monkeys that surround us, what makes us the same and different? It is the minutia of life that I enjoy hearing about and writing about. There's a lot of good stuff in the mundane.
And another thing I know is that I am an educator by nature. Whenever I learn something new, my brain immediately begins working on how I can transfer that knowledge to others. I like knowing that about myself, about my 'nature', and I'm pretty good at it and enjoy sharing. So, when I reveal "personal" things that others won't touch, like withering bank account balances and marital issues and the like, it does open me up to unspoken judgment I suppose, but it also (I hope) shows people how certain people do certain things like start a business or raise a couple of kids. If you enjoy reading about it, I'm glad. If you don't, well, there's lots of other things to do.
It is also a direct rebellion against those articles I've spoken of in the past that talk about people who give up the rat race for country tranquility and then don't offer any details about how in the hell they managed it beyond "Mr. Farmer used to be a high-powered investment banker in NYC." Well, hell, it's not real tough for a multi-millionaire to make his "country dream" a frickin' reality! What about the rest of us chumps?
On that bitter note, I just got my new issue of Country Living magazine which, I can assure you, has NOTHING to do with the realities of country living that, for now, I can only read about in real country living magazines. It's all about suspiciously wealthy 30-somethings who live in these suspiciously manicured (but beautiful) homes that I want to live in filled with suspiciously expensive things they pick up from quaint--and suspiciously yuppie--flea markets (most of which I really don't want. I'm really, really getting sick of so much shit in the world and in a house). In other words, it's all about style, and it does make me a little envious, and I'm thinking of writing a nasty letter before cancelling my subscription. But I might not. In a world of things to fight for....
Yesterday I donated about $40 to a hospital that is trying by the skin of its teeth to help the women and girls who are being raped, mutilated, and killed by guerilla fighters and even UN peacekeeping troops in the Dem. Rep. of the Congo. I read an article about it in my mom's Glamour magazine (I know, right? It made it that much more difficult to give a dang about the ridiculous wares offered up on the other pages) and then promptly did nothing. But I got all over it yesterday, donating AND printing off form letters to the do-nothing president of the DNR, addressing and stamping envelopes, and sending them to people to sign and send. Then I attended a meeting of the Concerned Citizens for the Black Community and took some of the burden off of the one increasingly frantic woman stuck doing all of their grant paperwork. So I fought the good fight yesterday. It was a good day.
posted by lulu | 7:06 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home