fifty year anniversary. rosa parks and suzie wong rumble in the jungle

Riding public transit in SF is a generally depressing look into the human condition. A daily bus commute to work often leaves me angry and faithless. Riding the SF Muni bus can be a test in human kindness and normalcy from both passengers and drivers. Much like when we get into our cars, polite, upstanding individuals become monsters or maniacs, waving around the f bomb with hand gestures and the helpful horn. In a car, we have the protective barrier of four walls of metal and a soundproof windshield. Often we have music like rap or death metal transporting us to an alternate universe. When we drive, we are not ourselves, but we are Tupac, or Zach De la Rocha, or Henry Rollins. We hate the POlice, get our AKs, and don't hesitate to deliver our fellow commuters a big blaring f you. I have often used the line, 'Officer, it wasn't me, it was Biggie,' to get out of a snare.

One might think that the face to face human contact of a bus commute, the 'public' in public transit, would make us more fond of, or at least appear more dignified toward our fellow citizens, those with whom we share our precarious fate, hoping that we get from point a to point b safely, without a hitch, without a bomb or an accident. On a bus commute, we are not only face to face, we are often touching our neighbors. However, in this day and age, we come to realize that people do not want to be touched. Truth be told, most people would rather not be on that bus, next to their less worthy human beings. If we had our choice, we would be riding to work, the store, or to our next drug deal in the back of a Town Car. We deign to ride the bus because we cannot afford better, so we must tolerate the presence of the other imbeciles around us. Some tolerate more quietly than others.

In the vain of Citizen Journalism, which I recently wrote about, here is another example of home video reporting, Youtube newscasting. Citizen Journalism is a wonderful phenomenon where everyone with an Iphone can be a reporter, it is much like a citizen's arrest, except instead of arresting an offender, or being a 'Good Samaritan,' the citizen merely stands by and films the offending act while providing useful commentary.




Unfortunately, this video was filmed after the fight had already started, leaving the viewer guessing as to its origins. At least we can tell that it is NOT STAGED, unless the filmer is a young Kurusawa, forcing us to wonder and replay in Roshomon style awe. A friend who speaks Cantonese told me that the Chinese passenger was trying to sit next to the African American passenger who was not about to let that happen. We can only assume that she was saving the seat next to her for Rosa Parks.


If you are not from SF, you must be informed that a seat on the Muni can be a highly coveted enterprise. Commuters often clamor to the back pushing and screaming as if Robert Plant tickets were on the line. While front seats are officially reserved for Rosa and other senior citizens, I have witnessed their occupancy by chickens, purses, shopping bags, newspapers, knitting, and even an arm draped around what must've been an, 'invisible' rider, while the elderly and pregnant get jostled around clumsily, and often quietly, likely hoping to avoid a throwdown of this magnitude. Americans like to take up space, with their vehicles, fat, belongings, and the occasional outstretched limb in the absence of better territory markers. You never know what can happen on Muni. It is a miracle that more fights do not occur, given the ratio of seats to imbeciles. We owe this to the restraint and foresight of one of the parties who could be potentially involved. When there are not one, but two imbeciles in a Muni land grab, the previous scenario can ensue.

Further second hand translation by my rogue interpreter told me that the Chinese passenger, in her heartfelt pleas to the sympathies of the other passengers, claims that she was originally [trying to be nice] to the other woman, who denied her a seat. While one lady has the power of a language barrier on her side, for we can only presume that she is making an eloquent, lucid argument in her native language, a weary appeal to the masses, much like 'I have a dream...'

Note, full text of comic here.

the other passenger is speaking some dialect of English, which makes us less empathetic, because we can understand her.


Let's break down what we do understand.


Characters.
Chinese passenger, aka Suzie.
African American passenger, aka Rosa.
Citizen Journalist, Edward R. Murrow in the making.
Young woman.

Scene.
SF Muni bus.

Suzie: Fuck you!
You stupid.
Fuck you.

Rosa:
Put yo' hands...[sic]
[Waves hands in the air like she just don't care].

Suzie:
[Turns to other passengers]
[Spoken in Cantonese]:

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity....

...

....

[Switches to English]:

Fuck you!

You are stupid!

[Switches to Cantonese]:

....We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

Rosa:
[Assumes fighting stance]
Various Uninterpretable Obscenities.

{Directors Notes:
It is a good thing this video is annotated with commentary by Citizen Journalist, who may score a Pulitzer for his poignant remarks.

To wit,
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny.

Here Citizen Journalist quotes MLK almost verbatim.
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Citizen Journalist: I'm getting the feeling it's about to go down.

Clearly, the white Citizen Journalist, rather than joining the March on Washington and acknowledging this intertwined destiny, is 'so not getting involved' His only reaction is to hide his phone from view, much like on the streets of Peshawar. We can only assume that he is fearful of political imprisonment.
}

Back to our story.

[Blows are exchanged]

[Fight is broken up by young woman]

Young woman:
Stop it!
Somebody grab her!
Get her back!
Fuckin' stop it!
You're immature!

[In the land of the Blind the One Eyed man is king]

[Rosa, admitting defeat, exits center stage]

Suzie resumes 'I have a dream' speech in Cantonese.
We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities....We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day....little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

In the words of Langston Hughes.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

---

Who is to blame here, Rosa, Suzie, Citizen Journalist, innocent bystanders? A culture of racism, entitlement, blase overindulgence and indifference. Desensitization to external stimuli, and apathy toward the plight of mankind? Who cares?

Citizen Journalist: Just another day on Muni. Fuckin Muni.

I have a dream today. ~MLK

Today was a good day, I didn't have to use my AK. ~Cube

President Peace wins the gold

After spearheading a failed bid for the 2016 Summer Olympics for his home city of Chicago, President Obama spat in the face of the world by winning the Nobel Peace Prize, becoming the third sitting president to achieve the highest honor for, well, anything. The IOC may not think he is important enough to deserve the international equivalent of barging in line, but apparently the Nobel Committee does. It's a bit like the time when I was kid and got rejected from Penn State, only to find out two weeks later that I was accepted to Harvard. Or the time my local paper wouldn't publish my poems, but the New Yorker accepted them. Ok, neither of those things happened, but highlighting the sheer lunacy of it begs an appropriate comparison.

When I read about Obama's win, my first feeling was surprise, Was he even nominated?, followed by annoyance that someone so early in his presidential career could win an honor that so many other, more 'deserving' candidates had been passed over for. For a look at some of the other potential 'competitors,' have a read here. Losers.

My second, almost immediate thought was, 'What about Bill?' I have long held Bill Clinton to be the Greatest Man Alive, and would love to see another Clinton Dynasty in the White House, or heck, why not a benevolent dictatorship featuring Billary leading the charge toward making the world A Better Place. Despite my obvious bias, I think this would have been an appropriate year for Bill to win, given his history in foreign policy achievements, brokering peace in the Middle East and the North of Ireland, his foundation and ongoing international efforts, his wife's prominence, and his high profile rescue of those journalists whose names I don't know. Also, many would argue that Bill led the charge toward the variety of diplomacy that Obama has reaped the benefits of. Heck some might argue that H.W. Bush did. We want Bill, damnit! Clearly, I am not the only one who thoght so. For crying out loud, even Maureen freaking Dowd, has something to say about it.

The national outrage and debate on the subject is actually quite a surprise to me, especially with some people calling for Obama to decline to prize, and his own brilliant PR machine writing individual emails to his constituents, detailing his own surprise and his desire to live up to the honor. Nice execution, O, even brought a tear to my eye. 'Cut, print, Oscar.'

Here is his full text.

Apple,

This morning, Michelle and I awoke to some surprising and humbling news. At 6 a.m., we received word that I'd been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for 2009.

To be honest, I do not feel that I deserve to be in the company of so many of t...he transformative figures who've been honored by this prize -- men and women who've inspired me and inspired the entire world through their courageous pursuit of peace.

But I also know that throughout history the Nobel Peace Prize has not just been used to honor specific achievement; it's also been used as a means to give momentum to a set of causes.

That is why I've said that I will accept this award as a call to action, a call for all nations and all peoples to confront the common challenges of the 21st century. These challenges won't all be met during my presidency, or even my lifetime. But I know these challenges can be met so long as it's recognized that they will not be met by one person or one nation alone.

This award -- and the call to action that comes with it -- does not belong simply to me or my administration; it belongs to all people around the world who have fought for justice and for peace. And most of all, it belongs to you, the men and women of America, who have dared to hope and have worked so hard to make our world a little better.

So today we humbly recommit to the important work that we've begun together. I'm grateful that you've stood with me thus far, and I'm honored to continue our vital work in the years to come.

Thank you,

President Barack Obama

Obviously, O should not decline a Nobel Prize people. If you find a lottery ticket on the ground and win a million dollars should you attempt to find the person who originally purchased the ticket? Hell no, take that money and buy a yacht. It's yours, finders keepers. Do people really expect Obama to give up the Prize and pass it along to the unknown Congolese surgeon who saves thousands of rape victims on a daily basis? Let's not get carried away. We are none of us martyrs. Declining the Prize is more tasteless than accepting it.

Ok, so if there is no way he can give up the prize, why the fuss from Left and Right? After all, isn't America the Beautiful a country that cheers the underdog? We love Joe Louis and Billy Elliot, and there was even a viral video from American Idol featuring a gifted singer from the poor section of town who went on to wow the world with her singing 'I dreamed a dream.' Appropriate and well manufactured choice of songs, I would say. This isn't the first time we've borne witness to the media's attempts to warm our hearts. Perhaps, necessary in war time.

So why aren't our hearts more warmed by this story of President Peace and his unlikely rise to the top? We loved it when the one term Illinois senator/ community organizer went on the become the first African-American President, and thereby the most powerful man in the world. Why are we so annoyed about a title that really confers virtually no money, no power, and who's past recipients are hardly household names? We are appalled that Obama does not 'deserve,' this award, because America is a country where everyone should deserve their rewards, and where nothing but hard work, perseverance, temperance, modesty, and diligence have allowed the successful to enjoy the fruits of their labors. It seems indicative of the patently 'American' phenomenon that people should succeed, but they can't succeed too much. We are a Citizen Kane society.

Well, is the reason we are less than enthusiastic about Obama's dark horse victory because we are afraid of him becoming too big, or is it truly because he has really done too little?

Let's take a look at the Nobel Committee press release to see why Obama won. Here's the play by play.

NNC:
Obama has as President created a new climate in international politics. Multilateral diplomacy has regained a central position, with emphasis on the role that the United Nations and other international institutions can play.

Apple:
Ok well, basically we are giving him an award for not being Bush. Have we forgotten Clinton, HW, Carter, and heck even Reagan might be accused of employing multilateral diplomacy when the time was right. Let's give HW a Nobel for opening up diplomatic relations with China and being around when the Cold War ended. I might even argue that Bush senior's relations with Moscow sped up the fall of the Iron Curtain.

NNC:
Dialogue and negotiations are preferred as instruments for resolving even the most difficult international conflicts.

Apple:
You think? Wow. Genius. Let's give a Nobel to Nixon for his diplomacy in China while we are handing out prizes.

NNC:
The vision of a world free from nuclear arms has powerfully stimulated disarmament and arms control negotiations. Thanks to Obama's initiative, the USA is now playing a more constructive role in meeting the great climatic challenges the world is confronting. Democracy and human rights are to be strengthened.

Apple:
Ok, that was a mouthful. Well, Al Gore ran his campaign on a platform of nuclear disarmament and he got screwed. He also won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2007 for recognizing 'climactic challenges.' Good job! I suppose Obama deserves this high honor because Bush denied the existence of Global Warming and failed to initialize the Kyoto Protocol that Clinton and Gore spent their tenure authoring and advocating.

NNC:
Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's attention and given its people hope for a better future.

Apple:
This comment is probably the most upsetting because we are basically saying we are giving Obama a prize for his celebrity. Isn't the Nobel an honor awarded to people who have been under recognized in their fields? Is the Nobel not a vehicle to confer much needed recognition rather than reinforce it? Why not give the Prize to Bono if celebrity is a criteria?

NNC:
His diplomacy is founded in the concept that those who are to lead the world must do so on the basis of values and attitudes that are shared by the majority of the world's population.

Apple:
Ok, another no brainer.

NNC:
For 108 years, the Norwegian Nobel Committee has sought to stimulate precisely that international policy and those attitudes for which Obama is now the world's leading spokesman. The Committee endorses Obama's appeal that "Now is the time for all of us to take our share of responsibility for a global response to global challenges."

Apple:
Here the NNC is telling us that aspirations and platitudes, and 'attitudes' directed at shared responsibility are enough to confer a Nobel Peace Prize. Let's get serious here. I share these values. Do I deserve a prize? Well, the NNC is saying that by giving Obama this prize, we are sharing it with him, so it looks like I do. Yes, Apple for the win.

I was going to take a moment here to rant about increasing troops in Afghanistan and continuing missile defense, but this rant is becoming too long. While I like Obama, and I did vote for him, I have been somewhat disappointed in his results as president.

So let's conclude here that the Nobel Committee cannot even express in a press release why Obama is winning this prestigious honor, other than for being Not Bush. Perhaps we are so scarred from eight years of a Bush presidency that it is necessary to encourage our next president to dig us out of the foreign policy hole we have been in for the past eight years. Ok fair enough. I will admit that I think it is wonderful that Obama was elected as our first black president, which is a small step toward healing centuries of wounds from a history of slavery and a subsequent culture of racism. This may be reason enough to earn this prize. I don't know.

However, after reading about the other nominees, and lamenting about Bill, who not only qualifies in the above mentioned counts, but has also made achievements towards them, I find the reward insulting. It is like a reward for stumbling upon Leona Helmsley's lost cat. Perhaps there have been other travesties in the world of Nobel honorees, however the reason the Nobel Peace Prize is so important is because Peace is something that all of us can understand. We don't understand Economics, we don't understand Medicine, and we sure as hell don't understand Physics, but Peace, while being elusive and difficult to achieve, is a concept so beautiful and so tangible, that it makes no sense to award it for something so intangible as Hope. While they may go hand in hand in the realm of verbiage, peace and hope, peace, love, hope, and understanding, Obama has done little but pay lip service to peace, and until he does more, he does not deserve this prize.

In the face of the other nominees who have made strides toward peace in the face of heart-breaking adversities, giving the Nobel Peace Prize to Obama is nothing better than giving it to a pageant queen who declares that she wants to dedicate her life to work toward 'World Peace.' So now that Obama has won this prize, I hope he can live up to his name, and save us from embarrassment in four years, because that is a very tall order to fill.

an evening at crunch fitness, or the marina pick up scene

This morning I was conversing with Slanted Mirror, and I told her that if my life was a blog, it would be very boring. I would write about eating, sleeping, and perhaps TV or an issue of the New Yorker. For me, an exciting evening is a brand new issue of the New Yorker or the Economist.

Oh to have a life like Slanted Mirror. For those of you who don't know what a Slanted Mirror is, it is one of those Skinny mirrors that they put against the wall at Banana Republic or BCBG to sell more clothes. I often try things on at one of these stores and think it looks great. Then I return home and get ready to go out wearing something that makes me look like a fatty. I wish the world was a Slanted mirror!

True to form, this evening I decided to go to yoga at Crunch fitness. Crunch fitness is where everyone in the Marina and Russian Hill go to work out. No one really comes here to work out, they come here to work It. It is impossible to come here without getting picked up. Every man I know has slept with a trainer, an aerobics instructor, or a 49ers girl from Crunch. Ladies, if you are looking to get laid, become a trainer at Crunch fitness. You will get back on that saddle in no time!

Many of the characters on Slanted Mirrors are also regulars at Crunch. When they are not picking up women at BJ's they are picking up women at Crunch Fitness. Old BJ, whom I call John Senior, plays ping pong here. Whore face, whom I call Whore, plays everything, or everyone, else. A forty six year old I dated, whom I call Old Man, banged a twenty two year old trainer from Crunch. I would try to pick up dudes here but I realize I have slept with them all already. Um, what?

On a side note, Whore, is my ex bf! Whore is thirty eight, but I like to call him forty. I met him when I was twenty five. On my twenty ninth bday, instead of a three carat round brilliant, he handed me the apartment listings and told me to move out because I was too old for him. I like to tell people that I wasted my youth on him. Actually this story is not true, but it is funnier than the real one. Now Whore and I are great friends and we hang out at BJs often, that is unless Whore is hanging out with other chicks. Whore wants to move into the upstairs room at BJs, where Slanted sneaked up to last night. Slanted also wants to move there so perhaps they can split the rent.

Onto Crunch.
I wore a pink bra and bright red bootay pants. I am usually the rare woman who wears not cute clothes to the yoga. I always look around at the cute gals in their Lululemon pants that make their asses look hot. I do not go to yoga because I like yoga, I go because Madonna goes. Madonna is my idol and I want to be just like her. She is fifty, hot, and dating a twenty year old. I want to date a twenty year old.

I also go to the gym because Whore often calls me Muffin Top, that is another word for fat girl. In order to maintain my Skinny mirror figure I have to work out. In truth I am naturally skinny, but I also like to eat. I eat more than most men, which is probably why I have a muffin top. Every restaurant owner in the city knows my name. My world is like Cheers.

I often go out to eat, find I have no cash, and have to call the owner to come pay for me. Believe me this is no joke. Ask me about an evening at Perbacco where the Fine Dining Fairy swooped down and paid for me, one of my girls, and her boyfriend and then disappeared into thin air.

Food tangent.
My new current favorite restaurant is Okoze sushi which is a block away. The chef owner is a sweetheart and invited me to the fish market at 6 am one day. Nooo I did not sleep with him, he is just a nice guy. I met him at the restaurant at 6 am.

Here is a pic of some of the fish you will eat there. I am a very visually minded person so any blog of mine must include photos.




Back to our story.
I hate working out indoors, so I like it when yoga class is short. Crunch recently answered my prayers by shortening their yoga classes, but Crazy Enthusiastic Guruman likes to keep his classes long. Two hours of yoga will distract you so I had a lot of time to think and people watch.

Crunch is not a normal gym. It is more like an exhibitionist gym. The aerobics classes are on a giant floor where everyone can watch you while they lift and the showers are also see through so you can see people's silhouettes while they shower. This is how you can tell that those Lululemon pants are really doing their job.

Yoga here is more like a club. There are strobe lights and thumping DJ music is playing. Today I met a guy who looked like he was twelve and was wearing a pink shirt that said Virgin and had a heart on it. 'Is that your status message?' I asked him. 'We need to change that.' Then I realized his shirt actually said Virginia and I turned pink. Ok, this story is not true either but I did see the guy with this shirt.

After unsuccessfully picking no one up at Crunch, I decided to return home for some pizza. I love pizza! If you do not like pizza you are no friend of mine. The guys at Za know me and they let me make pizza for customers. My friend sent me two frozen Chicago deep dish pizzas for my bday that came in a mini refridgerator. I wanted to share them with a friend, but no one wanted any and I could not wait to eat them. I also opened a very expensive bottle of ZD Reserve Chardonnay from 1999. The reason I am drinking expensive wine is because I cannot afford cheap wine so I am tapping my collection from the days when bonuses were two hundred percent and my 401k was worth more than 401 dollars. Oh the irony of the recession.

Slanted Mirror told me that she once dated a man who did not drink. I could never do that because I like wine too much. My number one requirement for a boyfriend is that he is an alcoholic, which is why Whore and I get along so well. As they say in France, why drink water when you can drink wine?

As I was eating my pizza, a friend sent me the following email.

Friend:
apple you drunkie.
do you remember forcing me to go to the single stall bathroom with you???

Apple:
no i do not recall but i often make women go to the bathroom with me!

Friend:
I heard you were randomly kissing lots of girls.

Apple:
I like to kiss girls. Perhaps I am a lesbian.

It is not uncommon for an Apple to share a stall with a woman. Although it has been a while since I have kissed a girl. My friend Loreli met a girl in a bathroom and that girl went on to become my old roommate.

So Slanted Mirror. That is my evening. Very boring. Gym and then pizza and a glass of wine.

Today the New Yorker also arrived so it is pretty much a great day in the life of an Apple.

hearts to you

Happy vday fatties! Where are you eating this lovely day. In homage to the beautiful cynic I would like to share some favorite meals from war correspondent, Farnaz Fassihi, who shares her most romantic meals worldwide in the WSJ.

Photo Wall Street Journal

reality vs. fantasy in the wrestler

I sat cringing in my seat, recoiling in amazement at the gritty camera work highlighting the violent wrestling ring fights. While difficult to watch, the Wrestler is a beautiful, elegant, metaphor for life, with a perfect story line that is simple and touching, a nice change from the overworked affectation of present day film.

There are two types of wrestling we can think of, the 'real' variety, and the WWF genre, which is staged. The Wrestler focuses on the dramatic wrestling that we assume is akin to acting. The first scene opens with a match where the wrestlers are discussing which moves they will employ, much like an impromptu stage play.

The fight scenes are graphic, but much like a train wreck, keep you captivated and glued to the scene, unable to avert your eyes or think of anything else. Soon after, in a gritty match that tests the limits of our capacity for witnessing violence, the main character, Randy 'the Ram' Raminski, suffers a heart attack that restricts him from further wrestling, a scene that conflates reality with fantasy, where we see that staged wrestling, however fictitious, requires true sacrifice, true pain, and real physical exertion. However, unlike other sports, there is nothing glamorous about the extent of suffering here, it is gritty exertion in the name of performance, a paeon to the audience. The director moves from first to third person fluidly, highlighting a heart attack scene where we are privy to the reverb of the main character's hearing aid.

Note, I am impressed by the successful blending of the third and the first person. Initially, I was turned off by the gimmicky handheld camera action, but the technique is effective, as we are able to witness life from Randy's perspective while simultaneously reflecting as a viewer. This is probably the most successful use of this technique that I have seen in a film.

After a painful fight sequence, where Randy is injured, we learn that he is no longer healthy enough to perform. He must now take on the real world, a place where he has been unsuccessful, without love from a woman or an abandoned daughter who wants nothing to do with him, but later forgives him in a touching montage. We see Randy potentially grasping at a real life. He retires from his wrestling career.

Cinematic metaphor is employed here almost to a cliche. Randy, who's most poignant line in the film is 'I'm nothing but a broken down piece of meat,' moves from a career as a performer, to literally working at a deli counter in a grocery store. It is painful to watch Randy struggle to keep his stage name while slogging through the humdrum of working at the deli counter, often throwing in a bit of performance out of habit.

The voyeur theme is pervasive here, as we witness not only the metaphor of the wrestler, but a strip club. There is a nice juxtaposition of the viewer and performer. Randy the performer is also a customer at a local strip bar where he attempts to forge a relationship with an employee, Cassidy, who's career is also diminishing with age. The two parallel lives of Pam, stage name Cassidy, and Randy, real name Robin, is heartbreaking. Pam cannot bring herself to love Randy in real life, potentially merging two ineluctable worlds of customer and person, fantasy and reality, while Randy attempts to establish a real life for himself, making amends with his daughter, curing loneliness, finding love.

At one point we witness a fight from Randy's perspective as a viewer, when he comes to watch a match. Rather than a closeup of the ring, the director pans the audience and Randy's distance from the ring is poignant.

We see a few beautiful scenes where Pam and Randy connect, eternally similar, both aging performers with children. Pam's motherhood is an underlying theme here, as she has a chance to do right by her nine year old son, where Randy has failed with his adult daughter. There is chemistry between Pam and Randy, and a beautiful interweaving of two lives. At one point, Pam compares Randy's hair to that in the film the Passion of the Christ. Again, metaphor between reality and fantasy. She does not evoke the actual Christ figure, but the film depicting him.

Pam eventually tells Randy that she cannot be more than a performer to him, leading to a painful scene where he attempts to hold onto his old identity as a wrestler, and ultimately disappoints his daughter, always a 'fuck up' in real life. After missing a dinner with his daughter, she tells him to never speak to her again.

Randy tries to hold onto his stage name in life, while remaining embarrassed to be recognized as a washed up wrestler. His pivotal downfall occurs when a customer at the grocery store tries to place him, and recalls his career as a wrestler, calling out his name, Randy the Ram. Randy, unable to survive in the real world, returns to wrestling, despite the potential medical repercussions.

Here we witness a wrenching scene where Randy meets an old rival in a rematch follow up from twenty years ago, while Pam realizing she must save Randy, leaves her own performance to go after him and bring him back to reality. She gets to him shortly before he is about to go on stage, saying 'I'm here. I'm really here,' but it is too late for Randy. He is resigned to his world, saying that the audience is his only family.

The director leads us through a painful scene where Randy stages, what appears to the viewer, a successful fight, but in first person, we see Randy dying, again hearing the reverb of his hearing aid, the director's symbolism. We see his 'opponent' staging his own defeat while Randy suffers, barely able to stay on his feet, finally positioning himself for the Ram Jam, his signature move that will ultimately cause his death. The audience is cheering for Ram Jam. Randy obliges while we see him looking into the light, Christlike, and the camera fades to black.

sex and two cities

Yesterday I saw the apartment of a real life Carrie Bradshaw. Actually it was more like a Carrie, Samantha, and a Miranda in one. Definitely not a Charlotte. The woman was a bio tech consultant who is bicoastal. She is my dream. Spending half of her time in a fabulous San Francisco apartment and the other half of her time in a likely fabulous New York apartment. This is her SF stomping ground. She added the beautiful fixtures to the apartment herself, her taste is exquisite. Waterworks bathroom with a beautiful counter and drawers. Her kitchen is a single woman's kitchen, but a woman who lives well. Her fridge and freezer are full of wine and Grey Goose. Her kitchen cabinets lined with chapagne flutes.

She had a desk built into the wall and a stereo wired throughout the house. Her furniture was exquisite, and she was able to give warmth to a converted warehouse loft. I especially liked her laundry room, which had beautiful Miele appliances and exquisite cabinetry. If a woman has to do laundry, she should do it in style.

Her closet was lined with hundreds of pairs of Manolos and a few designer purses and Nieman Marcus dress bags were hanging on hooks. This is a woman who perfects the art of living well.

hao do yu dew

Oh to have a last name that is so easily interchangeable with everyday words. Hao do yu apple?