Pat's "Oscars Party"

I saw Pat on the sidewalk this morning and he asked me if I would like to go to his Oscars Party. I hadn't heard anything about it, but didn't have plans so I agreed. I told him I'd bring some 7-layer dip and Fritos but he told me not to, that everything was taken care of. I forgot that Pat is weird about processed foods.

I got there around five but no one else had shown up yet. Pat's TV was playing Noam Chomsky videos, even though the red carpet coverage had started, and he was talking quietly with Nice Pete in a corner. There was a lot of paperwork on the table, but I didn't see any snacks. Maybe they were in the fridge, I thought. I didn't want to be rude and go opening doors, so I sat on the couch.

They kept talking while I sat there, and I couldn't switch over to the Oscars coverage because (a) Pat hides his remotes, and (b) the channel selection buttons on his TV have little metal panels krazy-glued over them. After about twenty minutes they were still engaged in what was an increasingly heated whisper-discussion. At one point Nice Pete slammed his opened palm really, really hard against the wall and ran upstairs. I figured I had about three and a half seconds before he came back down and murdered something, so I jumped up and walked past the table towards the door. I got a quick glance of a bunch of clipboards full of petitions to "permanently cancel the racist, classist, and obviously fixed" Oscars.

Pat was facing silently into the corner as I let myself out and ran like the wind back to our place, where I locked the door and turned on the tube just in time to see Chris Rock take the stage. Was I the only one in town who didn't know about Pat's "Oscar Parties"?

Garden State

Well, I was pretty jilted after we watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but then we watched Garden State. It was like going on a roller coaster where you got your life dumped out at the end and among the peanuts there was that one tin whistle. And when you blew on the tin whistle, it made that one pure sound. The one that makes German boys drop all the onions into their carts and scurry for home.

Eternal Coin Sorter of the High Concept Movie

We got Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind from Netflix and I have to admit I'm not very good with movies like that. I held my ground and didn't give up after fifteen minutes like I did with Memento, though, and it did pay off. It's one of those movies that will probably keep paying off for a few days, while my mental coin-sorter fits it all together and makes sense of it. I got the general gist, but I felt like I missed about 80% of the mise-en-scène's loaded guns. Maybe that's the mark of a great film, that you can watch it a dozen times and still not feel done. If I were an artist, I'd want people to revisit my work and find more in it, not just throw it away like some single serving Whip-It of "Friends." Sadly, I'm not an artist. I sit around in my room and bang out chord progressions that sound like stuff The Edge threw away thirty years ago.