When I first saw David Lynch's Muholland Drive, I was so enthralled that I watched it 2 more times in the same weekend. It was a movie that was filled with theatrical genius, cryptic storylines, and ultimately a modern day Greek (LA) tragedy. Maybe more importantly it was a story that hit too close to home.
Like Dianne/Betty, I was the midwestern ingenue who had moved to Los Angeles hoping for bigger things. I was the show stealer in the 2 high school musicals I did. I was the one who became high off accolades and praise. I was the one in college who felt more euphoria after nailing a scene in acting class than any Grateful Dead stoner session could ever provide. I was Betty who had won the Jittberbug contest and was ready to show the world my talents. Deep down however I was insecure, unsure, and moving to the West Coast to get away - to find a happiness that was missing at home.
Like Betty, I came into an inheritence while in LA and squandered it. Not on a murder hit, but on the dot.com bust. Like Betty, I became guilt ridden with infidelity during relationships - pursued by similar furies as Betty. In LA i was lonely, disconnected, and unrooted. Looking for my Camilla in massage parlors and one night stands.
Lynch's Muholland Drive was the sad LA I knew and it somehow validated my experience - which was reassuring. The film reminded me that I was not alone in this experience. That there was something greater at work here. It was LA itself. For the wrong person, like me and Betty perhaps, LA reveals and enacts it's insidious dark side. Like a venus fly trap, the city waits for its unsuspecting prey and then pounces. Engulfing the lost and innocent in its maws. LA breeds on insecurity and shits out or destroys those with too much of it.
I was reading a few of the critics takes on their explanations of the film and was appalled at how intellectually dismissive they were of "reading" too much into it. One of the great joys of the film is the very intellectual challenge it provides to the viewer. Lynch's incorporation of the classic Greek tragedian tropes like Pandora's Box, the Furies, and death personified were fresh and modern. His exploration of the fine line between fantasy and reality is perfect for a setting like LA - where film itself is nothing more than an illusion imbedded in the "reality" of a scene. Where the fantasy of hopes and dreams become mired in the reality of disappointment and struggle.
Lynch's LA is not the one we see at Oscar time. It is the LA that draws the innocence of middle America to its shores. It is the Siren singing that beautiful song of fame and fortune, that irresistible magnetic pull of magazine covers and red carpet walks. All of this, save for a small few, is just an illusion masking the jagged rocks of shipwrecked dreams and delayed success.
Enter ye that have leisure and a quiet mind, who earnestly seek the right road.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Ode to Cardiff
It's been 9 years that I have lived beside the Cardiff shores, breathing in pure sea air, sucking onshore flow, basking in balmy, palm tree breezes that make you think you somehow traveled to a tropical island. My life has been here...for 9 years. Residing in a one bed apartment, with a yard, and a view of blue sky and full moons. I will miss much about you Cardiff, but it is time and I must leave for now. But I will be back.
Things I will miss about Cardiff...
Walking to...
Pipes and the veggie scrambler with egg beaters
Shanty with the picture of the melancholy artist on the wall who reminds me of me
Seaside market - need I say more, my second home
Starbucks and the usual crowd
Walks to Glen Park with Paloma and its beautiful trees
Bull Taco and my special order California burrito with egg whites and the best ocean view dining in town
Rimels for a cool beer and a good look at the latest live catch
East Coast Pizza and the Artichoke pizza slices with Marinara and the dude like banter on a Saturday afternoon
Las Olas margaritas
Ki's quiet time reading with coffee in hand and looking out upon jumping dolphins
The Cardiff library
The Cardiff Post office
The beach...
Where I learned to surf that left at Tippers and exalted at my first stoke of going down the lane.
My naivety of braving five foot swell and getting pummeled as a beginner
My recent sunset summer walks alone down to Swamis and back
Ooooh the cool red tide which made the water streak with flourescent lightning
Walks on the beach with a pregnant wife
Walks on the beach with a newborn
Sand playing with a toddler
Wave dipping with a squealing Paloma
Walks with a packed stroller like I was a gypsy through the campground with families happy
Walks through the little garden that hugs the train tracks
I will miss the sound of the train
The full moons that streak through my front window at 3 in the morning, the calming glow of that moon shining in the cityless lights of a dark ocean sky
The lazy, balmy beautiful, quiet beach weekends where Cardiff just wants to lull you to sleep
The sound of the waves crashing in the distance when the swell is high and the wind is blowing onshore
Cardiff is the shangri-la of San Diego. Where things are still like they used to be 50 years ago. Where things are still quaint, where there is no major thoroughfare traffic, where there are no sidewalks so everyone walks in the street, where everyone knows or recognizes everyone else. Where all you ever need in your life is 2 blocks away
Things I will miss about Cardiff...
Walking to...
Pipes and the veggie scrambler with egg beaters
Shanty with the picture of the melancholy artist on the wall who reminds me of me
Seaside market - need I say more, my second home
Starbucks and the usual crowd
Walks to Glen Park with Paloma and its beautiful trees
Bull Taco and my special order California burrito with egg whites and the best ocean view dining in town
Rimels for a cool beer and a good look at the latest live catch
East Coast Pizza and the Artichoke pizza slices with Marinara and the dude like banter on a Saturday afternoon
Las Olas margaritas
Ki's quiet time reading with coffee in hand and looking out upon jumping dolphins
The Cardiff library
The Cardiff Post office
The beach...
Where I learned to surf that left at Tippers and exalted at my first stoke of going down the lane.
My naivety of braving five foot swell and getting pummeled as a beginner
My recent sunset summer walks alone down to Swamis and back
Ooooh the cool red tide which made the water streak with flourescent lightning
Walks on the beach with a pregnant wife
Walks on the beach with a newborn
Sand playing with a toddler
Wave dipping with a squealing Paloma
Walks with a packed stroller like I was a gypsy through the campground with families happy
Walks through the little garden that hugs the train tracks
I will miss the sound of the train
The full moons that streak through my front window at 3 in the morning, the calming glow of that moon shining in the cityless lights of a dark ocean sky
The lazy, balmy beautiful, quiet beach weekends where Cardiff just wants to lull you to sleep
The sound of the waves crashing in the distance when the swell is high and the wind is blowing onshore
Cardiff is the shangri-la of San Diego. Where things are still like they used to be 50 years ago. Where things are still quaint, where there is no major thoroughfare traffic, where there are no sidewalks so everyone walks in the street, where everyone knows or recognizes everyone else. Where all you ever need in your life is 2 blocks away
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Justin's Day
Today was a rough day. Or rather I should say that there was a rough episode in the midst of the day. Today was the memorial for Wende's only son Justin - who passed away last Friday in his sleep. This afternoon was tough because of the pain felt by so many family and friends. It was inspiring in the sense that so many people showed up to support the family and celebrate Justin's life. It was also a beautiful day. Sunny, slighly chilly and a little windy with the waves crashing on the beach at Del Mar. I thought I spotted Justin in the wisps of a cloud overhead. He was an ethereal cloud set a part from the rest of them with the sun shining on him alone. While the rest of the sky was bathed in an opaque white and blue, Justin beamed a bright white/yellow light as if to say, I am here, I am watching, I see you.
I was touched to see and hear all who spoke. At the funerals I've attended in the past, most of them of a catholic nature, there are only 2 speakers - the priest who barely knows the deceased and a family friend/relative who gives the memorial. But today we got to hear from Wende, Paul, her parents, all of Justin's friends, and even his estranged father. This act of speaking became a catharsis for all to share in as family members and friends were able to speak and share their pain publicly. There were a myriad of voices, each different, each with an opportunity to speak his/her pain. I was also inspired by the way Justin lived his life and in the lives he touched. I felt the pain of Wende's mother - speaking about her daughter and lost grandson. I thought of Paloma and how much pain she would be in to lose her son. It hurts so much to see those you love in pain. It's horrible. You want to take it away somehow. You want to suffer in their place. I was moved by the picture of Wende holding Justin as a baby. This struck more than any of the other pictures. It's that moment of holding a newborn that encapsulates all the anxieties of a parent but also all the joy and hope for the future. Soon that baby begins to grow and morph into someone totally independent and utterly physically different. At that moment of holding the baby, we have no idea what the future holds, how it will all end. If someone had told Wende in that moment that she will only have 18 years to love her child, how would she have done things differently? How would any of us? The challenge is that none of us are graced with that foresight. We can only live as if we only have 18 years. All we can do is live as if today is our last day. All we can do is to try and live as Justin had done - to the fullest.
I was touched to see and hear all who spoke. At the funerals I've attended in the past, most of them of a catholic nature, there are only 2 speakers - the priest who barely knows the deceased and a family friend/relative who gives the memorial. But today we got to hear from Wende, Paul, her parents, all of Justin's friends, and even his estranged father. This act of speaking became a catharsis for all to share in as family members and friends were able to speak and share their pain publicly. There were a myriad of voices, each different, each with an opportunity to speak his/her pain. I was also inspired by the way Justin lived his life and in the lives he touched. I felt the pain of Wende's mother - speaking about her daughter and lost grandson. I thought of Paloma and how much pain she would be in to lose her son. It hurts so much to see those you love in pain. It's horrible. You want to take it away somehow. You want to suffer in their place. I was moved by the picture of Wende holding Justin as a baby. This struck more than any of the other pictures. It's that moment of holding a newborn that encapsulates all the anxieties of a parent but also all the joy and hope for the future. Soon that baby begins to grow and morph into someone totally independent and utterly physically different. At that moment of holding the baby, we have no idea what the future holds, how it will all end. If someone had told Wende in that moment that she will only have 18 years to love her child, how would she have done things differently? How would any of us? The challenge is that none of us are graced with that foresight. We can only live as if we only have 18 years. All we can do is live as if today is our last day. All we can do is to try and live as Justin had done - to the fullest.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Looking for Inspiration
Sometimes I walk into Barnes and Noble looking for inspiration. Perusing various titles and leafing through whatever catches my fancy. Usually though I imagine myself as a professor and I usually head to the philosophy section. All of this is in stark contrast to my daily job of trying to find mortgage loans. I've chosen mortgage loans as a means to end so to speak. I've been told you can make a lot of money doing mortgage loans. I haven't made a lot of money yet. So I continue to visit Barnes and Noble for inspiration. After I leafed through Foucault's "Discipline and Punish," Locke's "Essay Concerning Understanding,"and perused a study aid for the GRE (yes I still think about pursuing my PHD), I was walking toward the exit when low and behold I caught Emmit Smith pointing at me with a smiling face saying Find Your Purpose, Live our Dream. It was like the Field of Dreams Build it and they will come moment. Who would have thought? Emmit Smith guiding me from the bookshelf. This was it. This was the inspiration I was looking for. Emmit was speaking to me. I immediately grabbed the book started reading about Vision and how important it is for success and all the other ways he was able to become successful. I was going to find my purpose, I was going to live my dream. Stay tuned...
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