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Say A Prayer For Surf Boy. Wherever He Is.


in Movies

“For the past eight years, I haven’t been able to get the character of Max Fischer out of my head. My favorite film is Wes Anderson’s Rushmore, and it also happens to be the director’s best film, encompassing his pathos, full of quirks and details, and soaring on a blend of faith, hope, and love. It’s got his best protagonist, the truest story, and the most genuine emotion of all his films.” – Pajiba

I recently watched Rushmore for the first time in a couple of years, and then read the above article today, so I decided to mention it. My point is this – if you think you like movies, and you haven’t seen Rushmore, do yourself a favor. Jesus, come over to my place and I’ll let you borrow the Criterion version. I’m a Max Fisher evangelist today, and you have just been saved.

I envy Max for a number of reasons. He has the courage to follow his dreams, and sticks his neck out in the name of his “art” no matter what the consequences. Unfortunately, his entire universe is about to collapse because he’s just too damn old to remain at Rushmore: a private high school he has been attending for the past six years.

“You guys have it real easy. I never had it like this where I grew up. But I send my kids here because the fact is you go to one of the best schools in the country: Rushmore. Now, for some of you it doesn’t matter. You were born rich and your going to stay rich. But here’s my advice to the rest of you: Take dead aim on the rich boys. Get them in the crosshairs and take them down. Just remember, they can buy anything but they can’t buy backbone. Don’t let them forget it. Thank you.” – Herman Blume (Bill Murray)

Max has started, or is a member of, every club or extracurricular activity at the school. With the exception of fencing, however, these are limited to things like stamp-collecting and bee-keeping – not sports. The montage where we see Max chairing all of these various societies, while 60’s mod rock plays in the background, sets a theme for the rest of the movie. Max feels he “belongs” at Rushmore because he can manipulate it’s universe. The real world terrifies Max. “Well that’s OK,” he tells the headmaster when his poor grades are brought up, “I’ll just take a post-grad year.” When the headmaster replies that they don’t offer a post-grad year at Rushmore, Max realizes he is about to be thrown to the wolves.

“Dear Max, I am sorry to say that I have secretly found out that Mr. Blume is having an affair with Miss Cross. My first suspicions came when I saw them Frenching in front of our house. And then I knew for sure when they went skinny dipping in Mr. Blume’s swimming pool, giving each other handjobs while you were taking a nap on the front porch.” – Dirk Calloway

It’s no accident this movie has developed a massive cult following. Wes Anderson has created a group of characters so complex and addictively interesting that you can’t help getting caught up in their dilemmas. There’s Magnus, the bullying one-eared Scotsman who admires Max as much as he abuses him. Mr. Blume, the apathetic millionaire who would rather spend time with a 15-yr-old than his horrifically unsympathetic family. Rosemary, the grieving widow who becomes caught in a perceived love-triangle between Max and Blume – Even the bit players in this movie (Margaret Yang, Max’s father, Dirk) will keep your attention and force you to empathize with their various situations.

Rushmore is in good company on my list of favorite movies. Goodfellas, Blade Runner, Raiders of the Lost Ark – do you see what I’m getting at here? It’s a monumental piece of filmmaking, and you have got to see it as close to immediately as you can get. You’ll thank me.

“Sic transit gloria. Glory fades. I’m Max Fischer“.

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The H Is O.


in

Some quick endorsements: >> Only one apartment left to fill. If you have anyone in mind, forward the link. It’s a great pad. >> Aubs is selling 2 tickets to a reggae concert at the BOA pavilion on August 19th. Email me if you’re interested. I’m sure as hell not, ya lazy bloodclot. The closest I get to reggae is one particular ska song which is on my all time top 10 favorites list – Ghost Town by the Specials. And the theme song for Cops which I watch so frequently I can also probably be considered a little special.

It’s only fitting that I write something about the intense heat today, as it’s forecast to go up to a near record-breaking 100+ degrees on this fine Wednesday. The heat is on, little babies. And Boston is like an egg that’s been cracked on a griddle. Which has then been placed on the surface of the sun. I assume by a rather bored division of NASA, but I’m not really sure how this analogy ends. Let’s just end it.

The heat is taxing. Draining. I ran up and down the floors of my building 7 times yesterday, showing potential tenants the open apartments and roofdeck. When I crawled into bed to watch Saxondale last night, I quickly fell into the deepest sleep I’ve had in a long time. And it was murder getting up this morning. I still feel like I ran the Boston Marathon yesterday, and maybe even crapped down my leg like that woman from a few years back. Nah, I had white pants on and would have noticed.

Stay cool, people. Drink lots of fluids and lay off dairy. Huddle under AC units, even if they give you dry eyes or sore throats and remember the immortal words of Walter Winchell – “It’s a sure sign of summer if the chair gets up when you do.”

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Four Fun At 105 Degrees.


in

1. You know how your dog or cat tends to do OK comfort-wise no matter how cold it gets in the winter? The same is not true when it’s 105 degrees in Boston. Make sure you leave all the windows closed when you go to work, and switch off the AC to battle those ridiculous Keyspan bills. When you get home, your pet of choice will be crying and crawling around really drunkenly with its tongue out. It looks like they’re doing a Tara Reid impersonation. Hey everybody – my spaniel is Tara Reid! It never gets old. Coincidentally, neither do any of my pets.

2. Sneak down to the Charles under cover of darkness and fill the wheel wells of one of the Duck Boats with pureed turkey, tuna and raw chicken breasts. By about 10am the smell in those WW2 kilhns should be so bad that even the stray cats and German tourists are gagging.

3. Feed the homeless. They’re out in filthy droves, and you’re a sensitive college student, so spend a night of beer money on sustinence for our more unfortunate citizens for a change. I recommend porridge, french onion soup, raw habanero peppers and salt licks.

4. Take advantage of the local swimming holes. The swan boats only come around every 10 minutes or so, and unlike the Duck Boats they’ve never been equipped with 50 caliber machine guns (to the best of my knowledge). So pop in for a dip when the coast is clear – but wear sandles as the bottom of the pond is very rocky. At least, that’s what I heard from a guy that I know for a fact dumps syringes in there.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: The Littlest Nostril.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: What’s the funniest dream you can remember having?
I don’t dream much. But when I was younger I’d frequently wake up and be frustrated that I wasn’t actually Spiderman. The dreams were vivid – shooting webs to swing from building to building, fighting Rhino and Doc Ock, immobilizing Mary Jane Watson with webbing and then making her watch me dance around in my dead grandmother’s clothes whilst weeping profusely. Children fantasize about the darndest things.

Soup: If you were a dog, what breed would you be, and why?
I’d be a German Shepherd. Because, truth be told – There’s a voice that keeps on calling me. Down the road is where I’ll always be. Every stop I make, I’ll make a new friend. Can’t stay for long, just turn around and I’m gone again. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll want settle down. Until tomorrow, I’ll just keep moving on.

Salad: Continue this sentence: “I get confused when…”
… a mathematical equation is thrown my way. I have never been super good with numbers. I have managed several bars, and was in charge of thousands of dollars a night in the face of some aggressively thieving bartenders, so I coped. I also manage my building now which involves a lot of paperwork. But if I had my way, the closest I’d get to math would be figuring out on which chapter of the Body Double DVD you get to see Melanie Griffith’s puckered nostril.

Main Course: Name 2 things that need doing, but you are procrastinating about.
In addition to becoming an adult, I’ve been agonizing about tidying my apartment. I went ballistic on it about a month ago, but several house guests later it’s in need of another deep-cleaning. So that’s my Saturday morning mapped out – and I don’t really mind one bit. Fruit flies and police tape lose their charm after a few weeks.

Dessert: When was the last time you tried something new, and what was it?
A co-worker made me eat her clam on Monday night. It’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds. We were sitting in a post-office group at MJ O’Connors when the gauntlet was thrown down. I was enjoying my curry fries when a big bowl of the smelly sea dwellers was dropped on the bar for the others. Knowing full well I hate seafood, I was browbeaten into submission and grabbed myself a shell. I was actually pleasantly surprised – I was expecting a clammy taste. Instead, I got more of a “fishy/industrial strength rubber band/filthy dead rotting trout floater” sort of a flavor. Goes to show you – never say never.

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