It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia genius-ness aside, what does one do to get a good job?
My resume and cover letter have been polished about five dozen times and I've contacted people I thought might help. And yet, my perfect job has somehow eluded me.
I was thinking about becoming a Jedi, but my qualifications are kind of weak (damn midi-chlorians).
Fuck off, you must.
Dog sledding instructor is off the table. I have vertigo and an irrational fear of huskies.
No really, I'd much rather sleep here than a house.
My hand modelling days are over since I was mauled by this batshit lion kitten.
Don't forget your hand-sunscreen.
I can't be a private investigator because Cheaters isn't hiring and, puh-leaze, no place else is good enough for this gum shoes.
Maybe they have an opening in the blurring faces division.
I know, I know, gourmet chef is my calling. But apparently Campbell's Soup can be made by practically anyone and "Velveeta yum yum" isn't an actual food. (could have fooled me)
Certainly you didn't want the fish tonight?
Oh, well. I'm certain the economy will turn around and I will find my dream job. This is America, after all. Home of the American Dream, which I think involves white picket fences, kids playing in the yard, and a wallets full of cash. Anyone can be anything they want to be; that's what this country was built on!
Montgomery Clift. The name makes me happy and sad. Happy because I believe that his great talent has actually enriched my life. And yet he's not a household name.
I think he was the best actor of his generation. Maybe of any generation. He had a subtlety that Brando couldn't even come close to. Monty seemed to become a character, like he could remold himself for every new film.
His performances frequently take my breath away.
Here, in a brief appearance in the star studded 1961 film Judgement at Nuremburg, Clift plays a man whose destroyed life is put on the stand in a post WWII trial against German judges who served during the Nazi regime. Clift, who had about ten minutes of screen time total, was nominated for an Academy Award for his effort. A clip:
Students of acting should see this, should study it. Clift has found a way to portray the story of a man that perhaps had dreams like any other person, but ends up totally shattered. He tells his story with few words. And yet, he says all there is to say.
The pain behind Clift's sensitive eyes, the tensing muscles around his mouth; he was totally in control of his performance. I have heard many people argue that he didn't have to act, that his train wreck of a life gave the performance for him. They cite as proof Clift's shaking in this scene (you can see it around the 8:40 and 9:00 marks) from his excessive drug and alcohol use, not to mention failing physical and mental health after a car wreck destroyed his face years earlier.
Maybe that's why he didn't win the Oscar. It was too easy to accept that such a believable and (in my opinion) important performance was a fluke given by a man who was seemingly pretty destroyed, himself.
I argue that Clift knew what he was doing. The man he was portraying was fragile but proud, especially as he walks into the courtroom and states his name and profession (not seen in the above clip). This changes as he recounts the single most horrifying experience of his life. He's been treated like an animal, sterilized based on his perceived intelligence in the name of cultivating a mythical "master race."
As he tells the story of what happened, he gets quieter and he fidgets in his seat. At the 1:50 and 2:08 marks, it appears that he can't even bring himself to name what was done to him. And when he is asked point blank by an attorney, "Were you, in fact, sterilized?" he again can't bring himself to say the words. Instead he seems to hesitate and then forces himself to give a nod.
The next three seconds, it seems to me, are acting brilliance. In shame, Clift looks down and then gives a quick sideways glance to the presiding judges. These subtle eye movements say volumes. It is as if his manhood, besides his humanity, were destroyed, and he is embarrassed to have everyone in the court know. All the layers have been stripped. This man, who seemed proud and ready to please when he first walked in, is now bare and exposed. This is all understood because of three seconds of eye movements.
His break down intensifies as he talks about his mother, and the shaking worsens. We need no back story. We can tell by the way the man speaks about his mother that she was something else that they took from him.
His proclamation, "Since that day, I've been half I've ever been," is an emotional crescendo, as the weight of all that the character has been through, including the humiliation he endured during the trial, breaks him down for one last moment on the screen.
Even towards the end of his (too short) life, Montgomery Clift could display more talent in three seconds than most actors in their entire careers. The fact that he stood out in a film amongst acting greats like Spencer Tracy, Marlene Dietrich, Burt Lancaster, and Judy Garland, proves that further.
I want to write a story about a girl with a voice like Katharine Hepburn. A young Katharine Hepburn, but wise for her years and still full of innocence.
She'll have Hepburn's tenacity and her unconventional femininity. Maybe she'll even wear "trousers" to work instead of skirts. Maybe she'll work at a brewery in Milwaukee and paint on the weekends.
She'll have black hair and she won't fall for a guy like Spencer Tracy.
She'll fall for a kookie guy like Johnny Depp who showers only twice monthly.
Writers talk a good game and think they are world VIP's because they write shit. Believe you me, something does NOT matter more because you write it down.
Yet there are a lot of (jesus forbid) excellent tips here, true tips. I just hate the idea that writers need advice on writing. Fucking accountants don't need advice on accounting, do they?
I'd like to visit Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles some day. No, I'm not big on astronomy.
Parts of one of my favorite, most life-changing movies were filmed there. The movie, of course, is Rebel Without a Cause, and the climactic finals scenes were shot in and around the Observatory.
In Fairmount, Indiana, I saw a duplicate of this statue (which resides outside Griffith Observatory):
Of course, this one looks out over the Hollywood hills and the one I saw was in the middle of a tiny town square surrounded by trees and preteens on Huffy bikes. I know which one is more glamorous, but you have to give the heart and soul award to Fairmount. One of my all-time favorite towns.
Back to the Observatory. I want to stand where (spoiler alert) Jim gives Plato his jacket and takes the bullets out of his gun. And then proceed to the spot on the front lawn where Plato is shot by the cops and Jim dramatically yells, "I got the bullets!"
It gives me chills just thinking about it. What a brilliant film, and how brilliant to film it in such a public spot, where fans can recreate those memorable scenes.
Might be tough to recreate the flash mob scene around back, though.
Which I love. My life consists of a back and forth amongst all these options. I usually think I'm an "Are you happy?" No. "Do you want to be happy?" Yes.
But sometimes I kind of enjoy the misery. Other days I am genuinely happy. I guess I have a disorder yet to be diagnosed. Either that, or maybe I just sleep really well some nights.
Then again, my moods could also correlate to the amount of caffeine in my system.
Right now, for example, I'm very happy. But I wasn't terribly happy when I woke up. Maybe that's because One Tree Hill was the only thing on television. In any case, I know one thing for certain: I'm at my happiest when I have an obsession going on. I'm an easily obsessed person.
Right now, I'm obsessed with Tolkien. John and I are reading The Hobbit and marveling at the wit and imagination it contains. The last time I read it, I was in high school, and to be honest, it (somehow) bored me. But it's brilliant.
I'm also obsessed with losing ten pounds, though obviously this is not the kind of obsession that makes me happy. Especially since it's not going terribly well, as evidenced by the donut I'm eating right as I type.
I believe my next obsession will be: finding someone who can cut my hair like this:
And I do mean the female, although Dominic Monaghan and Billy Boyd are pretty dapper too.
Maybe my next obsession should actually be figuring out why Cate Blanchett is so stunningly beautiful.
Anyway. I'm going to try follow the advice of the image at the top of this post. Since I'm normally the No-Yes type, it says I should change something. Easier said than done, especially for someone as lazy and complacent as I am. But it's absolutely right: I can envision where I want to be in life, so I need to make some changes and just get my ass there.
I think my first step will be to take a writing course. And my second step might just be getting that haircut.
