...In which our heroine absorbs.

Consumption of media, play it as it lays:

Funny People - I wanted to love it so, so badly and went away just feeling very blah. To be quite honest, nothing happens in the film, certainly nothing that I did not expect 100%. We talk a lot in my screenwriting classes about basic ideas of story - what are the stakes for the characters, what challenges them, what does the protagonist want - and the film fails on all of these levels. I'll skip the plot details because the trailer already shows them all. Judd Apatow needs a firmer hand editing - the whole subplot of Seth Rogen's roommates and love interest was essentially worthless, and I was more than antsy for the end after two and a half hours. Also, I swear every joke within in a dick joke, which wears thin quickly. I will say Rogen and Adam Sandler give pretty decent, understated performances and the cinematography is lovely. A big disappointment for me - probably the weakest Apatow affiliated film I've seen. Oh, and on a personal note, I really do not appreciate the use of "Jesus Etc." in affiliation to Seth Rogen's character, too many sad memories attached to that one. I almost lost it.

District 9 - A refreshing breath of individuality into my beloved sci-fi genre. Far and away, the most impressive aspect of this film is the amazing visual and make-up effects. It cost $30 million and looked like it could've easily cost $150 million. I loved the faux-documentary style mixed with the narrative film, and the lead, Sharlto Copley, plays dorky as well as anyone I've ever seen. This film has the distinction of only a few other films - Audition, Dead Alive, The Fly, 28 Weeks Later - that have ever made me feel sick, yay!A lot of the reviews I've read have remarked that it's the best sci-fi film of the decade which seems a little much, but then again, I'm hard pressed to think of anything that's better. I've seen better films, for sure, but this is just a solid, entertaining flick that shows how far a moderate budget can go.

Mad Men Season 3 premiere - I loved it, duh. But I mostly wanted to mention that the Parents Television Council filed a complaint against it for the gay sex and semi-boobs in the episode, but yet doesn't care that The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife (NSFW) - which put Henry & June over the top to be the first NC-17 film ever twenty years ago - is featured prominently. How times change. But that aside, a really beautiful episode. I love Don more and more, that smarmy bastard. I would've like more of the ladies, Joan, Betty, and Peggy, but that'll come.

Top Chef Masters - Caught up with this, my favorite food show. While I doubt I'll ever even attempt the dishes on here, but I love watching them get made. Everything looks so good - especially Chicago's own Rick Bayless and his gourmet Mexican food. I enjoyed the Masters edition because the disasters were fewer. It makes me want to improve my culinary skills.

The Dead Zone - Probably the least interesting Stephen King book I've read in its entirety - Gerald's Game and Lisey's Story were both given up on. I guess it's partially my own fault for knowing the plot ahead of time, but his style is weak in this one. I felt the characterizations were weak, and the macabre element wasn't explored enough. It wasn't bad, it just wasn't The Stand or The Long Walk.

Jim James: Tribute to George Harrison - Three posts in a row with him, but hey, I'm going through a hippie boy phase. This is a beautiful album, simply put. George has always had my favorite work as a solo Beatle ("My Sweet Lord" is one of my favorite songs ever) and Jim James doing stripped down versions? Oh yes. If you're a fan of either, I recommend fully. And you can even stream it for free. 

Picked up East of Eden and Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Practice, and Purpose of the Movie Business for reading, American Beauty and the Alien trilogy to add the collection, although I haven't watched Alien 3 yet, on purpose. Taking Woodstock and Inglourious Basterds are musts for the weekend.

Since I mentioned it, "My Sweet Lord." I never tire of this song and it always makes me smile.

...In which our heroine most certainly has a purple aura.

The thoughts that come late at night are often the ones I find simultaneously most interesting and most troubling. I've always been one who takes a while to sleep, as it in these times that I think the deepest and thus it takes me a while to fall asleep. These are some of those thoughts.

Lately I've been wondering a lot about my perception skills. As mentioned before, my dreams are definitely on the odd side, but they're only part of the equation. This is going to seem like a weird thing to talk about, but I've been wondering if I have some kind of, for lack of a less cheesy term, sixth sense. Please, let me explain a moment before you go "wow, Katydid needs to get put the pipe down and get out of art school..."

I know things sometimes - what people are going to say before they say it. I have intense instances of deja-vu that come from things previously dreamt. I've dreamt things - like that Princess Diana died the night she did, or that Emily and Lane broke up the night they did - before they happen. I dreamt about someone I hadn't thought about in a long time, and suddenly they were back in my life in a very big, interesting way that the dream foretold. Sometimes, with new experiences, I know what they'll be like, what things will feel like before they happen. I get feelings about people immediately upon meeting them on whether or not they'll be important to me. Not everyone, but sometimes.

This all sounds totally fucking ridiculous, I know. But it's weird as it goes on, and I find myself wondering about it lately. Agnostic as I am, the two concepts I kind of buy into are reincarnation and karma. As I understand it, the Buddhist notion of reincarnation makes sense of ESP and things like deja-vu as moments when a former incarnation of the self brushes up with the present self. Karma ties into the equation in that every thing's present incarnation is directly proportional to the good or bad karma they produced in a former life - if you were an asshole, expect to be a dung beetle.

Reincarnation kind of also ties into the idea for some that time is in a continuous loop and these feelings of clairvoyance/pre-cognition/deja-vu what have you are when these loops of time of the past, present, and future self brush against each other.

I don't know how I feel about reincarnation or karma fully - science tells me, and I wholly believe when we die we're nothing more than worm chow. It's a nice thought that good people get what they deserve as do the bad, but life proves that to be unrealistic. I question myself for even hesitating to think that such concept exist, but then I wonder about why I know things I shouldn't. And the things I do know are tied directly into my dreams.

There's really no point to all of this other then my questioning of the situation. I think it's fascinating how little we know about the human mind - for instance, I was reading today about the pineal gland in the brain which is thought to release DMT, the most powerful psychedelic substance known to man. Some cultures think it to be a literal third eye because of its placement in the brain. DMT replaces the user's entire reality with one dose.  It is released in humans when we're born, when we dream, and when we die. It also occurs in lots of plants and can be smoked for what is apparently the most intense trip that one can take. It's also the most illegal substance on the planet in this form - but yet occurs naturally in the human brain and causes few side effects. Doesn't it seem like we would want to try such a substance and not condemn it? Down, hippie, down.

I have no answers to my questions about such things as a sixth sense or reincarnation. I don't know why I dream the way I do, know the things I do, can guess things before they happen. I should probably read a book on Buddhism or something, but honestly, I don't know that I'd buy it fully. We're not supposed to know the answers to the big questions, so why worry about it? I guess, but I'm still curious as to why I dream crazily and then see things again in deja-vu. If there was a former Katydid, I should certainly thank her for the good karma she's passed along.

These are the thoughts best kept for late nights, sitting up with friends when the conversation unexpectedly turns into the heaviest of the heavy stuff. We won't ever know the answers, at least most of us, to this mortal coil, but half the fun is in the wonder and awe of life that creates.

Unrelated, my love for Jim James and My Morning Jacket continues. This is beautiful -

...In which our heroine loves the lads.

So a while back, I confessed my girl crushes. Women are the fairer sex, but I can only envy them and seeing as I do like the boys, as frustrating and enigmatic as they may be.  Mary-Louise Parker, despite her failings as Nancy Botwin, says it well in this thank-you note to men from Esquire magazine:

Manly creature, who smells good even when you don’t, you wake up too slowly, with fuzzy, vertical hair and a slightly lost look on your face as though you are seven or seventy-five; you can fix my front door, my sink, and open most jars; you, who lose a cuff link and have to settle for a safety pin, you have promised to slay unfortunate interlopers and dragons with your Phillips head or Montblanc; to you, because you will notice a woman with a healthy chunk of years or pounds on her and let out a wolf whistle under your breath and mean it; because you think either rug will be fine, really it will; you seem to walk down the street a little taller than me, a little more aware but with a purpose still; to you who codifies, conjugates, slams a puck, baits a hook, builds a decent cabinet or the perfect sandwich; you who gives a twenty to the kids selling Hershey’s bars and waits at baggage claim for three hours in your flannel shirt; you, sir, you take my order, my pulse, my bullshit; you who soaps me in the shower, soaks with me in the tub; to you, boy grown-up, the gentleman, soldier, professor, or caveman, the fancy man with initials on your towels and salt on your chocolates, to you and to that guy at the concession stand; thank you for the tour of the vineyard, the fire station, the sound booth, thank you for the kaleidoscope, the Horsehead Nebula, the painting, the truth; to you who carries me across the parking lot, up the stairs, to the ER, to roll-away or rice mat; to you who shows up every so often only to confuse and torment, and you who stays in orbit, always, to my left and steady, you stood up for me, I won’t forget that; to you, the one who can’t figure it out and never will, and you who lost the remote, the dog, or your way altogether; to you, wizard, you sang in my ear and brought me back from the dead, you tell me things, make me shiver; to the ones who destroyed me, even if for a minute, and to the ones who grew me, consumed me, gave me my heart back times ten; to most everything that deserves to call itself a man: How I do love thee, with your skill to light fires that keep me warm, light me up.

Admittedly, my taste is...let's say, unique, and oft-questioned. No, I do not think Tom Cruise, Zac Efron, Robert Pattinson, or Channing Tatum are attractive. Washboard abs (except Brad Pitt's in Fight Club) do nothing for me. I do not get excited about Hollister attire or Axe body spray, which for the record, is suffocating. Dark hair, however,  is an absolute must. 

The theme should be obvious in these, my list of boy crushes, in this Tiger Beat only edition of Katydid in the City:

Nathan Fillion - Oh Malcolm Reynolds, Dr. Pomatter, Captain Tightpants, or Dr. Horrible. You're just as funny as you are handsome.

Clive Owen - There are lots of adorable British boys including Ewan McGregor and James McAvoy, but his overall badassery bests them all.

Jon Hamm - He defines tall, dark, and handsome as Don Draper. I love the perpetual five o'clock shadow.

Emile Hirsch - A very promising actor, he looks way better rocking the hippie beard and long hair.

Colin Meloy - Of The Decemberists. His voice is far from sexy, but his wordplay makes up for it. I've got the hots for the smarts.

Ryan Gosling - Sadly, he looks best all cracked out in Half Nelson. But I wouldn't say no anytime. And he's a musician? Have mercy.

Zach Galifianakis - Yeah, a weird one, I know. But the beard is awesome and he's really funny, so I'm in.

Jim James - Of My Morning Jacket. My current obsession - the four hour bootleg of Bonnaroo 2008 is in heavy rotation. I want to be his hippie bride and tour with MMJ everywhere. Awesome beard, awesome voice, awesome lyrics. And he loves Neil Young. So cute.

Seth Rogen - We're destined for each other, I'm pretty sure, seeing as I could provide a list of ten ways we're meant to be together, but my BFFF already took that quiz in pink gel pen. The slimness and lack of beard have made him slip in the rankings lately, but I still heart him the most.

I promise to make a serious post to combat this nonsense. Maybe.

...In which our heroine goes on her fourth adventure into the land of Lolla.

Here we are again, another year, another Lollapalooza. It seems crazy that it was my fourth, being only nineteen, but I'm always improving my good groupie skills. Penny Lane would be proud of me after this weekend – I received further merit badges for helping a friend who passed out and spending eight fucking miserable hours in the rain to see some silly bands. Not pouring rain, but more than a drizzle, which was enough to make you go crazy. And then of course it was 95 the next day. Sometimes I wonder just what compels me to that madness.

So the music. As I mentioned, it was the weakest line-up of any Lollapalooza I've been to, especially with the lack of boys that are beastie.

The Good:

Fleet Foxes - In a word, they were beautiful. Simply gorgeous, immaculate harmonies and layers of delicate sound. I had my concerns about how their sound would translate, but it turned out that it was just fine. They opened with “Sun Giant” and “Sun it Also Rises,” and for a brief time, it did and we got a break from the pelting rain. The highlight of the festival for sure. I can't wait to hear more music from their scruff.

Depeche Mode – We left KOL early because Emily and I had to get our goth on, and we got there as soon as the hit parade again. I was impressed with how good they still sound, especially Dave Gahan's vocals. It's funny to see him cavorting on stage in black leather pants and vest, slithering around thirty years after the bands inception. “Never Let Me Down Again” and “Enjoy the Silence” sounded great, but the crowd totally sucked so we got gypped out of stuff like “Strangelove,” but a very pleasant surprise on the whole.

Tool – If the Fleet Foxes were delicate, then the single word for Tool is heavy. Heavy fucking metal to be exact. Like the Foxes though, their sound was pretty dead-on, with Maynard Keenan being his weird usual self and the guitars blowing my brains out my ears. Points for the trippy video stream, which had some narrative I'm sure, but I wasn't high enough to get it.

Arctic Monkeys – I don't really like them that much, as they always seemed like another “next big thing” band that fizzled out. But they're an excellent live band, full of energy. Forget that lead singer, the drummer is what gave them an extra kick. The re-imagining of Nick Cave's “Red Right Hand” also delighted.

Bon Iver – This was a show for a smaller setting, but Justin Vernon and crew made it appeal to the masses. The rain was probably most miserable during this show, so the fact that the music transcended that spoke to its quality. “Skinny Love” and “re: Stacks” were highlights.

Ben Folds – Way better then my first encounter with the man. “Bitches Ain't Shit,” “Rockin' the Suburbs,” and “Army” showcased some nice piano work, but my heart belonged to him because he did “Kate.” That song was written about me: “When all words fail she speaks, her mixtape's a masterpiece...I think she smokes pot, she's everything I am and everything I want."

The Mediocre:

Kings of Leon – Nate said it best: more like Kings of the mid-tempo ballads. Sexy as they may be, I think the Followill boys had been hitting the Valium before the show. “Molly's Chambers” was taken at a quarter of the speed it should have gone, and while they sounded good, it was very lethargic. Big disappointment.

The Decemberists – Speaking of disappointments, one of my favorite bands decided to do the prog-rock bullshit that is their new album, The Hazards of Love, and nothing else. NOTHING. No Valenica or military wives or mariners in sight. But, as much as I hate the album, they sounded really fantastic. Colin Meloy looked fine in his suspenders, but I wasn't into the whole production rock opera-ness of it all. Now I just have to see them again with the hopes that they'll do something I like.

The Bad:

Animal Collective – SUCKED. No joke. I can appreciate experimentation in a live setting, but something besides hoots, hollers, and synth beats would have been nice. Pitchfork mentioned hearing a familiar chord would have even been nice. The only songs that even remotely sounded like themselves were “Fireworks” and “Brothersport.” Once again, I think a substance of the psychedelic variety would have helped, but as they were, it was just noise.

TV on the Radio – They do not translate well live. Everything seemed rushed or too slow. I've heard that this is often the case, and now I've seen them, and I know it's true. “Wolf Like Me” kicked some ass though.

Also seen but I don't care enough one way or the other: The Knux, Andrew Bird, and Santigold.

After this year, I'm seriously considering whether or not I could stick through the 'Roo. It's a pilgrimage I want to make, but have my doubts. I know what several hours of rain was like, followed by blistering temperatures and the fact that I'd have to do that then sleep on the ground and shit in a field? Hmm. If I do it, it's gotta be soon while I'm young and stupid enough. Austin City Limits and Coachella will also have to happen at some point.

...In which our heroine has sixteen candles, down the drain.

The Lollapalooza post is coming, but more pressing matters are at hand...

By now you know John Hughes died Friday, and although much has already been said about his passing, I have to contribute my thoughts.

There is a clear memory - sitting on my couch with my dad, I was probably six or seven. My mom was dyeing her hair in the basement. We were watching a movie of undetermined origin. Then, an adorable redhead in a heinous pink dress turned a corner down a long hallway and was greeted by a geek with a pompadour and mirrored glasses before they "plow" into prom. It is one of my earliest recollections of being moved by film, as it was of course Pretty in Pink. Watching that then, I had no idea the impact John Hughes would have on the way I watched films.

Here's another picture - ten year old, geeky Katydid taping double features of The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink off of TNT. Those two along with Sixteen Candles would complete what I lovingly call the Fiery Trifecta of Awesomeness with my girl Molly. All in all, I'd say that I've watched those films about 20 times each. I was smitten with the synth-pop soundtracks, the exploration of a teenage world I did not yet know, the unbearable whiteness of being.

Over the next few years, obsessed was not the word for how I felt about the films of John Hughes. Most of my early internet explorations were to a now defunct website called The John Hughes Files that contained every piece of trivia about the films. I made my mom check out a 1995 issue of Premiere magazine for the piece it had about The Breakfast Club. For months, the Pretty in Pink soundtrack put me to bed. I know things that define minutiae - like that The Pretenders were supposed to sing "Don't You Forget About Me," but Chrissie Hynde got pregnant so her husband Jim Rourke of Simple Minds stepped up, or that Molly Ringwald played "Pretty in Pink" so incessantly on the sets of her first two Hughes films that he wrote her a script about it, or that the band name written on her binder in Sixteen Candles, The Rave-Ups, appear as the house band in Pretty in Pink...I got all day with this stuff.

As all things do, the adoration I had for Hughes faded over time. High school - the very time that his films were made for - consumed me and I lost track. But now as an adult, or at least a post-high schooler, I've reconsidered his films and how damn good they are. The films I loved when I was really little, like Beethoven, Home Alone, and Curly Sue are his, and it all makes sense why I liked them then. We watch Christmas Vacation every year on the day, and I've had to school some college friends on the wonders of Molly Ringwald.

If I really think about it, the films of John Hughes were the first things I ever saw that showed me how well a synthesis of pop music and film could work. Few things make me happier then Duckie trying a little tenderness or Samantha blowing out her birthday candles with the Thompson Twins.

I wore out VHS copies of Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off, but my eternal favorite, Pretty in Pink, is the only one that made the jump to college with me on DVD. When I was getting ready for prom, I re-created the montage in it set to "Thieves Like Us" by listening to the soundtrack, just like Andie. I just wish I would of had a Duckie, or even a Blaine waiting for me...Maybe the reason I like the Fiery Trifecta so much is because Molly is the outsider, but always gets the guy - Jake Ryan makes me weak in the knees - and it gave me hope.

My sub-conscious did a good job in sending me to Chicago - after all, it's where all of the Hughes films take place. I've seen where Ferris Bueller twist and shouted, longed to make a pilgrimage to the fictional Shermer, Illinois. John Hughes was the first director I ever loved, the single greatest auteur of the teenage film before I even knew what that word meant. So it couldn't be more fitting that here I am, in the city I saw immortalized by some awkward teenagers, trying to make some movie magic of my own.

And at the end of the day, we were/are all some character in one of John Hughes's films - the geek, the basketcase, the rebel, the princess, or the jock - although mostly we're a little bit of each. And in his films, John Hughes showed that was okay. In the roundtable in The Breakfast Club, Allison says "When you grow up, your heart dies." Whoa. As much as we don't want it to be true, it is at least in the sense of the eternally hopeful teenagers in the Hughesverse. Talk of sequels always bothered me - who wants to see Samantha and Jake in a loveless marriage twenty years down the line? Above all else, I think John Hughes films pay tribute to the infinite possibility of what being a teenager means, standing on the brink of adulthood yet not quite there, and certainly not all the scary grown-up stuff that comes after.

Like everyone else, I owe a great deal to John Hughes for helping me navigate those troubled teenage years. I wish only he wouldn't have become such a recluse in the 90s-present because I'd have loved to know what he thought about my generation. I guess I'll just have to write it for myself.

He entertained and inspired me, so I am eternally thankful the films of John Hughes. For Samantha, Claire, Andie, The Donger, Allison, Duckie, Watts, Cameron, Farmer Ted. For Shermer, singing in the shower, blackest black eyeliner, hideous pink prom dresses, The Smiths, black and white capturing the moment, pawn shops, and St. Bernards. For making me an eternal optimist - although I'm more of an Allison then a Claire - that hopes Jake Ryan or Duckie really exists, or that Keith will choose Watts over Amanda. For making me remember to never let a geek borrow my panties, not waste good lip gloss or to always make-up wishfully,  to buy a pool when you might just end up with a jelly of the month club, but most of all, to not let my heart die when I grow up.

Cheesy, but well-edited:


Perfection. That is the boy:


My heart belongs to you forever, Duckie:


Making amends for that travesty at the end of Pretty in Pink:

Best. Lunch. Ever:


And if you haven't read this story about the man himself, please do.

...In which our heroine has been lazy.

I have been negligent as of late. Family and friends have been taking up most of my time, which is not at all a bad thing. I'm so lucky that when I come home, I get to see all sorts of people - whether it be a  road-trip to Columbus with Josh and the wonderful Pomegranates or reuniting with my two oldest friends and some classy strawberries and cream tequila - and I treasure them all.

This trip back has really crystalized how adult my life is now. Things I've done, and things I've heard that would have been quite scandalous a year ago are said in passing now. Everything seems like it flies at an accelerated pace. The fact that I know people that are getting married or expecting is still weird though. I can't believe I'm going to be twenty in a few months.

Otherwise, I'll be back in Chicago tomorrow for Lollapalooza with friends this weekend. The must-see bands include Bon Iver, Ben Folds, Fleet Foxes, The Decemberists, Of Montreal, Depeche Mode, TV on the Radio, Animal Collective, and Tool.  I'm hoping that the mild weather hangs around, and the poster for this year is as cool as it was last year.

Katydid's TV Watch - So Maryann is a handmaiden of Dionysus on True Blood? Guessed that one, but I will say the season is really hitting its stride and I can't wait for the inevitable Eric/Sookie hookup, or to see where it all goes with the Fellowship of the Sun. As for Weeds...bleh. Shane getting shot was interesting, as is Nancy leaving Esteban, but the show has pushed itself to such an insane level, there's not much room to go from here. Andy sucking breast milk from Nancy - are you fucking serious? Mad Men starts in two weeks, praise the TV gods.

I can't believe I haven't seen Funny People yet, even despite the mediocre reviews, it pains me. The next good thing in the pipeline is Inglourious Basterds, which I maintain high hopes for. Started reading Down and Dirty Pictures by Peter Biskind. It's a companion to his book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls which was about the 70s Hollywood renaissance, and instead focuses on the rise of independent film in the 90s, as fostered by Miramax and Sundance. Fact and gossip, beautifully intertwined.

I'll let the new Coen Brothers, A Serious Man, speak for itself:

This seems an appropriate song for my current state. I couldn't find the naughty video from Eyes Wide Shut, so this'll have to do.

...In which our heroine returns.

Home again, home again. It gets stranger every time, I swear. Everything is so oddly familiar, yet so foreign. This isn't my life anymore, but it still doesn't feel weird to settle back into old routines.

Before coming home, the family was in town for the weekend. The big deal was to go to a Reds game at Wrigley Field, which also happened to be my first Cubs game. Honestly - and maybe this comes because I walk by it so often - to me it was just another stadium, just another baseball game. This is a sacrilegious statement I realize, but I just wasn't enthralled anymore then I would have been at a Reds game. I used to love sporting events, but the older I get the less interest I have. Who knows why...

I also had probably the best meal of my life, in the hotel restaurant. Osteria via Stato stresses family style Italian dining, but we opted for individual plates. I had a caprese salad, sea bass with green beans in a sweet corn broth, lots of bread, and chocolate/hazelnut gelato. It was absolutely outstanding and not too much of anything. We all tried everyone's dishes - pesto pasta, ricotta gnocchi, and zucchini risotto - and nothing about the entire meal was anything less than awesome. Even my mom's coffee with amaretto, which is nothing remarkable, was better than usual.

I have no big plans for the week - just to enjoy being home. I always find it hard to spend as much time with everyone as I want to, because there's just never enough time, but I'll do my best.  It's so much warmer here than Chicago and I have no warm weather clothing anymore, quite the conundrum. It can gladly stay in the 80s for Lollapalooza.

The Pixies are karmically in tune with me - they'll be in Chicago during my birthday week, on November 20-21, with the former date being the 2 year anniversary of Frank, my tattoo.