my apologies,

I haven't been keeping up with this blog.
Usually, I write things down in a notebook, and then I don't feel like typing it all out again in my blog. There lies the problem.
I'll get on that, but in the mean time, check out my other blog.
I keep up with it a lot more frequently~

http://sunlightandchocolatebars.tumblr.com/

Inglourious Bastards movie review~Tarantino as an Auteur

With the release of Inglourious Basterds, Quentin Tarantino has pronounced himself an official auteur. Tarantino has only made seven films in an eighteen year career; it normally would take until much later in a director’s career for him to be labeled an auteur. Also, there is are still critics out there that believe Tarantino's time has passed; that he made his good work in his first two years in the movie-making business. I don’t know how I feel about that, but what I got out of this film is this: Although Tarantino may be a well known director, I think that what he really wants to do is write. In “Inglourious Basterds,” the most gripping moments of the film are completely verbal; long dialogues, often insufferably tense and usually spoken in French or German.
Tarantino's films are often tributes or parodies to his favorite things, most likely stemming back to his job as a movie clerk at Manhattan Beach Video Archives. The lot of his work can be categorized as burlesque-style “movies about movies.” However, “Inglourious Basterds” differs from other Tarantino films because its dialogue is pure poetry. Albeit sick, twisted, and bewildering, it is still more eloquently written than any other Tarantino film I have seen.
“Inglourious Basterds” is a WWII-set revenge fantasy about the secret plot of a group of Jewish-American Nazi hunters known as the “Basterds.” It is scrupulously crafted, as are Tarantino's other films, but this one is jam-packed with cumbersome dialogue that is just brilliant; a vast improvement for Tarantino. The film may not completely win over Tarantino’s critics, but it definitely is great progress for the director, as it appears to show him moving beyond just flaunting his knowledge of cinema and bloody fetishes: He actually seems to be analyzing his obsession with the cinema diligently and very cleverly placing it into an suitable (albeit fantastical) historical context.
In Chapter One of the film, Nazi colonel Hans Landa (a brilliant performance by Christoph Waltz) abruptly intrudes his way into the home of a farmer with three terrified daughters and begins to pry for information as to the whereabouts of a family of Jews who have not yet been accounted for. Throughout this tense, immaculately crafted scene (compromised only by the minor Tarantino-style sight gag of Landa taking out a ridiculous pipe from his coat), Tarantino displays the bloodhound-like instincts of the Nazi “Jew Hunter,” whose twisted use of words and inflection manipulates the farmer into revealing that the Jewish family is hiding beneath his floorboards, directly beneath himself and Landa. This scene is brilliant in and of itself; and because it is the opening sequence of the film, Tarantino has you gripped from the very beginning. His new and improved use of dialogue is astounding, surprising, and leaves the viewer excited to see what is to come. The scene comes to a close with violence breaking out, and one survivor-a young Jewish girl-escaping into the fields. This seems to be Tarantino’s stylistic homage to The Searchers. And just as in The Searchers, a revenge plot is what follows.
The film is full of eloquent, memorable quotes (“I'm aware of what tremendous feats human beings are capable of once they abandon dignity.”), most of them from the Nazi “Jew Hunter” Hans Landa. I see some similarities between this character and Tarantino; neglecting the fact that Landa is a ruthless Jew hunter, of course. It is not what Hans Landa does, but the way he is. Hans Landa does possess a brilliant mind and a charming personality (a charming killer, of course, but charming none the less). His eloquent manipulation of words and his caricature-like mannerisms seem to mirror the personality of Tarantino very closely. It makes sense: artists, writers, directors; they usually do put quite a bit of themselves into their characters, and their works.
The dialogue goes beyond simply being witty; it also evokes an ample amount of feeling: anticipation, excitement, horror, and restlessness. How and why people speak to one another becomes a panic far more chilling than any of the actual violence in the film. Most of the violence in the film is purely vocal. Tarantino's words no longer exist entirely to flatter his audience's cinematic knowledge, but to shed some light on the politics of communication and the ways of survival during WWII.
It is very apparent, through most of his films, that Tarantino certainly has plenty to say. Especially with "Inglourious Basterds.” With meticulous care and affection, he single-handedly creates an alternate universe that seems to be about World War II movies, more so than the real war itself. "Inglourious Basterds" is certainly an art film, not solely a mainstream entertainment film for the masses. Tarantino fills the film with his usual appreciation for cinema; the references, and the masterful mise-en-scène, inspired by Sergio Leone spaghetti westerns and the French New Wave.
In conclusion: I think that this film has been one of Tarantino’s greatest accomplishments yet. The masterful evokes a great improvement in Tarantino’s film-making style, and I look forward to seeing his next piece of work, and how he continues to progress.

read these:

The Science of Being and Art of Living

The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

The Realm of Possibility

More of this World or Maybe Another

she was so strung out, she'd swear it never occurred

OLIVIA WILDE~

Does anybody remember when this chick was on The O.C.? I swear to God, she's responsible for turning me. I. LOVE. THIS. CHICK. She looks like a babe in every thing I've ever seen her in, and she kicks ass whenever I happen to watch House.

Bottom line: Olivia Wilde is the shit.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON~
If any of you say that you have not thought about Scarlett Johansson sexually at least once, then you're a fucking liar. This bitch is so hot. Go see Iron Man 2. You won't regret it. Also, check out The Island, and The Spirit. She's equally foxy in all of those.

NAOMI WATTS~

My favorite actress. I've loved her as long as I can remember. And I have always thought that she is beautiful. Even in movies like King Kong and The Ring. She's perfect.

ALAINA BEATON~
I've had a creepy celebrity crush on this bitch since senior year when Chelsea made me listen to Porcelain and the Tramps. She's SMOKIN'. Aside from that, she's a badass, and I really dig listening to her voice. I don't know what it is, but something about this chick just does it for me.

KRISTEN STEWART~

I really don't know why everyone gives this chick so much shit. I really like her. Sure, her acting leaves a lot to be desired, but I don't think she deserves all the criticism she gets. I think that her nervous tics and awkward gestures are kind of endearing. I've always found her incredibly attractive (Twilight movies aside), and I look forward to seeing her in The Runaways.

ANYA MARINA~
She's so cute. I saw her performing randomly on some late night show one night and I've been hooked ever since. She has the most adorable appearance, and I love her voice. If you haven't listened to any of her music yet, I suggest you give her a try.

and now,

Alaina Beaton

Turtles(:

Sacred Origins of Profound Things

Dream Catchers

The Runaways/Dakota Fanning/Kristen Stewart

Alaina Beaton:: biggest celebrity crush of all time.

Turtles:: latest obsession. I want one so bad(:

Sacred Origins of Profound Things:: a bit of light reading for the summer.

Dream Catchers:: I've recently given away all but one of my dream catchers. I want to get the one I've got left tattooed on my arm. I've had it since I was like, six. (:

The Runaways/Dakota Fanning/Kristen Stewart::

a) So stoked for this movie. SO stoked.

b) Dakota Fanning's a babe

c) Kristen Stewart's a babe.

...that is all (:

i'll take the truth at any cost.

Paramore/Hayley Williams~

Well, I went to Paramore show the other day; it was great. Hayley Williams is a babe, first of all. And although I know that was to be expected, it still blew me away. I think I said the words "oh my god, she's so hot" about a thousand times. I just couldn't help myself. Every once in awhile I wasn't able to see her because I'm short as shit, but I could see little whisps of orange hair flying around and I'd be like:

Dude. She's right there, I see her hair!

Oh Hayley, the things I would do to you...

Anyway: their sound was a lot different than I'd expected. I was expecting to hear that pop punk generic sound that is audible in Riot, but live, they sound a lot more raw. A lot more real.

I was plesantly surprised. (:

Don't get me wrong; I've always liked Paramore. And although Riot is an enjoyable album, I consider it a huge step down from All We Know Is Falling. It just became this overplayed pop bubblegum soundtrack that I regarded with excitement, but still just a bit of indifference.

Paramore has been bumped up a few knotches on my list as of now.

well, i've read some books and i've grown quite brave

I am eighteen years old, and I am still a child. Life has bruised and battered me quite a bit, I have somehow sprouted a personality completely parallel to what would be expected of me; the circumstances in which I was raised should have turned me into a trembling introvert rocking incessantly back and forth inside of a padded room. No, I’ve molded my own mind. I’ve created my own life. I thrive in dysfunctional situations. I do not like to live in a clean space; I need chaos to function. I do not clean my room until I have to move things around with my feet in order to get to my bed. I drink coffee to cure headaches, and smoke cigarettes to cure a bad cough. I’m colorblind. Light hurts my eyes. I look at things in a way that causes me great discomfort; analyzing every detail of my surroundings until my inner monologue breaches the confines of my mind and nonsense words start to escape my mouth. I do not trust people who wear very dark clothing, because subconsciously, I believe that they are from the future and they know something detrimental but they just aren’t spitting it out. I cannot focus on one task for longer than five minutes before my mind starts to wander. Every day I give someone a compliment, because I think that everyone is fighting some kind of battle in their lives and maybe telling them that their hair is pretty or that I like their shoes might make them feel a little bit better, at least for a moment. I am very socially inept; when I am in a group of more than five people I become convinced that one of them hates me and is thinking terrible things about me. I cannot hold eye contact for very long; it makes me feel vulnerable. I do not know how to handle arguments simply because I think that they are ridiculous, and feeling angry makes my stomach hurt. I get caught up in irrelevant things; I stare, I analyze, I people watch. I hear dull music in my head when I daydream; usually it is the Beatles for some reason. I sleep too much during the day, and time has almost no meaning to me now. I never know what day it is, and I never schedule or plan anything. I remain oblivious to very important obligations and responsibilities. I start projects and never finish them. I am not put together. I do not have myself figured out. I know the basics and I roll with that. I am learning every day. I am crazy. And I do not mean a cute/humorous/endearing kind of crazy. I mean that I am actually, insane. My mind does not work the way that it should; my thoughts are all over the place. When I start to lose my mind I have been known to do things such as eat toothpaste sandwiches, take on characteristics of people I read about in books, accidently break water pipes in my house, play dress up at ridiculous hours of the night/morning, create fires with my journals, stay awake for days researching a completely random/useless topic until I know everything there is to know about it. Okay, so maybe it is kind of humorous. But in no way endearing, or “cute.” My tics and tweaks and nervous habits my shaking hands my stuttering and fumbling and faltering; I am far from graceful. I am eighteen years old, and I am still a child. Sensitive eyes of an infant. Curiosity of a youngster. I am learning every day.

(:(:(:(:

little turtles~

BAWWW(: i want one so bad!

i hide behind these books i read

These are some of the best books I have read as of late~

The Fairy Tales of Hermann Hesse

Tender as Hellfire

Love is a Mix Tape

Siddhartha

It's Kind of a Funny Story

The Boy Who Couldn't Sleep and Never Had To

The Wild Things

Tweak

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Einstein's Dreams

A Wolf at the Table

currently,

WEARING FLOWERS IN MY HAIR

HERMANN HESSE

DIET SNAPPLE PEACH TEA

HARMONICA(:

BOB DYLAN

MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA~I CAN FEEL A HOT ONE

THE OFFICE

take apart your head. chew it up and swallow it.

Hermann Hesse said: "Whoever has happily reached the age of seventeen in good health and with nice parents has the best part of his life behind him in many respects. If his life ended too early and did not assume the form of a Beethoven symphony because he has not endured much suffering or many harsh experiences or gone through wild phases, it could still be considered a small Haydn chamber concerto, and you cannot say such a thing about many people's lives."

Well, I'm eighteen now, and I'm (for the most part) pretty healthy, and my parents were kind to me, i mean, they got me the help I needed, they kept me alive until I turned eighteen and moved out and had to start feeding myself and medicating myself and reminding myself to breathe. If Hermann Hesse is correct, then, well, my life thus far has been beautiful-comparible to a Haydn concerto. Music. Melodies. Rhythm and rhymes. All that has been achieved. So why do I feel incomplete? Why do lights glow so much brighter? Why is the static so much louder? Why is every element of my existance much more garish and distracting than it once was?
I cannot see, I cannot think clearly. And I know that my eyes are not blind; I know that, most likely, I have lost my mind. Again. And again. And again. Still, I share my secrets, I un-tangle my tongue. My friends, God I love you, you hold my heart and my secrets safe. And for that I owe you everything. And even if one day my trust is betrayed; my secrets spilled; my heart broken...Well, I consider myself lucky to have experienced these brief moments of bliss. I've opened my heart. Opened my mind. Taken steps I once considered impossible.
My thoughts are not entirely my own. I cannot take credit for the things I see, and feel, and write down. I'm not sure what to do. For now I coexist. I get by. I write things down and disregard time.No matter what I do, no matter how many chemicals bleach, dull, or numb my brain-IT IS ALL THE SAME, AND WILL ALWAYS BE JUST THAT. This medicine is a lie. This doctor is a quack. This clinic is a labyrinth of broken promises and over-priced, vulgar din. You are not my savior. You are not the Son of God. Climb down from that pedestal you've been placed upon so gracefully; you speak so eloquently, your words fit together so well.
My odd quirks and nervous tics startle, draw attention, create laughter. my shaking hands. my fumbling words. my tweaks and stutters and clumsy movements. I cannot sit still, i cannot stop myself from staring. I am distracted easily. I am caught up in irrelivant things. I am in my own world, I am lost in my own mind 99% of the time. Missing out on real life. Missing hours of my time. It all just passes me by, without leaving so much as a blur before my eyes.
THE WORLD MAKES SO MUCH SENSE TO ME BUT I CANNOT SHARE IT WITH THE ONES I LOVE,BECAUSE THERE IS NO WAY THAT THEY WILL BE ABLE TO COMPREHEND THE WAY MY MIND WORKS.
IT'S IMPOSSIBLE. IT'S FRUSTRATING. IT'S EVERY DAY.
I've gotta slow down. Before all of this is gone, and I'm left wondering
When did that happen?
When did I say that?
What time is it?
What day is it?
Where are we?
Where am I?
Where am I going?
Where have I been?
Will I ever get the chance, to go back again?
Rest awhile.
Lie down and sleep.
I just want someone to sit with me,
And hold my hand.
Watch it all, even if they can't see the way I see.