The Soloist

The other night I watched The Soloist, a pretty good movie with Robert Downey, Jr., that I had hoped to go see when it was out in the theaters but never did. It's a movie about a cellist who ends up homeless, but more importantly it's a movie about a relationship, a friendship between two men. The title takes on certain existential hues in that light, since the difficult nature of the relationship raises the question, "Just how alone are we in this life?"

Watching the movie by myself reminded me of when I was a teenager and had rented The Color Purple to watch with a girl. Looking back, it was certainly an odd choice, but this girl was particularly annoyed with me because she said I always watched depressing movies and that probably made me more depressed. I could have launched into a lecture on the complex nature of art, and how what is seen as depressing is often just dark and reflective of man's essential inhumanity to man, because after all, what does a happy story tell you? What does it teach you?

But I think it was more correct to say that I liked (and like) depressing movies because of some version of the malady known as anhedonia that I have inside myself -- basically an inabililty to enjoy oneself when you know others are suffering.

Parts of the movie reminded me of myself in other odd ways, such as the fact that the RDJ character is divorced and doesn't want anybody to rely on him because he'll just end up disappointing them. A pretty sorry excuse when you hear it from somebody else. At the end of the movie, too, after the RDJ character angers the Jamie Fox character (the cellist), he says, "Hey, friends piss each other off sometimes, right?" It's such a simple line with real resonance that says something about the nature of friendship, I think. It seems I've pissed people off in the past and not been able to come back from that, and I think that's unfortunate. Because friends do piss each other off, if they're honest sometimes.

WorldFest International Film Festival

My screenplay The Moon Illusion was awarded a bronze Remi award for romantic comedy at the 43rd WorldFest-Houston International Film Festival. While this isn't an especially impressive ranking, WorldFest is a competitive festival that attracts submissions from all over the globe. There were 50 entries in my category alone, and organizers say only 15% of entries win Remis. At any rate, I'm honored to be recognized and to be a part of this important festival in my small way.

Quicksilver 2.1

The latest issue of Quicksilver 2.1 is now live. The third issue features writing by Cathy Carr, KJ Hays, and J. David Bell.

Zygote in My Coffee

A really cool online publication called Zygote in My Coffee just accepted a poem of mine called "Portrait of a Woman I Never Loved." The poem should be in issue #131, due out in March. This magazine has been around a while and they also publish a print edition. The graphics and overall style of Zygote remind me of the old zines from the 80s and 90s, so I'm proud to be a part of that scene. It's especially gratifying that such a hipster-type publication would agree to use a poem from this old man. Please visit the site and check out all the quality writing.

New Jersey Poets

I recently found out that of poem of mine is going to be published in the Journal of New Jersey Poets. I'm proud to be a part of this worthy and unusual journal, which only publishes poets with some connection to New Jersey. New Jersey, of course, has produced some of the country's finest poets, including the original American everyman, Walt Whitman. As it turns out, I was born in Camden, N.J. (which, coincidentally, was written up in the 1970s as the worst city in America due its thriving drug trade and abject urban poverty) -- hence my eligibility for this journal. It's rewarding and satisfying to experience this connection to Jersey again after so many decades in Texas. Because I was born in New Jersey, I will never be considered a "Texan" by many of the residents here, but, like Whitman, I think I'd rather celebrate the beauty of moving around this great country rather than being identified with a single place and culture.

The Zen of Being Annoyed and Restless

For the past 30 or 40 years, Eastern philosophy -- in the form of a lightly digested stew of various bits of Buddhism -- has enjoyed a special exalted status in the United States. Most thinking individuals accept Eastern philosophy as an admirable and perhaps more efficient route to inner enlightenment and peace.

Although I'm an admirer and casual student of Eastern philosophies and religion as well, I find some problems with fitting these approaches to the Western mindset. Once, when I was working for the newspaper, I said to a coworker about a certain problem that I was "trying to be Zen about it." She replied with, "Zen doesn't try. It just is."

Fine. Then, just a few days ago, I was having a conversation with a friend about not being entirely satisfied with my life and looking for ways to change it. He said, "the Eastern approach would be to accept and appreciate where you are." Or something to that effect.

I snapped back with, "Yes, but I'm not Eastern. I'm Western."

I wasn't trying to be Western-centric, just point out that perhaps a philosophy from around the world doesn't exactly fit the problems and concerns of a Western citizen. It turns out I may be right. According to some theories by scientists working in geneticis, there is something that can be characterized as "American DNA," because of a certain concentration of gene cells in our country. We are a nation of immigrants, as the saying goes, meaning we are a nation of people with a tendency to take changes and set out for new things. We are restless and bored and always seeking new ways to better our situation. Or at least our ancestors were.

It can be inconvenient to be restless and easily dissatisfied, but it has its advantages as well. The American individualist spirit has fostered some of the most amazing developments in arts and sciences the world has ever seen. Maybe the stereotype of the "ugly American" has some truth to it -- we are loud and too sure of ourselves -- but we also know we'll keep improving ourselves and not be satisfied with whatever life hands us.

Quicksilver 1.2

The new issue of Quicksilver is now live. The issue includes essays by Wendy Freedman and Michael Berberich, as well as a nice collection of fiction and poetry and some photos by UCHL prof. Leo Chan.