2000-08-07 :: 05:08:34

Norman Rockwell vs. Coyote Ugly

Soundtrack: Amon Tobin, "Supermodified"

Looking back one day, I feel pretty pleased with the sketch I made. I added this on a memo pad after I shut down the computer: "Forgot whooping + hollering @ married couple + 20 sec snog at party's end." That's pretty much that, except there were also some bridesmaids there, too. I bet they didn't expect that kind of reception on the way to their bridal bed (who uses that term anymore?).

Today was another great culture clash. First, two quality pieces.

I saw the Norman Rockwell tour at the Corcoran with the dad and the sister. I liked Rockwell before, but I really love him now. His ability to photograph moments you wish existed, create impossibly average people in their impossibly ideal form, capture anything in paint (his shadowy depiction of a WW2 machinegunner is incredible) -- fuck anyone who won't call it fine art, because I'd like to see someone else have his range and compassion. I can hear people snicker at the quote: "The view of life I communicate in my pictures excludes the sordid and the ugly. I paint life as I would like it to be." But who cares? They're beautiful pictures by a man who knew what the hell he was doing. The tour guide that I hijacked mentioned some interesting things, i.e. his inclusion of a woman in "Freedom of Speech" was a hard fought battle for his vision that women would indeed participate in civil debate one day. His civil rights era work was also sensitive and symbolic. But frankly, just about everything was well-constructed, evocative and dignified. Would you believe I almost felt my eyes well up when I looked at "Girl At Mirror"? Christ. The guide claimed that the model never saw the picture until about 10 years later. Rockwell had apparently said something like "look in the mirror and think about what kind of lady you will become" when she was posing and of course she had no idea what he meant then, but burst into tears upon seeing the picture as a grown up. "He saw things about me I didn't even know."

I finished High Fidelity on the way to the Rockwell exhibit; I finished it satisfied and happy. The ending was a bit less than the rest of the book, but it was well done and not too sappy. (Shit, I'm rhyming.) I'll definitely have to look at Hornby's other stuff, he has a way of capturing funny details and sounding conversational but still lending a literary curve to it. I admire that. It feels off the cuff but intelligent, like he didn't second guess every word but chose them right from the get-go -- and a mistake here or there is human/accepted because it's between pals anyway.

Well, to balance my high quality intake of writing and painting, I went and saw Coyote Ugly, which pretty much lived up to my expectations, minus a little T+A factor (it was surprisingly low -- or not, if you consider it really is a PG-13 movie). What was I thinking? Maybe I do have a 2-year-old in my pants as the bar-owner suggests when she offers the main character an "audition" to be a "coyote." Tyra Banks was in it for all of 10 minutes (I suspect she was the only one among the "coyote" actresses that could actually dance without using a double, too), so that was rather misleading. Well, all hype-advertising aside, it's Piper Perabo's movie, but that's not really such a bad thing -- the angry one (Rachel?) was probably the coolest, though. What is a bad thing is Jerry Bruckheimer signing his name on the film by having a bunch of toll booths flash their lights and beep their horns to celebrate Piper's big break as she passes through on her way to the Bowery Ballroom (though I love the Bowery Ballroom!). Brent and I dropped some MST3K-style dirty one-liners and scooted when the credits began to roll, talking about John Goodman's deadpool odds and being thankful that we hadn't had any females in the group around to scoff at the movie more than we had/were. We'd had dinner with Ian, Adam, Teague, and Matt (the latter two people I hadn't seen in a couple of years, and it was good to see them), but they unfortunately couldn't make the testosteronefest. I can't really say "their loss," even though I'd like to do that.

Would you believe it. I go and doubt that co-worker and he emails me:

Date: Mon, 7 Aug 2000 01:02:37 -0400
Subject: The Catbird Seat, by James Thurber

I believe we spoke of this at the party on Sat night. I hope you enjoy it.

http://home.eol.ca/~command/catbird.htm

How about that? I think I'll read it tomorrow, much as I'd like to enjoy it now. I need to get in bed for Monday. At least I can take pride in two actual back-to-back entries as I collapse.