Friday, April 01, 2005

Filet

Oldboy was outrageous! I don't remember the last time I've turned away from the monitor this many times given the amount of implied violence shown on screen. The first incident involved a hammer and teeth; the second, scissors and tongue. You do the math. Unlike The Crying Game, the pay off reeks of Greek tragedy in addition to flaunting twisted moral taboos in a pervasive manner.

I freakin' loved it. At times, the sadomasochism got to be too much, in which case, I kept my stomach down with spoonfuls of Nutella (sweet, holy Nutella) and pineapple chunks (I haven't been doing the dishes).

***

Math Judas and I brainstormed potential sounds I can use in my final SOUNDS project, which is about the monopolization of childhood memories by the media. I'm trying to "argue" using a soundscape that we tend to sentimentalize and demonize a period in our lives that might not be entirely composed of reality but, rather, a juxtaposition of cultural markers casually accepted as personal mnemonic icons when viewed in retrospect, distorting true events of our past. As I've mentioned before, adults generally fetishize "childhood" (a modern concept, if you ask me).

In other words: I get to use a sound bite of a woman having an orgasm. (Faking or not, men can't tell.)

I'm not sure why I have a habit of criticizing idealized portraits of (pre-) pubescence. Maybe it's because I have yet to make the critical jump from teenager to adult. This scares me. I don't want to drown in a tub of my own sweat, body bloated and bobbing on the onset of mediocrity. Yet, I don't want to be left behind with the remnants of adolescent confusion still crackling in the fire. It feels like I'm walking into a trap, a Delphi prediction, as an Emerald City skyline dominates the horizon - the wizard given another string to pull upon graduation day.

I'm not afraid of growing up. I'm afraid of regretting it.

***

I HATE SCHOOL. Stupid economically driven expectations.

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