The Cinema Firmament

I am a sucker for the movie montage. I never cease to be enthralled by classic film clips taped together to the accompaniment of a cresendo of violin music. In fact, I don't even mind watching previews or film trailers. I get goose bumps. I do. Of course I'm only thinking about these things becuase of the Oscars last night and no, I don't want to talk about who won or who didn't or what they were wearing or who they were wearing, but I am all for talking nostalgia. I watch the Osacrs now more out of obligation than actual interest, out of hope rather than genuine faith. I watch them on the chance that I might come away infused with some of that good old movie magic, that tingly feeling that means something wonderful has happened. I made it my mission a few years ago to watch all of the films on the American Film Institute's Top 100 list just so that I could catch all of the references, all of the lines, the glances, the subtle nuances of the numerous movie montages dedicated to classic films. And what it comes down to is the instant pay off you get when you boil down a classic to one scene, one moment, one orchestra blaring up over the backdrop of Georgia sunset, one look across the room, one flick of the hair, one dress. I've never minded much the way our emotions are manipulated by those kinds do things, the way we're forced to feel a certain way because the music tells us to. I've always thought it rather wodnerful that we have the ability to be molded that way. Yes, rather wonderful that I can still know something of magic, of make-believe, of Hollywood.

Could I Get the Window Without the Doggie?

I am learning about windows. I want to walk down the street and say ah yes, there is an oculus, that nice oval one there, whereas that, that is a sign of the suburban seep, the casement window. I want to talk about dormers and diocletians and paladian windows. I want to tell you all about them beucase I want to know all about everything. I want to know that hard hats were invented by workers constructing the Hoover Dam. Look at that, I do know that after all.

So I heard that maybe secretly, in some dark cement like place, writers want to be architects, that writers envy the physical, the creation of an actual object versus an idea, a word blurb, a thought bubble. Here I thought all writers, all people on this Earth only ever really aspired to be rock stars. I don't believe writers want to build buildings, not in the literal sense, but it's encouraging to think that people could pine away after such a calculated, intellectual, thin black tie and glasses, kind of lifestyle. I also heard that fifteen year old boys don't dream of becoming essayists, but then maybe they do. Are there people who always wanted to be accountants? I toyed with, still toy with, becoming a dental assistant. I have multiple friends who want to be farmers. Funny that dreams need not be glamorous.

I'm sure it has been said before, many times and more eloquent, subtle ways, but Chicago rises out of the Midwest like the Emerald City. All that green and blue glinting glass. All that steel and wide open sidewalks and space. Everything shimmered there, looked royal there. Of course I have faith in brick and stone because their inherent strength emanates outward. I find beauty in the course red hue of brick, but I am willing to imagine the way Chicago must have felt like several decades ago, like the city of the future, the city rejecting the age old stones rolled up mountains on bent backs and instead built itself like a beacon of light and air.

Taking Flight

So I am off to AWP in Chicago to see what all the hubub is or is not about. I hear it's raining there, and I don't own an umbrella, but I won't let that spoil the trip. The biggest concern really is that my beloved black Chuck Taylors will not be making the trip with me as they are now ripped beyond repair. So little canvas left to them. I don't know how that happened, just a few miss-steps, a few hundred miles up and down and up and down Charles Street last year when I lived far away from campus and had no car and was too afraid to ride the bus. I did give up that fear though and gave public transportation a try. It was like the school bus all over again; the same people every morning except some of them were drunk or homeless, some of them were crazy, some of them told me from time to time to have a blessed day. You know a place that way, what is it they say, about going where the people are, the people on buses, on the light rail, waiting at the crosswalk.

Talk about diving deep into a labyrinth of paths in which every road leads you back to a beginning in a way you can't believe since you made it a point to go in different directions, or in this case, use different search terms. Yes, that's what is has been like trying to find more sites on The Garden of Forking Paths. Every search in some way brings me back to the geocities site I have already commented on. While it's funny considering the story that that should be the case, it's also frustrating that more people haven't taken advantage of the story. I think about this especailly in What turn places us and our narrator in a different part of the story? Or what about objects, such as the letter or the crucial telephone or the encyclopedia that transport us to different sections of the story? Granted the idea behind all of these scenarios is exactly the smae as clicking on a simple word, but I think that because the process of endlessly clicking and reading can be a bit cumbersome, being able to entice the audience with playful visuals would be a great help.

The first site I found about The Garden of Forking Paths was http://www.geocities.com/papanagnou/cover.htm. The gist of the site is that the story is written with various words appearing in color and when those random words are clicked on the text jumps to a different section of the story. The opening paragraph always appears the same, but the remainder of the story can be read in dozens of ways depending on what words you click. It works as an interesting, can I say neat, way of illustrating the story's point about an infinite story, but at the same time it is an impossible site to read. So while it is interesting conceptually, it isn't something you would really want to sit down and read seriously without losing interest. Of course at the same time this layout gives the reader the opportunity to function as the writer and change the story with a click of a button.