Layers of Reality

One of my favorite movies of all time is Reservoir Dogs, and one of my favorite scenes is this one:

Why do I love it? I am not a huge fan of any particular element, but of the way that layers exist within the storytelling. The video clip, by the way, of the scene is a flashback from the main story timeline to a point where the Tim Roth character is telling how he told the story.

When the cop starts telling his story in the scene, it becomes nearly farcical. Awesome, in my opinion, but nearly farcical. To trace the layers within the movie, we have:

The main timeline, where we are transported back to
A scene in a coffee shop, where Tim Roth is relaying a story of
A scene in a bar, where Time Roth is telling a story of
The commode, where he "listened" to
A barking dog and a cop tell a story about a "stupid fucking citizen".

It's great.

I was reading Frankenstein (actually, I am still reading it (not as I type this (that would be difficult))) and read something similar.

The narrative convention for the Mary Shelley classic is through letters, which makes sense. Characters had limited ways to relay experiences to other characters with no telephones or chat clients.

At one point, the storytelling/letter-writing layers become almost too much to follow. I was struck that the layers looked something like this:

The main timeline, which is a letter written by a man to his sister, where he relates
A conversation with a man, Dr. Frankenstein, who is
Telling a story to the brother, and that story includes
A conversation with the doctor's best friend, who gives him
A letter from the doctor's childhood sweetheart, which relates
A story about a woman who lived in her household (and the woman's deceased parents).

Be careful. Please.

So many layers. Add in that the book was written by a woman. And that I am telling you about it.

If you were to tell someone about me telling you about a woman's book that contained a letter from a man who spoke to a doctor about a letter he'd received from his sweetheart that told of a woman's parents who died... why, if you did that then your head might explode.

So be careful.

Music and Me

(Yes. I know that I didn't get back on the horse very quickly. I've thought about getting back to writing blogs, though. Which is a step in the right direction. Unless you don't want me to start writing blog entries again. Then it's a step in the wrong direction. I've got a few partially-written entries that I might finish up this week. I hope. In the mean time, please enjoy this moment of me writing about how old I feel.)

Politica is managing a campaign this spring/summer. She's done this sort of thing before, but she and I weren't together when she managed the campaign process previously... and that's resulted in an interesting experience for me.

This entry, though, isn't about politics or the political process. It's about music.

I am not a politically active person by any stretch of the imagination, but I want to do what I can to help make her job easier, and yesterday I volunteered to help her shoot a video for her candidate.

So. Music.

We gave another volunteer a ride to the shoot location and conversation turned to upcoming activities, specifically the shows that the volunteer was planning on attending in the next few months. And the bands that would be performing. The conversation went something like this:

Politica: So you're going to Sasquatch, right?
Volunteer: Yes.
Politica: Who's performing this year?
Volunteer: Tenacious D. Jack White.
Me: Ah! Jack Black and Jack White, huh?
Politica and Volunteer: [polite chuckling]

As someone who likes to think he knows a little something about most things, part of me was thinking, "Yeah. Sweet. I know what Sasquatch is. I know who those musical artists are. I still got it." Unfortunately, I was cast adrift quickly.

Volunteer: But I'm really looking forward to the other acts.
Politica: Oh, yeah? Who are they?
Volunteer: Blahblahblah, Yadda Yadda Yadda, Somethingsomethingsomething.
Politica: Mmm hmm.
Volunteer: Somethingsomethingsomething. Yadda Yadda Yadda...
Politica: Oh, nice!
Volunteer: Yadda Yadda Yadda. Starfucker. Somethingsomethingsomething.
(etc.)

Whether Politica really knew the bands or not, she at least seemed to. I had no clue what was going on. As Volunteer rattled off the bands, I was thinking one of three things:

1. Who?
2. That would be a great name for a band!
3. Ah, I know Starfucker!

It was perhaps even more demoralizing to my "I've still got it" internal checker that I don't know Starfucker. I knew they existed, but I didn't know what kind of music they played, let alone a song of theirs. I didn't even know whether it was one word or two. (For the record, it's one word. Or STRFKR. At least according to Wikipedia, which once told me that hornets were the spawn of Satan, so I always take it with a small grain of salt.)

It might be a slight overstatement to say that I was humbled, but I definitely felt out of touch with the music scene. I will have to take solace that I can still do well on the Mosquito tone test.

Back on the Horse

Do you know how it feels when you tell a little lie, and if you just came clean immediately it wouldn't be a big deal? Like, it's not an important topic and the listener may be a bit confused by the dishonesty, but wouldn't really care?

Do you know how, if you don't come clean, it grows into something more substantial? Because, on the one hand, the listener might be aggravated that you didn't tell them before, and on the other hand the listener might be confused why you're telling them at that point. It is an insignificant lie, after all. Maybe you should just let it go.

But if you let it go it gets harder to bring it up. Harder to tell the truth.

I, personally, don't know the feeling of telling lies (I am far too perfect as a person to tell falsehoods) but I have a similar feeling with this blog.

I used to write all the time. Some of it was pretty good, I think, and some of it was crap. But I enjoyed writing and I enjoyed getting feedback from friends and strangers about my adventures and musings and poor grammar fueled by haste and/or rum.

It's been over six months now since I've done a new post. I have started at least two entries since then (not including this one) but I didn't complete them and didn't push "Publish Post" because I felt it had been too long. I felt pressure to write something great.

The reality is that, just as the little lie grows into something bigger in your head, the absence of writing blog entries grew into something bigger in mine.

So. Enough.

With this blog entry, I am relieving myself--even if just temporarily--of self-imposed non-blog-writing stress. I don't know when my next entry will be, but if and when it happens it will be rooted in fun and not in fear of not writing.