Sunday, August 31, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
"There is no why"
MAN ON WIRE
Everybody who can should check out this awesome movie about Phillipe Petit, a man who set up a high wire between the two world trade towers and walked across it. It is showing at the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville and the Landmark's Century Centre Cinema in Chicago but nowhere, unfortunately in New Orleans. Petit didn't act alone; the help and planning of his friends and accomplices was absolutely essential and it took them years to plan before they executed the feat in 1974.
The movie is an in-depth documentary about the whimsical, bizzare nature of Petit that looks at his other high wire accomplishments such as spanning the Notre Dame Cathedral in his native country of France. There is ample footage from his entire life that the film makers had to work with, which is not all that surprising when you think about what kind of showmanship it must take to inspire someone to balance thousands of feet above a concrete carpet. Petit does things to be seen and this movie serves that purpose.
But ultimately what he accomplished is more whimsical and inspiring than egotistical and showy. Some of the people watching him that day were moved to tears and even the policeman who later arrested him can't hide the awe and admiration in his voice as he describes what he saw.
Check it out here and then check it for yourself.
Everybody who can should check out this awesome movie about Phillipe Petit, a man who set up a high wire between the two world trade towers and walked across it. It is showing at the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville and the Landmark's Century Centre Cinema in Chicago but nowhere, unfortunately in New Orleans. Petit didn't act alone; the help and planning of his friends and accomplices was absolutely essential and it took them years to plan before they executed the feat in 1974.
The movie is an in-depth documentary about the whimsical, bizzare nature of Petit that looks at his other high wire accomplishments such as spanning the Notre Dame Cathedral in his native country of France. There is ample footage from his entire life that the film makers had to work with, which is not all that surprising when you think about what kind of showmanship it must take to inspire someone to balance thousands of feet above a concrete carpet. Petit does things to be seen and this movie serves that purpose.
But ultimately what he accomplished is more whimsical and inspiring than egotistical and showy. Some of the people watching him that day were moved to tears and even the policeman who later arrested him can't hide the awe and admiration in his voice as he describes what he saw.
Check it out here and then check it for yourself.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Takin 'em to Church: The Dre Show
High school is a strange and awkward time as anyone who cares to reminisce will attest. Consistently the most painful and excruciating time each week at school was the assembly on Wednesday. After we piled in to the auditorium and begrudgingly sat on floor we would start to heckle any of our peers who dared to take an enough interest in the greater community to stand up and make an announcement at the front of the room. It was a tough crowd that made no attempts to conceal their desire to be anywhere else and we let speakers know it.
Essentially, there were only two ways to win the crowds favor. The first was to cave into the passive aggressive peer pressure from the sea of bored stares and attempt to make your announcement as quick as possible. In theory, this would insure that later on no one could fault you for talking too long and keeping them there any longer than was necessary. (We were teenagers after all, so you can imagine the very important, very pressing things we had to do in our free time). This tactic usually backfired as people inevitably became nervous which lead them to ramble on and then forget how to talk in to the microphone. Eventually the meek, mumbling wreck that only moments before had been a freestanding freshman girl with confidence and a cause (Bake Sale for Sick Puppies, Friday afternoon in the commons) would be at the brink of tears with 400 hundred exasperated faces glaring at her and eventually lead off stage by the vice-president.
The other, more successful way to avoid the crowd's disdain was to get us to laugh. Obviously this was a riskier and more difficult venture. However there was one man among us who repeatedly stepped up to the plate, deaf to our jeers, unafraid of striking out, and who could crack through our collective apathy long enough to get us to laugh at him.
Andre Churchwell was more than just a class clown. He was a bold comedian who put himself in the line of fire simply to get us to laugh, week after week. It was a foolhardy, selfless, and often futile attempt but he kept at it so that by the time I graduated I didn't know anybody who didn't consider him hilarious.
What he did took balls and still does. This is why I was glad to learn that he's still doing it. Earlier tonight I ran into him and he told me about his first recorded show, now on YouTube.
His act was part of a SCAD talent show and it is rather rough. He gets no help from a listing microphone stand but the crowd stays with him through out it. His imaginging what the world would be like if black people were in power certainly has potential (the KKK would be the Kunta Kinte Klan) and reminds me of my other favorite blog: stuff white people like. com Also his tale about a guy lighting his OWN tie on fire is funny to imagine.
Check it out here for yourself and give DrePants 3000 a pound the next time you see him. I know I'm glad he's still at it.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Preface to Chicago
Almost as soon as summer began, I somehow got it stuck in my head that I should take a trip to Chicago. I can't explain just why the Windy City all of sudden appeared so appealing but the longer I thought about it the more intrigued I became by the idea. I had already been mulling over the work of William Upski for the past few months and his tales of self-publishing had inspired me to form this endeavor here. So perhaps, I reasoned, there was more to glean by a pilgrimage to his hometown and so my curiosity began to grow.
One day in June, my roommate Noah out of nowhere popped the question to me: "Do you want to take a road trip to Chicago this weekend?” I was so taken aback that I didn't know to what to say. This was what I'd been thinking about but I found myself, strangely hesitant to sign on. Wasn't this exactly what I said I wanted to do? So why the reluctance?
Well for one thing we were still in New Orleans at this time and Noah didn't know exactly how long a drive it might be. He estimated 12 hours, 10 if we sped. Of that I was skeptical, considering it takes me 8 hours every time I drive to Nashville. When we consulted the Rand-Macnally map of the US on I had on my wall, Memphis appeared to be the halfway point. So we would have to drive through the night with all the passengers (two more were expected) taking shifts without stopping.
(Aside: I salvaged that map from the trash at the end of the school year and it has proven to be one of the best things that I found. However the FLAG of the United States of America that I dumpstered still remains my favorite metaphor for the Great Move-out Hysteria /Trash Extravaganza of May. More on all that ridiculousness later).
He proposed that we leave on Friday and that we could return before Monday morning so I that I would still get to work on time the next week. Seeing how it was already Thursday, I felt some pressure to make up my mind real soon.
“I…uh…don’t know yet, dude. Lemme think about it and get back to you,” I told him and left to go off to work . In the car on the way to Chalmette I weighed the decision.
"It will be a lot of driving but the trip has the potential to be cool," I figured. "So what if we would drive all the way just to turn around almost immediately? 'The journey is the destination,' right?" As I cruised across town I saw the choice appear above me in the big green interstate signs overhead. One side read “NEW ORLEANS,” with a big white arrow pointing towards another weekend of the samo-samo in an oppressively hot city, too crazy for words. But the other side pointed to “BATON ROUGE,” and an arrow beckoned towards all that was outside waiting to be explored, waiting for those courageous enough to take a chance. Here it is, Bud: your trip, your dream, your life just waiting to be lived...
“Aww! To hell with it! I’ll do it. We'll go!” and I called up Noah to tell him the good news right then.
“We’ll leave as soon as I get off tomorrow and if were lucky we’ll make it by mid-day Saturday. Let's do it!”
“Naw man," he said over the line. "I was wrong. We shouldn’t go. It’s a ridiculous idea.”
And that was that.
We didn’t go. And I ended up spending a perfectly fine weekend downtown at the Tomato Festival instead, watching the ships drift by from the banks of the Mississippi River. Chicago would wait.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Post-script: The next weekend my man Phil from Philadelphia called me up to see if I wanted to drive with him to Baton Rouge that morning. This time I agreed and we arrived a little after noon. We picked up his friend at the Sheraton where they’d biked to the day before all the way from NOLA (Phil had immediately taken a greyhound back so he could drive the van to fetch the bikes). To celebrate we ate a pizza at a little restaurant downtown, then went to the old capitol building and read about Huey Long, and ultimately left with little reason to come back again anytime soon.
One day in June, my roommate Noah out of nowhere popped the question to me: "Do you want to take a road trip to Chicago this weekend?” I was so taken aback that I didn't know to what to say. This was what I'd been thinking about but I found myself, strangely hesitant to sign on. Wasn't this exactly what I said I wanted to do? So why the reluctance?
Well for one thing we were still in New Orleans at this time and Noah didn't know exactly how long a drive it might be. He estimated 12 hours, 10 if we sped. Of that I was skeptical, considering it takes me 8 hours every time I drive to Nashville. When we consulted the Rand-Macnally map of the US on I had on my wall, Memphis appeared to be the halfway point. So we would have to drive through the night with all the passengers (two more were expected) taking shifts without stopping.
(Aside: I salvaged that map from the trash at the end of the school year and it has proven to be one of the best things that I found. However the FLAG of the United States of America that I dumpstered still remains my favorite metaphor for the Great Move-out Hysteria /Trash Extravaganza of May. More on all that ridiculousness later).
He proposed that we leave on Friday and that we could return before Monday morning so I that I would still get to work on time the next week. Seeing how it was already Thursday, I felt some pressure to make up my mind real soon.
“I…uh…don’t know yet, dude. Lemme think about it and get back to you,” I told him and left to go off to work . In the car on the way to Chalmette I weighed the decision.
"It will be a lot of driving but the trip has the potential to be cool," I figured. "So what if we would drive all the way just to turn around almost immediately? 'The journey is the destination,' right?" As I cruised across town I saw the choice appear above me in the big green interstate signs overhead. One side read “NEW ORLEANS,” with a big white arrow pointing towards another weekend of the samo-samo in an oppressively hot city, too crazy for words. But the other side pointed to “BATON ROUGE,” and an arrow beckoned towards all that was outside waiting to be explored, waiting for those courageous enough to take a chance. Here it is, Bud: your trip, your dream, your life just waiting to be lived...
“Aww! To hell with it! I’ll do it. We'll go!” and I called up Noah to tell him the good news right then.
“We’ll leave as soon as I get off tomorrow and if were lucky we’ll make it by mid-day Saturday. Let's do it!”
“Naw man," he said over the line. "I was wrong. We shouldn’t go. It’s a ridiculous idea.”
And that was that.
We didn’t go. And I ended up spending a perfectly fine weekend downtown at the Tomato Festival instead, watching the ships drift by from the banks of the Mississippi River. Chicago would wait.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Post-script: The next weekend my man Phil from Philadelphia called me up to see if I wanted to drive with him to Baton Rouge that morning. This time I agreed and we arrived a little after noon. We picked up his friend at the Sheraton where they’d biked to the day before all the way from NOLA (Phil had immediately taken a greyhound back so he could drive the van to fetch the bikes). To celebrate we ate a pizza at a little restaurant downtown, then went to the old capitol building and read about Huey Long, and ultimately left with little reason to come back again anytime soon.
Ticket stub of my return home from Chicago
Notice of Baggage Inspection
I have a growing collection of these little sheets.
More to follow about my fact-finding mission to Chicago...
-Boudreaux
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
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