Hello All,
I wanted to thank you for making this my biggest year yet. Your donation put me into the blue bib category. MVP treatment at the end of the ride. Imagine endless banquet tables piled high with catered corporate food heaven or artery clogging dysentery hell, depending on your perspective and gastrointestinal fortitude.
The event collected over $2M and I think was the biggest year yet. It certainly was my biggest year. I finished the ride without to much trouble besides a few dark moments which I will share, but still much better than last year.
Last year I was not prepared for the Palisades hills. They made my legs wet noodles. And when I had completed 97 miles, I over-shifted my old-style derailleur into my spokes. I had to take the subway home while holding up a broken bike, wobbling with the turns and bumps of the train. When I got home, I laid down and closed my eyes. I was still peddling off into the night on a broken bike.
Again, this year was much better, mainly because your generosity really energized me. So I thought I should share with you some notes I jotted down during the 100 mile ride.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
10/3/08 6:00 AM, This morning is crappy. Rain and wind keep everyone cold. And wet. I did not over-dress. I jump around in place. Other cyclist weave through the crowd, getting closer to the start line. I scoff at them. This is not a race...
Baloney. Nobody likes to get passed. It is a simple, primal impulse. You pass someone, you get a little boost of dopamine. Dolphins know this. The way they swim along a ship. Dolphins don't want to be second. And there is not even a finish line in the ocean.
Two guys behind me are cracking bad jokes about the weather leaning on their very expensive bicycles, that I swear I do not covet. The horn finally blasts. We head down the West Side Highway and warm up. We are a tightly packed group. We are the front pack.
The front pack is wet. The front pack is yelling. The front pack yells things like "slow." It ripples through, like the wave at a football game. But the sound stays in the same place and it is the riders that pass through it, an audible gate. The pack yells "puddle right" and the pack squeezes left. Then pack yells "puddle left" and the pack squeezes right. Then the pack yells "stop" and somebody yells "yelling." It is funny the first time.
Then the Lincoln Tunnel. They close the tunnel for the pack. They pinch off an inch and let it into the tunnel. I am in the front of the front. I lied to somebody once. I told them on a good a hill in New York you can get up to 35 or 40 mph. I swear this tunnel made me honest.
Top gear all the way until I hit the bump. As bumps go it is not so bad, but my water bottle doesn't' t like it and starts to want to leave on its own. Then the pump on my down-tube wants to dance with the bottle. There goes the rest of the pinch as I stop to gather my wayward things. I am last of the pinch pack. I am in stinking last. And it really doesn't feel good. But this is not a race...
I get back in the mix. I leave the tunnel at the rear of the pinch, but not last. And I see this cute girl with a megaphone. She is looking right at me. She is saying something into the megaphone. She is saying, "hello," she is saying "wait till you see me on my bike," she is saying "we will go riding together, into bliss," she is saying "watch out for that speed bump."
The handle bars are suddenly 6 inches above where my hands are. I sadly, know what is coming. I feel the compression of the Styrofoam that separates my head from the clean swept asphalt of Edgewater, New Jersey. I am severed from the pack. From WE to just ME in an instant.
Wear you helmet.
Adrenalin kicks in as a crane my neck like a turtle on its back. Shouts of "all right?" circulate, I right myself, pull the bike up. I curse the siren and then drag my 1984 Fuji Series IV Touring 12 speed bicycle to the sidewalk.
Embarrassment in check, the chain is off, handle bars turned, derailleur a mess. Pack after pack passes as I dirty my hands with the business of becoming mobilized. Wheels, check, chain, check, brakes, check, me, check, me.
I get back on the bike and think, what a glorious lesson I have learned. I should share this lesson with those that sponsored me.
Here is that lesson:
In life there are speed bumps. And sometimes those speed bumps will knock you flat on your *** because you were staring at a cute girl when you should have been watching the road. So watch the road.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The rest of the ride was excellent but in a solitary way, no big messages, just that if you keep peddling you will eventually wind up back at the start. So lets keep peddling...and find a cure for MS.
9/24/2008
Geolocative Phone Paranoia
This is great! I get to walk around the 'City' and find out where my 'Friends' are located and I can move towards them or move away from them. I can even find out where they are when they should be walking in the door of the bar that I have been sitting in for the past 45 minutes sucking down seltzer water to the consternation of the bartender.
For example, we are walking down the block, me one way and you the other our, geo-locative boxes squawk in some way the proximity and direction of the other. So now having this information changes the entire direction and nature of the interaction.
One would consider the implications of running into each other, maybe someone was rude earlier or whatever...but the point is your analytical decision process kicks in and it imagines the encounter. The analytical mind would weigh the pros and cons and it makes value judgment. It would imagine these things, mind you, then you would determine if you want to run like hell the other way.
Now you might think that is great! You get to avoid all those people you don't want to run into. But of course these are people that have been allowed to be in your "network," lets say facebook friends, so they know you are there and are running away, but maybe you are invisible. Or maybe you drop somebody. So for people on a list you are now fully engaged in a continual qualitative judgment process regarding a persons character, views, impression, etc. Now you run away from the blip, regardless of the reason, to escape the perpetual recursive judgment.
The setting Pride and Prejudice, except now with our new tools Jane would continually avoid those meaningful confrontations with Darcy and grow into spinsterhood. Prejudice would limit your overall exposure to unforeseen circumstances, coincidences and "happenstance."
So you shouldn't move away from the blip, ignore the blip, and stumble upon the person.
For example, we are walking down the block, me one way and you the other our, geo-locative boxes squawk in some way the proximity and direction of the other. So now having this information changes the entire direction and nature of the interaction.
One would consider the implications of running into each other, maybe someone was rude earlier or whatever...but the point is your analytical decision process kicks in and it imagines the encounter. The analytical mind would weigh the pros and cons and it makes value judgment. It would imagine these things, mind you, then you would determine if you want to run like hell the other way.
Now you might think that is great! You get to avoid all those people you don't want to run into. But of course these are people that have been allowed to be in your "network," lets say facebook friends, so they know you are there and are running away, but maybe you are invisible. Or maybe you drop somebody. So for people on a list you are now fully engaged in a continual qualitative judgment process regarding a persons character, views, impression, etc. Now you run away from the blip, regardless of the reason, to escape the perpetual recursive judgment.
The setting Pride and Prejudice, except now with our new tools Jane would continually avoid those meaningful confrontations with Darcy and grow into spinsterhood. Prejudice would limit your overall exposure to unforeseen circumstances, coincidences and "happenstance."
So you shouldn't move away from the blip, ignore the blip, and stumble upon the person.
8/25/2008
Help Fight Multiple Sclerosis By Giving Me Money to Ride a Bicycle
October is right around the corner, so I have started making my Halloween costume and collecting donations for the MS Ride '08. The ride is on October 5th. Last year I was very lame with my collections so I am stepping it up a notch.
It is also a little more poignant this year because Sheldon Brown passed in February. Sheldon Brown was an online bicycle guru that wrote essays and 'how to' articles on everything from touring Europe on two wheels, to explaining what a 'spline' was. His writing was extremely helpful, very funny and made you feel like you were getting advice from a well informed friend. He was diagnosed with MS in the waning years of his life and wrote this little essay about it that captures the tone of his personality.
I will be doing the 100 mile ride up through Congers, NY which is actually a real pain after you get out of Manhattan. The hills in the Palisades don't let you forget. After last year, I laid down at home, closed my eyes and felt like I was still on my bike pedaling uphill. So it was more like 115 miles.
If you feel like donating you can go to this site and do it all online!
https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=251540&supid=102798221
It is also a little more poignant this year because Sheldon Brown passed in February. Sheldon Brown was an online bicycle guru that wrote essays and 'how to' articles on everything from touring Europe on two wheels, to explaining what a 'spline' was. His writing was extremely helpful, very funny and made you feel like you were getting advice from a well informed friend. He was diagnosed with MS in the waning years of his life and wrote this little essay about it that captures the tone of his personality.
I will be doing the 100 mile ride up through Congers, NY which is actually a real pain after you get out of Manhattan. The hills in the Palisades don't let you forget. After last year, I laid down at home, closed my eyes and felt like I was still on my bike pedaling uphill. So it was more like 115 miles.
If you feel like donating you can go to this site and do it all online!
https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=251540&supid=102798221
8/19/2008
The Hidden Beach at Jacob Ris
Cliff called. He said there was a ride today. He said I would not be alone. He said he had a mess of papers he had to sort out. He said he was up till three in the morning working on some data file. He said Dome Lady and Manray would be there.
I said OK. I would be there at 11:30AM. I said I would make some breakfast first. I didn't even chop the garlic. I just smashed it with the knife. The garlic went in a hot pan of olive oil. The smell filled the apartment. It was almost enough.
It was a quarter to 11:00AM. It was ten till 11:00AM. It was five till 11:00AM. It was going to be alright. I took the Panasonic down. It is a fast bike. It had a flat. I put the Panasonic back. I would settle for the Fuji Touring Series Four IV. Nobody is losing sleep over this bike but I like it.
I moved through the traffic on autopilot. Greenpoint Avenue past the water plant. The water plant smelled like shit. I weaved through Mini-van mitzvah tanks on Kent Ave. Flushing was nothing. I was water. I was there, it was 11:18AM. I was a God.
Cliff said come in. I sat on the couch. Cliff got a call. Cliff moved some data. Cliff made some coffee. Cliff gave me a cup. Cliff is a good person.
Another call. Later another call. It was Dome Lady. They were at the Park and ready to ride. It was Noon. Cliff was not ready. Cliff sent me to stall.
We said hello. I was lost in my Godliness. No one must know I am a God. Manray said he impregnated three women that morning. I said good job. I moved away. Manray said with his eyes. I moved away again.
I looked at their bicycles. Dome lady on a Panasoic DX-3000, Manray on a Surly Cross-check, I talked about bicycles. I know nothing about bicycles. We talked about helmets. My helmet is cool.
Cliff arrived. We discussed directions. Manray had the map. I decided Manray was Mapray and I would follow him. GPS Lady is not around. She got dumped. We went through the park. I talked more about bicycles. I still know nothing about bicycles.
We stopped at a light. Cliff was a Jack Rabbit.
We headed East. Past Canarsie Jack Rabbit thought we were going the wrong way. I got turned around. North was South, East was West. The Manhattan skyline was on the left. Mapray knew where to go. He was a fucking landshark.
We stopped somewhere. Jack Rabbit got me Orbitz. A bird shat on Dome Lady's head. There were people there. They laughed at Dome Lady. Dome Lady laughed. They laughed at the bird shit. But not mean. Everybody drank water. Mapray bunged the bags.
Jack Rabbit thought we were going the wrong way. We followed Mapray. The bridge was down. Took the free Golden Coach across the bridge to Broad Channel McDonald's' parking lot. Dome lady took some pictures. Manray bunged the bags.
Jack Rabbit yelled make a left. I yelled follow Mapray asshole. Mapray went left. We went left. We road on the boardwalk. The map said no bikes on Rockaway Beach Boardwalk. We said fuck the map.
Stopped at the grease pit. Jack Rabbit brought out the plate of corporate bar food. Cliff is a good man. It was devoured. Cliff finds my gum under the plate. We still want more. I borrow $20 from Cliff.
Cheezeburger, cheezedog, cheeze fries, cheeze coke, cheeze beer, cheeze cheeze. Mapray Bunged the bags. I said fuck. I said I left my bag at the grease pit.
We headed West. On the conrete sidewalk. Dome Lady pointed out the Empire State Building. We were on the 34th St extension. Jack Rabbit took off like a jack rabbit. He took a left into a bush. We followed Jack Rabbit. It was not a bush. It was a concrete path. It looked post-apocalyptic. It looked cool.
That was the road to the Hidden Beach at Jacob Ris.
Dome lady and I wore our suits. Jack Rabbit and Manray were like flashdancers. Manray said he hated gyms. I said why. He said he had athletes dick. He said athletes dick is when your dick touches an athletes dick and becomes a long black dick. He has some fucked up ideas about gyms.
We swam at the hidden beach. The water was incredible. I said a prayer for Michael Phelps so that he might obtain his eighth Olympic gold medal. Dome lady did the Australian crawl. We discussed survival strategies.
When you are in a riptide, do not swim towards shore. Swim parallel to the shore until you are out of the riptide. Then swim towards shore. Fat people float better. Become fat.
We raced back to the shore. I was a God. Manray offered sunblock. Cliff offered plums. Dome lady offered to take a picture. I offered dental floss. Nobody wanted to floss.
To reduce the public aversion to dental floss I made a garbage bag kite using dental floss as the kite string. It flew aproximately three and a half feet above ground. Manray bunged the bags.
Dome Lady wrote a song for Manray:
(Bootsy Collins)
Put the back
Pack
On the rack
Put the back pack on the rack
(Backing girl chorus)
Do that bungee thang
and make the thang twange
(Bootsy Collins)
Put the back
Pack
On the rack
Put the back pack on the rack
Manray couldn't outrun his top gear. Manray outran my top gear. I stopped at the best water fountain in Prospect Park. The best water fountain anywhere. The water was cool. The water was free. The water was America.
Dome Lady and Jack Rabbit were picking their teeth at the plaza. I still don't know how they got their first. It was a good ride.
I said OK. I would be there at 11:30AM. I said I would make some breakfast first. I didn't even chop the garlic. I just smashed it with the knife. The garlic went in a hot pan of olive oil. The smell filled the apartment. It was almost enough.
It was a quarter to 11:00AM. It was ten till 11:00AM. It was five till 11:00AM. It was going to be alright. I took the Panasonic down. It is a fast bike. It had a flat. I put the Panasonic back. I would settle for the Fuji Touring Series Four IV. Nobody is losing sleep over this bike but I like it.
I moved through the traffic on autopilot. Greenpoint Avenue past the water plant. The water plant smelled like shit. I weaved through Mini-van mitzvah tanks on Kent Ave. Flushing was nothing. I was water. I was there, it was 11:18AM. I was a God.
Cliff said come in. I sat on the couch. Cliff got a call. Cliff moved some data. Cliff made some coffee. Cliff gave me a cup. Cliff is a good person.
Another call. Later another call. It was Dome Lady. They were at the Park and ready to ride. It was Noon. Cliff was not ready. Cliff sent me to stall.
We said hello. I was lost in my Godliness. No one must know I am a God. Manray said he impregnated three women that morning. I said good job. I moved away. Manray said with his eyes. I moved away again.
I looked at their bicycles. Dome lady on a Panasoic DX-3000, Manray on a Surly Cross-check, I talked about bicycles. I know nothing about bicycles. We talked about helmets. My helmet is cool.
Cliff arrived. We discussed directions. Manray had the map. I decided Manray was Mapray and I would follow him. GPS Lady is not around. She got dumped. We went through the park. I talked more about bicycles. I still know nothing about bicycles.
We stopped at a light. Cliff was a Jack Rabbit.
We headed East. Past Canarsie Jack Rabbit thought we were going the wrong way. I got turned around. North was South, East was West. The Manhattan skyline was on the left. Mapray knew where to go. He was a fucking landshark.
We stopped somewhere. Jack Rabbit got me Orbitz. A bird shat on Dome Lady's head. There were people there. They laughed at Dome Lady. Dome Lady laughed. They laughed at the bird shit. But not mean. Everybody drank water. Mapray bunged the bags.
Jack Rabbit thought we were going the wrong way. We followed Mapray. The bridge was down. Took the free Golden Coach across the bridge to Broad Channel McDonald's' parking lot. Dome lady took some pictures. Manray bunged the bags.
Jack Rabbit yelled make a left. I yelled follow Mapray asshole. Mapray went left. We went left. We road on the boardwalk. The map said no bikes on Rockaway Beach Boardwalk. We said fuck the map.
Stopped at the grease pit. Jack Rabbit brought out the plate of corporate bar food. Cliff is a good man. It was devoured. Cliff finds my gum under the plate. We still want more. I borrow $20 from Cliff.
Cheezeburger, cheezedog, cheeze fries, cheeze coke, cheeze beer, cheeze cheeze. Mapray Bunged the bags. I said fuck. I said I left my bag at the grease pit.
We headed West. On the conrete sidewalk. Dome Lady pointed out the Empire State Building. We were on the 34th St extension. Jack Rabbit took off like a jack rabbit. He took a left into a bush. We followed Jack Rabbit. It was not a bush. It was a concrete path. It looked post-apocalyptic. It looked cool.
That was the road to the Hidden Beach at Jacob Ris.
Dome lady and I wore our suits. Jack Rabbit and Manray were like flashdancers. Manray said he hated gyms. I said why. He said he had athletes dick. He said athletes dick is when your dick touches an athletes dick and becomes a long black dick. He has some fucked up ideas about gyms.
We swam at the hidden beach. The water was incredible. I said a prayer for Michael Phelps so that he might obtain his eighth Olympic gold medal. Dome lady did the Australian crawl. We discussed survival strategies.
When you are in a riptide, do not swim towards shore. Swim parallel to the shore until you are out of the riptide. Then swim towards shore. Fat people float better. Become fat.
We raced back to the shore. I was a God. Manray offered sunblock. Cliff offered plums. Dome lady offered to take a picture. I offered dental floss. Nobody wanted to floss.
To reduce the public aversion to dental floss I made a garbage bag kite using dental floss as the kite string. It flew aproximately three and a half feet above ground. Manray bunged the bags.
Dome Lady wrote a song for Manray:
(Bootsy Collins)
Put the back
Pack
On the rack
Put the back pack on the rack
(Backing girl chorus)
Do that bungee thang
and make the thang twange
(Bootsy Collins)
Put the back
Pack
On the rack
Put the back pack on the rack
Manray couldn't outrun his top gear. Manray outran my top gear. I stopped at the best water fountain in Prospect Park. The best water fountain anywhere. The water was cool. The water was free. The water was America.
Dome Lady and Jack Rabbit were picking their teeth at the plaza. I still don't know how they got their first. It was a good ride.
6/18/2008
Fixie Pretensions
Tonight after a dose of Fassbinder's Berlin Alexanderplatz, I looked over the collapsible furniture at my latest symptom. A Panasonic DX2000 that was a little worse for wear. Not a great bike by any means but from crank to seat post it is a whopping 28" and the stem tube is about 11 1/2". It looks like a normal bike that has been put on the rack and still did not talk. It has a gangly extra foot of vertical-ity. It is larger than the Pursuit left up in Maine, itself a gigantic specimen. A bear could leap through the frame lit on fire and not singe a hair.
It was a quarter to eleven and I said to myself, I have to take it out for real spin. This was earlier than the time of night I actually acquired the bike from a 300 lbs ogre of a man named Juliolindo. I liken his appearance to the Ettercap that can be found in the Advanced Dungeons and Dragon's Fiend Folio page 35. I believe it was his strategy to arrive as late as possible, when wits are befuddled and sleep beckons, his special attack. Juliolindo, who answered all of my hesitations with irrelevant asides such has "I have a K2. a 2 lbs bike." He might still have been riding his K2 as his girth obscured so much posterior space.
I had taken the rear wheel off of the DX2000 for closer inspection and as I pulled the frame from the rack, it decided to lay on it's side. This was unfortunate for my downstairs neighbor has entered into a overt war of cool aggression with me, as a result of unavoidable bumps and bangs that are caused by one as clumsy as I. As expected Andreas appeared like a jack-in-the-box. He is my Albanian-in-a -box, ready to spring at any fallen book, glass or shoe. Though subdued in his expressions, as English is not yet a second language for him, he made clear his intention of reporting me to the sound police so that I might be exiled from his heavens.
Fuck you Andreas, because you do not know what real noise is. So besides a real flavor test, I have extra stress to work off. I am also giving my new bike diapers a dry run. I bought them today in preparation for Saturday's century to Montauk and they feel as if I have passed smooth firm latex into briefs. Outside, I struggle to raise the seat post 2" and climb on. Would you God damn believe it, it is still to low, I need to add another inch, but will do so later, then I immediately notice something...
Bikes are everywhere, as I ride towards the Boulevard of Death, I see three stream by me. I shag right back to Greenpoint Ave and see two more. They are everywhere, Down 43rd Ave towards the Chrysler building there are two more. I decide two things, bikes are like bats tonight, and I need to pick a gear and stick with it. I am big chain ring and second to highest. I then follow my commute route as I continue to see bikes all around me. I head towards the 59th street bridge and head up, and like drips from a faucet, bike after bike, mostly out of darkness come flying by as I huff up the Queens side. All quiet but for the click of coasting wheels and wind in hair, and of course the suppressed sound of car traffic on the bridge, which is in fact glaringly loud.
A hint of the future, a world of bikes, car traffic will be replaced by bike traffic, but for now it is exciting and modern, as they all race each other to the bottom of the bridge, ten of them, twenty of them, one right after the other and I am one of them. As I make it to the top, I am won. The stiffness of the frame, where my wrists, knees, elbows are balancing out nicely up that hill, with no crouching. The components are shit, it has stem shifters, the dérailleur is somewhat bent...this is it, this is the bike I will immediately begin converting to a fixed gear, so I too can belong to the night...
Now all I need is your help.
It was a quarter to eleven and I said to myself, I have to take it out for real spin. This was earlier than the time of night I actually acquired the bike from a 300 lbs ogre of a man named Juliolindo. I liken his appearance to the Ettercap that can be found in the Advanced Dungeons and Dragon's Fiend Folio page 35. I believe it was his strategy to arrive as late as possible, when wits are befuddled and sleep beckons, his special attack. Juliolindo, who answered all of my hesitations with irrelevant asides such has "I have a K2. a 2 lbs bike." He might still have been riding his K2 as his girth obscured so much posterior space.
I had taken the rear wheel off of the DX2000 for closer inspection and as I pulled the frame from the rack, it decided to lay on it's side. This was unfortunate for my downstairs neighbor has entered into a overt war of cool aggression with me, as a result of unavoidable bumps and bangs that are caused by one as clumsy as I. As expected Andreas appeared like a jack-in-the-box. He is my Albanian-in-a -box, ready to spring at any fallen book, glass or shoe. Though subdued in his expressions, as English is not yet a second language for him, he made clear his intention of reporting me to the sound police so that I might be exiled from his heavens.
Fuck you Andreas, because you do not know what real noise is. So besides a real flavor test, I have extra stress to work off. I am also giving my new bike diapers a dry run. I bought them today in preparation for Saturday's century to Montauk and they feel as if I have passed smooth firm latex into briefs. Outside, I struggle to raise the seat post 2" and climb on. Would you God damn believe it, it is still to low, I need to add another inch, but will do so later, then I immediately notice something...
Bikes are everywhere, as I ride towards the Boulevard of Death, I see three stream by me. I shag right back to Greenpoint Ave and see two more. They are everywhere, Down 43rd Ave towards the Chrysler building there are two more. I decide two things, bikes are like bats tonight, and I need to pick a gear and stick with it. I am big chain ring and second to highest. I then follow my commute route as I continue to see bikes all around me. I head towards the 59th street bridge and head up, and like drips from a faucet, bike after bike, mostly out of darkness come flying by as I huff up the Queens side. All quiet but for the click of coasting wheels and wind in hair, and of course the suppressed sound of car traffic on the bridge, which is in fact glaringly loud.
A hint of the future, a world of bikes, car traffic will be replaced by bike traffic, but for now it is exciting and modern, as they all race each other to the bottom of the bridge, ten of them, twenty of them, one right after the other and I am one of them. As I make it to the top, I am won. The stiffness of the frame, where my wrists, knees, elbows are balancing out nicely up that hill, with no crouching. The components are shit, it has stem shifters, the dérailleur is somewhat bent...this is it, this is the bike I will immediately begin converting to a fixed gear, so I too can belong to the night...
Now all I need is your help.
2/28/2008
What do I hear in the distance?
A dark sacred cave, my ear, there echos of a great run can be heard. On the walls painted, in ground earth, the image born eons ago. All of God's creatures fleeing the horizon, a stampede of terror, from the great behemoth born from the frozen wasteland of the north, MASTODON!
2/27/2008
Labyrinth: Feminine Teen Fantasy or Aging Male Lament
Last week I was home bound for at least a week with the flu. As soon as the worst of it was over, I downloaded Jim Henson's Labyrinth staring then teenager Jennifer Connelly and David Bowie. I cannot tell you why I sought this film out or what inspired searching for the torrent. But it occurred to me to go look for it and with such ready access to media, I obtained it with little difficulty.
After many repeated viewings I began to understand why this film surfaced in my thoughts. It was not nostalgia, because though I am sure I saw it in the 80's, I am equally sure that it did not leave a strong impression on me then. If anything, I remember it as one of the many failed attempts; Legend, Willow, Dragonslayer, to create a successful fantasy genre film. And I distinctly remember being disappointed by the impact the film had on my perception of David Bowie's image. His cool, soulful alienation that defined his iconography was exploited for a target audience other than me at the time. The film did not speak to me.
But now in my state of recovery I found the character of the film speaking to me in a very clear voice. First you must agree with me that a film actually has a character. The character that is not comprised of just the visual comprised of all the elements of film making executed by those individuals contributing.
It has presence, memory, and expectation. The traces of those beliefs are left embbeded in the experiece of viewing, more so as it is comprised of all other artforms. In this way, great spectacles become more than their sum, a collection of lies that tell some truth as guided by those beliefs of those all making the film.
If you agree with me then agree further that a film's depth of character cannot be fully understood as a singularity but obviously on many levels with many messages. Then there is the final contributor that closes loop, the viewer, who brings their own beliefs and sense of self to the experience of watching the film, where the film's characteristics are identified and resonate with the individual, some are augmented and others are suppressed as the viewer recognizes their own beliefs projected for consumption.
Simply put to me at a cocktail party, the subtext of the film.
And here is where I inject my fever vision of the character of Labyrinth. It is not the story of a young girl's realization that she is no longer a child and must change accordingly, but more so the lament for the aging male character Jareth, who can no longer play the role of suppressed sex object to the girl. In fact the strongest, more resonant vision of the film is the latter and can be supported by the structural elements that comprise the film.
Here is a brief outline that I will further develop.
o The labyrinth is "childishly" a metaphor for Sarah's repressed sexual awareness yet her character does not transform, only supperficially does she address the woe of adulthood. Sarah's sexual identity actually remains the same throughout story.
o Sarah's journey is one of moral growth not sexual growth, and her realisation is not self sexual realization, but of political realization, when she states to Jareth "You have no Power over me!" Sexual or otherwise.
o All of the creative leads were men in midlife crisis, and clearly confused the target of the film. That it did poorly at the box office only suports this view, the blink analysis is "Who wants to see Bowie in a codpiece"
o The lead creative forces were:
o Jim Henson
o Terry Jones
o David Bowie
o George Lucas
o The George Lucas factor applies here where all female sexuality is repressed and if possible eliminated where only the surface flesh and shape of the actor can denote any sexuality - and here is where Jennifer Connelly is distinctly non-sexual but acttractive none the less.
o The codpiece is the elephant in the room.
o The music is sung from Jareth's point of view. Written by David Bowie for the movie, each is loaded with ambiguity around desiring a connection with Sarah, and Within You is clearly what Jareth wants to be, but is refutted.
o Dance Magic
o Within You
o Underground
o The bog of eternal stench clearly represents decrepitude and incontinence, where hemrodial gasgets fart and emit the smells of age.
o The only true transformation that happens in the film is Jareth's, he the powerful Goblin king is returned to an intert state of the barn owl. This decline is clearly marked by periods of interaction with Sarah, at each one he is rebuffed, ignored and belittled.
o Snatching Toby - "Take this child away from me," Sarah prays to Jareth - metaphorically shedding the responsibilities of Motherhood but it is Jareth whose threats and posing fail to thwart Sarah visually fades away.
o Sarah and Jareth in the Dance, all wear masks, but Sarah, and when Jareth reveals hers she runs away.
o Final scene Jareth transforms to small barn owl.
After many repeated viewings I began to understand why this film surfaced in my thoughts. It was not nostalgia, because though I am sure I saw it in the 80's, I am equally sure that it did not leave a strong impression on me then. If anything, I remember it as one of the many failed attempts; Legend, Willow, Dragonslayer, to create a successful fantasy genre film. And I distinctly remember being disappointed by the impact the film had on my perception of David Bowie's image. His cool, soulful alienation that defined his iconography was exploited for a target audience other than me at the time. The film did not speak to me.
But now in my state of recovery I found the character of the film speaking to me in a very clear voice. First you must agree with me that a film actually has a character. The character that is not comprised of just the visual comprised of all the elements of film making executed by those individuals contributing.
It has presence, memory, and expectation. The traces of those beliefs are left embbeded in the experiece of viewing, more so as it is comprised of all other artforms. In this way, great spectacles become more than their sum, a collection of lies that tell some truth as guided by those beliefs of those all making the film.
If you agree with me then agree further that a film's depth of character cannot be fully understood as a singularity but obviously on many levels with many messages. Then there is the final contributor that closes loop, the viewer, who brings their own beliefs and sense of self to the experience of watching the film, where the film's characteristics are identified and resonate with the individual, some are augmented and others are suppressed as the viewer recognizes their own beliefs projected for consumption.
Simply put to me at a cocktail party, the subtext of the film.
And here is where I inject my fever vision of the character of Labyrinth. It is not the story of a young girl's realization that she is no longer a child and must change accordingly, but more so the lament for the aging male character Jareth, who can no longer play the role of suppressed sex object to the girl. In fact the strongest, more resonant vision of the film is the latter and can be supported by the structural elements that comprise the film.
Here is a brief outline that I will further develop.
o The labyrinth is "childishly" a metaphor for Sarah's repressed sexual awareness yet her character does not transform, only supperficially does she address the woe of adulthood. Sarah's sexual identity actually remains the same throughout story.
o Sarah's journey is one of moral growth not sexual growth, and her realisation is not self sexual realization, but of political realization, when she states to Jareth "You have no Power over me!" Sexual or otherwise.
o All of the creative leads were men in midlife crisis, and clearly confused the target of the film. That it did poorly at the box office only suports this view, the blink analysis is "Who wants to see Bowie in a codpiece"
o The lead creative forces were:
o Jim Henson
o Terry Jones
o David Bowie
o George Lucas
o The George Lucas factor applies here where all female sexuality is repressed and if possible eliminated where only the surface flesh and shape of the actor can denote any sexuality - and here is where Jennifer Connelly is distinctly non-sexual but acttractive none the less.
o The codpiece is the elephant in the room.
o The music is sung from Jareth's point of view. Written by David Bowie for the movie, each is loaded with ambiguity around desiring a connection with Sarah, and Within You is clearly what Jareth wants to be, but is refutted.
o Dance Magic
o Within You
o Underground
o The bog of eternal stench clearly represents decrepitude and incontinence, where hemrodial gasgets fart and emit the smells of age.
o The only true transformation that happens in the film is Jareth's, he the powerful Goblin king is returned to an intert state of the barn owl. This decline is clearly marked by periods of interaction with Sarah, at each one he is rebuffed, ignored and belittled.
o Snatching Toby - "Take this child away from me," Sarah prays to Jareth - metaphorically shedding the responsibilities of Motherhood but it is Jareth whose threats and posing fail to thwart Sarah visually fades away.
o Sarah and Jareth in the Dance, all wear masks, but Sarah, and when Jareth reveals hers she runs away.
o Final scene Jareth transforms to small barn owl.
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