I haven't shaved for two months, and I never thought people would care, or notice, as much as they have. My wife, the only person whose opinion about my facial hair matters to me (for obvious reasons, which modesty compels me to omit), is fine with it. She's fairly forgiving of my eccentricities as I am of hers, a symbiotic state of matrimony. Everyone else, by which I mean my mother, brother, kids, neighbors, colleagues, fuck, even strangers, has an opinion.
I know that this beard is a conscious attempt on my part to tap into that less public side of me, the side that doesn't give a shit what you think, the side that wants to look like he hasn't sold out to the man. This thing on my face is far beyond the trendy, hipster whiskers that 20 somethings run around sporting. Mine is grey and red and brown and scraggly and, generally speaking, homelessesque. This is the way I like it. We all have that side of us that we keep submerged. Shit, there are times when my inner self doesn't even know, or very much like, the fucker who is speaking through my mouth. When I'm working my job, teaching, dealing with my own kids, I frequently find my self saying things I don't believe in or practice. I don't think I'm alone in this. You, dear reader (no plural necessary here), have surely felt this way. Those of you that know me must be thinking, "Fuck, if this is the filtered Sluggy, what kind of sick, degenerate bastard lives underneath?" To which I respond, "few people truly know". The one's who do know are equally (or nearly equally) perverse, and I love them each for that.
Don't get me wrong here. I am not lying awake at night, cursing my fate, believing that my life is all a lie. I have grown more comfortable with the work me, the family me, the father, the teacher, the bargaining team member. Still, the bar fight me has never left. Unlike Todd Snider, whom I saw in concert last night, I have sold out to some degree, and, also unlike Todd Snider, I have never been convicted of a crime. It's a trade off, a tight rope walk over a life that comes close enough to being out of control to be fun, but no so close as to leave visible marks, except for the beard.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Fantasia
I picked up the Blue Ray version of Disney's 1940 film Fantasia over the holidays and finally got around to watching it with my wife over the weekend--it is better than ever and perhaps more beautiful. Fantasia has always been my favorite animated film, for the lushness of its animation as much as for its cheesy pretentiousness. It's a film for people who wish to think of themselves as cultured, but who want a little Mickey with their Stravinsky.
The film grew out of Disney's desire to get Mickey back in the spotlight of animated film. "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" was originally supposed to be a short, but ended up being very costly Disney decided to add additional pieces to make a feature film. He also added Fantasound, or an early version of surround sound, to boot. The film was supposed to be a major affair, with audiences dressing up, etc., but WWII broke out, theaters were short on magnets for speakers, so the Fantasound was out; it all went to shit. Over the years, the film gained an audience and was, piece by piece, restored to its original glory.
I saw it in 1991 at the El Rey Theater, as beautiful an old box as ever was, in Chico, CA, just south of Paradise--really. I was with my ex-fiance, who dumped me for a professor, but still wanted to hang as friends. Under the circumstances, it's not surprising that most of the film moved me to tears. I remember thinking how lush and fantastic the color and music were, juxtaposed to, what I thought at the time, was my ruined life. As painful as that day was, I realized that, like the "Ave Maria" sequence at the end of "Night on Bald Mountain", there is life after pain.
Last week, as I sat with my wife, watching the same film, I was struck by how different life is, I am after so many years. The film is still as lovely as ever, though it doesn't bring me to tears. For one, I'm a happier guy than I was that day in Chico 20 years ago, but it's deeper than that. As I get older my life becomes more even. I don't get quite as elated as I once did, but I never sink so low--it's a trade off. Fantasia is now just a beautiful movie, a pleasant distraction, a nice way to pass the evening with my wife. I'm thankful for that, for the relatively better place that being 43 has placed me. Life has assuredly gotten harder since 1991 for me and mine, but I have gotten better at dealing with it. Now I just think of hitting people.
The film grew out of Disney's desire to get Mickey back in the spotlight of animated film. "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" was originally supposed to be a short, but ended up being very costly Disney decided to add additional pieces to make a feature film. He also added Fantasound, or an early version of surround sound, to boot. The film was supposed to be a major affair, with audiences dressing up, etc., but WWII broke out, theaters were short on magnets for speakers, so the Fantasound was out; it all went to shit. Over the years, the film gained an audience and was, piece by piece, restored to its original glory.
I saw it in 1991 at the El Rey Theater, as beautiful an old box as ever was, in Chico, CA, just south of Paradise--really. I was with my ex-fiance, who dumped me for a professor, but still wanted to hang as friends. Under the circumstances, it's not surprising that most of the film moved me to tears. I remember thinking how lush and fantastic the color and music were, juxtaposed to, what I thought at the time, was my ruined life. As painful as that day was, I realized that, like the "Ave Maria" sequence at the end of "Night on Bald Mountain", there is life after pain.
Last week, as I sat with my wife, watching the same film, I was struck by how different life is, I am after so many years. The film is still as lovely as ever, though it doesn't bring me to tears. For one, I'm a happier guy than I was that day in Chico 20 years ago, but it's deeper than that. As I get older my life becomes more even. I don't get quite as elated as I once did, but I never sink so low--it's a trade off. Fantasia is now just a beautiful movie, a pleasant distraction, a nice way to pass the evening with my wife. I'm thankful for that, for the relatively better place that being 43 has placed me. Life has assuredly gotten harder since 1991 for me and mine, but I have gotten better at dealing with it. Now I just think of hitting people.
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