CONTROL. The movie.

So last Sunday, I spent the better part of my day drooling over this movie and asking myself how suicidal tendencies can be so sexy.
I am, and have been a huge fan of Joy Division. Ian Curtis’ lyrics have always been some of my favorites. The music itself is disheveled, intense, passionate, dark and extremely passionate.
Regardless, whether or not you are a fan of Joy Division, CONTROL is a movie worth watching. It’s emotional, engaging, full of good music. Not to mention the artistry of the actual cinematography itself.
For a little background on Anton Corbjyn’s 2007 CONTROL, read below …
Otherwise, go rent it. No, go buy it. It’s worth owning.
I give it five out of five tacos.
From Wikipedia.com
Control is Anton Corbijn’s 2007 black-and-white biopic about the late Ian Curtis (1956–1980), lead singer of post-punk band Joy Division. The screenplay written by Matt Greenhalgh is based on the book Touching from a Distance, by Curtis’s widow, Deborah, who is also a co-producer of the film.
The film details the life of the troubled young musician, who forged a new kind of music out of the punk rock scene of 1970s Britain, and the band Joy Division, which he headed from 1977 to 1980. It also deals with his rocky marriage and extramarital affairs, as well as his increasingly frequent seizures, which were thought to contribute to the circumstances leading to his suicide on the eve of Joy Division’s first U.S. tour.
The title is a reference to the Joy Division song, “She’s Lost Control“—believed to be a reference to an epileptic client befriended by Curtis while employed at a Job Centre in Manchester, who later died during a seizure.[1]
The film premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, on 17 May 2007 where it was well received by critics, especially for Sam Riley’s performance.[2] The film was winner of the Director’s Fortnight, the CICAE Art & Essai prize for best film, the Regards Jeunes Prize for best first/second directed feature film and the Europa Cinemas Label prize for best European film in the sidebar.[3] It won five awards in the British Independent Film Awards, including “Best British Independent Film”, “Best Director of a British Independent Film” for Corbijn and “Most Promising Newcomer” for Riley.[4] It also won Best Film award in the Evening Standard British Film Awards for 2007. In 2008, writer Matt Greenhalgh won BAFTA’s “Carl Foreman award for special achievement by a British director, writer or producer in their first feature film”.[5]

" Convoluded," a short story

Convoluted. The word which got me kicked out of the fifth grade city spelling bee. I had made it so far and there stood that damn word. "Convoluted".
The giant orange blockade in the middle of my road to spelling excellency. A supremacy among all other Minneapolis nerds shattered by a word whose very meaning means "complex" "intricate" and yes "TORTUROUS."
Insufficiently confident and cocky, I opened my mouth and began to spell this demon word. C-O-N-V-O-L-U-D-E-D.
So sure i was going to kick the snot out of the rich kids from the South side, I was going to do my blue collar neighborhood right.
Bring home the bacon.
The shining, towering, and eagle-crested spelling trophy.
I could already see it in my school's display case. Dawning a picture of me, already developed, awkward- smiling with crooked teeth. And as my daydreams began to take flight, i heard the judge utter so loud and harshly "INCORRECT!"
I couldn't believe it. My jaw must have been at my chest. "What?" I snottily asked as the other kids jeered and pointed in my direction. "The correct spelling is C-O-N-V-O-L-U-T-E-D."
I shook. Embarassed. Angry. Futile. I couldn't think of anything else to do, except lie. "Excuse me judge, you must have misheard me. That is exactly how I spelled it. Honest!"
All of a sudden, a faint wave of whispers rose from the scarce and terribly bored audience. Scandal! At last! The spelling bee was getting interesting. Unfortunately, my mother was one of those bored, glazey-eyed audience members. Now, to this day- I have the feeling my mother knew I was lying. I cannot say for certain, but I am willing to bet a good $50 on it.
I began giving the 11 year old "I swear!" face and looked the judge straight into the eye. Now, I have never been a good liar, nor will I be. In fact, I am a laughable liar. Always stuttering, looking to the left, getting jerky- your text book type, you know. But on that very day, I was lying like I would never lie again. A professional. I had the cold gaze of my uncle, the lawyer, the quivering lip of my little 3rd grade sister and the cupped hands of Mother Theresa.
The judge immediately questioned my statement. "Miss Colon. This is the city-wide spelling bee. Any dishonesty will be severely punished." A wave of nervousness ran down my body. I knew I was going to keep lying, even though I could hear myself screaming "DON'T!" but I did. "I know, judge. But I, I swear. Now, my mother had began walking to the front of the auditorium. I couldn't tell if she was going to backhand me or walk up and give the old judge a whack in his smarty-pants mouth.
"My daughter spelled that word correctly judge." Stated my mom to the agitated old man. "Ma'am, I am certain I heard the letter D as opposed to the letter T."
"She has a speech impediment! Her teeth are crooked. Look at her! She needs braces. Terribly!" Screamed my mom as I stood, self conscious and ready to submit to embarrassment and tears.
The kids behind me were kicking chairs and letting out gasps of utter disbelief as i stood under the blaring stage lights. Number 17 taped to my chest.
A piece of wadded up paper flew past my head and athen a pencil was flung and stuck in my hair. I wanted to yell "Uncle!" "I lied!" But it was too late. My mom and the judge were arguing, she wasn't going to back down.
And then, the second judge, a sprat old lady with blue permed hair made the most disgusting sound ever, clearing her throat after a millenium of smoking Pall Malls and drinking whole milk.
"Hrwweajehagggghhemmm!" The phlegmy lady exclaimed. "I believe this tape recorder holds the truth."
"Lets give it a listen then," barked my mother.
At this point, I could have very well peed my pants and blocked it from my memory. It was sheer horror. Agony. My falsities were going to be exposed in front of the biggest nerds in the city. And worst of all, my mother- who scared the crap out of me when she was mad, would know. And I would be grounded, dead, fifth grade meat.
Old blue-hair went and rewound the tape too far. Then not far enough. I was slowly dying inside. My mother stood, hands on her hips, not giving in to the threat of the recorded utterings.
And with sheer perfection and mother-like grace, my mom turned to the stage, reached out her hand and said "Let's get out of here! This is taking too long. We know you won and no one can deny it, not you (pointing to the blue hair) and NOT YOU- (pointing at the old man). Let's go champ. You'll get a damn trophy whether its from here or not!"
And we walked out of the auditorium, runny noses and snarly haired heads turning to watch our "walk de triumph" as my mother would later call it. She steadily drug me along. Fast, steady, proud. No one was going to call her kid a liar!
Except her.
When we got into our old, rusted oldsmobile cutlass she turned to me and said, "Never pull that one again. Or you're grounded."
and we drove off silently into the spring night never to use the word C-O-N-V-O-L-U-T-E-D again.

I am searching for the marvelous

"Ordinary life does not interest me, I am searching for the marvelous."
-Anaïs Nin
Brilliant.
I shall heed that statement from now on.
I am finished with the pointless and mundane.
I shall scream out "Give me unreasonable beauty, sticky sweet anomalies, inexplicable joy and the bravery to commit to small changes that inspire me," at least once a week, when no one is around.

better late than never . . .

better late than never
I am a 29-year-old editor by day. Hobby musician, avid reader, fancy-dancin’, whiskey drinkin lady. Here you will find a mixture of topics including music, cooking, literature, dirty jokes, politics, tattoos, inebriation and the like. A mix of classy and midwestern girl, this blog is what I am all about.
I’m new to the world of blogging, but the whole point of this is to talk about everything that makes my crazy, awesome, fucked-up, busy, insane and beautiful life worth living.
So here goes my first try.
x.
Jess