film noir

Have you seen a girl with hair like this?

 

Scott Pilgrim vs the World

a film analysis by Syl

Ordinary World: Scott Pilgrim is dating a highschooler. And he's 22 and doing basically nothing with his life after a bad break-up a year ago, except playing bass in a band.

Call to Adventure: After falling in love with Ramona Flowers, pink-haired bombshell extraordinaire, she tells him: "I guess if we're going to date, you may have to fight my seven evil ex's."

Refusal to Call: Scott thinks he's isn't tough enough to fight Lucas Lee, "AARGH! Wallace! I'm not cool enough for this!"

Meeting with Mentor: Wallace --- he's gay --- gives Scott a pep-talk: "Fake it!"

Crossing the Threshold: Scott decides he'll just beat the snot out of Lucas Lee, and does so.

Tests, Allies, Enemies: Basically the seven evil ex's cover all of that, I think.

Approach: Ramona goes back with Gideon and Scott almost gives up the fight and almost gets back together with Knives Chau (she's Chinese...).

Ordeal: Throwdown with Gideon, the evilest evil ex, light swords and punk rock music abound, Gideon appears to be a better fighter but he's also ultra cocky and lame: "I AM THE GOD OF COOL". But no.

Reward: Scott defeats Gideon.

The Road Back: Although Scott still thinks that Ramona doesn't want to be with him, he has freed her, so he starts heading off with Knives. "Well, bye and stuff."

Resurrection: Scott thinks that he's killed Gideon easily, but then Gideon pops back up ultra-strong and kicks Scott's butt for a little while. But Scott defeats him anyway, the usual. "Face it, dude. You're blowing up." And then Gideon does so, into lots of coins.

Return with Elixir: Scott and Ramona both want to be together, so they kick Knives to the curb. Huzzah.

the end (or whatever)

Cheers,

Syl

  

ordinary world

In Fair Verona

Cast of Characters:
Syl


Plot:

Her name is Syl and she rode the school bus until she was sixteen. A self-destructive pair of lips. Ivory fingers cold with poor circulation, the knuckles sticking out. Nervous feet. She doesn't know what to do with her hands when she walks down the halls. You can look at her from the corners of your eyes.

Her name is Syl and you forget her cellphone number. She can sing the ABC's. People always ask for her name a second time. Once she ran away from school, once she ran away from home. She told a lie when she was small and hasn't stopped since.

Her name is Syl, but she doesn't always remember her manners. She's quiet when she plans to be, and she can even fold her hands up like a little church in her lap. She could be the perfect outsider, if not for the words that beat around in her empty mouth, leave little bruises there.

She is the hero of the story and she is indecisive.

And then this one Thursday she gets hit by a bus.  And she only dies for a little bit and she goes to heaven for a couple minutes and comes back because the EMTs are using one of those machines that zap your heart and ruin even the most tragic deaths.  So now she has this big long life that she can't remember really what she's supposed to do with, because her heart is different now, electric now.

Questions:

*Will she speak up? 

*Will she be featured on one of those "I Was Dead but Now I'm Not Dead" specials on Discovery Channel?

*Will she perform miracles?

*Will she fall in love?

*And what will they write on her leg cast with a black Sharpie?

Cheers,

Syl

  

this is a toast

This one's for the backup singers.

This is for the Hitler Youth, who didn't have a choice. This is for the cake-eaters and the wine-drinkers. It's for the sleepwalkers with bruised feet. Inhale. Exhale.

This is for everyone who cut their fingernails to play the guitar. This is for the family that stayed in the motel room before you. This is for old men with tattoos that blurred into their skin and made identical pictures of the blue-green sea. This is for every street fighter that spit out blood. Inhale. Exhale.

This is for falling when you meant to climb. For everyone who can't sit still. For the starving art majors. For saints and sinners; for lovers and fighters; for nieces and nephews. For the girl who took Prozac too young and turned suicidal instead. For your dad's motorcycle gang with similar regrets. Inhale. Exhale.

This is for laryngitis-singers and fire-walkers. For everyone who is too tired to fall asleep. For the skinny churchgirl whose pantyhose sag. For the sister wives. For good liars. For falling in love and we meant not to. This is for the men whose ears haven't stopped ringing, for the girls whose chlorine-green hair will never be the same. Inhale. Exhale.

This is a toast. This is a call to arms. This is a letter to someone's mother before she can change her mind. This is for you.

Because I think I know you, and all you need is a little caffeine, and perspective. You want so much but you think it's too much.  You like to make yourself miserable. Your favorite book has a bent cover and you are like a car wreck because you're hard to look away from. This is for you, in general, because you are a whole nation, you are an unwritten society, you are negative space around the silhouette of someone else, you are a silent rebellion, you are not what I expected, you are sealife, you are a family and you are their extended family, too.  

You are reading this and whoever you are, this is for you.

This is for your empty plaid jacket and your older sister. Inhale. Exhale.

This is for every innocent case ruled guilty, and every guilty one ruled innocent.  This is for the ones who pray and never lie about it. This is for everyone who grew gills just so they could swim. This is for the mean girls. This is for that tree falling with no one to hear it, and does it make a sound?

Inhale. Exhale.

This is for the hollow thing you feel when you're alone and you wonder if somehow, maybe, you're the only one left on Earth. And you don't want to be alone forever so you call out for anyone.  "Anyone?"

So this is for anyone else.

Because I am almost sure that I'm not alone in the world, but maybe I am and if you're out there, say something, because it's going to be a long, lonely year if I am the only thing left that has the use of a voice and an English dictionary and a beating heart.  

So speak up. Breathe. Inhale, exhale, and please, tell me if you're there.

Cheers,

Syl

 

gandhi apocalypse

Sometimes I wish I didn't have fingernails, because that way they would never get broken. But if that's my philosophy, then way not take away my bones and my heart, too? I'd rather not break them, either.

When will we own ourselves completely? Because I never would've taken Physics if I was actually in control of my life. And I'd never have obeyed those earthquake drills which were a waste of time, or forced pop music down my own throat, or smiled my sharpest-toothed smile at all those girls who never understood the words I used. I haven't owned myself once in my entire life and I think that some boy in the front row of this class probably owns me better than I own myself.

His eyes are blue.

I have a lot of spare time on my hands but I never get anything done. I keep forgetting to keep my own promises. I keep forgetting that I was going to be better tomorrow, yesterday.   

I worry that I'm going to self-destruct because I wish I had a hurricane named after me. And sometimes sunsets freak me out because I wonder if I'll never see another one. I wake up in the morning feeling very prone to tragedy, and I crave that dying of the light, the yellow-orange-red drip of the day's sweat over some faraway horizon, because a sunset is a such a gamble. 

I take pride in my personal tragedies. I wear my black eye like mascara. I treat sunsets like poker chips and how many can I get away with because it all has to come to a violent end someday. 

I shut the windows on the most terrible, glorious sunsets.

And tonight is not the last time I'll see the light.

Cheers,

Syl

  

 

sixers (plural because, i'm sorry, but there are two)

Cheers,

Syl

  

little blurbs

O Valencia! (The Decemberists)

In classic Romeo and Juliet style, a boy and a girl from two enemy gangs in New York fall in love, but their families object. Juliet-Girl's brother fires a gun at Romeo-Boy but hits Juliet-Girl instead.

I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance (The Black Kids)

A boy loves a girl, but she's got this boyfriend who is a mega-poser and a total tool, who can't dance. Girl wants the boy to teach her boyfriend some of his slick moves on the dance floor but the boy knows then she'll be gone.

Hannah (Freelance Whales)

Hannah and Pete like each other, but never really solidify their relationship. They flirt, they meet on the balcony and Hannah gives Pete candy. Pete wishes it could be more.

Yourbiggestfan (Never Shout Never)

Ily tells Christofer that she loves him when they're in his room, but later she laughs it off, like it's a big joke. Christofer feels betrayed, he thought he was the strong one, and now he feels like he wasted his time on Ily and has run out of things to say to her.

Anyone Else But You (The Moldy Peaches)

Kimya and Adam love each other, but they can't stand anyone else in the world and don't see what anyone sees in anyone else but the other. They're sort of ugly and they both want fame, so they'll but just deal with everyone else and be together.

Cheers,

Syl

 

songs about things

Here are some song stories. Loosely interpreted, admittedly.

'Kay bye.

When We First Met by Hellogoodbye

 Lyrics

Plot: Forrest meets Chelsea and her long, brown hair and it's the nineties and she wears shoulder pads and this vest that she still has in her closet, somewhere. She cuts her hair in 2003 because Meg Ryan did it first, and now it's 2011 and almost to her elbows again and she uses a flat iron to make it shine. Forrest keeps their haircuts on calendars, circles the days with a red Sharpie, keeps the old calendars in a drawer in his room. And now when he looks at them, all those days, all he wants is this. Chelsea and her brown hair (short and long) and the haircuts circled on the calendars, years and years of haircuts.

Characters: Forrest, a twenty-er-thirty-something musician, clad in plaid and one of those skinny ties for their Christmas photo.  Chelsea Lynn, who was quiet in high school.

Conflict: Chelsea's ever-changing hairstyles give Forrest anxiety.

Theme: Love is very similar to hair. (Enduring love, whatever.)

Setting: Beachy California, kitschy tourist tee-shirts abounding.

Kill the Director by The Wombats

Lyrics

Plot: Boy likes this girl called something like Allie or Ellie, but he's not so great at social interaction yet, not after the last one. She looks over and he pretends to check out the soap opera section of the local paper. Checks out All My Children, a little General Hospital. It's England, so there's also Brookside and maybe Coronation Street, he nods to himself like "yeah, that Victoria is a rowdy one, I saw it coming". Allie/Ellie walks on by, so Boy decides he'll make up a little band with too much distortion on the guitar, write some songs about her, get a bit famous.  His life is suspiciously close to a romantic comedy, and he hopes he isn't doomed to a tragic, if not laughable, end. This is no Bridget Jones, that's quite clear.

Characters: Boy, and he's angsty, basically. And not so tactful.  Allie/Ellie, mile long legs, probably.

Conflict: Allie/Ellie really doesn't, and isn't about to, notice Boy. She's got a kind-of-boyfriend going to school in Kent right now. Has no time for boys in garage bands with too long bangs and a secondhand guitar.

Theme: Love angst, the irony of it.

Setting: Some city that you've never heard of in England, everyone talking in cockney accents and pink-cheeked as only the British are. There's this trashy news stand nearby, with a little striped awning.

 Cheers,

Syl