Tupac Resurrection:

The advent of mass-public-accessible documentaries has arrived. Move over Bowling for Columbine. Move over Hoop Dreams. Welcome Tupac Resurrection.

This is a must-see, period. Done in virtually the same style as Michael Moore's Bowling for Columbine, Tupac Resurrection is a posthumous quasi-auto-biographical telltale legend story about the controversy of Tupac Shakur - it is, in his words, "my life story about love, violence, betrayal, redemption, and passion." Thankfully shying away from East-West bullshit drama, the film conveys with literally no outside-perspective (it's done in 100% first person) the intelligence, politics, drama, and controversy of Tupac, showing the viewer the passion and redemption of perhaps the greatest and most notorious rapper in history.

"Tupac: Resurrection is about rap music, the forces that created it, and the world it then created. Shakur talks about the experiences and politics that went into his own music, in a way that casts more light on rap than anything else I've come across in a movie. Although rap is not music in the sense that you come out humming the melody, it's as genuine an American idiom as jazz or the blues, and it is primarily a medium of words, of ideology; a marriage of turntables, poetry slams, autobiography and righteous anger." (Ebert)

The hard part of making a Tupac film: Tupac is a California legend; our 90's version of a hip-hopesque John Lennon and virtually a national hero - he is an undisputed media icon, and a political and poetic thug-figure to all upcoming hip-hop artists. How do you show something in the film that we don't already know?

"Tupac had such vitality" - Yes, we know all of that, but never has a film made it so incredibly and articulately materialized. We don't need to be told anymore that Tupac had an incredible charisma and vitality; in this film, we are shown.

"Tupac was a thug" - Yes, we can see that by his tattoo on his abs. But contrary to popular opinion, Tupac was not born a thug, and he was not raised a thug. What the film paints of Tupac is a much more introspective picture of an extroverted person, a contemporary political poet caught in the anger of white-american racism who is painfully trying to act 10 times more 'thug' than he is, or ever was, or ever could be. In his own words, "I didn't have a record, until I had a record."

"Tupac was intelligent" - Yes, we know that as well - you can see that by his reading his lyrics. But I for one, didn't know the extent of Tupac's intelligence until this movie.

Please watch this movie. If you don't like Tupac or you're not a rap-fan, please find it in yourself to open your mind, expand your horizons, and indulge.

"As you listen to his uncanny narration of Tupac: Resurrection, which is stitched together from interviews, you realize you're not listening to the usual self-important vacancies from celebrity Q&As, but to spoken prose of a high order, in which analysis, memory and poetry come together seamlessly in sentences and paragraphs that sound as if they were written. Let's assume you are a person who never intends to see a doc about rap music, but might have it in you to see one. This is the one." (Ebert)

Taken from Alex's blog:

Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter.

IM me if yuo tinhk taht is fkcued up. And to cilhl.

Had a long talk with Ryo tonight about that perpetual (and on-going blog-subject) question regarding the genetic/biological factors vs. the issue of choice/environment of homosexuality. (Those of us who choose to think with even the smalest grain of intelligence believe homosexuality to be not unlike autism or down syndrom: that is, a genetic chromosomal syndrome that just so happens to affect 10% of the world's population, with an additional extra population of those who are 'gay by choice', the latter happening significantly less frequently. Will this ever controversy ever be scientifically decided, one way or the other? Probably. Soon? No. Does it matter? Not really; maybe a little. This brings up an equal amount of empirical-dinner-table debates:

If homosexuality is by choice or affected so heavily by environment, why are there so many accounts of macho football players who attempt suicide because of their uncontrollable sexual orientation?

Blah blah blah, I could go on forever. But here's a more interesting question Ryo brought up.

If one day, the answer was actually scientifically solved, what would happen?
Scenario A: Homosexuality is proven to be genetic/biological (not 'passed down a family tree', but an uncontrollable birth syndrome similar to down syndrome or autism). Would this eradicate most non-religious-based homophobia, or would it eradicate homosexuality all together in time? Would technology become so great as to enable a parent to receive a doctor-given 'homosexuality pre-birth ultra-sound' to give the possibility of abortion? Or would it eradicate the large number of homophobes who base their homophobia on the belief that environment/choice should not be a cause for homosexuality?

Scenario B: Homosexuality is proven to have no genetic or biological influence. Would this turn homosexuals into a new sort of 'freak'? Would it turn into a witch hunt? Would homophobia increase a result of this? Would being 'gay' be likened to being 'goth'; just another choice to be 'different'?

Interesting questions brought up by my intelligent and gay roommate, Ryo.

After almost 6 months of feeding off the cosmic-intellectual-sublime-and-beyond rantings of late-Beethoven, I have been finally zapped back into the beauty of aesthetic-pianism: Rachmaninoff. In reality, I am tired of thinking. Beethoven demands thinking, and that sucks. In fact, thinking sucks. I don't wanna do it anymore. I just wanna play and let loose. To all you thinking-people out there, take a few months away from your artsy-fartsiness, and indulge in the universal-beauty that, as a past teacher reminded me, will have you reeling unless (a) you were dropped on your head as a child, (b) lying.

Beethoven is truth, Rachmaninoff is indulgent beauty. Too much of the latter can only be a good thing.

"It is refreshing to hear my songs sung by the mindless singer with a voice, than by the intellectual without one."
-Ned Rorem, keepin' it real.

To be learned before the end of January:
Rachmaninoff Etude-Tableau No. 1
Rachmaninoff Sonata No. 2, 1st Mvt.
Liszt Ballade No. 2
Prokofieff Concerto No. 2, 2nd-4th Mvt.

After an extended vacation that started somewhere around the end of August, it is time to get back to work. Play time is over.

I am about to receive over 900 dollars, and it still might not be enough to cover my expenses. Damn. Depressing.

After spending almost an entire lifetime without travel (california-tunnel vision), I realized that in the past 12 months alone, I have stayed in:
London, Siena, Florence, Venice, Rome, Paris, Amsterdam, Bergen, Berlin, Hamburg, Texas, LA, New York, Bay Area, and soon Reno and Louisiana.
If all goes well, I still hope to see Sendai, Sydney, Belgrade, and Missouri in the next upcoming months.

Operation Money Saver has gone into effect: Starting today, the only money I spend will be on bare essentials: toilet paper and cigarettes.

Lake Tahoe, here I come.

For years, I have tried to master the art of notated-fobby linguistics, but I have yet to come up with anything as good as this:

japxplaya: ni hao~~! what foh yoo must going to Niu Yue Xi-tee? it must be coh-der than here at Shi-Dan-Fu.

Translation: Hello. Why are you going to New York City? It must be colder than Stanford.

Halloween in Mexico - an age-old, super-sacred traditionally-joyous festivity-saturated holiday dominated by the reminiscences and anecdotal celebration of dead ones. Dia de los Muertos. Day of the Dead.

Halloween at Yale - a poorly designed excuse for every skanky-brained female to dress as a slut. or a prostitute. or a whore. or some exotically falsified variation of the formers, meant to authenticate the exoticism of the outfit without actually having to say "Hi, I'm insecure, and I'll be a slut for Halloween."