hmm, since the gang vibe suggests an intimation of West Side Story, which in turn points backward to the genuine treatment of tragedy (the point of which is human awakening), maybe the stroller ought to be running downhill toward an operating woodchipper, the baby thrown into same and ground to bloody pulp, without further editorializing necessary. That may express the difference between art and commerce, however, so while formulaic, not so useful for the purposes of selling formula.
I think a musical set piece actually hearkening to West Side Story would have been easier to watch. The trash talk reminded me too much of — well, the internet.
For some high-minded trash talk about the question whether trash talk is a permanent feature of human concern, see this book review. Trash talk conducted with style.
West Side Story made me laugh. The two gangs are threatening each other, the Jets and the Sharks, and I’m all, oh no, oh no, they’re going to fight, somebody is going to get hurt! The two gangs approach each other menacingly and … pull their weapons and … glare at each other and … circle each other and … dance.
The guy goes through the barrio, “Maria! Maria! Maria! Where are you, Maria! Come out, Maria!” Apartments all over the place, all those windows and only one lady in the whole barrio with the name Maria.
But the best part of the whole thing is the opening titles, a scan of a red brick wall covered with graffiti, and good graffiti too, not idle tagging.
This here, I was expecting the pram to go floating. I was actually hoping for that.
My first Broadway musical was almost the last. I was about six, and in the first quiet moment between the star crossed lovers, I blurted out loud enough for the entire theater to hear “look Mommy, its in Living Color” (hey, we only had a black and white TV back then, give me a break).
The guy goes through the barrio, “Maria! Maria! Maria! Where are you, Maria! Come out, Maria!” Apartments all over the place, all those windows and only one lady in the whole barrio with the name Maria.
I’ve been bringing this up ever since the first time I ever saw West Side story in 1980, and people look at me like I’m crazy. After I explain the fact that most households in a Puerto rican neighborhood at that time would have at least one person named Maria in it, and then I show them the scene, they get what i’m saying.
hmm, since the gang vibe suggests an intimation of West Side Story, which in turn points backward to the genuine treatment of tragedy (the point of which is human awakening), maybe the stroller ought to be running downhill toward an operating woodchipper, the baby thrown into same and ground to bloody pulp, without further editorializing necessary. That may express the difference between art and commerce, however, so while formulaic, not so useful for the purposes of selling formula.
I think a musical set piece actually hearkening to West Side Story would have been easier to watch. The trash talk reminded me too much of — well, the internet.
heh
For some high-minded trash talk about the question whether trash talk is a permanent feature of human concern, see this book review. Trash talk conducted with style.
West Side Story made me laugh. The two gangs are threatening each other, the Jets and the Sharks, and I’m all, oh no, oh no, they’re going to fight, somebody is going to get hurt! The two gangs approach each other menacingly and … pull their weapons and … glare at each other and … circle each other and … dance.
The guy goes through the barrio, “Maria! Maria! Maria! Where are you, Maria! Come out, Maria!” Apartments all over the place, all those windows and only one lady in the whole barrio with the name Maria.
But the best part of the whole thing is the opening titles, a scan of a red brick wall covered with graffiti, and good graffiti too, not idle tagging.
This here, I was expecting the pram to go floating. I was actually hoping for that.
You know you’re in trouble when a gang of kids crouch-walks toward you, snapping their fingers in perfect unison.
And if you hear clarinet music, the end is near.
*meowble*
Greetings:
Hey, nobody ever said becoming Progressive was going to be easy.
And much thanks to “hour3” for saving me a bit of keystroking.
Every girl loves a Bad Boy.
Or something.
sdferr is sporting an oriole.
Must be baseball season.
I liked the vid until the happy ending. I hate happy endings. #grumpycat
My first Broadway musical was almost the last. I was about six, and in the first quiet moment between the star crossed lovers, I blurted out loud enough for the entire theater to hear “look Mommy, its in Living Color” (hey, we only had a black and white TV back then, give me a break).
The guy goes through the barrio, “Maria! Maria! Maria! Where are you, Maria! Come out, Maria!” Apartments all over the place, all those windows and only one lady in the whole barrio with the name Maria.
I’ve been bringing this up ever since the first time I ever saw West Side story in 1980, and people look at me like I’m crazy. After I explain the fact that most households in a Puerto rican neighborhood at that time would have at least one person named Maria in it, and then I show them the scene, they get what i’m saying.
But they still think I’m weird.
One of us! One of us!
“Remember, kids — the only way to get a bunch of mommies to stop pulling each other’s hair is to threaten their children.”
Brought to you by the Coalition of Child Molesters for World Peace.