Oh, Fickle Muse!

I meant to be writing about a dance in Pittsburgh. I will get to that, I swear, but this is what happens when you sit on the patio at Raging Sage in lovely weather.

The small patio at Raging Sage is full today. The burble of voices mixes around me and orange blossoms cover us all with sweet smells. Can you blame us all for taking this beautiful morning out in the Arizona sun? This is the land of Never-Winter, where Summer is never ever far way. While the rest of the country shivers in the dark and in the cold, we bask in warmth, and house finches and mockingbirds sing, adding their voices to our shared happiness.

Soon, of course, we won't be joyous. Sooner than we want or expect, Never-Winter will end and Summer will return, almost certainly with force. After all, he has only barely been held back this year. Even as I soak in the warmth of spring sun, I can feel him. I can feel him scaring away our deep freezes and drying out our soft winter rains. He is nudging us toward what I think will be a dictatorial season of stifling heat. There are joys there too, but they're fleeting and few: the blast of heat after spending too much time air-conditioned, the first sip of icy beverage in 100+ degrees. But too quickly Summer dries out those small joys. Or forces them out of you through your pores in sweat that evaporates so quickly you don't know it existed.

So I will enjoy this beautiful spring morning all the more knowing (though maybe not admitting to myself) that it is fleeting and will too soon be trampled under the heel of cruel Summer.

Pittsburgh: Impressions*

*There will be quite a few Pittsburgh posts in the next few days, and about more specific events. Like the so awesome swing dance. And the amazing random Mexican food restaurant we found and the great company that we went there with. And the joy of having good friends. 

The absolute first thing I noticed about Pittsburgh was its bridges. How could one not? Downtown Pittsburgh takes up a hilly wedge of earth bounded on the north by the Alleghany River and on the south by the Monongahela River. They meet at a point to become the Ohio River and that's where Pittsburgh started, so of course there are dozens of bridges. As a desert kid, even though I grew up on a river, I've never associated bridges with water. Mostly just with dirt. So imagine my delight, as Sara drove us through a hillside tunnel into the city, when the sparkling lights of dozens of bridges appeared, reflecting in a golden shimmer on all that water.

The second thing I noticed was not the cold weather or the bluff hills, but the runners. Let me preface this by saying that during my stay, Pittsburgh was enjoying a spat of warm (ish) weather. The highs were in the 50s, still pretty damn cold to my thin Tucson blood, but apparently, a welcome respite from the below-freezing temperatures the Yinzers had been experiencing. Our first morning, I bundled up in my fleece, my (borrowed) down parka, and topped the whole thing off with a rain shell to keep out the wind. It became clear after only a few moments that I was monumentally overdressed. Not for myself. I was toasty and warm in my layers, but not too warm, as the breeze was brisk enough to keep my cheeks cool. Perfect. But apparently not to the acclimatized runners of the 'Spurgh. The first couple of runners seemed underdressed to me, but not to a wholly unreasonable degree. Running tights, hats, big fluffy socks. And, you know, they were running after all. But after I saw not one, but quite a few of them jogging nonchalantly down the icy streets in shorts and t-shirts, with nary a thought to the cold wind smacking at my ears, well, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. Cold is weird. So are people who run in it. 

My other impressions of Pittsburgh were fleeting, but I loved all the brick buildings and the (neo?) gothic Presbyterian churches everywhere. The roads were winding and there were little shops everywhere, mostly because I don't think there was room for the sprawling shopping centers I'm more familiar with out west. We traipsed around Lawrenceville, The Strip, Shadyside, the Southside, Oakland, and just sort of soaked in the city. Saturday, my last full day in town, we saw all of it laid out in front of us from Mt. Washington. When walking wasn't really an option (seriously, the wind was killer), we'd hop on the bus and watch the city go by, alongside the regular (non-tourist) folks.

Those folks were all friendly and welcoming and seemed genuinely interested in starting a conversation. Mostly they talked about Pittsburgh and with so much enthusiasm that you couldn't help but feel that way too.  I never really felt like a tourist, except for my insistence on wearing my puffy parky everywhere. And that was really cool. Well done, Pittsburgh, well done.

It is very depressing "Inside Llewyn Davis"

Inside Llewyn Davis is probably the most depressing movie I've ever seen.

I don't usually go for depressing movies. I saw Schindler's List, but that's at least got Schindler trying to save people. Life is Beautiful was light at times, but god, the ending. As endings go, Ethan Frome has it beat. And lets not even talk about addiction movies. The one scene of Requiem for a Dream I've seen (if you're wondering, its the one with Jennifer Connelly and another woman entertaining a circle of yelling men) was dark enough I didn't want to go back and watch the rest.

Inside Llewyn Davis isn't depressing like those movies. There's no big villain, like the Nazis, killing innocents, no addictions, no accidents of fate. There are just the everyday blues. But unlike everyday life, there's no hint of sunshine, literally and figuratively (the movie takes place in New York City in the winter). The literal lack of sunshine didn't bother me so much as the complete lack of anything good in this movie.

Maybe good isn't the right word. The acting is good. The music is sublime. More impressive, all the music was recorded live; Oscar Isaac really is that talented (and is also now one of my many celebrity husbands). The cinematography is lovely and gray. There's a cat. A couple of them, actually. And there are funny moments. I actually laughed out loud a couple of times. But the story itself is unrelentingly sad. Llewyn is undeniably talented, but its like he really is the Midas of shit (as Carry Mulligan's character tells him). Nothing, abolsutely nothing goes right for him. He reacts like anyone might in the face of such a hostile universe: with hostility right back. And so the cycle of shit continues. For two hours.

The only light is the music, but its not doing what's its supposed to do for Llewyn, which is make him money. And so eventually, even that sours. That's what makes this movie so depressing, I think. Llewyn isn't willing to compromise his musical integrity and he's so talented that he shouldn't have to. But that's not how the real world works and its certainly not how the world in the movie works.

What really bothered me just how often negative shit seemed to happen. And only negative shit. When the end of the movie rolled around, it was like "that's it? Coen brothers, you're just going to show me two hours of unhappiness, and that's it? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT?" Don't get me wrong, I get that not everything is unicorns and rainbows and puppies and shit. But there just wasn't any point to this negative shit, there wasn't any story. Llewyn ends up exactly where he started, only with a lot of depressing shit in between. And sorry, that just isn't very compelling. I'm a little tired of the "life is shit, doesn't that suck?" story. Try a little harder.

Please, if you really liked Inside Llewyn Davis for the story and not the gorgeous music, lovely cinematography, or general design of the movie, tell me why. Because as of right now, its the most depressing movie I've ever seen.