(Worst)Writer

Oblivia

Tommi — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 11:24:20 +0000

Most folk like summer. I suppose. But what of those who do not? Are we truly - as I suspect - a minority? Or are we simply a people who should have been born under an equator? Seriously. When I was young and stupid and full of status-quo optimism, I liked summer. At the time I lived in a place where others didn’t (for whatever reason) get all the (beach/vacation) space first. (And I grew up on beaches.) Now, for me - and along with everything else - I associate summer with failure, an ending w/out a start, loss, and more than enough (day)light to allow one to comprehend failure. When I’m having a nice summer day then I usually think about words I’d like to invent. It helps me forget my failure. (Of course, a couple of drinks help, as well.)

Does it actually mean anything that summer follows spring where everything seems to be born and/or conceived and yet, in this day & age, what’s the good in that? At the least, we see where seasons of renewal have lead. Absolute nowhere. Fall and winter are nothing more than space & time where bellies can be filled with indulgence and minds can be cluttered with optimism. And even before summer is over, all of the blinding green is being spewed and expelled out of bodies in the name of Oblivia. But that’s neither here nor there.

Being a failure has it’s advantages. For one, you can always recognize failure. That’s not the case if you’re a winner. It seems that the experiments of 19th and 20th century mankind & earth have or are finally giving way to certain human realities. At the least, I don’t think that the human species was always destined to be about failure.

For example. I recently heard an interesting term: “Failing upwards”. As soon as I heard the term I thought: wow, are others getting in on my little secret and finally starting to see the light? (It is summer time!) The term refers to the political antics of the last twenty - maybe thirty - years where folk get ahead (professionally, economically) by doing nothing to warrant their position(ings). It doesn’t sound like much now but for someone that grew-up in the lie that “you can even be president”, well, nuff said. Of course, there are laws in countries protecting wealth and achievement based on (objective) merit. But who has made any laws governing the subjectivity of “merit”? Isn’t the likes of political and economic conservatism just like that? I’m recalling a moment during the last US presidential election. It was 2003/4, right? Then that THING was re-elected and the first thing I thought about was my favorite word: Oblivia. I know, the word doesn’t exist but then again who cares. We live in a world where everything is achieved through nothing. At the least, in all my failure, I deserve this word - my own little word - in my own little world.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Feuchtgebiete, Girl Things Wet

Tommi — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 10:18:34 +0000

Warning: sexually explicit material is contained in this post. Vulgar language is also used. If you do not like cursing or suggestive language, then please go here. You’ll be much happier in the end.

Initial post here.

This is potentially a book review. I think. But also be warned: If you plan on reading this book when it comes out in English then you might want to steer away from this post. I’ve taken the liberty of my own English translation of some of the text. But don’t worry, I won’t reveal everything. I’m not sure if this is legal either – so please, no one send me money for this.

As you can see the cover of the book- the fourteenth printing btw - is pink and includes the raised image of a bandage. Underneath the bandage is the title in a dot-matrix Teutonic kind of font. Every time I picked up the book to continue reading it I thought there is only one application of the color pink that I do not hate. Luckily this book deals with that one thing whole heartily.

As noted in in my previous post, this book has received a lot of attention. As of March, 2008, it has sold more than 500k copies. At one point it was even number one on Amazon.com. That might not sound thrilling but when you consider that it reached the top of the list while published in German… Well, that’s something. Again, let me make sure that got across so that other (worst)writers and (worst)readers get it. This book reached the top selling list while printed in German on the “.com” and not the “.de” of Amazon. As a wannabe struggling writer who writes in English but lives in Germany… Holy shit! I’m the one who needs a bandage.

With that in mind, my hat is off and I bow deeply to Charlotte Roche. Say what you want about this book – it’s either bad-mouth pornography or it’s new-fangled erotic literature – but Roche did a pretty good job writing it. One of the basic criteria I have for good writing is when an author makes me think. I don’t care about grammar, structure or formula. Writing should be solely about creativity and passion. This book has a lot of both – if you can get through the smut. That’s the only criticism I have of the book. There’s simply too much smut and other nonsense which takes away from getting any protagonist message across. But I’ll leave it at that - because I’m not a critic.

The heroine of the book is Helen. She’s 18 and somewhat perturbed. I think. Here’s how she opens the story (Tommi translation):

“As far as family goes, taking care of the elderly means a lot to me. Just like any other child with divorced parents, I wish my parents would get back together. When my parents require elderly care the first thing I’m gonna do is put their new partners in a nursing home. Then I’m gonna take my divorced parents home, put them in the same bed, and take care of them till they die. It will be a moment of happiness for me. So all I have to do is wait patiently. I have the situation under control.”

After that all you get is more than two hundred big-fonted pages of hemorrhoids, vaginal fluids, one-afternoon-stands, and a few lines of girly-wisdom that perhaps this media driven world could put to use. Oh, there’s also the underlying emotional pain of a young woman and her having to finally grow up. If you can get past the nonsense of a young girl’s obsession with herself – in the form of consuming, utilizing and sharing every fluid or particle that the female body makes – then you will get to the soul of a person whose feelings are so hurt that an/her anus (kinda) explodes. Helen tells the story from the hospital bed where she has to have an operation on an/her anus. It seems, as part of her girl-body obsession, she cut her anus while shaving. Yeah, right.

While reading Feuchtgebiete I kept thinking of two things. One was how they are going to translate the title. Thus far I’ve seen articles using “Wetlands”. I don’t think that works at all. My preference would be “Girl Things Wet”. Luckily I’m no translator. The second thing I kept thinking about were the cheap paperback porn books that I read when I was young. (Seriously. I only read the stuff.) You know, the books where IT was called jism/jizm and the word fuck somehow never reminded one of “fuck you, asshole”. Am I the only male born after 1960 to have read “A Man With A Maid” written by Anonymous? (Please, don’t make fun of the books I’ve read.) The only thing that really bugged the do-dads out of me while reading Roche’s book was the amount of (for lack of better terminology) descriptors that eventually leads to the strangest kind of wisdom. Here some of Roche’s/Helen’s wisdom (Tommi translation):

“It’s only a fantasy if you get horny thinking about it.”

“Once I did a coffee peepee test. My father taught me this. When you get up in the morning you have to pee because your bladder collects everything overnight. Once you’ve emptied yourself in the morning you’d think that all the pee was out of your body. Then when you drink a cup of coffee your body is so poisoned that it collects more water in order to clean everything out. As soon as you finish your coffee you pee more fluid then the coffee you actually drank. I’ve proved it, I used a coffee cup one morning and it overflowed with pee. I proved my father correct that coffee dehydrates. My mother wasn’t happy at all because she doesn’t think urine should be in a coffee cup.”

(After claiming that tampons are a waste of money): “The other half I fold long-ways till I have a long thin clothe. Then I roll it in small, tight stages till it becomes the shape of a thick wurst and then shove into my pussy as high as it’ll go. How’s that! American tampon industry.”

Dear (worst)reader/writer, I’m sorry, but the following I can’t (won’t) translate, because, well, I don’t even know what the fuck it means – but it sounds kind of cool in a German sorta way: “Trauerwettstreit gewonnen durch vergezogene Trauerarbeit.”

(Helen speaking to herself): “Don’t be disappointed. The next self-fuck will be better, Helen, I promise.”

After eating a bugar: “There’s nothing on my body that my fingers can leave alone.”

About boys: “For a boys eighteenth birthday their parents always invite them to a local whorehouse.”

Sex while menstruating: “A good pirate sticks it in the red sea.”

Beyond all the wisdom there’s a bunch of interesting German words that Roche uses in her cute little novel. I know this might sound strange - especially for those who think the German language is more like barking - or am I the only one that thinks that? Anywho. German can be a fun language when it comes to putting words together to say something specific. Here a few examples with rough Tommi translations:

Fickverabredung = fuck + appointment.
Käsebaby = cheese + baby; I have no idea what this word was/is supposed to mean; yeah, author, entangle me.
Rübbelkönigin = something about rubbing her pussy and being the queen (the best?) at having an orgasm while doing it.
Körperausscheidungsrecyclerin = body + expulsion + recycling.
Muschirosapink = the color of a black woman’s vagina.
Blutschwesternschaft = blood-sisters; the ceremonial sharing of menstrual blood. But! It’s more something like the American Indian “blood brothers” thing. I guess.
Fickurheber = fuck + initiator; Helen cuts a hole in her panties when she’s on a date with someone she wants to fuck, that way, when petting gets going, the guy is surprised but gets the message that she wants to fuck without having to go through all the rigmarole of a date. (Where were these chicks when I was young?)
Rasurhindernisparcours = razor + obstacle + horse-show-jumping-course; the name she gives the rim of her anus as someone is shaving her/it.
Sexandenkenkaubonbon = sex + souvenir + chewable candy; she’s describing the stuff that’s left over after sex and what she does with it.

Last but not least, here are three words that Helen gives to the most precious of her female parts. I’ll leave translation up to your imagination or your ability to research. Seriously, I’m tired of all this nasty stuff.

Vanillekipferln
Hahnenkämme
Perlenrüssel

Although the writing is at times very trying - especially for someone who ONLY read porn when it was innocent, this is a fun read and has a creative, if not profound, ending.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Aldi or Yet Another Analogy For The Future (Part 2)

Tommi — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 12:52:29 +0000

Part 1 is here.

This is yet another part in my continuing saga of HAVING to live among the Germans. Please forgive me in advance – and try to find humor where there is none. With that in mind, I started Part 1 so many months ago with “I found out what is wrong with Germany…” Of course, I didn’t actually find out anything. But that’s not the point of writing in a blog, now is it?

Anywho…

The Germans have done a few things right since the days of doing all things wrong. For one, they build pretty good cars. No. Wait…

I’m still quite angry that Germans don’t have one – NOT ONE – alternative fueled vehicle in the production pipeline. Also, since I’ve been driving various German cars since the nineties, as far as build quality is concerned, they are doing the same thing Detroit did back in the seventies. Just making ‘em cheaper and cheaper. The difference to American cars, though, is that even the cheaper German cars go like hell. I wonder if the reason Germans don’t have alternative powered cars is because they know something about gas supplies that other countries don’t know? Go figure…

Another thing Germans do right are Autobahns. Even though currently most of their Autobahns serve as government subsidized work placement programs, there are still parts of the A3, the A2 and my particular favorite the A27 (between Bremerhaven and Cuxhaven), where you can drive so fast that the horizon snaps shut before your eyes have time to blink. Seriously. At the risk of bragging and making a fool of myself because of the outrageous carbon footprint that I leave behind – I comfortably admit that, when possible, I drive at speeds of and around 240km/h. Don’t get me wrong. It’s an absolutely crazy thing to do. If I could afford it, I would take the train. But Germany, like so many other western countries, is a slave to invention. The train system here sucks and is in no way competitive with a car. Shame really!!!

Let me put the speed-thing in perspective. For you NASCAR lovin’ mama-boys out there, get this: when I’m in a good mood, when the weather is sparky and I have no family members in the vehicle, when my contact lenses are clear and there’s no stress ringing in my ears, I sometimes drive a well-powered Audi at speeds (on public highways) faster than those who win at Dover International Speedway. Now if that won’t motivate young men (with a driver’s license) to come over here and experience Oktoberfest… I don’t know what else should.

Warning: this is not an advert. Seriously.

The last thing Germans do right that I’ll address here has nothing to do with cars. It has to do with the only other invention that should be recognized as its industry’s VW Bug. I’m talking, of course, about Aldi – the discount supermarket chain where practically every continental German speaking person has at one point or other in their lives bought something. I have a thing for Aldi.

“Aldi” is short for Albrecht Discount. The little stores have also been called “Albrecht’s Fine Foods” or ” Albrecht Delicatessen”.

I’m not kidding. Today every continental German speaking person buys something at Aldi at sometime or other. That’s a business taking in money from well-over a 100million people. Such success has made the founders of Aldi, the Albrecht brothers, the richest men in all of Germany – and they regularly make the Forbes richest schmuck list. Say what you want about rich people, Bill Gates included, but there’s good reason the Albrecht brothers are swimming in cash. It boils down to Aldi just being plain good at what they do. Which is not something you can claim of companies like Wal-Mart. I’m a regular Aldi goer and I don’t think I’ve ever bought anything from that store that was necessary to throw out because it was junk. Do I need to mention Wal-Mart again? Wait a sec…

Oh no, that’s not true. I’m just exaggerating because this is potentially a post that a German might read and then say, “hey, this (American) guy complaining about Germany all the time ain’t all that bad.” So I did buy one of them multi screw-drivers at Aldi once and I had to throw it out after it broke. But hell, it only cost something like five Euros. It worked up until I used it to try and unscrew some heavily rusted bolts while replacing a thoroughly rusted exhaust pipe – where it simply snapped in two pieces. I went through two other tools during that escapade, as well. But I don’t remember where I bought those tools.

Aldi’s secret of success (according to Tommi) is this. Dictate to manufactures a certain quality and then buy & sell volume. Nothing unique there – except maybe the dictate part. The thing that Aldi seems to do different than other discounters is that it retails fairly good quality stuff.

Cheap is one thing, but cheap quality is another.

Aldi was the first discounter of its kind to sell real Champagne – as in Champagne, France – for something like 15,- Euros a bottle. It’s a bit sweet but what the heck – chicks love that shit. So you can accredit Aldi for helping weak-ass German boys getting laid. (German women love the bubbly.) Aldi also gets North East American fisheries to ship over frozen, whole Lobsters, and then sells them for something like 7,- Euros. I’ve had them. They’re great. Needless to say, when the lobsters arrive there’s a run on all the stores. But then there’s the wine. I’ll keep it short and just say, Aldi features some of the best wines from Chile to Italy and they cost half of what they’d cost elsewhere.

There’s lots more on wine here.

When I was still working as an industry analyst one of the companies that I had to research was Aldi. Of course, like many other analysts, I got nowhere. It’s not because I couldn’t find the information – I was a great researcher – but because Aldi is collectively tight lipped. It is a private company and therefore not required to release any information – at least there’s a serious clamp on info regarding how it makes so much damn money. Even the people that work the registers are told that they should never answer any questions asked about the business.

And now on to the ANALOGY that would never be.

Businesses that make the kind of money that Aldi does usually fall to the whims of cycles and downturns or whatever. Or does that only apply to companies that are dependent on the loan-capital derived from being on a stock exchange? Didn’t UPS used to be one of the most successful companies NOT trading a stock? In fact, it wasn’t till 1999 that UPS went public. But I’m not here to bash the current and obvious ill-nature of the stock market. Aldi pushes along and just keeps making more and more money - and is not publicly traded. It is simply a no-frills company – which is reflected in its stores the world over – and seems to focus solely on a level of end consumer quality that is, in my opionion, unmatched - at least in the German market.

So what am I really addressing here?

This may be both a bit pretentious and naive but what the heck. Aldi represents not just an untapped business principle but also a principle that could/should apply to life: balance. It seems that a company like Aldi can balance the madness between supply and demand like no other retail company. In fact, in my whacked-out way of seeing things (aka Tommism), most corporations and their constituencies are only interested in annihilating at least one part of the supply and demand equation that has ruled our lives since Adam Smith first blew his nose. Obviously I’m no economist and I haven’t worked in management consulting for more than eight years – so I might be way off base here. It’s just that when I sit back and look at how things work in our Western Mess… Our corporate consuming situation is unsustainable. So I’ve been looking for examples that potentially are sustainable. I mean, come on, Aldi is rarely in the press for any controversy and more importantly, its employees all seem to be content with their earnings. Wow. Talk about balance. Business Balance?

Have I coined a phrase?

I’ve heard some say that the reason Wal-Mart pulled out of Germany was because of Aldi. The thing about Euro business is that companies have to yield (the word “yield” is not part of the German language which you can also see on the Autobahns) in some way or other to governments. Where American neo-con/Republicans hypocritically claim to be all about reducing government in the “markets”, Euro companies gladly oblige governments – as at times governments seem to fill the employer/employee gap that has so obviously been part of the downfall of corporate Americano. For companies like Wal-Mart “balance” has to be an unfathomable concept.

Rant on. I have to go to Aldi and get some bubbly.

-tgs-

Rooy Typewriter, At Last

Tommi — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 19:13:28 +0000

More on manuals here and here.

It was quite a search. I concluded that there were basically two choices to ever owning one of these things. As usual I was wrong. You can read more about Rooys here. To some, this very compact and interestingly designed typewriter is considered a “holy grail”. But now that I have one, I would never go so far.

It’s just a neat old typewriter. Seriously.

The two choices that I had to deal with are/were: I would have to get a Rooy with a AZERTY keyboard (French) - as they are sometimes available in France. But I have a hard enough time having to switch between QWERTZ & QWERTY. The other choice would be to sell a few body parts to be able to afford one. But I like having both my kidneys. I know it sounds silly, but get this: last year I watched an auction on that silly-auction-website where a person in Kentucky, USA, was selling a clean, QWERTY Rooy with a “buy-it-now” button. He wanted fifteen hundred dollars for the thing. Thank goodness, he didn’t sell it.

I got (real) lucky. I think.

I was watching the German version of that silly-auction-website and came across something one night that immediately drew my attention. I knew that the German owner didn’t know what he was actually selling. The sticker on the top of the machine says “Union” and so, he titled his auction something like: “Union Schreibmaschine - Hergestellt in Canada. Alt aber im guten zustand. Etc., etc.” Talk about clueless. He mistook an English spelling of a patent notification on the inside cover of the machine for the country of manufacture.

What’s the old saying? One man’s sorrow is another man’s… Whatever.

The design of this machine is unmistakably Rooy. There is no other typewriter like it. You open it up, fold it over, lay it on top of itself and that’s that. You do the opposite to close it up. The cover is literally the bottom of the machine when you open it up and supports the typing mechanics with a unique drop-down doorway that allows such a thin design. This machine was sold as the thinnest typewriter ever. How mistaken the marketing pundits were. It’s only “thin” when it’s folded up. Still, it is in demand among typing enthusiasts - including yours truly. I searched for the right one for more than a year. I have touched and smelled and felt Rooys at various German, Belgian and French antique markets where owners proudly say: “Two hundred Euros - but you have to buy it now because someone else is very interested.” At the next market I see the same guy and machine and he wants three hundred. Yeah.

When I found this one on that silly-auction-website I laughed at the Frenchman. Then I ended up bidding against a few others who I suspect also realized what was actually being sold. In the end it was the most I ever paid for an old, mechanical typewriter. (But it was also less then what the Frenchman was asking.) It was worth it because it has the right keyboard and it was/is in great shape. Needless to say, I was nervous waiting for the mail-man to deliver it.

This particular Rooy is branded “Union”. It was not uncommon for manufacturers to re-label their products for various markets. I’m assuming that this brand was part of what was sold to the German, i.e. QWERTZ market. It was in such good shape when it arrived and required only a few hours of elbow-grease before I was typing away. But after a bird’s-eye view of this machine, it’s really not worth the fuss - unless you get it for cheap. Call me a stickler. Sure the design is neat but the thing is… my Hermes and Kolibri are both smaller and flatter and nothing, other than a Lettera 22, types as good as the Hermes. But who cares. It’s a Rooy.

No rant today.

-tgs-

Charlotte Roche Kicks (ALL) Ass

Tommi — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:36:23 +0000

Update: Tommi review of this book available here; it includes some English translations.

OK. Time to break down. Thought I wouldn’t be posting anything new for awhile. But then… something happened - and It’s not what you might think. Recently it took more than four days to get over the anesthesia of a relative minor operation, followed by countless tablets of various pharmaceutical whatnot and hellacious amounts of red wine - and then something has come along to push me beyond the bliss of sedentary (un)imagination. Oh yea. This happening, this something, is like a new awakening put forth through some cynical and, perhaps, diabolical plot planned both in my brain-stem and the various compulsive behavior cubicles of modern corporate publishing houses.

The whole idea of actually writing something that a publisher would want to read is leaving me as slow as the whole idea of actually getting published at this late phase of a very unsuccessful (worst)writing life. And then, right out of nowhere, comes another reminder that THINGS can actually get worse - faster.

Where does it comes from? It comes from a short novel published in pink (sorry, this is a completely unrelated link, aka self-promotion) and written in German by some very nice, sweet lookin’ girl that used to work for MTV Germany or VIVA (the German language MTV equivalent) and basically deals with … the vagina. I guess.

In no way do I want to make fun of the success of English born, German writing Charlotte Roche. Nor do I want at this point to actually admit that I’ve read Feuchtgebiete - or “Wetlands” (or whatever the English publisher will title it). But I did spend about twenty minutes at a local German book store (near Frankfurt) a few months back and glanced through this highly successful first novel. Naturally, I picked it off one of the shelves covering an entire wall of the store like wall-paper because, well, I thought, gee, this book must be abuzz with reading consumer desire (if there is such a thing) if it can occupy so much selling space. Either that or it contains a lot of frat-party language regarding all things that cause pale faces to blush.

Don’t worry. I plan on reading it asap, and then posting more about it on this site. It’s sudden success has even pushed it above Jonathan Littell’s book on my reading list.

After I do finally read it, my thoughts on it will not matter. This book is a runaway success and it hasn’t even been translated beyond the beloved language that can bark so poetically. Not unlike the feelings I had to deal with when Christina Kettering and her FIRST play blew me away…. It doesn’t matter what this novel is about. Perfectly marketed pseudo-porn or whacked-out feminism gone awry, I wish the world would be full of these types of books instead of krapp like this.

My only solace is that these writers are obviously not (worst)writers. I wish them all much success.

In the mean time, if you want to read more about this amazing achievement here a few legitimate links:

Interview with Charlotte Roche.

She’s even in the NY Fucking Times!

And the fucking Economist.

The Guardian and Charlotte.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Summer Hiatus, Marlon Brando

Tommi — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 09:41:30 +0000

Update: scratch the next indented paragraph. I will be posting more. I’m actually starting to feel better. I think.

Won’t be posting much this summer - at least I don’t think I will. Need to give this a break, maybe. Yeah. Whatever.

It has become an issue of contemplation recently. Giving up on this blog. Maybe it’s time to hang it up. Oh the monotony. The duplicity. Repetitive humdrum. Have been sporadically posting anywho the past few months. This whole blog thing was a neat experiment, I guess. But I have to face facts. The work on my new book has come basically to a full-stop. I’m not quite sure how to explain the connection but when the work on my book was going well I could also post here. It’s as though typing 2k to 3k words a day on my book wasn’t enough - so I filled the gap with putting stuff up here. Nomatter, for sure. The book is going nowhere and I feel that I have probably lost a connection to it. A tragic endeavor, indeed.

It’s not that I’m blocked or anything like that. It’s just that the confidence - you know, that whole identity, image and ego chestnut that makes up one of the many pillars that sets aside achievers from non achievers - is no longer with me. Being a middle aged failed man doesn’t help either. I really despise the bitter disposition that has overtaken me. Add to the fact that I can no longer fight the belief/idear, deep down in my heart of hearts, that it probably just wasn’t meant to be. This whole dream of WRITING. In fact, I’ve probably known that all along. But hey! What the heck. That’s the easiest thing about life, isn’t it?

Lying to yourself.

And so… All the years of arm-chair critics, pseudo-know-it-all publishers and the shear unwillingness to take any advice regarding how to write… is coming full circle. No one in publishing will read me and I can’t fight the fight anymore. Pass another drink, my friends. Gulp, gulp. Soothe the bitterness.

This inevitable failure kinda reminds me of something. Like the time when I gave up acting. Oh, what a time. I was young and stupid and looked fairly decent and went to the movies one too many times. Yes. I tried acting at the behest of a high-school counselor that declared it might be a way to fend off my aggressions. (Her other “career” advice was to either be a truck driver or a air traffic controller.) So it was a kind of therapy, I guess. I had no idea what acting was about when I started and after being able to watch all those good lookin’, skin caring actresses, nothing else mattered. When I got to college I read scripts and plays and listened to acting teachers. I had a hard time remembering text but I eventually got over that. The directors demanded more though - as they should have. I gave it my all, really. Pretending became part of my mind. I wanted to go beyond “method“, you know. I was the character. And then that one spring day while rehearsing a scene for a university production the director/professor turned to me and said:

“OK. Stop. That was great, Tom, very good.”

Short pause.

“Tom. Are you OK? You can stop now…”

I heard the directors words. I even knew that the other actors had turned off. They were all going to their ego corners and waiting for the praise, the ego boosts that come after each rehearsal. But I stayed there on stage, I remained on my markers, my skin began to tan from the beam of light and the trance I was in. I remember not wanting to move because if I moved then I might not find that character, that way, again. I couldn’t turn it off.

“You wanted me to become this killer character, didn’t you!” I yelled.

“Tom, that’s enough!” One of the other actors screamed.

“Fuck you. I became your killer, I am your killer, and I won’t turn it off!”

One of the actresses came over and tried to remind me of the show & tell, the pretend that we all played. She even mentioned how much she looked forward to our evening in her dorm room. But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t let go of any of those roles. They tore me apart because in order to play them I had to become them. Isn’t that acting? Isn’t that what makes all the high earning actors so prominent? Why, yes. That’s exactly what makes them great actors. They could not only play the characters but they could also turn them off. But I couldn’t. I wonder if it had anything to do with the characters I chose (or the characters that were chosen for me).

I (tried to) play(ed)…

Iago - who, like Satan, believes in God for the sole purpose of also being able to defy Him.

Cornwall - I offered up ways to depict the torture that he wanted to put Lear through, but in the end I was denied because the professor/teacher thought my portrayal “overkill”. (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

Richard III - Yes, of course I (really) believed in killing those children. (I didn’t make it beyond stage test.)

Aaron the Moore - Oh, to be someone that can be so systematic about rape.

For whatever very good reason - I gave up on acting. Obviously that was the right thing to do. The idea of playing something else just didn’t work for me. Strange how giving up on writing actually hurts - at least it hurts when I’m sober.

Since we’re on the subject… Oh, how I admire great actors. I mean “actors” that really know what they are doing. I’m not aware of any such actors today - they are all in the past. Maybe that has something to do with acting on/for the stage. Most actors today are just products of some dim-witted acting school and few stage appearances. If there are any good actors today then you can be assured that they appear regularly on a stage somewhere. Which brings me to the clip featured below. I have seen every movie Marlon Brando ever made at least three times. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to recently find this unseen footage of him.

As you’ll note, this is Marlon Brando screen testing for “Rebel Without a Cause”. As you should also know, the movie was eventually made with James Dean. But the shear energy from a young Brando in this clip shows that the movie would have been just as good with him. Also, in my opinion - this is likewise just a guess - I bet James Dean stole some of this. Notice the lisp Brando uses, and some of the facial expressions. I mean, come on, could a director have actually told Brando AND Dean to do that? Dean was energetic and his energy amazed, he was bedazzling, but Brando is my Grand United Mistakes’ greatest actor. (Just my 2cents.) Ah, who knows. Maybe a director could have told them both to do that.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Sleeping Lady Mountain

Tommi — Wed, 07 May 2008 18:08:33 +0000

This is a very special pic for me. I took it with a mobilephone. I’ve never been much for photography, but when I started using a mobilephone camera my attitude changed. I won’t go as far as to say it’s a hobby or anything like that or that I would venture to buy a “real” camera. The simple and somewhat backward way these dumb-down devices make pictures is kinda cool. To me that’s ironic - you know, since there has been so much human effort, investment and activity revolving around mobilephones. This may sound way-out-there but I think of CrackerJack and the prize within each time I take a picture. Anywho. Sometimes the pictures I take are granny, sometimes they are out of focus, usually they are always lacking light, or they’re just plain bad. Then I think of all those Nokia engineers and computer programmers, they too must know the CrackerJack prize - or the fact that, suddenly, without notice, they would not only be the largest producers of mobile phones but also over take the likes of Kodak and Polaroid and Cannon, etc., as the world’s single largest producer of “cameras”. Wow-wee!

This picture here came out pretty good, I think. It’s of a mountain range in Thailand. We were driving from Kao Lak to Phang-Nga Bay, you know, James Bond Island. (Yes, sometimes I’m a tourist and like it.) The driver stopped the car right in the middle of the road half way through the hour or so ride. He asked us to step out. He then pointed to the mountain and in fairly good English asked what we saw. I exploded with excitment and yelled: I see her! I see her. He looked at me and said. “Very good. Not many get it that fast.”

I guess I’m kind of a feminine driven visual guy.

I’m posting this picture today because this day, May 7, is a special day. It’s not really special in an optimistic way but it’s also not special the other way ’round. With this picture I celebrate the feminine and my failure with her. Yes. May 7. Never my lucky number.

-tgs-

Cynicism, Character, Continuity

Tommi — Mon, 05 May 2008 15:39:10 +0000

Warning A: this post contains some stark language, it also has some suggestive and/or sexist stuff in it and it reveals the plot of one of 2008’s highest earning movies.

Warning B: this is a poor attempt at reviewing a movie. You have been warned.

Although I am a failed writer, I do not wish to join the ranks of other failed writers and thereby become a film critic. It’s just that, well, I’m having a hard time being (worst)writer right now and I have to have some form of outlet. The whole compulsive typing thing doesn’t do it for me all the time. At the least, this is better than running amok. Right?

When I was young I read comics. Not a lot, mind you, but every once-a-once I stole a comic here or there and enjoyed them while all the other boys stole playboy, jugs or hustler, etc. Of course, all those other boys got caught and faced some serious consequences. Their crime was usually in full view as it hung out of their zipper. On top of that, there is the value to society of what they stole. They say that crime doesn’t pay – but paying for crime does. And all is not lost with these lost boys that became found men.

Moving on to the lolly point I will fail to make.

One of my favorite comics is Iron Man. I don’t like all of Stan Lee’s/Marvel Comics creations, but Iron Man and Spider Man are two of my favorites. I also admire Lee for authoring so many characters. (My all time favorite is Batman, but he’s from DC Comics.) Anywho. Yesterday I took my son to see Iron Man, the movie. Just like when I saw Spider Man 1 (yeah, 2 & 3 sucked!), the joyous feeling that is/was the freedom of youth came back to me while sitting in a cinema seat. I once again found thoughts of self-built tree houses or day-time bonfires. While all the other blokes were gagging themselves with perfectly manicured pussies from high-gloss magazine paper, I was grasping at the hope that there were, somehow, real heroes in a world where men can so easily make children and then leave them fatherless.

A great substitute for not having a biological father is going to the friggin’ movies where magic and mystic stand above dogma. Most of the time, anyway. I can’t make clear enough how important and thought provoking ideas like immaculate conception were to my youth. Make-believe in movies saved me from religious righteousness and doom.

Wow, doggy. You way off topic now.

The weather recently broke in Germany. That means that after more than half a year, the sun came out. So I didn’t want to spend too much time indoors. But I had been talking to my son for weeks about the premier of what I hoped would turn out to be a cool film. As far as I’m concerned, and I don’t care how silly some people think it is, going to some superficial, brain-dead cinematic entertainment with your son is a pretty cool thing to do. Fortunately for me, my son and I have a few things in common and we like each others company a whole lot.

It’s Sunday morn. We were both excited. The film started at 11:00am. Over two hours of celluloid fun. We kept hitting each other to indicate what scene was cool. I have a sore upper arm as I right this and I wish my son were with me right now to hit me again. We laughed and went WOW simultaneously in the movie lit theater. What joy, indeed.

After the film we walked down the street and felt the warmth of entertainment run through us. We basked in the artificiality of super-hero worship. We joked about having popcorn for breakfast. Being with my son when he is happy is the most wondrous of human experiences. It is the only thing I will miss in death. Oh, I’ll also miss conversations/questions beginning with: “Daddy…?” or “Hey Dad…” The sun felt good, too.

Film.

For those who don’t know anything about this comic book hero… Robert Downey Jr. has become Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. He is the weapons guru of the American Way of Life, Inc., and one of the richest men in the Marvel Comics Universe. Although I liked/enjoyed the movie, I have a problem with its makers. Downy Jr. does a half-baked job of portraying Iron Man/Tony Stark and that’s not his fault. I mean, come on, what can we really expect from “actors” these days? They have comic books from the sixties to show the world how well they’ve honed their craft. (I wonder whose fault that is.)

Cynic.

Robert Downey Jr. plays a run of the mill, college grad, Bill Gates success-story cynic. The character immediately got me thinking that when I read the comics as a kid I don’t remember Stark being THAT cynical. I really tried to dig deep down to find any cynicism in those old dilapidated comic magazines that remained in my memory. Walking down the street with my son didn’t help matters. He just kept saying, “Dad, what is a cynic?” He’s going to be eleven soon.

The makers of this film should have caught what I consider a continuity problem and fixed it before release. It all starts fairly early in the movie/scene where Tony Stark meets a hot-chick with that atypical “come over her and fuck me look” on her face. The actress quickly turns the flirtatious scene into the sub-plot of the movie that dabbles in Hollywood’s stereotypical innuendo regarding American foreign policy and weapons dealing. Then she fucks Tony Stark. Afterwards, and as women obviously should be portrayed in this day & age of feminism and/or emancipation, Tony Stark goes about his business of being a cynical, sexually satisfied, super rich American male that is also a soon-to-be hero. Ain’t that cynically cool…

Hollywood or No-Hollywood. I have dabbled in the world of cynicism. To me, cynicism can be something wonderful. But not everyone agrees. “Cynicism is the/a sign of a weak mind,” I think I heard someone once say. Or were they referring to sarcasm? No matter. Same difference. As far as I’m concerned, the thing about cynicism is that it doesn’t translate well. It doesn’t translate well from country to country or from screen to audience. Isn’t cynicism one of them double-edged sword kind of things? Also – and here’s the crux of what I’ll eventually fail to get at – I think cynicism works best when it’s unexpected.

Does revealing the plot of a Hollywood blockbuster really matter? Especially when endings are so obvious?

After Tony Stark has his way with the obvious super smart and sure-of-herself Vanity Fair reporter Christine Everhart - played by the actress Leslie Bibb - he asks his assistant the next morning, Pepper Potts - played by the lovely Gwyneth Paltrow - to show the super hot reporter the way out. Pepper Potts does exactly what she’s told. Stark is obviously too busy working. Pepper Potts eventually returns to Tony Stark where he asks her: “Did she take it well?” What Stark is referring to, cynically of course, was whether the “come over here and fuck me look” reporter/character dealt well with the fact that she was left alone after the one-night-stand chestnut that we all just love to nibble at and never really bite into.

Character.

As (worst)writer, one of the things I’m most interested in is character development. Unfortunately, in order to develop a character you have to meticulously write that character. You also need a substantive story to go with that character. For me, the above mentioned scene towards the beginning of the film is a border-line devastating moment that was completely missed by the movie’s makers. That is, the scene corresponds with a later scene – and I don’t think the film makers knew that while they were making this movie. Either that or they are die-hard cynics and don’t give a hoot about audience intelligence. But I won’t get off subject. What is actually being done in this new blockbuster movie is one of the best examples I’ve seen yet of movie makers using the “screen persona” of an actor to fill in the gap of all that is missing.

Seriously. Trust me on this. I’ve worked in theater. I’ve actually worked with “actors”. No matter what you think or admire about actors – most of them are numskulls. Just like the rest of us. Seriously.

Does anyone get what I’m saying here? Then let me try this. Tom Hanks, Robert Di Nero, Jimmy Stewart, etc., etc. all have earned most of their “acting” wealth by playing themselves. They don’t “act” in most of their movies. They play their screen persona - it’s something like typecasting on steroids. Acting can be very grueling, you know. This new form of typecasting can be very profitable. Hollywood needs blockbusters! Right?

You know, acting requires you to read and memorize a lot … of words. It’s kind of like work where you can get drunk or stoned to do it. But that’s not the hard part. The hard part is systematically pretending with all those memorized words and becoming what you are not. Goodness forbid, I hope the shitting ghosts of Lee Strasberg or Stanislavski aren’t reading this while sitting on the krapper. On the other hand, we all have to do what we have to do. Right? After a certain point of dealing with the circus that is Hollywood, actors either completely commit to living/being their “screen persona” or they fall to meekness and wonder where their next million is gonna come from. Unless, of course, you’re Marlon Brando, Robert Redford, George C. Scott…

Rejuvenate or regurgitate typecasting. Or. Tommi’s version of Character Continuity - the problem with this movie.

What I like to refer to as Character Continuity requires that the actor remain in character for the the entire plot of the movie. I guess, if you change the plot, you can change the character. But who wants to see that? It’s like when an actor mistakingly looks into the lens of the camera - and the director forgets/misses to edit that out. I know, I’m referring to a comic book film here. But still. I’m middle aged. I’m a failed writer that has seen seen all there is to see – in movies. And there I sat in the cinema thinking: hey, I could have written that screenplay a hundreds times better and it would have done Downy Jr. an even bigger favor because I know that as a writer you shouldn’t let editors do your work.

What am I really saying? Nothing. The film is a $200+m hit in its first weekend. And I’m the only one to see its error. Oh, it’s lonely in Tommi-land today. So… Fuck it. I’m going to give the plot away. Deal with it.

Tony Stark has a fairly silly terrorist-based existential experience which leads him to question whether or not he has done the right thing in becoming the universe’s richest weapons maker. Subsequently he changes and instead of wanting to sell weapons he wants to help people. So what does he do? He invents some high-tech, metal alloy suit with limitless weapons and gadgetry. Going from bad to good is… good. Right? And then there’s all that wondrous CGI. If only Hollywood could find a CGI substitute for DIALOG.

The blurbs I read about this movie say that Tony Stark is the/a “cynical” bla, bla, bla tycoon turned super hero. The reality is, they don’t actually mean that HE is a cynic. What they mean is, the film is cynical. At the most, what Downy Jr. says is kind of witty – in a college frat house sort of way. Which is far from anything cynical – unless, of course, those same college grads become president of the United Mistakes of America and then save the world from the United Mistakes of America. Or something like that.

This whole idea of selling cynicism and war in a comic book super hero movie corresponds perfectly with the real world we are in. And therein lies the bucket of worms. If it works for the Pentagon, why not for Hollywood. Except Hollywood has one thing to contend with: errors in film editing. Those damn little details in the screenplays that require a bit more re-reading, story board analysis, fact checking, work. The dialog in this movie fails miserably – but the propaganda succeeds – and my hat is off to Robert Downy Jr. So let’s blame the writers.

Their excuse? The well branded Writer’s Strike. Or. It’s the Editors fault.

The only dialog in this movie evolves around the love interests of Tony Stark. And it all really confused the do-dads out of me. I kept thinking: can you cut to a terrorist scene or something. I mean, is Gwyneth Paltrow really this hard up for cash? Can’t she sell her Oscar statue or something? I couldn’t figure out any of the dialog. I was in a Frankfurt/Main cinema at 11am on a Sunday morning sitting next to an eleven year old. It must have been due to the German translation… Right!

Was Tony Stark trying to get into the humble pants of Pepper or was he trying to apologize for pre-existentially doing “come over here and fuck me look”? Remember, he had Pepper throw “come over here and fuck me look” out the next morn. Pepper seemed to do that with a certain kind of cat-like joy. Hard for any blond to act that, eh? But the clichés didn’t stop there. Later, when I was hoping this love-interest Krapp was finished, I swear, I sat there in the cinema with my hands raised, ready to yell: No! You can’t WRITE a movie like that! But if I did that I knew I would have a real hard time explaining it all to my son.

Luckily, there are lots of CGI intervals of Stark getting into that really cool, hotrod painted metal alloy suit ready to save the world from evil terrorists. But by the time the movie was over I was still having a hard time dealing with such bad dialog. It’s like a bad taste in your mouth. Brushing your teeth doesn’t even get rid of it. Sure, I forgave Downy Jr. for slipping out of “character” and showing us his “screen persona” - by practically staring into the camera lens. What choice did he have? There must have been a complete lack of thoughtfulness on the part of writers and/or editors - and, goodness forbid, even the director. Heck, actors aren’t responsible for the things they say and do on screen. Or? And, as the hotrod suit saved the day, I forgave all those dimwit movie makers, as well. At least there WAS continuity in the CGI.

Persona neither here nor there.

But what about this cynical “screen persona” that got Robert Downy Jr. this job? The love-interest scenario ended when Pepper Potts flirtatiously confronts Stark about his promiscuous (before the terrorist existential experience, of course) behavior with the Vanity Fair hot reporter and her “come over here and fuck me look”. The dialog here was so bad that nothing fit. If it weren’t for the fact that this movie was about human existential change, defeating silly terrorists with hotrods, good weapons that can save the world, I don’t know what effect it would have had on me in the end. You know, would I have been completely lost in my quest to become a better person? Even though Tony Stark only… almost changed? Almost changed is still cool, right?

I believe that Robert Downy Jr. can actually “act”. But too much of who he really is seems to proceed him. I really dug his work in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. And Chaplin was brilliant. But I think the makers of Iron Man love all those hysteric mug-shot pictures of a younger Downy Jr. after this or that cocaine binge or this or that DUI charge? Wasn’t his face all over tabloids throughout the 1990’s? Unfortunately or not: one of my favorite comics is stuck with this guys “screen persona” until the next remake of this cinematic franchise.

If this film is bad it’s not because of Robert Downy Jr. If this film is good it is because of Robert Downy Jr. All the other poorly described problems I have (worst)written about here can therefore only be due to lazy film makers and producers struggling to get by. And I didn’t even mention the flashback sequence at the beginning of the movie being completely useless. It wasn’t really even a flashback – it was more a… “let’s repeat the first fifteen minutes because we can - and it will extend the film to two hours”.

And here. One last (worst)thought: At least, for the future, we have CGI to look forward to. Among other things, CGI might also be the best way to prevent obstructive movie making things like… Oh, gee, I don’t know… a writer’s strike? I mean, could that have been the cause of a hastily written script, unthoughtful editing, bad direction - all the above leading to a pretty cool film?

Many thanks to Stan Lee.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Obsession, Novel Writing, Short Film(3)

Tommi — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 08:51:48 +0000

The battle of ending my newest novel is near or far away. I think. At times I can almost feel it - this process - ending. Other times it’s as though it’s taken on a life of its own. I’m not (worst)writing “light at the end of (any) tunnel” ending or anything like that. It’s more like the Walrus getting off of me and air slowly seeping back into my lungs. Both mean doom. Either way, the agony continues.

Mostly preoccupied with editing, I’ve sinned and worked sporadically over the last few months. I do miss freely typing 2000 to 3000 words a day. Editing or no editing, at the least, I’m confident of being way over my publisher-submission comfort-zone of 300 pages. That’s kind of reassuring. Word count? Not sure - since most of it is manually typed. But I’ve got easily 120k or more. Remember, we’re still dealing with only a first manuscript here. Having no confidence and being a middle-aged loser hasn’t helped the (my) situation. Of course, I realize that (all the) rejection is nearing. Yet I push on. Why? Well, because that’s what I do. I (Worst)Write. Thank goodness, eh!

While battling with countless ideas in this creative process known to some as novel writing, I have happened across many a disturbing idea. Luckily I have managed to find a way to deal with all this creativity. Of course, some might call this procrastination. And I won’t argue with you. But while you are reassuring yourself of what you know, I grab for the nearest typewriter and dump as many of these disturbing thoughts as I can - onto paper. It’s kind of like purging. The real joke is, since working for more than a year on this new novel, I’ve managed to coincidentally write at least one other book. At first, I was thinking of calling it “Obsession”. But then I decided to call it “Talking To Myself.” Right now Talking To Myself is bundled together in a folder. It’s more than 100 pages - most of which have writing on both sides - and it’s basically an amalgamation of thoughts and ideas that sprang from writing something else.

Neat, eh?

I employ one or two sub-stories in my newest novel. These sub-stories play-out in the minds of two characters. One of those sub-stories has to do with consciousness confronting Time & Space, which you can read here. Another has to do with two mystical legends. One of the legends is about who is the biological father of Jesus. Ever heard of Tiberius Pantera?

Please. No emails from “believers”. I mean, come on, if you have a rational mind, can you then honestly say that “immaculate conception” is possible? If you can claim it’s possible, then it’s no wonder we live in a world of so many lies and liars.

Another sub-story has to do with the legendary first wife of Adam. That’s right. “Adam” of Adam & Eve. Since both of these are religious legends, then they kind of work together in the novel. They are reflective and parallel to the characters. But I won’t tell you more. And I’m not not telling you more because I’m afraid of giving anything away. I’m not not telling you more because, well, it’s embarrassing how bad I actually write novels. Remember, all of my previous novels have been rejected. You can read about that throughout this blog. Anywho. There’s more about Lilith in my previous post. I think these two legends compliment each other and fit well in the developing relationship between my protagonist and Gloria.

Oh, btw. I’ve decided on the title. I’m going to call this failed novel “Gloria’s Device”.

Anywho. While editing, fiddling, procrastinating and dreaming, I was able to dabble in the non-sense that appears in this third short and truly obnoxious film. For more excruciating coverage of me filming my habits, you can go here and here. It usually takes me just under fifteen minutes to fill these DIN A5 sheets with any disturbing thoughts. That’s kind of the deal I make with myself. I say: OK. You have another disturbing thought. Go to a new machine, get your paper, dump it. You have fifteen (sometimes twenty) minutes. If you can’t get it out of you by then, you must give it up. Then go back to editing your poorly written novel. Of course, I edit these films down to meet YouTube requirements. I suppose that makes them a tad bit less excruciating - for the viewer, anyway. Transcript is below.

BTW, the machine used is an early 1960’s Olivetti Lettera 32. This machine is the modernization of the Lettera 22, which I’ve posted a little bit about here. The Lettera 32 is one of the best manual, travel typewriters ever made. It’s manufactured using mostly aluminum. The cost of using that material alone - in today’s terms - is almost mind boggling. It’s beautifully machined and has all the typing functionality you could want - except spell check, of course. The color is ugly but that doesn’t matter - I’m willingly colored blind. Although I prefer the Lettera 22, the one I own is simply too old. This Lettera 32 might actually have quite a few years left in it - I got it in great condition. But… Ironically, while typing these disturbing thoughts, I had a bad day. Usually the Lettera 32 works flawlessly. Obviously it cannot work flawlessly when dumping some thoughts about a demoness. (But don’t ask me if I “believe” in that sort of thing.)

-tgs-

Faust, Walpurgisnacht, Translation

Tommi — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 11:22:47 +0000

Listening to Beethoven and reading Faust… I know what you’re saying. You’re saying: how can you do two masochistic things at once! Well, trust me (when I (worst)write:)… It’s not easy. Usually what happens is that I turn off the sound system and continue reading. Call it a tick of mine. The music gets me riled and then I indulge in the substance and then…

I should know Faust much better, to say the least. And when/if it’s being staged, I put no effort into seeing it. Such a wordy piece to put in front of an audience and then to close it into the walls of a Theater… Thank goodness this piece was written in a day when only words mattered. And because of that, I enjoy walking around with bare feet and a paperback version and perhaps a Sonata or two surrounding me. Yes. Transcribe the words into my brain and then wait for the moment of euphoria to reach out. It starts to blossom and there is no “Theater” comparable. Where Shakespeare fascinates with story and text, Goethe splices and dices the thing I call humanity.

Every once-a-once as I read this work, a leap of discovery is in the lurks. Beyond curiosity the chasm waves. I linger upon such sullen days. The sounds of frequented times arrive. As preposterous as this, there is only my demise. It must have been the third or fourth read of Faust. When I discovered the scene that saved my faith. Short and sweet and discrete, this writer of humanity revealed the sweet. Lilith is her name and she wears long, red hair. She attracts men like honey and snare. She dances with charm and wits her way ’round, to a place in my heart that has only sight and sound.

Unfortunately Lilith has been edited out of all the dogma. But if you look closely, you will easily find her throughout all things (Abraham) religious. For example. Check out any of the famous paintings of The Fall of Man (pic). Usually there is a half-snake or beast and half woman wrapped around the tree of knowledge. I mean, come on, Satan or no Satan: were Adam & Eve really alone in “paradise”? I mean, were they really the ONLY ones? Since I know a little about the deep desires of manhood - you know, polygamy and whatnot - could Adam, with the strength of his pectorals, biceps and quads, have been satisfied with just one wife during a time when banging them on the head and dragging them off to your cave was part of (any) gettin’ some? Obviously, Lilith didn’t think that was cool. But you won’t see that in the paintings. All you get is what THEY want you to know for THEIR sake.

OK. For you “believers” out there. I digress.

One of my favorite scenes from Goethe’s Faust is Walpurgisnacht. In this scene Faust, pushed on by Mephistopheles, meets a Witch. Depending on the version you are reading, the person Faust meets could also be called Beauty, The Pretty Witch or The Young One. Of course, this scene has to do with Man’s (Faust’s) desires (or?). Luckily, and very briefly, Goethe gives us the name of the person Faust meets. She is called: Lilith. Quite a fascinating and practically forgotten character in the history of all things religious and confused. Thank goodness Goethe managed to re-edit Her back into the world of literature.

Here the scene/moment that so dazzles me, perhaps just like Her hair would. First I offer the original German, then follow up with my own translation.

Faust: Wer ist denn das?
Mephistopheles: Betrachte sie genau! Lilith ist das.
Faust: Wer?
Mephistopheles: Adams erste Frau. Nimm dich in acht vor ihren schönen Haaren, Vor diesem Schmuck, mit dem sie einzig prangt. Wenn sie damit den jungen Mann erlangt, So läßt sie ihn so bald nicht wieder farhen.
Faust: Da sitzen zwei, die Alte mit der Jungen; Die haben schon was Rechts gesprungen!
Mephistopheles: Das hat nun heute Keine Ruh. Es geht zum neuen Tanz; nun komm! wir greifen zu.
Faust (mit der Jungen tanzend): Einst hatt’ ich einen schönen Traum: Da sah ich einen Apfelbaum, Zwei schöne Äpfel glänzten dran, Sie reizten mich, ich stieg hinan.
Die Schönen: Der Äpfelchen begehrt ihr sehr, Und schon vom Paradiese her. Von Freuden fühl’ ich mich bewegt, Daß auch mein Garten solche trägt.

And now, the Tommi version:

Faust: Who the fuck is that, Man!
Mephistopheles: Check it out, Dude! That’s Lilith.
Faust: Who?
Mephistopheles: Adam’s first bang. Watch out for that red hair, Dude. It’ll do to you more than just dazzle. If she catches a young guy like you in it, good friggin’ luck gettin’ out.
Faust: There’s two of ‘em, Man. One’s young, the other’s not. They both look like they’ve been dancing a lot.
Mephistopheles: Then let’s keep ‘em goin’. Grab one and get some. Come ‘on.
Faust (dancing with the young one): I recently had this awesome dream: I saw an apple tree and on it were these two apples. They got me all riled and ready, so I climbed into their tree.
The Young One: So you like apples, do ya. Like the ones from paradise. They get me ready, as well. Cause my garden is full of them.

Wow. No rant today. Sorry about that.

-tgs-