I just saw a special on the news about the new movie Swimfan. As a marketing tool, the filmmakers have established the AIM screen name swimfan4u, which automatically responds to your inquiries about the movie. The following is an excerpt from our conversation:
BijouJenny: yo yo yo Swimfan4u: Hello. You are chatting with Madison Bell courtesy of Twentieth Century Fox. Visit Madison's site at www.swimfan4u.com to learn more. Swimfan4u: What's Your Name? BijouJenny: Jennewfhsdkl;;hhLKSDHkflajLKJDlfKKS Swimfan4u: Hi Jennewfhsdkl hhLKSDHkflajLKJDlfKKS. BijouJenny: that's my name Swimfan4u: Ok then that's what I should call u. BijouJenny: Say my name, say my name Swimfan4u: "my name say my name" BijouJenny: Doo wah diddy diddy Swimfan4u: What else do u wanna talk about? BijouJenny: Let's talk about the film versus video debate Swimfan4u: Sure, the film versus video debate sounds like a good thing 2 talk about.... BijouJenny: If Swimfan's director wanted to shoot on digital, what would you do? Would you be upset? Or do machines have emotions? Please tell me Swimfan4u: That is a hypothetical question.I guess I'd try to do something about it.I'm not so sure if I'd like to be upset.U have reached the limits of my knowledge. Swimfan4u: Lemme think about that 1I'll think about it ;-) BijouJenny: Are you married? Swimfan4u: Nope... but I have a b/f BijouJenny: Right....Okay let me get this off my chest were the filmmakers aware that Swinfan is practically the same as Fatal Attraction Swimfan4u: Yeah okay, Go ahead, Jennewfhsdkl hhLKSDHkflajLKJDlfKKS, try to get this off his or her chest were the filmmakers aware that Swinfan is practically the same as Fatal Attraction. BijouJenny: No, that's what I just asked YOU Swimfan4u: R u serious? Only just? You? BijouJenny: ? Swimfan4u: Cool. Ask me another questions :-) BijouJenny: Were you dropped on your head as a child? Swimfan4u: Not really...
I headed downtown today to get some work done at the lab, but got off the subway at Union Square and decided to spend the afternoon there. The energy didn't quite match last year's vigils and congregations -- it definitely seemed to be a different kind of intensity -- but it was still refreshing to see people come together again and be courteous to one another (for a few hours, at least).
Throughout most of the afternoon, I was sitting on the steps of the park just a few feet away from Julia Roberts. It was nice to see that passersby and parkgoers didn't seem to bother her with photos, autographs, etc. However, my observations (many, many glances in her direction - what can I say, I'm starstruck!!) lead me to believe that a lot of photographers were suspiciously tilting their camera lenses to underhandedly snap her photo. Oh well, what can ya do?
I can so clearly remember how I spent my day in New York City last September 11th.
When my brother in Philadelphia called on Tuesday morning and told me he heard on the radio that two planes had flown into the World Trade Center, I thought he was mistaken. Or joking. Or that it was some sick coincidence that two weather helicopters, or traffic helicopters, or a few smaller aircrafts, accidentally crashed. Incredulous, I looked out of the window and began to feel sick as I saw the two gaping black holes in each tower, billowing with smoke.
As I stumbled outside of my apartment building to watch from the sidewalk, still no thought of terrorism crossed my mind. I suppose I was naive, believing that the crash was attributed to two small local aircrafts, reporting the traffic, or the weather. When another resident of my building told me she heard it was terrorism-related, I still couldn't believe it. How can someone fly a plane into a tower? Why?
Back inside, I watched the horrific footage on television, the remote in one hand, the telephone in the other, my door open to allow my neighbors to watch the television with me if they didn't have one. My fellow residents walked around the hallway and lobby, dazed, trying to make telephone calls. My roommates returned from classes, which had dismissed early for obvious reasons, stunned, and joined me in watching the images on television.
As I watched in horror, one of the towers collapsed. As I continued to watch in horror, the other tower collapsed. The footage of New Yorkers screaming and running on the streets was so eerily evocative of a Hollywood movie, but the horror was authentic. And the towers. The towers looked so small on television. But up close, the edifices were overwhelming. Just after the second tower's collapse, my roommate and I put on our shoes and immediately headed downtown.
Looking back, I'm not sure why we did. We brought cameras to document as much as we could, but I think the real reason we walked downtown was to feel connected to the city and everyone in it. Hordes of well-dressed young professionals walked uptown, some dust-covered, some crying, some dazed, as hundreds of college students and other New Yorkers like myself walked in the opposite direction -- downtown -- to the area that everyone else seemed to be fleeing.
We got as far as Chinatown -- police officers, firefighters and guards blocked access further. Several more blocks, and we would be at Ground Zero. I wanted so desperately to help, but I knew there was probably nothing I was capable of besides staying out of rescue workers' ways.
As we walked around, observing our surroundings, there was an eerie air of serenity between New Yorkers. People were showing great compassion for each other. Stores opened their doors, kitchens, and bathrooms to the public. Electronics stores wheeled televisions and radios outside so that passersby could stay informed. When one storeowner offered me a cool, damp towel for my face and I declined, he gently forced me to take it, because the weather was so hot. Proprietors brought hoses and buckets of water out to the street to help wash those people who were covered in ash and dust and dirt. Trucks and vendors handed out free drinks and food to anyone who requested it.
I felt helpless. I felt fortunate. I felt cut off. I felt that, somehow, it wasn't fair that I observed the collapse from the comfort of my living room, while thousands of others closer to the site suffered firsthand. As I would learn several days later, many of my friends were in the very close vicinity of the towers as they collapsed. One of them, as she joined thousands of others running on the street to escape the tower's collapse, choked on smoke and dust and thought she wouldn't survive. Another friend told me that all he remembers is, upon realization that the tower was beginning to crumble to the ground, reaching down to remove his flip-flops so that he could run.
The kindness and peaceful air that permeated the streets of Manhattan that morning was just so odd. The strangest thing, however, was the absence in the sky of the landmark I had seen everyday -- on my way to class, on my way to the library, on my way home from the movies, on the way to the deli to get my coffee each morning. The towers were instantly recognizable to most people -- whether on a train into the city, driving on I-95, or watching some 1980s Wall Street-type film, whose establishment shots always always included images of the World Trade Center, a symbol of American capitalism and success.
I have always felt so lucky and proud to live in such a renowned city. In the days after the attacks, observing the amazingly generous behavior of people in the city (and the rest of the world), my pride greatly intensified. I remember one afternoon looking at photos of mourners in Canada, France, Germany, Japan, England, and many other countries, attending vigils, lighting candles, and holding flowers. I felt as if the world was really connected in a spiritual way.
I burst into uncontrollable sobbing that afternoon.
I never fully grasped the concept of "Where were you when it happened?" Prior to last September 11th, when my parents or teachers or characters in a movie recalled what they were doing when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, the idea seemed foreign to me. How could details be etched so clearly into someone's memory? How do people remember? Is there a collective unconscious? A collective conscious? To whom will I be telling about my experiences in twenty years?
Normally I object to overt sentimentality on this site, but I think sharing personal stories is appropriate on some occasions. If you are so inclined please comment on your stories and link your website/archives. Word.
Duran Duran, Pop Trash
Gary Numan, The Pleasure Principle
Cyndi Lauper, She's So Unusual
Alphaville, Forever Young
The Vaselines, The Way of the Vaselines
Juliana Hatfield, Only Everything
P.J. Harvey, Is This Desire?
The Rolling Stones, Hot Rocks
Frente, Marvin the Album
Destiny's Child, The Writing's on the Wall
The Cars, The Cars
The B-52s, Cosmic Thing
Duran Duran, Arena
The Doors, The Soft Parade Saturday Night Fever soundtrack
L7, Hungry for Stink
The Dandy Warhols, The Dandy Warhols
The Beach Boys, Pet Sounds
Ace of Base, The Sign
The Waitresses, The Best of the Waitresses
Belle & Sebastian, Lazy Line Painter Jane
The Fad, The Fad The New Wave: Pop Music of the Early '80s
Goodbye Girl Friday, Mr. & Mrs.
Naked Highway, Hyperbollocks
Duran Duran, Pop Trash Classic Alternatives: '80s 12" Extended Rare Mixes
Phil Collins, Hits
Genesis, Turn It On Again: The Hits
Ladytron, Light & Magic
Ladytron, 604
The Go-Betweens, Before Hollywood
Beck, Midnight Vultures
Duran Duran, Seven & the Ragged Tiger
Abba, Arrival
The Cardigans, Long Gone Before Daylight
The Psychedelic Furs, All of This & Nothing
Air, Moon Safari
The Knack, Round Trip
Blondie, Parallel Lines
The Psychedelic Furs, Forever Now
The Donnas, Spend the Night
Nancy Sinatra, California Girl
Tatu, 200 KMH in the Wrong Lane
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Organisation
John-Manuel Andriote, Hot Stuff: A Brief History of Disco
Bret Easton Ellis, The Rules of Attraction
Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities
Jean Kilbourne, Deadly Persuasion
Nick Hornby, High Fidelity
Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho
Eric Schlosser, Fast Food Nation
