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Wednesday and Thursday: Various Artists
10.29.2003 by Dan Beirne, every Wednesday.


Nathan Lane comes over every Wednesday to the house to watch a movie, or just chat with Dan. Dan found these little chats so interesting, he decided to tape-record them and tell the world all the neat things Nathan had to say about movies and stuff.


These two have to be posted together, because there's no break where one ends and the other begins. Just sit back and try to relax. We're starting to lose sleep.

Modest Mouse: The Lonesome Crowded West (1997) : sophomore album from a Washington band.

(Nathan is standing on my bed, he has just stopped jumping up and down for an hour and a half)

Nathan: Wow! An album!

Me: Yeah, it was pretty good.

Nathan: Pretty good? Try perfect-cussion!

Me: ....what?

Nathan: What does it make you see?

Me: Why are you wearing my pants on your head?

Nathan: I see grays, but they're moving up and down like somehow ashes catching fire.

Me: Ashes can't catch fire.

Nathan: I'm opening the window

(in comes the atmosphere. and a lot of laughing from down the street. Nathan yells at them.)

Nathan: You're all fake!

Me: Please, just settle down.

Nathan: No! This is a grand statement about our collective state of affairs.

Me: Made 6 years ago.

Nathan: A little jealous, Dan?

Me: I'm having the last of this chocolate milk.

Nathan: I just want to drum until I die! Do I sound like a pre-teen right now?

(my painting that says "go to bed" falls off the wall)

Nathan: Never! I want to watch a movie!

Me: At least help me finish my term paper.

Nathan: "..In conclusion, this is the only time you get to be alive!"

Me: ...

Nathan: I'm having another coffee.

Me: All right, what do you want to watch?

Nathan: Something horribly disturbing!

I Spit on Your Grave (1978): Jennifer Hill goes to a cabin to write her novel. She is raped repeatedly by local hoods. She kills each one individually. Written and directed by Meir Zarchi.

(Nathan has poured his coffee all over his shirt)

Me: ...What time is it?

Nathan: Please don't tell me it's Christmas morning or something.

Me: I can't tell, I know the sun's not out. Oh, but I forgot, the clocks go back tonight.

Nathan: Just leave it!

Me: Right.

Nathan: Can we skip this one?

Me: You wanted to watch it!

Nathan: Can we just go to bed?

Me: Way more graphic and exhausting than, say, Straw Dogs, but less masterfully crafted.

Nathan: More concerned with...rape.

Me: This is the only thing this guy's done?

Nathan: Is it?

Me: I don't know, I was asking you.

Nathan: Says here, on my brain, that he also made Don't Mess With My Sister! in 1985...

(as Nathan describes the plot, the happiest song every written plays loudly over the tape, muffling out his words)

Me: So then, this is definitely just some sort of fetish made into a movie?

Nathan: Can't be sure. You have fetishes too, Dan.

Me: I hate that word.

Nathan: That's a fetish.

Me: Hating fetishes is not a fetish.

Nathan: How is it not?

Me: I've had these socks on for three days straight. It makes me feel like dying.

Nathan: Can we order some food or something?

Me: We'll have to, 'cause this next set is a long one. Mom!

The National Film Board: every film ever made under the jurisdiction of the National Film Board of Canada. This includes the work of Norman MacLaren, Gilles Groulx, and other unpronounceable names.

Me: Pizza's here!

Nathan: Finally.

Me: So, what'd you think of that?

Nathan: (his mouth is full so I have trouble understanding) It was good. I like the funny one, but couldn't keep behind the guy in the train. Everyone was just singing and singing, but it's never been a shaven for catharsis.

Me: Um...

Nathan: (finished his slice) I mean, you can't promise someone something and then take it away. They get mad.

Me: Are you talking about me?

Nathan: So it's like an old grampa, you know? Canada's old grampa. Cool in his day, but now only has stories to tell.

Me: Do you want the last piece of plain?

Nathan: Yeah I want it.

(a long silence. I think there's a cough every so often, but it could just be room noise. You can hear Ruffles doing science experiments down the hall. He locks his door, though)

Nathan: So what are we going to do now?

Me: I don't know.

Nathan: It's already tomorrow we can't stop here.

Me: I know.

Nathan: How come you haven't made your bed? Usually you make your bed when it's messy.

Me: I just haven't been in the mood to make my bed. Close the window, there's a chill.

A Moveable Feast (1964): "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." - Ernest Hemingway

(the sound of popcorn popping, but I couldn't see or smell anything)

Nathan: He makes things like I want to make things.

Me: Yes. It's as if he didn't want to be noticed. He wanted to get paid for his writing, but would never agree with, say, this book belonging to a collection called "The Ernest Hemingway Century".

Nathan: Well, I don't know about that. People can surprise you.

Me: Yeah.

Nathan: People can surprise you.

Me: ...

Nathan: People can surprise you, Dan.

Me: It's not luck. He's just that good.

Nathan: I hate it when we agree.

Me: My wallet's empty, again.

Nathan: What do you need money for? You should be spending it all on art that you like.

Me: Those pizzas might not have been enough.

Nathan: Speaking of which...

Me: I'd be surprised if I wasn't hungry again in half an hour.

Nathan: HOLY, YES!

Nathan's Coffee Stain: I still think it's just a coffee stain.

Nathan: Look at my shirt!

Me: What, it's finally dried. It was all those NFB movies.

(enter Cynthia)

Cynthia: Oh my heavens, Nathan!

Nathan: I know!

(enter Gertrude Stein)

Gertrude Stein: (on a trapeze) That's soooo beautiful!

Nathan: Yes, darling!

Me: What are we looking at?

Nathan: Don't worry Dan, why don't you watch a movie or something?

Me: Are you going to send them away?

Nathan: Yeah. I'll send them away.

as always, Nathan has e-mail.

Notes:

My mom was at the library today, and she checked both Nathan's and my e-mail. I'll just say this, whoever "Peaceable Pete" is, I don't think your name really fits. What you said was really mean. Even my mom cried.




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