It took me an embarassingly long time to even begin writing my "Vertigo" notes for the Brattle, and even though I only managed to eke out 300 words or so, I can feel the blog calling me.

It's been crying, eight days left alone for naught. And as much as it craves legible, readable film and music reviews, it wants something realer, more personal, maybe even a little half-assed.

I was going to write about depression, but VH1 Classic is playing the Violent Femmes' "Gone Daddy Gone" video, and how can you possibly feel down and out when they're playing a Femmes video? I won't even let Wang Chung completely dampen my spirits... ah, I no I'm not the first person to say this, but these ah tough times we're living in. I could go on about how wrongheaded and ridiculous this impending war with Iraq is, or how little respect I have for the Bush administration, how this decade is going to be as politically brutal and damaging as the 80s, the only difference being is that more of us are aware of the corruption, the corporate evil, the misplaced priorities. At least I'd like to think that's the case.

And on the personal front, things are slightly less challenging. I've felt introspective and a little numb lately, wondering what it all means. Am I better off looking for a soulmate or learning how to be more independent? How do I prevent myself from falling too quickly for someone, constantly overlooking the discrepancies and ugly underneaths? What do I do with all of this time for myself, and is it enough to take consolation in the fact that I am not alone, that everyone suffers and questions these same dilemmas? How do I nuture the pain in my life so that it's cathartic and holistic rather than destructive?

I can't remember the last time I bawled. I've been trying since last June, and I've come close a few times, but no dice, no massive tears. I never had this problem when I was a kid. I remember third grade, sobbving uncontrollably after watching the 60's Disney flick "Sammy The Way Out Seal" in the school lunchroom. I was the only one and I couldn't hold back... so mortified at my own grief that I keep claiming, "I'm not crying at the movie, my stomach just hurts!" I was known as the class crybaby, so convenient that one could presumably pronounce my last name as "Cry-off-ski", it's not too cool for a boy or a man to cry. Apart from an isolated incident involving a bully in a biology lab, I rarely turned on the waterworks in high school and beyond.

Now, I find that only particular movies or music can move me to the verge of tears. I saw "Rabbit Proof Fence" over the weekend, a dramatization of three half-aboriginal girls taken from their families in 1930s Australia. They're placed in a camp 1500 miles away, and remarkably, they escape, making the long journey back home. The film concludes with footage of two of the actual women, 70 years later. It's so startling just to see them at this point. Their actual presence makes such a moving, harrowing impact on the viewer.

Then, yesterday early evening, walking along the Esplanade, I was listening to "Scarlet's Walk" (which I keep meaning to write about in greater detail), and the song "Taxi Ride" came on as I reached the hatch shell. There's just something about that song--the melody sounds so outgoing, the instrumentation so warm and inviting, Tori's vocal so urgent and reassuring, especially as she sings in the chorus, "I'm glad you're on my side".