T. Ippen Digest

Listen:

I'm a student, okay? Finding time to update a public journal between ignoring my readings and rushing through my assignments takes a Herculean strength of will. I've reached down deep inside myself and pulled out just enough to provide you, dear reader, with this remarkable nugget of self-indulgence. 

I won't try to update you on everything that's been going on, but I will tell you of my impending breach into adulthood. It's the last push of for my degree, and if all goes well with the tail end of this last semester, I will proudly proclaim myself "Tom Ippen, BA" by early May. Following that, it'll be time to use my wildly applicable History Major to kick off a whirlwind career, sure to bring me non-stop excitement, intrigue, and of course fat stacks.

If you know me, you know that a  constant complaint of mine is my not taking more time to get things–anythings–down on (virtual/intangible/magic) paper. When my university career comes to an end (at least a temporary one) this spring, I'd like to kick off something ambitious, writing-wise. Maybe ambitious isn't the right word, but it'd be good to, say, pump out one blob of prose per day. It's disappointing that a goal like that is, for this fella, an ambitious one. We'll see how this plays out.

It's important to me that my writing is in at least passable form for the coming season, as that's when I'll be trying my darndest to crack into a career that doesn't have me in a cubicle editing zoning reports. Not to suggest there's anything particularly horrible about that; zoning is important, and without those reports, how would we zone? I'm just saying I don't think it's for me. I could be wrong. Sorry if you're a zoner. 

I'm losing focus. Let's end this before it spirals out of control. Thanks for stopping by.

It's a new year, people.  A new year, bringing renewed enthusiasm for updating this puppy. Tomippen.com will live again, and breathe the sweet air of 2010! Though, before I get carried away, perhaps I should take a moment to reflect on the past year, with all its procrastination and creative kryptonite. It may seem counterintuitive to kick off a new year of writing with a memorial to the wasteland that was this blog's last 365 days of nothing, but you've got to take these things slowly, no? As an important creature once said, " It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." Even though I don't think Bilbo said that in the books, he says it (or is quoted as saying it) in the movie.

Fellowship was a good movie.

Speaking of movies, another year of new ones is done with, and I've been keeping careful track of all the film I cram into my little noodle in 2009. RottenTomatoes has been a useful tool to keep track of the arbitrary rating I bestow on each movie I see, (you can check for yourself by looking up Tom I. on rottentomatoes.com) and I've taken all that raw data and compiled it into a sweet lil' list I call "Tom's Top 10 Movies of 2009."

All in all I saw 62 movies that were released in the last calendar year, (not all of them in the theatre) and looking at the average for the list, it must've been a pretty rotten year for movies, or at least the movies I subjected myself to. Admittedly, the list is a little embarrassing when you consider some of the choices I made. Looking back, I can't for the life of me figure out why Land of the Lost and The Proposal are on this list, while Precious and An Education I've yet to see. In moments of boredom I'd truck out to a theatre to check out whatever seemed "easy to watch." I'm not perfect, guys.

That being said, I suppose in the long run this list could change a bit. I still intend to see some of those probably good movies that eluded me before the decade turned. Most noteworthy of the unaccounted are A Single Man with Colin Firth, which I hear is mind-blowing, and the aforementioned An Education.

Enough jibba-jabba. Let's get to the point. I'll provide, in descending order, my top 10 movies of the year, with the accompanying score I gave them on Rotten Tomatoes.

 

Tom's Top 10 Movies of 2009 (for whom it may concern.)

 

10. Paranormal Activity.                         70%

            On nobody's radar, and then all of a sudden on everyone's radar, Paranormal Activity was a legitimately suspenseful, relatively sincere/credible first-person horror. The cinderella story of a budget under $11,000 creating this subtly attentive film really excited me, and I really wasn't let down. It may walk a fine line between "real" and "cheap," but I bought it, and thought the "two steps forward, one step back" pacing perfectly set up the climax, which is the closest I've been in recent memory to legitimately soiling myself.

9. The Hangover            80%                       

            I guess this one was a sleeper for most people, though it's gross would say otherwise. I (and everyone I've talked to about it) was pleasantly surprised to find it not nearly as akin to Dude, Where's My Car as expected. Zach Galafinakis' surprise perfect performance makes the movie memorable, and the very capable comedic ability of Ed Helms and Bradley Cooper bring it home. Certainly the very best comedy of it's specific type (dude-comedy? bro-comedy?) that I'd seen in a while.

8. District 9            80%

            Of all my top 10 list, this is admittedly the one I last saw longest ago. I wouldn't exactly say my memory is foggy, though, as there are some scenes in this puppy I'm not likely to ever forget. The world Neill Blomkamp created here is just incredible. Fuck James Cameron–this is universe building. Maybe that's unfair, as the world is perhaps less far-fetched, planted firmly in metaphor and social commentary as it is. Though I suppose that's what makes it remarkable: the fantastic, near-supernatural supposition shown to us through such a disturbingly recognizable lens. Though in my opinion the film breaks stride a little in the second half and becomes too focused on the singular narrative and action scenes, the story and world as a whole are brilliant.

7. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs            80%

            Listen, I understand that this one might surprise you. It certainly doesn't have as much to say as District 9, but it does it's own thing with confidence and masterful timing. There must be 50 of these CG family movies (often 3D, nowadays) every year, and they're all at the same level of quality: not bad, not great. And they all prioritize the entertainment they offer, usually a ratio of 70-80% aimed at children, with the scraps thrown to the adults present to keep them alive while their kids clap and scream. This one, however, is constantly hitting one of two areas; when it's not making poignant political or cultural references with a quick neo-comedic edge, (bolstered by the likes of Bill Hader, Anna Faris, and Neil Patrick Harris) it's using it's gorgeous and unique animation style–an incredible fluid and consistent one–for physical and situational comedy that doesn't miss a beat. Also: it's got Bruce Campbell.

6. Moon                        80%

            Sam Rockwell, baby. Apparently this dude can be amazing when he needs to be. A stellar contribution by the always wonderful Kevin Spacey isn't too shabby either. Performances aside, this is a very complete film. The aesthetic is closely attended in every shot, and the film fits right into that difficult but appreciated nook of a conceivable and rational yet mystifying and slightly unnatural Sci-Fi. When I walked out of the theatre, I personally qualified it as having an "industrial sci-fi" feel to it, and I stand by it. It was intelligent and thoughtful, and though perhaps predictable at times, it challenged preconceived notions of "typical" science-fiction. We need more movies like Moon.

5. In the Loop                        90%

            British comedy has hit a new high. I hadn't even heard about this film until a week ago, and rented it with a friend. I'm having trouble coming up with anything to say other than that I was completely blown away, and existing in that place between howling laughter and broken-down-scream-laugh/crying the entire time. Not many people I've talked to have heard about it, and I don't want to give anything away; what I want is for you to go and rent this movie immediately. It's a British political farce-comedy that takes place either half a decade ago, or in a semi-fictitious present day. You will die laughing. This is all you need to know. Funny is funny.

4. Up in the Air                        90%

            I'm one of those few people who really didn't care for Juno, Jason Reitman's previous film, and Up in the Air is certainly of the same ilk, but where the former felt obnoxious and over-assertive, the latter is approachable, charming, and maybe a little profound. Obviously George Clooney is more than capable at portraying a calm and confident, well-spoken man. The two leading ladies, Anna Kendrick and Vera Farmiga, both give stunning performances, and the gestalt of the trinity provides a incredibly fleshed-out discussion on isolation and personal growth. No movie I saw this year generated more post-viewing discussion on ideas of human attachment and codependence. It is also worth noting that, while on this "soulful journey of discovery", you will laugh your ass off.

3. Inglourious Basterds                        90%

            Quentin Tarantino has been making the same movie for years now, but luckily, it's a pretty solid one. This, like the others, is a film of conversations. The dialogue is great, the story is entertaining, unpredictable, and definitely unique, and the attention to detail in every single shot is, I think, the film's greatest achievement. The milk, the strudel, the devonshire cream, the champagne: these components are just as memorable and well delivered as the knives, the guns, and the scalps. The performance of Cristoph Waltz as Colonel Hans Landa is the highlight, for certain, though Brad Pitt definitely does a bang-up job and has some very memorable lines. My favourite Tarantino movie to date, this could be called a masterpiece. It could also be called "revenge porn." Both would be accurate.

2. Watchmen                        90%

            I have not read the graphic novel. I found this film artful and gorgeous from start to finish. If any one frame were turned into my desktop wallpaper it would be a marked improvement over my current stock background. There were strong performances across the board, but my particular favourites were the Comedian and (obviously) Rorschach, who's presence in modern film will undoubtedly alter the face of chaotic-good heroes yet to come. The historical fiction was a flawless construction that brought the world to a similar realm Moon did, in that it walked the tightrope between unbelievable fantasy and stifling, gloomy reality; Nixon's 4th term in the 1980s felt real. I understand that the narrative already existed before being put to the screen, but I'm not saying I love Zack Snyder, I'm saying I love this movie.

1. Fantastic Mr. Fox                        100%

            I'm a big Wes Anderson fan, but this is far and away the best film he's completed (in my humble opinion). I can't recall a single moviegoing experience where I've had a smile on my face the whole way through. The animation and voice acting brought so much life to each character that I was dreading the moment it came to an end. Every joke was a winner, every situation part of a hilarious, masterful plan, and every character flawed in the most loveable and laughable way.

Now, 100% doesn't mean it's my "perfect movie," and that all others will be measured by its greatness. I rank a few others at the same mark, There Will Be Blood, In Bruges, and Frost/Nixon to name a few from recent memory) but this year, there was only the one that really hit that sweet spot of "I want to watch you until I die."

Those ten lil' puppies made 2009 pretty good, I suppose.

Time to regale you with another lil' somethin' I threw together a few months back. Enjoy.

 

April 23rd, 2009. I woke this morning in a cold sweat. It was the same dream. I dreamt that today he came, and that we were not prepared, which, at this moment, is entirely the truth. I lost my spirit in the eyes of doom.

Thankfully, in the waking world, we yet have time. Eleven days remain to train, and eleven nights to study and meditate. I am doing all that I can to prepare them, though I am beginning to fear that they cannot, regardless of their enthusiasm, hope to stand against him and survive. I have come to them too late.

It pains me when I look in their eyes and see a glimmer of hope; perhaps they feel that they will grow strong enough to defeat him, or perhaps, as I fear, they simply assume that my strength will be enough to stop him. Indeed, I sometimes find myself adrift in foolish daydreams of my own ability, but this is folly. I cannot stop him. He has become too powerful. I remember long ago, in the halcyon days of our childhood, all of our time was spent training; we tested our strength against one another, and it was I who was the strongest, the most skilled. My advantage faded with our youth, and soon our competition grew agitating and bitter. I could see our places changing, gradually, and poured my heart into defeating him every time we clashed. He did the same, and once we were evenly matched, our relationship soured, and the playful fighting of our past was dead. 

I knew that he would become stronger than I could ever hope to be; he was already more than my match, but I manipulated bitterness and dry excuses to convince myself that I still held some advantage in strength, tactics, or wisdom... after all, I was the elder. I see now how pitiful I was back then. No matter how I rationalized it, the better fighter was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my younger brother.

His resolve to continuously improve only grew, while mine wavered, humiliated and unsure. It was at this time he traveled East, and I allowed my weary heart and body to rest. In the time he spent there, he wasted not a single moment––he was wholly devoted to his craft, he had become a master––and now he returns. I was a fool to sit idly so long, allowing my skills to deteriorate, thinking this day would never come.

I must now face my mistake. This battle between Kin is now as sure as the tide. I will face him, but what can one man do to stop this encroaching tidal wave? I have found some old strength in myself, some new, and fill the empty spaces with the light in the eyes of my family, whom I now train in a last desperate attempt to weather this storm. Though it pains us all, my brother has become too powerful. We will stop him, or we will not. Regardless, we will stand.

Every day their improvement impresses me. I can see the sparks of a once skilled man in my father. He is always so calm on the battlefield. Even in moments of true intensity and pain, his face is relaxed, as though he has already seen every outcome––the end of all things––and he is pleased. My mother is no fighter, but even she has taken up the charge I have laid upon our house. I cannot imagine how it must feel for a mother to engage her son in final combat as she must, and I pray that when the time comes she will understand what her second son has become, and do what must be done. My sister, the youngest of us, faces this challenge with remarkable tenacity and enthusiasm. She has focused her training on techniques I do not fully understand, and largely ignore. However, my brother and I are two sides of the same coin, and if her unfamiliar style surprises me, it may well have the same effect on our brother. I hope this is so. 

As I write these words, I again dare to hope that he can be thwarted; I am a fool. If I close my eyes now, I feel I can clearly see the entire encounter playing out before me. I see him there, long blonde hair thrashing in a western wind against his blood-red gi. I stand before him, robed in the white of our house, wearing the red headband I wore as a child, in training. I can hear his voice, see the flash of blue, and feel the air rush past my body as I crash into the floor. I can hear him approach, and all I can do is strain to think of my next move as his arm flares a brilliant orange fire, and I can bear no more.

I care not for what my destiny may or may not be. I will fight you, Daniel, with everything I have!

Hello, Diary. Listen, I'm a pretty upbeat guy, I think. I'm rarely down on myself; I probably border on arrogant, though I'd just call myself appropriately confident. I accept that I can be a major douche in the "thinking I'm hot shit department." It is a major character flaw. I'll work on it.

I posted a story earlier, addressing my delusions of grandeur as a young lad. These things keep popping up in my memory and bugging me. That last story was essentially an apology for my behaviour. What follows is another entirely factual account of young Tom doing shit old Tom can't effing belive.

---

He was in sixth grade, one of the final years of his "sweat-pants 'n mushroom cut" phase. It was toward the end of the year, March or April. His class was studying ancient Greek culture. His teacher, Mrs. Balaam, was a delightfully clueless Dutch woman. She would laugh at his jokes, and tell his parents how gifted he was. She was one of his closest allies. She was speaking, then, to assign a project: they (her class) were to study one aspect of ancient Greek culture and present their findings to the class in an interesting way (the standard poster-board was forbidden). As the trusty teacher elaborated on the criteria, a short, fat, troll of a child sat with wide eyes and a salamander-smile spreading across his face. He sat there, the thick, greasy cogs of his mind grinding into one another with excitement and cunning. The rusted machine of his mind was cranking out a plan to ensnare the hearts and minds of his classmates; to secure his seat upon the throne of sixth grade popularity. Oh, foolish child! Oh poor, misguided, idiot! Do you truly lack self-awareness to this degree? Stay this madness! He, the cackling imp, was Tom, our misguided hero.

Tom hated putting in more effort than was necessary. He knew himself to be above most of his peers intellectually. He just knew it. If he didn't get the best grade in the class on a test, he shrugged, knowing that the victory would've been his, had he but put in an ounce of work. "No matter. I know I'm the best" was the national anthem in the fledgling state of Tom. Luckily, for this new project, an opportunity of convenience presented itself: It just so happened that the esteemed Weird Al Yankovic, who held the sole rights to music in the land of Tom, had written a song about horoscopes. Horoscopes were a part of Greek culture! Sure, it might have been a bit of a stretch, maybe some research would've helped, but it was good enough for our hero. He had the song on a CD at home, he knew the lyrics by heart: he was finished his project before old teacher was even done going over the specifics. He would sing in front of the class, and be a hero.

It turned out to be a group project–a minor setback. Two trusty colleagues, Mark and David, would have the luxury of being included in Tom's master plan. They would be given subsidiary acting roles to pump up the crowd for the main event. Tom waddled home that day in a gleeful, sniveling clip. The better part of his grade was secured at no cost of time or investment, with his own crowning as a charismatic god as an added bonus. All he needed to do was secure a costume to satisfy the teacher's lust for historical accuracy. Demanding a cape of his mother, he was regrettably informed of a cape shortage in the house, but was offered a substitute: An enormous, deep purple, hand-sewn poncho, the result of a community-building exercise on a Unitarian Women's Retreat. As he looked at his round form adorned in the purple robe, he thought himself kingly. He was a wizard. An action hero. A bad-ass. How sad it is he could not see the piggish, cruel, ridiculously dressed boy, lost in his own imagination and arrogance.

Weeks later, as the due date approached, the complaints of his class on the vagueness reached old Mrs. Balaam's ears. She accepted that the project lacked a real direction, and should be scrapped altogether. The class, shocked and ecstatic, rejoiced while Tom sat in his plastic chair, his flabby bottom sweating with anger and helplessness. How could his chance to be a hero be torn away so quickly? He bravely raised his hand into the air in slow motion, an ancient stone pillar cresting out of the sea, straining to reach the sun. Mrs. Balaam, awash in her sudden popularity with the students, took a very long time to notice the pudgy yet adamant hand in the air. She quieted the class, and called on Tom.

"What if we've finished our projects already?" he said in a voice you couldn't enjoy if you tried. "Some people put a lot of work into these."

Mrs. Balaam was troubled, and now shaken in her resolve to cancel the project. Either the will of this overweight child was unusually compelling, or she was missing a spine. After a moment of consideration, she decided that anyone who wanted to could present their project for extra credit, but those who did not participate would not be penalized. Such a wise leader, she was.

Tom had dodged a bullet, and figured that now was the time. He arranged to present his masterpiece to the class the next day. He was dropped off toting his backpack as well as the bundled poncho, too vast to be contained by mortal back-apparel. He sat through the first few periods with a brick of excitement bouncing off the walls of his gut. Social studies finally began, and as Mark and David exchanged worried looks, Mrs. Balaam announced that the boys would be presenting their findings on astrology. After one last briefing with David and Mark on their roles, Tom went into the hall to wait for his cue. David was to play the role of the master of ceremonies, warming up the crowd and introducing the star. Tom couldn't hear exactly what he was saying as he struggled to pull the poncho over his bulky head, but he could tell that he got a few laughs from the crowd. A good start. Mark, the twelve year old who looked not a day over six, was to play the muscle-bound, silent tough guy you would see playing a bodyguard in a comedy. Whether this was intended to be ironic or not was unknown. His role was to nod and make a grunting noise at one point, and Tom heard it, and again the response was positive.

As he waited in the hall, a confident smile on his face, thrilled to entertain, two boys walked by. They looked at him in his enormous, purple poncho, and though one of them smiled, they didn't say anything. Tom's smile vanished and he looked away, pretending to busy himself at a locker he had been leaning against. All of a sudden, he was naked and afraid. He wanted to explain to the boys that his garb was justified for the performance he was about to give. He wanted to tell them that he knew it looked silly, and it was a joke. As they walked out of hearing range, he saw one of them whisper to the other, and glance back toward him. His heart sank for a moment, and he hated them. He told himself that he shouldn't be embarrassed, and those boys are just the sort of bullies that television and books told him not to mind, and that individuality and a positive attitude were all he needed. Poor, ignorant moron. You didn't have either.

He got his cue, and entered the classroom, eyebrows raised and nose upturned, completely in character. As far as what the "character" was, it seems an arrogant yet infinitely wise seer would be an accurate description. A seer with a passion for purple. A Greek seer with a passion for purple, if you really wanted to get specific. Mark gave another grunt and hit the play button at David's command, and the song began.

I'll pause here for a moment, so you can hear the song. It'll help paint the picture.



Tom knew every word, he had heard the song hundreds of times. It was a fast song, too; how could they not be impressed? David had instructed the audience to stand up when they heard their astrological sign called. As the song went on, and his arms swayed about in broad, sweeping movements, like a grand mage commanding the ocean, Tom began to notice that, while everyone in the class had an enormous smile on their face, none of them were standing up when he called a sign. Eventually, when he called "Virgo," a boy named Mike stood up and waved at Tom. He stood there laughing, ready to hear his hilariously conceived and delivered horoscope from our hero, and as Tom sang, Mike clapped a little. As he finished and went on to the next sign, Tom saw Mike receive a high-five from one of his friends. His heart sank just as it had in the hallway minutes before, and his voice started to fade out. He finished off the last few minutes of the song, as the chorus repeated itself over and over, with a squeaky whisper of a voice. From that point on all he wanted was for the song to end. He wanted to take off the stupid poncho, he wanted to leave the class and go home and lie down. It was like lightning striking him; like a blind man being struck with a holy vision and then given sight. He had made a fool of himself, and was presented with his own profoundly "uncool" behaviour and appearance.

I don't know how Tom lived it down. I know that he started to change. He became conscious of his appearance, he began to think that he might not inherently be the most intelligent, respected, or otherwise gifted kid around. He certainly wishes he could've changed the way he behaved sooner. His friends tell him that this, what he experienced, is simply the nature of growing up: a lack of self-awareness, and a refusal to accept the consequences of one's actions in a rational way. Poor kid.

He'll turn out alright.