The Indian Taco

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And the Oscar goes to...

As always, it's pretty hard to escape the Academy Awards. The nominees are announced, and the speculation and coverage spin into a gross and nauseating vortex of overkill. I usually ignore it as best I can, except during campaigns where I've actually seen the nominated flicks. I enjoy great movies like everyone else, but I don't obsess over Hollywood like I do over my favourite tunes. Apples and oranges, yes, but pomp and glamour ain't exactly my thang (except when Bowie pulled it off - heheh).

I haven't seen all of the movies highlighted in the various categories, but I actually plan on it because this year's crop really appeals to me (for once in a half-decade or so). At press time, I've only seen two of the Best Picture nominees: one about a couple of lonely fellas who spend a summer herding sheep up on a mountain; and another that strikes to the very core of human identity. A film that takes a harsh look at how we see each other. How our differences are highlighted with a single glance, and how our predetermined physical and cultural attributes not only shape the course of our lives, but fuel the complex conflicts that comprise Western civilization.

This movie is Crash, and it's one of the best I've ever seen. Basically, it's a finely crafted chronicle of the intricate and coincidental interplay of a handful of characters' lives - co-written and directed by Paul Haggis. Given any average context, it'd be a neat story about how some very random people's paths intertwine. But it's what makes these characters different that yields such a compelling story. They are by no means abnormal. They just come from different cultural backgrounds.

Crash is about racism. It's about people knowing their place in contemporary Los Angeles based on their skin colour, culture, and social status - and denying that role altogether at the same time. It's about people trying to overcome their stereotypes, and it's also about others playing into them. Again, all tied together with a theme of total randomness; conflict as unpredictable and devastating as a car crash.

The spectrum basically runs the gamut of colour in North America (save one glaring omission - Native Americans - but I suppose they aren't as visible in today's L.A.) And like in any major North American city, each person crosses paths with people of diverse backgrounds nearly every moment of every single day. They often don't amount to much significance in our everyday lives. But due to strings of varying consequence, the random interactions in Crash result in both uplifting inspiration and frustrating tragedy.

It may sound a little far-fetched. How all these very different people manage to cross paths in some capacity over the course of two days. But although the characters are fictional, their lives are real. And the only way to adequately paint the picture of an ethnically contentious urban North America is to stage these cultural phenomena in concise space and time. It works, and it will blow you away. Especially the central "crash" scene - one of the most powerful moments I've ever witnessed on screen.

Yeah, these other Oscar-worthy flicks look pretty good too. They're about history and journalism. But before seeing them, I've already made my pick for "Best Picture".

I speak English good

I have to, because it's my job. I'm professionally trained to know all the ins and outs of proper grammar, obscure definitions, structure, and the often ridiculous reasoning behind many of the obsolete rules of the English language. I say obsolete because the vernacular has long held a firm grip on day-to-day regular people-speak, and it's never gonna let go.

It even has a hold on me, but I don't care. In fact, I prefer it. I would rather say "Me and my buddy" instead of "My buddy and I". Slang is comprised almost entirely of poor grammar/the faults of language, but I embrace it. It just sounds way cooler. Back in the twilight years of high school, when I knew I was going to pursue a career in journalism, I made every effort to speak proper English. To expand my vocabulary. To speak clearly and concisely. To sound like a pretentious ass. Then people started looking at me funny, and it started chipping away at my own sense of identity. Goddamn it, that's not how someone who grew up on the Rez talks!

And later on, I developed a sort of Jekyll-and-Hydian struggle within my own head. I constructed my own alternate linguistic persona that existed only on paper. And aloud, I proudly spewed words like “ain’t” and composites like the double-negative. Not to mention the common four-letter pleasantries. By day, master craftsman of sentences and paragraphs. By night, another abiding dude. I made my way into journalism school based on that alone, so I was set.

“A”s in the classroom, and “eh”s on the street. It was perfect. Street cred, and academic cred – master of the double life! But it was too good to be true. Eventually I had to speak like I wrote due to a certain job opportunity. I can’t complain, it’s a sweet gig; but I’ve been forced to be more mindful of the words I choose to release from the depths of my tired larynx.

For now I’ll just keep on givin’er.

This post is dedicated to my beloved Aunt Anne, who takes every opportunity to correct my grammar, and remind me of my educational background and profession. Love ya!