Where can you be alone? In a crowd. How can you be nowhere? If you don’t stop moving. Where had I seen people meditating? In cars. What place is most conducive to introspection? The motorway.
On such roads which are abstractions of roads I would progress towards knowledge. As they are plain and always the same, skirting towns and flattening the landscapes they cross, they teach people that what’s important is purification.
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It looks like it’s the beleaguered-woman-who-can’t -catch-a-break shirt.
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There is also a blue polo shirt with a white collar that makes the rounds on numerous (murderous) women. Fiona in Shangri La and the woman from the parks department who had her husband killed in Lennys last case. It was in a few others too.
JP: In my view, everyone in the world lives within a circle, either due to economic, political, cultural, or family problems or traditions. The radius of the circle can be smaller or larger. Regardless of their geographic location, they live within a circle. I hope that if this film has any kind of effect on anyone, it would be to make them try to expand the size of the radius.
DW: While the film treats women, what are the consequences for the men in their lives?
JP: Iranian society, particularly in comparison to this part of the world, is a man’s world pretty much. The radius might be marginally larger for men. The purpose of this film was not to be against men or to be a feminist film—it’s a film about humanity. Men and women are part of humanity. In the film I never showed any kind of maltreatment or anger from men. For example, we see the women afraid of the police. This may or may not be real. When the police are shown in long shot, they’re menacing. However, in medium shot, you can see the policeman has a kind face. And he asks the woman: ‘Do you need any help?’ And also in the scene when the woman was buying a shirt for her fiancé, the store owner measured it against the soldier’s chest. And at the end of the film, when they’re in the paddywagon … throughout the film, every single woman wanted to have a smoke. Once they’re in the paddywagon, there is this humanitarian atmosphere.
Joanne Laurier: Is your point that the army and the police are just made up of ordinary people?
JP: In all my films, you never see an evil character, male or female. I believe everyone is a good person. It could be the result of social difficulties. Even the most dangerous criminal has that sense of humanity. At the bottom he’s still a human. It doesn’t mean that a criminal shouldn’t be punished just because social difficulties have driven him to it. He’s guilty because he didn’t try to expand the radius of his circle.
I am glad that none of my friends has ever found himself sitting on a bench in a park with a quarter in his pocket, as I once did, and nothing in the bank; in fact, no bank account. It’s a very lonely feeling. It gives new meaning to the sense of loneliness and despair.
I wallowed in that slough for a bit. It was not, after all, a happy situation and I am not a dim-witted optimist. But I had two choices, die in the slough or move on. I thought of the last two lines of Milton’s Lycidas,
At last he rose, and twitch’d his mantle blue: To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
So I got up, forever grateful to Mr. Barrows, my college English instructor, for teaching me to study Lycidas seriously and realize what a great poem it is and why that matters.
“The core insight I received from my second reading of Office Politics was that, if I thought I could stand at one remove from my place of employment and regard it as a kind of diorama or spectacle, I was deluding myself. As Rilke wrote in a very different context, all this seems to require us. I had fallen into the quotidian and was going to have to work with the materials at hand, pedestrian and unpromising as they might seem, to make of my life and career something meaningful. This was no small gift of self-knowledge to receive from a novel.”
Office Politics
Wilfred Sheed From the foreword by Gerald Howard
In William Shakespeare’s play As You Like It, the character Rosalind observes that Orlando, who has been running about in the woods carving her name on trees and hanging love poems on branches, “seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.” The Bard’s use doesn’t make it clear that quotidian comes from a Latin word, quotidie, which means “every day.” But as odd as it may seem, his use of quotidian is just a short semantic step away from the “daily” adjective sense. Some fevers come and go but occur daily; in medical use, these are called “quotidian fevers” or simply “quotidians.” Poor Orlando is afflicted with such a “fever” of love.
Sometimes vague language is better because it expresses the truth that things are unclear or unsettled. This is why poets will often use metaphors and contradictory language; it is a meaningful inarticulateness. Vague language is the appropriate vessel for speaking from a position of uncertainty.
If you value what’s fun, what’s interesting, what’s curious, what’s creative—those concepts have imprecise edges. Applying these terms always involves dealing with fuzz and unclarity. But you should feel uncertain when you’re in unknown territory. Fuzzy values are appropriate when you don’t yet know everything about what’s important. They encourage exploration, because they don’t have sharp edges. Fuzzy values build in an open-minded attitude.
Intuition, says Ingmar Bergman, is the essence of creativity and the foundation of his unparalleled success as a film maker.
”I make all my decisions on intuition,” said the 62-year-old Swedish director. ”But then, I must know why I made that decision. I throw a spear into the darkness. That is intuition. Then I must send an army into the darkness to find the spear. That is intellect.”
In a rare public appearance, Mr. Bergman spoke today of success and failure, creativity and laziness to drama students at Southern Methodist University. A Lazy Man at Heart
”I’m very, very lazy,” conceded Mr. Bergman. ”I love to sit in a chair and look out the window and do nothing. Writing is boring, very boring, and it takes so much patience.”
”You feel that this is going to be the best scene ever made and you want to protect it from others,” he added. But the magic dissipates and is replaced by tedium when it comes time to write, a task Mr. Bergman clearly disdains despite his success at it.
“No cap” is a popular slang phrase meaning “no lie,” “for real,” or “truthfully,” used to emphasize that a statement is genuine or serious. Originating in Atlanta-based hip-hop and African American Vernacular English (AAVE), it spread to mainstream usage in the late 2010s to denote sincerity.Key Aspects of “No Cap”:Definition: “Cap” means a lie or exaggeration; therefore, “no cap” means the opposite—telling the truth.Usage: It is frequently added to the end of a statement for emphasis, e.g., “That food was great, no cap”.Origins: Rooted in early 2010s Southern hip-hop, often associated with rapper “NoCap” (Kobe Vidal Crawford Jr.), who is an American rapper known for his emotional style.
“Lively Up Yourself” by Bob Marley & The Wailers is a celebratory reggae anthem urging listeners to shake off negativity, energize their spirits, and embrace joy through dance and music. It encourages a vibrant, active, and positive life, serving as an invitation to “wake up” and dance (“skank”), freeing oneself from stress.
Lively up yourself and don’t be no drag
Lively up yourself, oh, Reggae is another bag
Lively up yourself and don’t say no
Lively up yourself, ’cause I said so
You, what you gon’ do?
You rock so, you rock so
Like you never did before
You dip so, you dip so
Till you can dip through my door
You skank so, you skank so, oh yeah
What you got that I don’t know?
I’m trying to wonder, wonder why you
Wonder, wonder why you act so (lively up yourself)
And don’t be no drag
Lively up yourself, oh, Reggae is another bag
(Lively up yourself)
(Lively up yourself) oh, keep livening up your woman in the evening time
And take it, take it, take it, take it
(Lively up yourself) I wanna be lively myself
Got no socks and no shirt (lively up yourself) I gotta lively up myself
(Lively up yourself)
(Lively up yourself) your woman in the morning time
(Lively up yourself) your woman in the evening too, now
Now! (lively up yourself)
(Lively up yourself)
Take a piece of tinsel and put it on the tree
Cut a slab of melon and pretend that you still love me
Carve out a pumpkin and rely on your destiny
Get in your car and cruise the land of the brave and free
But don’t forget to understand exactly what you put on the tree
Don’t believe the florist when he tells you that the roses are free
Take a wrinkled raisin and do with it what you will
Push it into third if you know you’re gonna climb a hill
Eat plenty of lasagna ’til you know that you’ve had your fill
Resist all the urges that make you wanna go out and kill
But don’t forget to understand exactly what you put on the tree
Don’t believe the florist when he tells you that the roses are free
Throw that pumpkin at the tree
Unless you think that pumpkin holds your destiny
Cast it off into the sea
Bake that pie and eat it with me
In ”One More Night,” Mr. Collins’s recent number-one hit, a ticking snare drum injects a whisper of lurking fear into a song that suggests a sweeter, tenderer reprise of ”Against All Odds.” And in the impassioned ”Don’t Lose My Number,” the singer offers solace to a criminal suspect- turned-fugitive. Like many of Mr. Collins’s songs, ”Don’t Lose My Number” is defiantly vague, sketching the outlines of a melodrama but withholding the full story. The album’s final song,”Take Me Home,” is another interior monologue, in which the protagonist may or may not be a discharged mental patient. ”I’ve been a prisoner all my life,” he sings. ”They can turn off my feeling like they’re turning off my light, but I don’t mind.” The singer wants only to be taken home ”because I don’t remember.”
Mr. Collins’s astringent voice, with its petulant undertones and grim, wound-up edge is as important as the drums in sustaining a mood of dramatic suspense. And by double-tracking and electronically phasing the vocals, Mr. Collins and his producer Hugh Padgham, accentuate the sense in his singing of ominous psychological submergence.
On the surface, ”No Jacket Required,” is an album bursting with soulful hooks and bright peppy tunes. But beneath its shiny exterior, Mr. Collins’s drums and his voice carry on a disjunctive, enigmatic dialogue between heart and mind, obsession and repression. The jacket that the album title assures us is not required may not be a tuxedo but a straitjacket.
