First thoughts on Amor Towles "Rules of Civility"

Like all good writing, Amor Towles Rules of Civility deftly transports you into its intended environment. Here, it’s the chink chink of glasses, the heavy stench of cigarette smoke, and the bright baubles of the well-heeled classes of late 1930s New York. The mysterious but plucky Katey Kontent is our guide, and her fondness for Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations is no accident. Even from 140 pages in, the comparisons to Pip are evident, but what keeps this from traveling toward an expected and unsurprising conclusion is the lack of idealism and naiveté with which Katey confronts her world. This doesn’t appear to be a bildungsroman. Not too far into the novel, it becomes clear that Katey has already reinvented herself once when she moved from the Russian ghetto of Brighton Beach to the prim but poor Mrs Martingale’s boarding house. The opportunity comes again for her and her friend Eve on New Years Eve in 1937, when they come across a wide-eyed, deep-pocketed New York blueblood. A series of events follow that bring Katey and Eve out of the Lower East Side and up Fifth Avenue, altering the course of their lives forever.

Only half way through the novel, I’m still in the dark as to where they end up (though we know from the Preface that Katey has made it to 1969 with a husband in tow), what’s lost in the journey, and whether it’s for better or worse. But the thrill of the era is captured so resplendently in each paragraph that it seemed a shame not to jot my thoughts down on impulse. Whether it turns into a great novel or is merely the best-written pitch for a film I’ve ever come across remains to be seen. Either way, it makes me thirsty for a dry martini and an extra hundred pages. I doubt I’ll be ready to leave the party by the time I get to the end.

I'm not a businessman but it's a business, man.

As I've mentioned on this blog before, I'm in the process of (sloooowly) developing a multimedia project entitled "The Rodshire Archives" about a community of indeterminate location prone to odd occurrences and strange happenstance.  Unfortunately, as is the case with most endeavors, a major part of getting this project off the ground will be fund-raising. Being a first-time entrepreneur and a skilled googler, I immediately took to the internet in search of answers as to how to set up an entity through which I could raise money for my project.  I figured it would be much easier to get people to donate to a legitimate business entity rather than Julia's second checking account.  I googled various search strings such as "incorporating film production company" "starting a production company" and "production company operating agreement".  I found a lot of people looking for help, but not a lot of answers.  The information I found on NOLO and the Citizen Media Law Project was helpful, but again, it was too general and didn't answer my production company-specific questions, like whether I should form an S-Corp or an LLC, if I formed an LLC whether my company would qualify for the publishing exemption in New York, what other permits or licenses would be needed, how donations are taxed, etc.  I couldn't believe that with all the free advice, tutorials, how-to's and helpful hunts out there, there was no DIY guru out there sharing his experience forming an entity to raise capital and produce content! 

I'd love for any readers or DIY-ers out there who have experience forming an entity (whether in NY or elsewhere) for a single film or for multiple projects to leave some free advice here, or shoot me an email at julia@rodshire.com with some advice as to who to contact or where to look.  Any information I get I'd be happy to put into an online guide to help others who are deciding 1) whether they need to incorporate, and if so, 2)how to navigate the rough legal and bureaucratic waters.

DIY Days NYC: Please Help

Damn it Feels Good To Be A Gangster

So today I was blessed to find in my gmail inbox a guest post from the venerable Ms Allison Metz, of the Midwest Metz's:

When I was first asked to write on a topic that I consider myself to be an expert on, I questioned whether or not I was good enough to appear in Awkward/Juxtaposition. Certain that I possessed enough awkwardness to make up for any lack of talent in the blogging world, I forged forward. Just as a side note, some of you might be familiar with my work in The Mount Holyoke News. Perhaps that really analytical piece I wrote on honey mustard? Rest assured, I AM available for autographs.

Enough about me, I want to get to the meat of a really important issue. Lately I’ve been referred to as the connoisseur of reality television. It’s not a title I take lightly. It takes many years of practice to be considered an expert in this field. You may be wondering how I acquired such an important position at a very young age. It’s taken a lot of time and effort, but every day when I come home from work, I plop myself in front of the television and watch anywhere from two to four hours of pure crap. I’ve learned a lot and that’s what I’m here to write about.

Before I unveil this masterpiece, let me first begin by telling all of you non-reality lovers to shut the hell up. If one more of you tells me I’m sick, wasting my time or don’t recognize quality television programs, I will spit on you and your mother. I watch reality television because I love to watch stupid people. They make me feel good about myself. And no one makes me feel better about myself than the Real Housewives of New York City. Bravo’s newest show, a spin-off of the Real Housewives of Orange County, follows five wealthy women around as they make pretentious comments, date ugly men and spend a lot of money on outdated clothing.

I’ve read a lot of pretentious reviews of this show and they’re all wrong. +/-

This is not social commentary, this is not reverse feminism, this is just plain old good shit. In order for you to truly understand how amazing this show is, allow me to provide you with a brief description of the characters.

Ramona: O, Ramona. I usually don’t like to use this phrase when referring to women, but she’s a stupid whore. Her daughter and husband think so too, but they let her do her thing. I’ve watched Ramona push her friend into a pool, threaten to drown a dog and walk around in a bra she thought was a shirt. Just to provide you with an accurate mental picture, she resembles Britney Spears, after she went crazy.

Jill: Jill, Jill, Jill. When will you realize you’re ugly? Jill is from Long Island and thinks she’s important. She’s not. To make her feel better about herself, she brings her gay friend in a pink cowboy hat every where she goes and makes sure everyone in the room knows that he is gay, just in case we couldn’t figure it out.

Countess a.k.a. LuAnn: You’re name is LuAnn, therefore you can’t be pretentious, but you still are. She’s one of the better housewives because she’s a bitch and not afraid to admit it. As a side note, her husband is anywhere from 20-70 years older than her.

Bethenny: She’s my fav. She knows her friends suck, and constantly points out their flaws. She also dates a bald, divorced man. She likes to rub his head and ask when they’ll get married.

Alex: I saved the best for last. She can’t afford to live in Manhattan, but to make up for her move to Brooklyn, she is the most pretentious of all the women. She shows off her saggy butt as she vacations in St. Barts. Alex also has the most peculiar home life. She’s actually married to a gay man. Unfortunately, both her and her husband are in denial about his sexuality. Her children are named Francois and Johan. They have French names and are learning to speak French, but aren’t actually French. In fact, they have no connection to France whatsoever. Her kids are also partially retarded. They can’t form words and were denied entrance to every private school in NYC.

So tune in and stop pretending you’re not intrigued. Tuesdays at 10 on Bravo. It will no doubt change your entire perspective on television.

Eyesore or Eye candy?

There goes the neighborhood. Julian Schnabel's pretentious Palazzo Chupi sits like a regal poodle high above the peasants of 360 W. 11th Street. According to the Villager, the ode-to-Venetian residential building involved constructing an 11-story addition above an existing three-story former stable. This past June, the wraps came off the building, as black construction netting was removed to reveal its color. Andrew Berman, Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation Director, got Schnabel's panties in a bunch by calling it “hot pink,” to which the artist fired back that it was really “Pompeii red.” Rumor has it that Bono is hankering to be Schnabel's suite mate, as well as Madonna and Patrick Swayze. As for the name, Palazzo is Italian for Palace and Chupi--well, who knows. For one, it's Spanish for sucker, and with a +$15 million pricetag for a single unit, you can't help but find it fitting.

No Glove for the Gov

Does power beget peversion or perversion, power? Why is it that some of the brightest stars have the darkest centers? We don't just need to look at the scandals from the past twenty years to find examples of dastardly misdeeds. From the "extraordinary appetites" of the Bourbons of France to Spain's King Philip IV and his thirty illegitimate children, these rowdy royals harbored a sexual lust of limitless bounds that would make some of today's torchbearers blush in comparison. Spitzer may have been a steamroller, but in a state famous for its political machines, corruption, and general success at blocking all efforts at change, he successfully brought down Wall Street corruption and refused to back down from a hostile legislature. From the outside, it seemed, his conscience was clean. So which came first, the chicken or the egg? (To read more about Europe's swinging past, check out: Royal Babylon: The Alarming History of European Royalty by Karl Shaw.)