Making a list of all the songs I would love to cover if I were in a band.

Heart Shaped Bruise (Elvis Costello/Emmylou Harris)
Furious (Throwing Muses)
Grace Cathedral Hill (The Decemberists)
Hammond Song (The Roches)
Edible Flowers (Neil Finn)

Rei di Tutto... but you may call me Ray.

I'm free! I'm free at last! The body is dead! The body is dead, long live the head, it's finished, finito, heh-heh! Bye, body! Ha-ha! I shall prove a head does not need a body to survive! I am omnipotent, ha-ha! Yes... Oh! Oh no, I got an itch! Oh, no! Oh no, oh no... ah-chooooooo! 

-The King of the Moon, from The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

One of my favorite performances by Robin Williams is a small role (and I believe he is actually billed only as "Ray D. Tutto" in the credits) as the deranged King of the Moon in Terry Gilliam's plagued-with-ills 1988 production, "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen". The film was a commercial failure and was apparently, according to many of the main actors, a nightmare for production.  That being said, it's a highly fantastical tale about a "tall-tale teller" and the third in Gilliam's trilogy of films. His first film, "Time Bandits," was about childhood. His second, "Brazil," was about adulthood. "Baron Munchausen" is about old age. All of Gilliam's films, however, are about the important place imagination plays in our lives. If we lose our ability for wonder and fancy, how do we endure reality? Real life is fraught with struggle, suffering, and decay. And while Gilliam fills the screen with fantastical visions, he always reminds us of the underpinnings of these realities that we must face. Rather than presenting fantasy and imagination as simple escape, Gilliam reminds us that they are in fact defense weapons and skills we use to face and cope with dark things. But the dark things are still there.

For those who have seen the "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen," you might be a little surprised to know that the King of the Moon was originally scripted to be played by Sean Connery--who withdrew from the film when the part was significantly cut.  Following that, Gene Wilder and Walter Matthau were considered, but it landed with Robin Williams. I'm curious as to how much was cut out, considering that in the final version, most of the King's dialogue is ad-libbed by Williams. This may have been a reduced role but it became a larger than life performance. The Washington Post called the film a "wondrous feat of imagination", though "except for Williams, the actors are never more than a detail in Gilliam's compositions." Williams had the heart and the imagination to make it touching and memorable.

The King of the Moon is introduced to us flying through space as a detachable head on a platter, fleeing the disgusting imprisonment of the baseness of his lustful body. Screaming as his own arms lock on and screw his head into place, "No, let me go! I've got tides to regulate! Comets to direct! I don't have time for flatulence and orgasms." Williams performance is the perfect encapsulation of the struggle of mind/body dualism, but what makes it great is that Williams is able to inject into it the spontaneity and detail that makes it relatable..  The King of the Moon doesn't come off as just a deranged madman, bur rather a madman who is driven by the very real pain of the unpleasant (or pleasurable) distractions of being corporeal. I imagine that this is something that Williams understood himself, the pain of being alive.

The suicide of Robin Williams has already created an outpouring of cultural response, not only praising him as a beloved icon of American entertainment, but also holding him up as a tragic figure due to his struggle with depression. It would be easy to imagine that he represents the height of the modern tragicomedy. We now live in a time where our versions of kings and gods - the modern equivalents of them being "stars/cultural icons"--are also slaves. The bigger we make them, the further away from them we are, yet the more we expect from them. And now the most recent effect of his death is for everyone to find meaning from it, to try to understand, to put ourselves into it..  We can't really know why or what made Williams decide to do this, anymore than our heads can detach from our bodies so that we don't have to deal with the baseness of life. All we can do share stories about how his performances made our lives happier, allowing us to regulate the tides or direct comets in our dreams.

Get a Happy List

Inspired by a post from a friend, I'm going to sit down and make a happy list.  

So what's a happy list? 

The happy list is what it sounds like: a list of activities that make you happy. The key words are activities and you. Not only is this a good exercise to put you in a better frame of mind just thinking about these things, it also gives you things to look forward to. The act of making the happy list is a happy activity. 

Make the list personal and make it so that it will encourage you to actually do something to help bring about some happiness. Lists of all kinds are fun and helpful, but my favorite kind of list is an action list that asks you to actually do something. That doesn't mean the doing has to be frantic or complex. For example here is my new happy list for April.

• Play a game with my husband
• take the dogs to the park
• bake something
• work on a sewing project (my Coraline can-can)
• invite someone to tea
• get a foot massage
• get a massage massage
• spend the afternoon reading comics
• go see live music
• get up early and watch the sun rise
• go running someplace new
• organize your fabric
• play with the cats
• call someone you haven't talked with in a long time
• practice a foreign language
• plan a trip
• sing
• try a new recipe
• go hiking with friends
• listen to a podcast
• read comics
• take a nap

You get the idea. I'll probably just keep the list around (print it out somewhere and display it) to remind myself and try to pick out things off of it and then remake it in the future.