Cowboys and Astronauts

Sometimes movie makers make me feel like I have a target the size of Kansas pasted to my forehead. In fact, some movies are so dead-on that its embarrassing and humbling. Humbling because I tend to think I live in my private little headspace and not only is it mine, but its also unknown to the rest of the world. And embarrassing in the way that after you get that tattoo, that you designed, and then painfully, expensively etched into your skin is revealed on hundreds of other torsos come Summertime. But there is a flip side to this-- you realize that you are no longer alone, that unbeknownst to you, a community has grown around you, without your attention, without your will, without even your care, like weeds in that side lot you never visit. And painful, painful because what you see may not be pretty.

Dutch made me watch American Astronaut the other night. He was nervous, because he thought the movie might be too "boy." (like the male version of a chick-flick). I hadn't seen him so nervous since we first met. I knew this was going to be special.



I hadn't realized the shades of meaning the word "special" could carry. To say that I was offended would be an understatement. There were more surprises than Christmas morning. There must be a German word for the combination of horror, recognition and ecstasy I felt watching this movie. I saw my most sacred, unspoken idols lifted up, celebrated and merrily, beautifully smashed. The things I love most about the Submarine; the pre-moonwalk space aesthetic, bald, shiny heads danced across the screen in a wild parade.

I don't know much about the director, but it seems like he understands that funky, cracker rural California/West Coast culture. Or maybe that combination of dust and homemade spaceships is more universal than I realized.

PS

Speaking of Flip Flop stereotypes (not that I ever would...)