I used to be somebody, Now I'm somebody else. - Lyrics from Crazy Heart

The Dendy Opera Quays is a frequent destination.  This month they are screening the Oscar contenders. I plan to see them all.

Last week: 'Crazy Heart', Jeff Bridges' Oscar nominated role as Bad Blake, a pathetic, ‘stupporific,’ end of the road, alcoholic country singer. It’s an old story. 'The harder the life, the sweeter the song'. You know it without seeing the movie. Director Scott Cooper makes this visual experience so intimate, it is hard not to look away. Give Bridges credit for not buffing-up for this role.

But it’s not all man-boobs, vomit and piss. Bridges is a musician. The pre production preparation was so complete, so intense that in the music scenes, he is not acting. He really is a country singer. The concert scenes were filmed at a Toby Keith event in New Mexico. One question: Why doesn’t Colin Farrell get a credit?

This is the fifth Oscar nomination for Bridges. He’s an artist. His characters are compelling, the movies just a little off center: ‘The Last Picture Show’, ‘The Big Lebowski’, ‘Tron’, ‘K-Pax’, ‘Starman’, it is quirky collection.  Bridges gravitates to scripts that explore and cherish life from an obtuse angle and often through pain. Remember ‘The Door in the Floor’? Bridges' most traditional roles were probably as the evil Obadiah Stane in ‘Iron Man’, Charles Howard in ‘Seabiscuit’, and my favourite, Jack Baker in ‘The Fabulous Baker Boys’. I am a groupie for the piano man.

Bridges performance and Oscar nomination have been compared to Mickey Rourke in ‘The Wrestler ‘. It’s an unfortunate comparison – Sean Penn won the Oscar.

My experience of this movie:  I needed a tissue and in places the intimacy (not the sex) was so intense I had to avert my eyes.  I don't know yet if I will add to my DVD collection.  First I am going to get online to find a copy of 'The Fabulous Baker Boys'.

Identity Crisis - A Parenthetical Post

Well, here I am barely into the second post and already an identity crisis.  I have had a few comments from friends (by email ... apparently to shy to comment below the blogline, or should that be postline ... no, I like blogline better) who seem to have very different expectations about this blog. 

Before you read much further you will see that I a fan of the parenthetical and the metaphorical.  This is a parenthetical post - the post between posts that the author uses to fill the gaps.  In literary terms, it means I didn't really plan well enough.

This a blog about journeys and destinations:  physical and metaphysical.  Sitting in the carriage, looking out the window at the sunrise reflected on the ocean - it takes me places.  I remember, and I wonder.  I wonder about the towns we pass through, about the tunnels and how they were built, about the coastline and if it would be possible to climb around the rocky cliffs.  I anticipate destinations and remember other times and other places and other people.  Sometimes I get political, incensed by inequality and opportunism.  Sometimes I get philosophical and ask myself questions like: "What is hope?" 

 I can't travel without a notebook and a pen.  At the compute I get writer's block,  terrorized by the blank screen.  On a train, I am a writer,  a philosopher, a poet and a critic.  I am also a reader and a companion to other travelers. 

Traveler's metaphor: 'The map is not the territory'. (Actually that is a cliché, and bloggers should avoid clichés at all costs.)  I am still mapping and not yet sure where this will take me. This is not just an extended tweet, or a travelogue. It is not just a history of trains or my chance to be a movie critic.  Watch the line below the title.  New pages are under construction to fill the back-story for this little narrative.

Here is the plan.  For the next six months I am going to travel to Sydney twice a week.  The destinations will be varied: The Dendy, The Art Gallery, a ferry ride to Watson's Bay, a walk in the Botanical Garden, Flemington Market, Chinatown, Taronga Park, coffee at the Quay.  Those are the physical destinations.  But where this actually takes me ... that is what I am going to find out.

Riding the Rails

I live on the coast a couple of hours south of Sydney. It 's a small place near both the ocean and the railway station. I can hear the waves lashing and crashing and I can hear the whistle as the train pulls out. Those two sounds are like the yin and the yang of my life, the push and the pull.

The ocean is mysterious, powerful, with colours smells sounds and shapes that are always changing. Looking across the endless horizon is like a cleansing meditation. The air is clean and there is always a breeze. Getting anywhere from my house takes me along the beach. Just going out for a loaf of bread is a pleasure. But, beyond explanation, I love to leave! It is almost an addiction. Like any addict, I have a secret stash - just enough cash for one more return ticket.

Of course I am not alone in my passion. There are movies and books about train travel. You know them: 'Strangers on the Train', 'Murder on the Orient Express', 'Throw Mama from the Train'.... There are songs and poems, museums and libraries and a growing number of blogs, all dedicated to trains and train travel.

There is romance and mystery in traveling by train, but only 'half the fun is getting there'. Destinations are  compelling.  Destinations are built with plans and dreams  and, of course, the second destination is always home.  This week Sydney is the destination and I will be on the 6:51 tomorrow morning.