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There was at least one ulterior motive in choosing Buffy this week and that was that it didn't entail me watching or re-watching a full-length movie. Time has been of pressing concern to me lately, more than normal. In about 70 days (give or take, as the human body is a wonderfully complex mechanism with its own clockwork structure), I am going to be a father for the first time. And really, I had a lot planned for this, my Christ Year (i.e. year 33 of my life), that I was going to accomplish for the first time. Kind of a bucket list but less maudlin and without any impending sense of doom and/or sense of Hollywood-ized life lessons as taught by stars with $10 million paychecks received for their efforts.

I started the year doing karaoke with a live band (song: "Talk of the Town" by The Pretenders). I saw an opera for the first time (and a few months ago, saw my second, the timeless "La Boheme"), went to the Portland Art Museum for the first time, attended a modern dance performance and even threw on a splendid frock for the annual Red Dress Bash. I did my best to avoid any revealing up skirt shots that might find their way onto OMG! I also flew to NYC simply to see my favorite local band, Point Juncture WA, as they embarked on their first national tour of any great length, opening for the always awesome The Thermals. The Bowery Ballroom in lower Manhattan was a happening, rockin' place to be, that second weekend in May. And as it happened, when I returned that Sunday, Mother's Day as it were, is when my girlfriend found out, and I found out, that we were going to be parents. So needless to say, it wasn't specifically on my to do list, but I was excited and delighted beyond words. I still have not gotten a passport, though. Some things for me remain just to be put off a while longer.

And so I have been in a more contemplative mood and mode for much of the second half of 2009, which might be why this image that I remain elusive about describing (and will for just a little while longer) has been at the forefront of my mind. I have alluded in past columns to the fact that fantasy and sci-fi are not genres that I love unconditionally. Buffy is an exception to that rule, but not for the reasons that you might think. When I reflect on my favorite movies, books, or songs, there is an undeniable theme and consistency to a great number of them. In the movie realm I would name: Once Upon a Time in America, Barry Lyndon and Mulholland Drive. The Hotel New Hampshire, The Great Gatsby, and The Bluest Eye provide ample evidence on the literary front. For tunage, I would cite "Us" by Regina Spektor, "I Was a Lover" by TV on the Radio, and "All Her Favorite Fruit" by college rock godfathers Camper Van Beethoven.

And what do these all have in common? Aside from being what I would humbly claim are all works of art? They are all fairy tales; fairy tales for adults to be precise. And all of them have, as a primary or secondary theme, some feeling for the passing of time, the distortion of our memories by time and a consideration for how we will be remembered or want to be remembered once our era is gone, this epoch has passed or the love story we thought would last forever comes to an end. They all qualify as fairy tales because there is some element of magical realism mixed in with the very emotionally sincere melancholy and regret. In the movies mentioned alone there is De Niro's opium dream/flash forward, Kubrick's fanatical attention to detail while presenting a world gone by as if on a canvas, Watts' would-be starlet masturbating on a bungalow couch and feverishly working to recreate a shattered Hollywood dreamscape. And yes, these are all just my interpretations of films so complex they deserve to be seen and discussed and argued over.

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