Spoke to Doug yesterday. He's going through so much yet, despite the sometimes overwhelming grief, he's soldiering on.
Breakfast as Spira's this morning. We had crepes, waffles, fruit, coffee, bacon, home made yogurt, and juice. A fine spread. Janelle and I returned home in the early afternoon, both feeling like taking a nap. Hard to resist after a hearty meal, with the sky overcast and the air cool.
The two of us watched Old Joy last night. I hadn't seen it in a year and liked it enough to want to see it again. I love watching movies with Janelle because, like me, she likes discussing them once they're through. Our discussion about Old Joy carried over to breakfast this morning.
A lot of reading today from Fall of Thanes. I'm close to being done, but I don't think I'll finish tonight. Still, I may give it a go because it's so engrossing.
On that note, I will proceed onward into the heart of night, adventure seeking and demon purging.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
And you know she's half crazy, but that's why you want to be there
I went to the Cambridge Registry of Deeds this morning to do some recording for Jeff. He sat me down at the end of the day yesterday, walking me through what he needed recorded. It was a complicated affair, but Jeff did a serviceable job explaining to me how things needed to be done.
It went well at the Registry. The woman attending me in Registered Land was pleasant and looked enough like Carla on Scrubs for me to form an instant crush. It was fleeting, and not because of Carla, but because I had a good amount of thinking to do. No time for flirting, no dreamy visions of us as a couple. All business today. I'll see her again, I'm sure, and, on the souls of all my friends and family, I will take her as my wife!
--
Earlier on the phone, Spira told me she's had dealings with a ghost recently. I'm looking forward to hearing about it, though Spira wasn't so sure about that.
"You don't sound very shocked. I thought you'd be shocked", she said.
"Don't confuse shocked with intrigued. I'm not shocked because I believe in this stuff and have had my own encounters with the paranormal. I am, however, intrigued, and can't wait to hear your tale."
"Ok, good, because this is a good story."
Now I'm thinking about g-g-g-hosts!! I fear I won't be able to sleep tonight. Looks like the only way to remedy the situation is to get hammered. Yeah, duuuude!
I was going to write about Michael Jackson. Maybe another time. I'll have to squeeze him in my oft-promised zoophelia post. Stay tuned.
It went well at the Registry. The woman attending me in Registered Land was pleasant and looked enough like Carla on Scrubs for me to form an instant crush. It was fleeting, and not because of Carla, but because I had a good amount of thinking to do. No time for flirting, no dreamy visions of us as a couple. All business today. I'll see her again, I'm sure, and, on the souls of all my friends and family, I will take her as my wife!
--
Earlier on the phone, Spira told me she's had dealings with a ghost recently. I'm looking forward to hearing about it, though Spira wasn't so sure about that.
"You don't sound very shocked. I thought you'd be shocked", she said.
"Don't confuse shocked with intrigued. I'm not shocked because I believe in this stuff and have had my own encounters with the paranormal. I am, however, intrigued, and can't wait to hear your tale."
"Ok, good, because this is a good story."
Now I'm thinking about g-g-g-hosts!! I fear I won't be able to sleep tonight. Looks like the only way to remedy the situation is to get hammered. Yeah, duuuude!
I was going to write about Michael Jackson. Maybe another time. I'll have to squeeze him in my oft-promised zoophelia post. Stay tuned.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Black you are my enemy, and I cannot get close to thee
The day flew by. I took the T into Boston to record some documents at the registry, then came home, got my car and drove down to Dedham, where I did some more recording at the Norfolk Registry. By the time I got back to work, it was about two thirty. I wasn't there long.
Even though it was overcast for much of the day, the sun made its first appearance in a while. Too bad it brought mugginess with it. Even still, it was refreshing to walk in the sunshine. Most of my day was rife with easy thoughts and good spirits. Everything changed when I finished By Sorrow's River during lunch.
I'm assuming most of you won't read the book, though I'm not precisely sure why exactly, but I'm going to issue a spoiler alert, anyway, my first ever. So, if you plan on reading this series of books by Larry McMurtry, which you should, because he's a fantastic author, skip over the next part.
Pomp Charbonneau, one of the main characters of the last couple of books dies at the end of this one. The book began with him nearly dying from an arrow to the heart. Pomp vexed Tasmin Berrybender, the main character of the series, because of his lack of passion. He was sweet, kind, cultured, and loyal but he was not passionate, especially in the way Tasmin, a voracious lover, wanted him to be. It was said that he was born by sorrow's river, because no matter what, he always carried sadness with him.
Near the end of the book, the Berrybender party is taken prisoner by the Mexican Army, mostly because its Captain hates Pomp for reasons that have nothing to do with him. On the way to Santa Fe, where Pomp and a couple of others will face punishment for being spies, Pomp has a chance to escape, but he chooses not to, fearing the Captain will take his anger out on Tasmin and her family if he does.
Others escape and the Captain has had enough. He decides to kill Pomp. The following is from the book.
Captain Reyes advanced toward Pomp until he stood at point-blank range. Only then did he raise his musket. For a moment he allowed his gaze to meet that of the young man he was about to kill. the young man's eyes were unfrightened, undisturbed. Once he looked into his intended victim's eye, the captain, to his great surprise, could not turn away, for in the young man's eyes he seemed to see understanding -- even sympathy -- neither of which Captain Reyes had ever been offered in his life. It was as if the condemned man, the favorite, saw it all: the early glory, then the bitter failure on the plains, the stalled career, the dull cadets, the dust. He saw it all; he understood.
Then, while Captain Reyes was considering the possiblility that he had misjudged this quiet, sympathetic young man, a gun went off. Pomp Charbonneau fell, as Lieutenant Molino had fallen. the understanding eyes went blank. Captain Reyes turned, to see what fool had fired, and realized, to his shock, that the drifting smoke came from his own musket. He had fired.
I sat with Pomp's death for awhile after lunch. A fictional character to be sure, but one rendered so lifelike, so human, that his death felt real.
Later, at home, I found out one of my friend's girlfriend died in a car accident. I never got to meet her, but I know how much they loved each other. He wrote about her often, always in adoration, and frequently posted pictures of her, usually with him by her side. Theirs, from what I gathered, was a true bond, a deep affection I have yet to experience, and can only imagine. They shared a house together, she had a son.
To lose someone so suddenly -- it's hard to comprehend. To have a strong bond severed so quickly.... One can have a healthy view of death, seeing it as a continuance of life but in a different form, but when someone is taken away from you, it's devastating, no matter your beliefs. They were there and now they are gone.
And then, after hearing this news, I learned that both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson passed away. I wondered what was going on, and if there was a lesson I could learn from all of this piling on of death.
I saw Mara later on. We had a nice visit. It's good having a friend these days.
Before we met up, I hung out at Starbucks for awhile, watching all the couples walk by outside and felt compassion for my friend, who's world has been turned upside down.
Even though it was overcast for much of the day, the sun made its first appearance in a while. Too bad it brought mugginess with it. Even still, it was refreshing to walk in the sunshine. Most of my day was rife with easy thoughts and good spirits. Everything changed when I finished By Sorrow's River during lunch.
I'm assuming most of you won't read the book, though I'm not precisely sure why exactly, but I'm going to issue a spoiler alert, anyway, my first ever. So, if you plan on reading this series of books by Larry McMurtry, which you should, because he's a fantastic author, skip over the next part.
Pomp Charbonneau, one of the main characters of the last couple of books dies at the end of this one. The book began with him nearly dying from an arrow to the heart. Pomp vexed Tasmin Berrybender, the main character of the series, because of his lack of passion. He was sweet, kind, cultured, and loyal but he was not passionate, especially in the way Tasmin, a voracious lover, wanted him to be. It was said that he was born by sorrow's river, because no matter what, he always carried sadness with him.
Near the end of the book, the Berrybender party is taken prisoner by the Mexican Army, mostly because its Captain hates Pomp for reasons that have nothing to do with him. On the way to Santa Fe, where Pomp and a couple of others will face punishment for being spies, Pomp has a chance to escape, but he chooses not to, fearing the Captain will take his anger out on Tasmin and her family if he does.
Others escape and the Captain has had enough. He decides to kill Pomp. The following is from the book.
Captain Reyes advanced toward Pomp until he stood at point-blank range. Only then did he raise his musket. For a moment he allowed his gaze to meet that of the young man he was about to kill. the young man's eyes were unfrightened, undisturbed. Once he looked into his intended victim's eye, the captain, to his great surprise, could not turn away, for in the young man's eyes he seemed to see understanding -- even sympathy -- neither of which Captain Reyes had ever been offered in his life. It was as if the condemned man, the favorite, saw it all: the early glory, then the bitter failure on the plains, the stalled career, the dull cadets, the dust. He saw it all; he understood.
Then, while Captain Reyes was considering the possiblility that he had misjudged this quiet, sympathetic young man, a gun went off. Pomp Charbonneau fell, as Lieutenant Molino had fallen. the understanding eyes went blank. Captain Reyes turned, to see what fool had fired, and realized, to his shock, that the drifting smoke came from his own musket. He had fired.
I sat with Pomp's death for awhile after lunch. A fictional character to be sure, but one rendered so lifelike, so human, that his death felt real.
Later, at home, I found out one of my friend's girlfriend died in a car accident. I never got to meet her, but I know how much they loved each other. He wrote about her often, always in adoration, and frequently posted pictures of her, usually with him by her side. Theirs, from what I gathered, was a true bond, a deep affection I have yet to experience, and can only imagine. They shared a house together, she had a son.
To lose someone so suddenly -- it's hard to comprehend. To have a strong bond severed so quickly.... One can have a healthy view of death, seeing it as a continuance of life but in a different form, but when someone is taken away from you, it's devastating, no matter your beliefs. They were there and now they are gone.
And then, after hearing this news, I learned that both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson passed away. I wondered what was going on, and if there was a lesson I could learn from all of this piling on of death.
I saw Mara later on. We had a nice visit. It's good having a friend these days.
Before we met up, I hung out at Starbucks for awhile, watching all the couples walk by outside and felt compassion for my friend, who's world has been turned upside down.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I'm counting the gulls that sit on the waves, surrounding the boats in the bay, I'm counting the miles until we're there
Slow day at work. There were times I was certain I was going to fall asleep. Brought back memories of high school, though I only fell asleep once in class. Junior year, History. Mrs O'brien, one of only two teachers in the entire school I was attracted to, woke me up with a light slap to the head. Strange that I took to slumber, because I liked that class.
Maureen let me borrow Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, a book I've been meaning to read for years. I'm almost through By Sorrow's River, so that will be my next lunch book. When I'm finished reading it, I'll read Folly And Glory, which will wrap up The Berrybender Narratives. T'will be bittersweet.
Sharon remarked that the weather, though a bit gloomy, hasn't been that bad. I agreed with her. It hasn't really rained that much and the nights have been comfortable. Why do I need every day to be sunny when I'm stuck inside a building for the most part? I'm looking forward to the sun like everyone else, but, really, I haven't minded its absence very much. I will, however, mind the forthcoming brutal heat and humidity, though not as much as the rest of you who will complain ceaselessly about the cruelty of Mother Nature.
Getting late. Think I'll try to attach some lyrics to a new song I'm pretty happy about. I tried a new tuning the other nght, which the song is in, and I've enjoyed the challenge of adjusting to it.
Maureen let me borrow Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, a book I've been meaning to read for years. I'm almost through By Sorrow's River, so that will be my next lunch book. When I'm finished reading it, I'll read Folly And Glory, which will wrap up The Berrybender Narratives. T'will be bittersweet.
Sharon remarked that the weather, though a bit gloomy, hasn't been that bad. I agreed with her. It hasn't really rained that much and the nights have been comfortable. Why do I need every day to be sunny when I'm stuck inside a building for the most part? I'm looking forward to the sun like everyone else, but, really, I haven't minded its absence very much. I will, however, mind the forthcoming brutal heat and humidity, though not as much as the rest of you who will complain ceaselessly about the cruelty of Mother Nature.
Getting late. Think I'll try to attach some lyrics to a new song I'm pretty happy about. I tried a new tuning the other nght, which the song is in, and I've enjoyed the challenge of adjusting to it.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
You can have everything if you let yourself be
On the road today, I listened to an interview with Phil Jackson on NPR. I'm no Lakers fan, but I admire Phil Jackson, so I was pleased to have stumbled upon the segment. One reason I admire him is because he's the Renaissance Man,of the NBA. Pat Riley's close, so is Doc, but Jackson's got them beat. Here's a guy who assigns books to his players throughout the season. He gave Paul Gasol, a native of Spain, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises to read. Anyway, it was a refreshing interview; my brain was actually stimulated. A rare result when it comes to talk radio.
I think I'd like Bob Dylan about forty percent more if his albums, especially the early ones, didn't have harmonica on them. I know it's sacrilege to criticize the man in some circles, but his harmonica playing stinks. Harmonica, when played well, sounds good, but overall, it's not, at least to my ears, a pleasing instrument. I just had Blond on Blond playing in the background and had to switch something else (David Crosby's fine debut) because I couldn't stand the harmonica. Maybe it's just me.
Books I'm currently reading:
By Sorrow's River, by Larry McMurtry. The third installment of the Berrybender Narratives. So, so good. Like candy. It's my lunch book and I'm almost through with it. I'll have to hit up Amazon for the fourth, and final book in the series, Folly and Glory.
Fall Of Thanes, by Brian Ruckley. Third book in a gritty, uncompromising trilogy. I'm constantly amazed at the lukewarm reception this series has garnered. It's so well written. I will buy anything he publishes.
The Field, by Lynne McTaggert. I'm not a hundred pages into it, but I feel like I've learned about a thousand pages worth. Dense, thought provoking -- rather than daydreaming about silly things that involve people I know in absurd situations, basketball, or sex, I've been pondering the nature of existence, thanks to this book.
Sasquatch, by John Green. A thick, well documented, casebook of all things Bigfoot. Green is one of the elder statesman of Bigfoot research, and because of his background in journalism, probably the best writer of the bunch. This book is considered to be the bible of the subject.
There are other books I've been chipping away at, but these are the ones I go to the most often.
All this talk of Rondo and Ray Allen being traded is making me wonder if the rumors are legit. Hate to see them go, especially Rondo because he's so unique and young.
Better go watch Six Feet Under so I can send the disc on it's way back to Netflix. Been a while since I've had something new arrive.
I think I'd like Bob Dylan about forty percent more if his albums, especially the early ones, didn't have harmonica on them. I know it's sacrilege to criticize the man in some circles, but his harmonica playing stinks. Harmonica, when played well, sounds good, but overall, it's not, at least to my ears, a pleasing instrument. I just had Blond on Blond playing in the background and had to switch something else (David Crosby's fine debut) because I couldn't stand the harmonica. Maybe it's just me.
Books I'm currently reading:
By Sorrow's River, by Larry McMurtry. The third installment of the Berrybender Narratives. So, so good. Like candy. It's my lunch book and I'm almost through with it. I'll have to hit up Amazon for the fourth, and final book in the series, Folly and Glory.
Fall Of Thanes, by Brian Ruckley. Third book in a gritty, uncompromising trilogy. I'm constantly amazed at the lukewarm reception this series has garnered. It's so well written. I will buy anything he publishes.
The Field, by Lynne McTaggert. I'm not a hundred pages into it, but I feel like I've learned about a thousand pages worth. Dense, thought provoking -- rather than daydreaming about silly things that involve people I know in absurd situations, basketball, or sex, I've been pondering the nature of existence, thanks to this book.
Sasquatch, by John Green. A thick, well documented, casebook of all things Bigfoot. Green is one of the elder statesman of Bigfoot research, and because of his background in journalism, probably the best writer of the bunch. This book is considered to be the bible of the subject.
There are other books I've been chipping away at, but these are the ones I go to the most often.
All this talk of Rondo and Ray Allen being traded is making me wonder if the rumors are legit. Hate to see them go, especially Rondo because he's so unique and young.
Better go watch Six Feet Under so I can send the disc on it's way back to Netflix. Been a while since I've had something new arrive.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
And I dream of the girl with the sunshine eyes
Spent the entire day with my parents yesterday. I showed up at their door around eleven and we went up to Best Buy in Nashua to get a computer. It didn't take very long to accomplish. My parents let me do most of the talking and in short order we were loading the trunk with their new computer.
The only potential snag we faced was from my mother. She didn't like the key board that came with the computer they were buying. She felt the keys were too flat, not elevated like on the key board she uses at work. The salesman, who was polite and helpful, showed her the array of key boards she could purchase separately if she chose to. She found one she liked, but it was eighty dollars. It wasn't my money they were spending, but it seemed absurd to me that the slight difference in key height was worth eighty dollars to her. I voiced my objection.
"Mom, there's really not that much of a difference. How much typing do you think you'll be doing?"
"Not much, but I like what I'm used to."
"Obviously, it's your decision, but I think you'll adjust to the new keypad pretty quickly."
"I know, but I like what I'm used to."
"Why don't you try this one out, and if you still don't like it after a while, you can buy a different one. And I'm sure you can find one much cheaper, too."
She finally agreed. I'm not sure she would have gone ahead and bought a different key board; perhaps this was her way of exerting a little control in the buying process. They did purchase a printer/scanner, though, which I thought was a good idea, especially with the deal they were getting.
We went to the China Buffet in Lowell for lunch, a place, oddly enough, I was hoping they'd want to go to before I got to their house in the morning. I ate too much Chinese food in between telling my parents about my future plans. I hadn't planned on telling them -- only a few people know -- but they kind of forced my hand. They were happy and understood why I hadn't broadcast the news to all and sundry yet, especially when it's not quite news yet.
Back at their house, I set up the computer for them and showed them the basics, like using a mouse and opening and closing windows. They're not equipped with the Internet yet, so there was a limited amount of things I could show them. Probably for the better, because it was evident they were fairly overwhelmed.
We retired to the living room and talked for a while. I asked them about their their first apartment and what it was like building the house they still reside in. I like hearing about their past, before I was born, when I was somewhere and nowhere in the cosmos, drunk on ineffable bliss. And I like seeing the change in physiology when they summon the days when they were young, vibrant, and hopeful.
I left their house at dusk and stopped off at Barnes and Noble in Burlington to pick up Lynne McTaggert's book on quantum physics, The Field. In the spirit of the book, which speaks to the interconnectedness of the universe, I decided to see if I could find the book by letting my intuition find it for me. My rational mind figured it would be in the Science and Nature section, where most books on the subject reside. Instead, I found myself bee-lining towards the New Age section.
I perused the shelves and came up empty. I checked out the Science and Nature section, again coming up empty. I asked a clerk to look up the book for me. She told me it wasn't in stock, that it was out of print. Knowing it was release fairly recently and quite popular, I wondered if she was referring to the hard cover edition. Not wanting to criticize her, I asked whether they had any of McTaggert's other books in stock. She said they did, in the New Age section!
I went back to where I began my search and, after a few minutes of looking, I couldn't find anything written by her. I kept searching, though, and finally found her books, including The Field, the book I was told was out of print and out of stock. I passed the clerk on my way to the registers, but didn't rub her incompetence in her face. Pure hearted folk don't do that.
I'm about fifty pages into the book. Very well written -- McTaggert has a background in journalism and has published several books; she is a serious writer. Some of the subject matter is dense and not easy to grasp. Electromagnetic fields, electrons, zero point field, quarks, particles, waves....whew! I've delved into the subject before and am comfortable with it, but still, when it's thrown at you all at once, it's tough. But enjoyable and utterly fascinating. Our Newtonian concept of the world has become outdated, which is a good thing, because now we are back to being interwoven with every facet of life.
At Best Buy yesterday, I spotted Sean McAdam, a local sports writer and radio/TV personality. I saw him once before at Barnes and Noble in Burlington. I said to my dad, "If you can spot the local celebrity, I'll buy your computer for you." He looked around in vain. I pointed out McAdam to him, but he didn't know who he was. "This is the second time I've run into him", I said. " Anyway, looks like you'll be paying for your computer."
When I came home last night, I turned on the TV. Guess who the first person to appear on the screen was. Go ahead, guess. Sean McAdam! Coincidence? You be the judge.
Mara and I had lunch at the Rosebud in Davis. We originally met at Mr. Crepe, but she was craving a burger so we left, which was too bad because I love Mr. Crepe. Our waitress at Rosebud was a middle-aged women with her makeup pancaked on and an overwhelmed way about her. She rushed us through our orders, which was a little aggravating, and screwed up a bunch of little things. Mara and I both got cheddar burgers which arrived with no lettuce or tomatoes. Mara was famished and just wanted to eat, so I didn't say anything to our waitress. When I spotted mold on my bun, I decided I should say something.
When our waitress came around, I showed her the mold. "You might want to have them check the buns out back", I suggested.
"Oh, we will. I'll have them make you another burger."
What I really wanted was to have my meal comped, but I wasn't in the mood to cause a stink, so I told her another burger would be fine.
"Ok, I'll bring it back", she said. "You know, it's really not our fault. This type of thing happens all the time." She left before I could respond.
I looked at Mara increduosly. She smiled back. "That's not what I wanted to hear", I said.
"I know, but let's just leave it that. They're probably relieved you're not going ballistic."
"Aren't you proud of me for not making you feel bad about leaving Mr. Crepes, where they would never present moldy crepes to their customers?"
"Oh, you are the best of the best," she said.
The waitress came back with my burger and thanked me for not causing a fuss. And again, she told me it wasn't their fault. "They have no way of knowing these things back there." Sorry, but I couldn't let that rest.
"Well, they can check to see if the bread has mold."
"Yeah, but the other buns in the bag didn't have mold, so, you know, they can't really tell."
"I would hope they'd look at what they're serving the public. I mean, it's not a huge deal, but I'm paying close to ten dollars for a hamburger, and I don't think it's unreasonable too expect it not to have mold on it." She seemed to understand and brought us our check. She got a good tip, despite the spotty service and bullshit excuse concerning the mold. I can't help being kind to my flock; it's why everyone calls me the King of Kings.
I tried to keep my voice level; I wasn't looking for an argument, but not saying anything would have been ridiculous. I probably should have demanded a comped meal the first time around, but I've worked in restaurants and know how hard it can be, so I'm more apt to let things slide, but c'mon, don't tell me it's not your fault my bread has mold on it.
We went to Mara's place after lunch and watched Wall-E. We both fell asleep at different intervals. Good movie, but I thought it could have gone in a different direction. Two movies I want to see: Away We Go and Moon, in case you were wondering where to take me for my birthday.
Okay, time to do other stuff.
The only potential snag we faced was from my mother. She didn't like the key board that came with the computer they were buying. She felt the keys were too flat, not elevated like on the key board she uses at work. The salesman, who was polite and helpful, showed her the array of key boards she could purchase separately if she chose to. She found one she liked, but it was eighty dollars. It wasn't my money they were spending, but it seemed absurd to me that the slight difference in key height was worth eighty dollars to her. I voiced my objection.
"Mom, there's really not that much of a difference. How much typing do you think you'll be doing?"
"Not much, but I like what I'm used to."
"Obviously, it's your decision, but I think you'll adjust to the new keypad pretty quickly."
"I know, but I like what I'm used to."
"Why don't you try this one out, and if you still don't like it after a while, you can buy a different one. And I'm sure you can find one much cheaper, too."
She finally agreed. I'm not sure she would have gone ahead and bought a different key board; perhaps this was her way of exerting a little control in the buying process. They did purchase a printer/scanner, though, which I thought was a good idea, especially with the deal they were getting.
We went to the China Buffet in Lowell for lunch, a place, oddly enough, I was hoping they'd want to go to before I got to their house in the morning. I ate too much Chinese food in between telling my parents about my future plans. I hadn't planned on telling them -- only a few people know -- but they kind of forced my hand. They were happy and understood why I hadn't broadcast the news to all and sundry yet, especially when it's not quite news yet.
Back at their house, I set up the computer for them and showed them the basics, like using a mouse and opening and closing windows. They're not equipped with the Internet yet, so there was a limited amount of things I could show them. Probably for the better, because it was evident they were fairly overwhelmed.
We retired to the living room and talked for a while. I asked them about their their first apartment and what it was like building the house they still reside in. I like hearing about their past, before I was born, when I was somewhere and nowhere in the cosmos, drunk on ineffable bliss. And I like seeing the change in physiology when they summon the days when they were young, vibrant, and hopeful.
I left their house at dusk and stopped off at Barnes and Noble in Burlington to pick up Lynne McTaggert's book on quantum physics, The Field. In the spirit of the book, which speaks to the interconnectedness of the universe, I decided to see if I could find the book by letting my intuition find it for me. My rational mind figured it would be in the Science and Nature section, where most books on the subject reside. Instead, I found myself bee-lining towards the New Age section.
I perused the shelves and came up empty. I checked out the Science and Nature section, again coming up empty. I asked a clerk to look up the book for me. She told me it wasn't in stock, that it was out of print. Knowing it was release fairly recently and quite popular, I wondered if she was referring to the hard cover edition. Not wanting to criticize her, I asked whether they had any of McTaggert's other books in stock. She said they did, in the New Age section!
I went back to where I began my search and, after a few minutes of looking, I couldn't find anything written by her. I kept searching, though, and finally found her books, including The Field, the book I was told was out of print and out of stock. I passed the clerk on my way to the registers, but didn't rub her incompetence in her face. Pure hearted folk don't do that.
I'm about fifty pages into the book. Very well written -- McTaggert has a background in journalism and has published several books; she is a serious writer. Some of the subject matter is dense and not easy to grasp. Electromagnetic fields, electrons, zero point field, quarks, particles, waves....whew! I've delved into the subject before and am comfortable with it, but still, when it's thrown at you all at once, it's tough. But enjoyable and utterly fascinating. Our Newtonian concept of the world has become outdated, which is a good thing, because now we are back to being interwoven with every facet of life.
At Best Buy yesterday, I spotted Sean McAdam, a local sports writer and radio/TV personality. I saw him once before at Barnes and Noble in Burlington. I said to my dad, "If you can spot the local celebrity, I'll buy your computer for you." He looked around in vain. I pointed out McAdam to him, but he didn't know who he was. "This is the second time I've run into him", I said. " Anyway, looks like you'll be paying for your computer."
When I came home last night, I turned on the TV. Guess who the first person to appear on the screen was. Go ahead, guess. Sean McAdam! Coincidence? You be the judge.
Mara and I had lunch at the Rosebud in Davis. We originally met at Mr. Crepe, but she was craving a burger so we left, which was too bad because I love Mr. Crepe. Our waitress at Rosebud was a middle-aged women with her makeup pancaked on and an overwhelmed way about her. She rushed us through our orders, which was a little aggravating, and screwed up a bunch of little things. Mara and I both got cheddar burgers which arrived with no lettuce or tomatoes. Mara was famished and just wanted to eat, so I didn't say anything to our waitress. When I spotted mold on my bun, I decided I should say something.
When our waitress came around, I showed her the mold. "You might want to have them check the buns out back", I suggested.
"Oh, we will. I'll have them make you another burger."
What I really wanted was to have my meal comped, but I wasn't in the mood to cause a stink, so I told her another burger would be fine.
"Ok, I'll bring it back", she said. "You know, it's really not our fault. This type of thing happens all the time." She left before I could respond.
I looked at Mara increduosly. She smiled back. "That's not what I wanted to hear", I said.
"I know, but let's just leave it that. They're probably relieved you're not going ballistic."
"Aren't you proud of me for not making you feel bad about leaving Mr. Crepes, where they would never present moldy crepes to their customers?"
"Oh, you are the best of the best," she said.
The waitress came back with my burger and thanked me for not causing a fuss. And again, she told me it wasn't their fault. "They have no way of knowing these things back there." Sorry, but I couldn't let that rest.
"Well, they can check to see if the bread has mold."
"Yeah, but the other buns in the bag didn't have mold, so, you know, they can't really tell."
"I would hope they'd look at what they're serving the public. I mean, it's not a huge deal, but I'm paying close to ten dollars for a hamburger, and I don't think it's unreasonable too expect it not to have mold on it." She seemed to understand and brought us our check. She got a good tip, despite the spotty service and bullshit excuse concerning the mold. I can't help being kind to my flock; it's why everyone calls me the King of Kings.
I tried to keep my voice level; I wasn't looking for an argument, but not saying anything would have been ridiculous. I probably should have demanded a comped meal the first time around, but I've worked in restaurants and know how hard it can be, so I'm more apt to let things slide, but c'mon, don't tell me it's not your fault my bread has mold on it.
We went to Mara's place after lunch and watched Wall-E. We both fell asleep at different intervals. Good movie, but I thought it could have gone in a different direction. Two movies I want to see: Away We Go and Moon, in case you were wondering where to take me for my birthday.
Okay, time to do other stuff.
Friday, June 19, 2009
If I were a cinnamon peeler, I would ride your bed and leave the yellow bark dust on your pillow
Just got back from Lemon Thai with Luke Warm. I had already eaten when he called to say he was in town and suggested we get dinner, but it's not often he's in town, so I went along for the ride. We split an appetizer of Curry dumplings. They were tasty and, to borrow a line from Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about tha-yat, or that, for those of you who have a difficult time with phonetic renderings.
At the restaurant, Luke Warm was assaulted with a welter of text messages from Foley. I may have shared the following in a previous post, but if I haven't, I'll do so now: Foley loves to text. A lot of people do. I've been positively awestruck at all the callers in support of text messaging I've been hearing on talk radio while driving to work in the morning. I consider my level of intelligence to be slightly above average, which I believe is a fair assessment. But you know, that's not such an achievement when you consider the people I'm smarter than, the likes of which think typing while driving is a reasonable thing to do. I recall a Simpsons episode in which Homer installs an Easy-Bake Oven in his car and bakes while driving. Absurd, but not so far from where we're at.
Anyway, Foley texted Luke Warm a bunch as we talked about Fourth of July plans, our parents, the Rondo trade talks, and how Luke Warm's not helping his chances with the man upstairs by choosing not to go to the animal shelter and work alongside his dad. He's sinning twice: He's opting not to spend some quality time with his dear ol' dad and, even worse, he's turning his back on the cutest and cuddliest of God's creatures. If Luke Warm were running for office, I'd hurry up and get a job at a newspaper just so that I could could run an article on the first page with the monolithic headline, "LOCAL MAN RUNNING FOR OFFICE WANTS YOU TO THINK HE'S ALL SWEET AND NICE AND CARING, BUT HE'S NOT BECAUSE HE'D RATHER DO ANYTHING ELSE THAN HELP OUT NEEDY ANIMALS AND SPEND TIME WITH HIS FATHER, WHO REALLY IS SWEET AND NICE AND CARING. WHAT A GOD-DAMNED SON OF A BITCH LUKE WARM IS!
--
In the last year or so, I've noticed an advancement in one aspect of male hygiene: post pee hand washing (I'm leaving number two out of the equation because, thank God, I'm rarely in the bathroom with stall-bound men). Because we aren't equipped with a rest room in our office at work, we use the public ones downstairs. Consequently, I've seen a lot of guys peeing (there's no way to make that sound less gross) and bear witness, on a regular basis, to their level of cleanliness. Surprisingly, about ninety five percent of them wash their hands thoroughly after they finish their business. And I mean thoroughly! It's as if they're about to perform surgery. On more than one occasion, a guy has been washing his hands when I enter the bathroom and is still washing them when I begin washing my own.
Please don't get the wrong impression -- I'm not standing in the corner of the bathroom with a clip board and pencil, like some kind of bathroom statistician, but I have been observant, which is the duty of every American, especially after 9/11. Like the sign on the T says: "If You See Something, Report It". Anyway, I've just always assumed guys were filthy pigs in almost every way.
I don't wash my hands as assiduosly. I don't need to: my aim is usually true and there's not much hand washing that needs to be done. Still, I do a quick rinse anyway, to remind myself that I am no ill-begotten wretch, but a sophisticated, civilized gentleman.
So while it's reassuring to know people are washing up after expelling waste from their bodies, I have to wonder if they're doing so, often in excessive fashion, not out of a sense of propriety, but because they're sloppy pee-ers. Maybe they're pissing all over their hands, those hapless louts, and, unlike me, the dean of pristine, really need to wash up once the damage has been done.
I wonder if these same guys are as cleanly after beating off. Even though they've just been beating their dicks like they owe them money for a much longer clip than when they pee -- ball sweat and cum run-off all over at least one of their hands -- I can tell you with certainty that they get nowhere near a sink. They should-we all should- but I just don't think it happens. Probably because no one has the ambition to do much of anything post coitus.
Wow, didn't expect to take things in that direction. To those of you who took offense, I apologize. And sympathize, because I offended myself, too.
Well, I certainly can't get into zoophelia now. Too much, too much. Guess it'll have to wait for another day.
On a not really related note, I'll be helping my parents pick out their very first computer tomorrow. I'm legitimately excited. I think they're the only people I know who have a primitive understanding of computers and the Internet. I'm going to have to teach them how to use a mouse. I'm hardly a computer geek -- there are many six year olds more up to speed than me --so this experience should stroke my ego. And, they're taking me out to lunch. So, free lunch!
--
Tom O'Bedlam, a man who eloquently reads poetry on YouTube, recently had his recitation of "The Cinnamon Peeler" banned because, in the collage of visuals that accompanied the poem, there appeared a black and white photo of a woman with an exposed breast. With the prompting of Roger Ebert, who was outraged, and rightfully so, at this development, YouTube reinstated the video. To their credit, they did the right thing, but it never should have been banned in the first place. There was nothing pornographic about the picture or the poem. There are thousands of videos littered all over the site depicting brutal street fights and other acts of violence, but show a tit and game over, son!
In an effort to show I am not the dull, unsophisticated, brute I portray myself to be, I present to you "The Cinnamon Peeler", as read by Tom O' Bedlam.
At the restaurant, Luke Warm was assaulted with a welter of text messages from Foley. I may have shared the following in a previous post, but if I haven't, I'll do so now: Foley loves to text. A lot of people do. I've been positively awestruck at all the callers in support of text messaging I've been hearing on talk radio while driving to work in the morning. I consider my level of intelligence to be slightly above average, which I believe is a fair assessment. But you know, that's not such an achievement when you consider the people I'm smarter than, the likes of which think typing while driving is a reasonable thing to do. I recall a Simpsons episode in which Homer installs an Easy-Bake Oven in his car and bakes while driving. Absurd, but not so far from where we're at.
Anyway, Foley texted Luke Warm a bunch as we talked about Fourth of July plans, our parents, the Rondo trade talks, and how Luke Warm's not helping his chances with the man upstairs by choosing not to go to the animal shelter and work alongside his dad. He's sinning twice: He's opting not to spend some quality time with his dear ol' dad and, even worse, he's turning his back on the cutest and cuddliest of God's creatures. If Luke Warm were running for office, I'd hurry up and get a job at a newspaper just so that I could could run an article on the first page with the monolithic headline, "LOCAL MAN RUNNING FOR OFFICE WANTS YOU TO THINK HE'S ALL SWEET AND NICE AND CARING, BUT HE'S NOT BECAUSE HE'D RATHER DO ANYTHING ELSE THAN HELP OUT NEEDY ANIMALS AND SPEND TIME WITH HIS FATHER, WHO REALLY IS SWEET AND NICE AND CARING. WHAT A GOD-DAMNED SON OF A BITCH LUKE WARM IS!
--
In the last year or so, I've noticed an advancement in one aspect of male hygiene: post pee hand washing (I'm leaving number two out of the equation because, thank God, I'm rarely in the bathroom with stall-bound men). Because we aren't equipped with a rest room in our office at work, we use the public ones downstairs. Consequently, I've seen a lot of guys peeing (there's no way to make that sound less gross) and bear witness, on a regular basis, to their level of cleanliness. Surprisingly, about ninety five percent of them wash their hands thoroughly after they finish their business. And I mean thoroughly! It's as if they're about to perform surgery. On more than one occasion, a guy has been washing his hands when I enter the bathroom and is still washing them when I begin washing my own.
Please don't get the wrong impression -- I'm not standing in the corner of the bathroom with a clip board and pencil, like some kind of bathroom statistician, but I have been observant, which is the duty of every American, especially after 9/11. Like the sign on the T says: "If You See Something, Report It". Anyway, I've just always assumed guys were filthy pigs in almost every way.
I don't wash my hands as assiduosly. I don't need to: my aim is usually true and there's not much hand washing that needs to be done. Still, I do a quick rinse anyway, to remind myself that I am no ill-begotten wretch, but a sophisticated, civilized gentleman.
So while it's reassuring to know people are washing up after expelling waste from their bodies, I have to wonder if they're doing so, often in excessive fashion, not out of a sense of propriety, but because they're sloppy pee-ers. Maybe they're pissing all over their hands, those hapless louts, and, unlike me, the dean of pristine, really need to wash up once the damage has been done.
I wonder if these same guys are as cleanly after beating off. Even though they've just been beating their dicks like they owe them money for a much longer clip than when they pee -- ball sweat and cum run-off all over at least one of their hands -- I can tell you with certainty that they get nowhere near a sink. They should-we all should- but I just don't think it happens. Probably because no one has the ambition to do much of anything post coitus.
Wow, didn't expect to take things in that direction. To those of you who took offense, I apologize. And sympathize, because I offended myself, too.
Well, I certainly can't get into zoophelia now. Too much, too much. Guess it'll have to wait for another day.
On a not really related note, I'll be helping my parents pick out their very first computer tomorrow. I'm legitimately excited. I think they're the only people I know who have a primitive understanding of computers and the Internet. I'm going to have to teach them how to use a mouse. I'm hardly a computer geek -- there are many six year olds more up to speed than me --so this experience should stroke my ego. And, they're taking me out to lunch. So, free lunch!
--
Tom O'Bedlam, a man who eloquently reads poetry on YouTube, recently had his recitation of "The Cinnamon Peeler" banned because, in the collage of visuals that accompanied the poem, there appeared a black and white photo of a woman with an exposed breast. With the prompting of Roger Ebert, who was outraged, and rightfully so, at this development, YouTube reinstated the video. To their credit, they did the right thing, but it never should have been banned in the first place. There was nothing pornographic about the picture or the poem. There are thousands of videos littered all over the site depicting brutal street fights and other acts of violence, but show a tit and game over, son!
In an effort to show I am not the dull, unsophisticated, brute I portray myself to be, I present to you "The Cinnamon Peeler", as read by Tom O' Bedlam.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
His reserve a quiet defense, riding out the day's events
Sweaty. That is me right now. Wasn't going to go for a run tonight, but the tasty imported pizza I had for dinner changed my mind. I felt sluggish and bloated for about a half hour after I ate. And guilty. My body didn't deserve that pizza; I sat at a desk all day. I only ran a mile and a half, but my pace was much quicker than usual.
Oh, short post tonight, so once again you will be deprived of my thoughts on zoophelia. Soon, dear readers, soon.
I popped my Six Feet Under cherry last night. So, was I blown away by the show like most people I know who've seen it? No. Mind you, it was only one episode, and the pilot to boot, so until I get at least several more episodes under my belt, I won't be able to offer a fair assessment. I will say that I enjoyed it and if I was forced to grade it, I'd give it a B-.
Know what? I'm sweaty. Didn't I mention that already? Yup, I did. And I'm tired, too. I'm offer to take a soak and then I'll work on music. If time permits, I hope to finish Chopra's Life After Death. Oh, and no matter what you say, I'm going to meditate at some point.
One last thing: OBAMA CAUGHT A FLY!!!!!! My fucking hero. Glad it made headline news everywhere because, you know, that stuff is important. To be fair, though, catching a fly is not easy. The only one I know who's mastered the art is Baby Boy Z. And that rascal uses his mouth, son!
Ok, I'm still here. Twice now, I've made my way downstairs to use the shower and each time Rich has snuck in the bathroom before me. He was just there five minutes ago! Guess he didn't finish the job the first time. One day, I'd like to spend an hour or so and interview him about his ABSOLUTELY FUCKED UP bathroom habits!! He's like a character in a David Lynch film with all these shenanigans, most of which I won't divulge here because of time constraints. So bizzare. Anyway, he's still in there, doing whatever it is that he does, while I'm sitting here perplexed and sweaty. I'll tell you one thing: I am going to tread VERY carefully when I enter the bathroom. Some of you know what I'm talking about. Oh, he's out. Better haul my ass down those stairs before he decides to make this a trilogy. Wish me luck!
Oh, short post tonight, so once again you will be deprived of my thoughts on zoophelia. Soon, dear readers, soon.
I popped my Six Feet Under cherry last night. So, was I blown away by the show like most people I know who've seen it? No. Mind you, it was only one episode, and the pilot to boot, so until I get at least several more episodes under my belt, I won't be able to offer a fair assessment. I will say that I enjoyed it and if I was forced to grade it, I'd give it a B-.
Know what? I'm sweaty. Didn't I mention that already? Yup, I did. And I'm tired, too. I'm offer to take a soak and then I'll work on music. If time permits, I hope to finish Chopra's Life After Death. Oh, and no matter what you say, I'm going to meditate at some point.
One last thing: OBAMA CAUGHT A FLY!!!!!! My fucking hero. Glad it made headline news everywhere because, you know, that stuff is important. To be fair, though, catching a fly is not easy. The only one I know who's mastered the art is Baby Boy Z. And that rascal uses his mouth, son!
Ok, I'm still here. Twice now, I've made my way downstairs to use the shower and each time Rich has snuck in the bathroom before me. He was just there five minutes ago! Guess he didn't finish the job the first time. One day, I'd like to spend an hour or so and interview him about his ABSOLUTELY FUCKED UP bathroom habits!! He's like a character in a David Lynch film with all these shenanigans, most of which I won't divulge here because of time constraints. So bizzare. Anyway, he's still in there, doing whatever it is that he does, while I'm sitting here perplexed and sweaty. I'll tell you one thing: I am going to tread VERY carefully when I enter the bathroom. Some of you know what I'm talking about. Oh, he's out. Better haul my ass down those stairs before he decides to make this a trilogy. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Now the tears, they fall like rain, I'm alone again without you
A good day for a run. So guess what I did when I came home from work?Yes, I went for a run. See how astute you are? I didn't have to bother holding your hand through that one. The run was shorter than usual due to sore calf muscles. Why they were sore, I do not know, but what I do know is that I woke up the other night with one of my calves cramping up. This happens sometimes and usually corrects itself, but this time the muscle was not cooperating. After about a minute of vise-grip pain, my leg returned to its former loose self. Could that incident be linked to my sore calves today? You're right: not likely.
Janelle and Baby Boy Z were on their way out the door when I returned from my run. Call me a softy --better yet, call me a soft, cowardly, booster-seat bound, fancy lad, if you wish -- but I miss them already. Well, they're missing out; I was going to let Janelle buy me dinner tonight-- some place fancy -- and afterward I was going let Baby Boy beat me in chess. He went one for three last time, but what do you expect? He's a dog.
Oh well, guess there's nothing for it but to phone up an escort and use Janelle's bed as a wrestling mat for the next several days. It will be an expensive venture -- will surely empty the coffers -- but what else am I going to do. Well, I guess there's always the soup kitchen, but after seeing an ant on the floor the last time I was there, I'm not keen on going back any time soon.
I made myself laugh out loud in the parking lot after work. For some reason I was thinking about the Sweat Hogs, the not-so intimidating gang of youths that appeared in Welcome Back, Kotter. I have no recollection of how it came to be that I started thinking about them, but I went with it. What made me laugh was the idea of there actually being a sweat hog and how unappealing it would be as food. If I saw that on the menu at a restaurant, I'd probably bypass it. Who knows, maybe if I was offered it with robust enthusiasm...
"What are your specials tonight, my good man?"
"We have only one special this evening."
"Oh, my! Do tell."
"Sweat hog, sir! We have sweat hog, tender and laden with sweat. On my honor, you will not be dissapointed."
"Yummers! Sweat hog it is."
Been swirling this around my head over the last few days: I am the observer, I am the observed, I am the process of observing. It has made for a nice twist in perspective. To that end, I'm going to pick up Lynn McTaggert's The Field: The Quest For The Secret Force In The Universe. I've had my mind blown already by some of the advances in physics lately, and I expect to have it blown further after reading this book. Hear it's very good. We'll see.
Been watching old episodes of The Office, one of my favorite shows ever. If anyone ever asks you what my opinion of the first three seasons is, you tell them I think they're brilliant. And if they ask you if I think the quality dropped after season three, you tell them I most certainly do, with the proviso that I still think it's a very funny show. Here's a little gem from season two:
Michael Scott: And, even though we're still a family here at Dunder-Mifflin, families grow. And, at some point, the daddy can't take a bath with the kids anymore. I am upper management, and it would be inappropriate for me to take a bath with Pam, as much as I might want to.
Damn! I meant to devote this post to zoophelia, but I forgot. I can tell you're devastated.
Janelle and Baby Boy Z were on their way out the door when I returned from my run. Call me a softy --better yet, call me a soft, cowardly, booster-seat bound, fancy lad, if you wish -- but I miss them already. Well, they're missing out; I was going to let Janelle buy me dinner tonight-- some place fancy -- and afterward I was going let Baby Boy beat me in chess. He went one for three last time, but what do you expect? He's a dog.
Oh well, guess there's nothing for it but to phone up an escort and use Janelle's bed as a wrestling mat for the next several days. It will be an expensive venture -- will surely empty the coffers -- but what else am I going to do. Well, I guess there's always the soup kitchen, but after seeing an ant on the floor the last time I was there, I'm not keen on going back any time soon.
I made myself laugh out loud in the parking lot after work. For some reason I was thinking about the Sweat Hogs, the not-so intimidating gang of youths that appeared in Welcome Back, Kotter. I have no recollection of how it came to be that I started thinking about them, but I went with it. What made me laugh was the idea of there actually being a sweat hog and how unappealing it would be as food. If I saw that on the menu at a restaurant, I'd probably bypass it. Who knows, maybe if I was offered it with robust enthusiasm...
"What are your specials tonight, my good man?"
"We have only one special this evening."
"Oh, my! Do tell."
"Sweat hog, sir! We have sweat hog, tender and laden with sweat. On my honor, you will not be dissapointed."
"Yummers! Sweat hog it is."
Been swirling this around my head over the last few days: I am the observer, I am the observed, I am the process of observing. It has made for a nice twist in perspective. To that end, I'm going to pick up Lynn McTaggert's The Field: The Quest For The Secret Force In The Universe. I've had my mind blown already by some of the advances in physics lately, and I expect to have it blown further after reading this book. Hear it's very good. We'll see.
Been watching old episodes of The Office, one of my favorite shows ever. If anyone ever asks you what my opinion of the first three seasons is, you tell them I think they're brilliant. And if they ask you if I think the quality dropped after season three, you tell them I most certainly do, with the proviso that I still think it's a very funny show. Here's a little gem from season two:
Michael Scott: And, even though we're still a family here at Dunder-Mifflin, families grow. And, at some point, the daddy can't take a bath with the kids anymore. I am upper management, and it would be inappropriate for me to take a bath with Pam, as much as I might want to.
Damn! I meant to devote this post to zoophelia, but I forgot. I can tell you're devastated.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Scarred old slaver know hes doin alright, hear him whip the women just around midnight
An eventful weekend. I spent Friday evening rehearsing between reading and meditating. Most of the songs I had slated for my set were new and needed lyrics. Could have thrown in some older songs to make my life easier, but I really wanted to play the new ones live.
Went to my parent's house Saturday morning to attend my mother's birthday party. My sister was there with her kids and their attendant . It was a nice visit, but I wanted to get back and finish assembling the songs I didn't complete the night before. We had pizza for lunch and birthday cake for dessert.( An aside before I continue: Over the last several years, I've noticed a lot of cakes are being topped with that light, chemical-ey, stuff I hesitate to call frosting. My family was pretty vocal yesterday about how good the cake was, frosting and all, which made me consider the possibility that I was adopted, because the cake was disgusting. How hard is it to make a tasty cake? Bring me back to the days when frosting was rich, thick, and heavy. And natural!)
I came home later that afternoon, later than I intended, and set myself to work. I didn't pressure myself too much, especially considering the gig later that night was going to be pretty low key, with short sets for the performers. I did what I could and about a half hour before I needed to leave, I did a run through of the songs. It wasn't pretty, but I was confident once I got on stage, things would go well, as often is the case.
Janelle and I headed over to P.A.'s in the nick of time. I was scheduled to be the first performer and was there only about ten minutes before I was summoned to the stage to do a quick sound check before my performance. I was relieved there was a sound guy and a decent p.a. was going to be used. I liked the room, too, which was separate from the bar and it's attendant commotion.
I was pleased with my set. I was also pleased with the reception I got. Expecting a lot of chatter while I played, I didn't notice any. When I first began playing, some people were talking, but soon they grew quiet, attentive. You can't ask for anything more as a performer. I could also hear myself, which was an added treat.
Foley and Luke Warm played a short set after me. They sounded great. I won't slag the performers I didn't like, but I will say, and maybe this is because I'm biased, my favorite performers of the night were my friends.
Luke Warm crashed at our place. We hung out for a while before sleep started to overtake him. Spira and Brad came over this morning and we had a big, tasty breakfast of fruit, eggs, home made waffles, bacon, and sausage. It was good having everyone together.
We found out this morning from a neighbor that our landlord is in the hospital. She fell the other night and called her brother, who in turn called her an ambulance. She needed to go to the hospital anyway, because her feet have been purple and swollen recently. She resisted people's pleas for her to see a doctor, so perhaps her fall was a blessing in disguise. Hope she fares well.
Watched Harold & Maude with Mara this afternoon. I hadn't seen it before, a fact most people have been rendered incredulous upon hearing. I liked it quite a bit, but probably won't ever have the passion many others have for the movie.
I am tired. Might watch an episode of Six Feet Under, a show I've never seen, which, as with Harold and Maude, surprises people when I tell them. That show has its fans, to be sure. I might end up just reading and hitting the hay a little earlier than usual.
Went to my parent's house Saturday morning to attend my mother's birthday party. My sister was there with her kids and their attendant . It was a nice visit, but I wanted to get back and finish assembling the songs I didn't complete the night before. We had pizza for lunch and birthday cake for dessert.( An aside before I continue: Over the last several years, I've noticed a lot of cakes are being topped with that light, chemical-ey, stuff I hesitate to call frosting. My family was pretty vocal yesterday about how good the cake was, frosting and all, which made me consider the possibility that I was adopted, because the cake was disgusting. How hard is it to make a tasty cake? Bring me back to the days when frosting was rich, thick, and heavy. And natural!)
I came home later that afternoon, later than I intended, and set myself to work. I didn't pressure myself too much, especially considering the gig later that night was going to be pretty low key, with short sets for the performers. I did what I could and about a half hour before I needed to leave, I did a run through of the songs. It wasn't pretty, but I was confident once I got on stage, things would go well, as often is the case.
Janelle and I headed over to P.A.'s in the nick of time. I was scheduled to be the first performer and was there only about ten minutes before I was summoned to the stage to do a quick sound check before my performance. I was relieved there was a sound guy and a decent p.a. was going to be used. I liked the room, too, which was separate from the bar and it's attendant commotion.
I was pleased with my set. I was also pleased with the reception I got. Expecting a lot of chatter while I played, I didn't notice any. When I first began playing, some people were talking, but soon they grew quiet, attentive. You can't ask for anything more as a performer. I could also hear myself, which was an added treat.
Foley and Luke Warm played a short set after me. They sounded great. I won't slag the performers I didn't like, but I will say, and maybe this is because I'm biased, my favorite performers of the night were my friends.
Luke Warm crashed at our place. We hung out for a while before sleep started to overtake him. Spira and Brad came over this morning and we had a big, tasty breakfast of fruit, eggs, home made waffles, bacon, and sausage. It was good having everyone together.
We found out this morning from a neighbor that our landlord is in the hospital. She fell the other night and called her brother, who in turn called her an ambulance. She needed to go to the hospital anyway, because her feet have been purple and swollen recently. She resisted people's pleas for her to see a doctor, so perhaps her fall was a blessing in disguise. Hope she fares well.
Watched Harold & Maude with Mara this afternoon. I hadn't seen it before, a fact most people have been rendered incredulous upon hearing. I liked it quite a bit, but probably won't ever have the passion many others have for the movie.
I am tired. Might watch an episode of Six Feet Under, a show I've never seen, which, as with Harold and Maude, surprises people when I tell them. That show has its fans, to be sure. I might end up just reading and hitting the hay a little earlier than usual.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Shock me, make me feel better
A short post tonight. I've things that need tending to, not least of which is finishing up some songs for tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll make some headway in that regard.
I hope to devote a future post to zoophelia and my thoughts concerning it. I watched a documentary about the subject, Zoo, with Spira the other night. Disturbing, oddly touching, and provocative. So, if you dare, stay tuned for what will most certainly be a riveting post. If you've got a rigid mind and queasy gut, you'll do well to avoid it.
Felt pretty good today, more energetic and resourceful. The sun making its first appearance in several days helped matters. Sure, things still suck in some areas, but I'm feeling pretty good. Let's leave it at that, before I get all negative and shit.
Almost through Chopra's Life After Death. It's been indispensable, especially lately. The chapter on reincarnation was particularly illuminating.
I watched You Can Count On Me the other night. I've seen it several times and I learn something new with each viewing. A well written and well acted drama. See it if you have emotions.
Back to music. Peace.
I hope to devote a future post to zoophelia and my thoughts concerning it. I watched a documentary about the subject, Zoo, with Spira the other night. Disturbing, oddly touching, and provocative. So, if you dare, stay tuned for what will most certainly be a riveting post. If you've got a rigid mind and queasy gut, you'll do well to avoid it.
Felt pretty good today, more energetic and resourceful. The sun making its first appearance in several days helped matters. Sure, things still suck in some areas, but I'm feeling pretty good. Let's leave it at that, before I get all negative and shit.
Almost through Chopra's Life After Death. It's been indispensable, especially lately. The chapter on reincarnation was particularly illuminating.
I watched You Can Count On Me the other night. I've seen it several times and I learn something new with each viewing. A well written and well acted drama. See it if you have emotions.
Back to music. Peace.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I fell in love with the actress, she was playing a part I could understand
Been feeling knotted up, tense. Not such a recent development, but lately it's been pretty rough. Reading in bed last night, I was alarmed to discover a steady surge of tension had been coursing through my body almost the entire duration. I don't know what bothered me most: the fact that I was feeling that way for no apparent reason or the fact that it took me a while to notice. I laughed a "what the fuck?" laugh and determined to bring out the Zen.
I observed with detachment how I was feeling and soon felt better. To combat this tough patch in my life, which has been ongoing for a long time now, only less severe, I've been meditating at night. It has helped I've been able be clear headed enough to see that I can't continue like this, that if I do, I will surely meet my end, in one way or another. Fortunately, I'm pure of heart and wise like a rishi.
I've come to a decision, based on what I've been going through, that will change my life if I take the necessary steps. And when I say change my life, I mean for the better. This low point has the potential to be the impetus that spurs me to action. As things develop, I will divulge more.
An interesting time, to be sure, though I could do with out so much peril. A time also to learn who your friends are. There's at least one I've a mind to do without right now, but, overall, I'm lucky to have the friends I have, that endure all my nonsense.
Time to continue prepping for Saturday night. I've assembled a set list, which is all well and good, but a number of the songs are not finished. I'll get by: this is a casual affair and nothing to get to worked up over.
I observed with detachment how I was feeling and soon felt better. To combat this tough patch in my life, which has been ongoing for a long time now, only less severe, I've been meditating at night. It has helped I've been able be clear headed enough to see that I can't continue like this, that if I do, I will surely meet my end, in one way or another. Fortunately, I'm pure of heart and wise like a rishi.
I've come to a decision, based on what I've been going through, that will change my life if I take the necessary steps. And when I say change my life, I mean for the better. This low point has the potential to be the impetus that spurs me to action. As things develop, I will divulge more.
An interesting time, to be sure, though I could do with out so much peril. A time also to learn who your friends are. There's at least one I've a mind to do without right now, but, overall, I'm lucky to have the friends I have, that endure all my nonsense.
Time to continue prepping for Saturday night. I've assembled a set list, which is all well and good, but a number of the songs are not finished. I'll get by: this is a casual affair and nothing to get to worked up over.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Separate the ugly cares, you've married the muddy and clear.
Strange thing knowing someone doesn't like you. You feel a little befuddled, hurt. "How could someone not like me? What's not to like?" you ask yourself. I've been fortunate: I can only list a small amount of people that have disliked or dislike me(I'm referring to the ones I'm sure about; I'm certain there are plenty more who keep their feelings about me secret). In most examples, the feelings have been mutual and work related and based on clear-cut, fundamental differences. What I'm talking about, though, is when someone dislikes you even when, at least on paper, you would seem to make good allies. Sometimes it's as simple as looking like someone who beat them up in high school. And that is why, unless you're intent on forming a friendship, it's advisable to not dwell on the matter any longer than necessary. With that in mind...
I was going to workshop some psychological stuff I've been going through, but I've thought better of it. To do so would take multiple posts because, to fully explore the issues at hand, I'd be required to explore the underlying psychology, not only as it pertains to me, but of other people. I'm not up for doing that for a variety of reasons, not least of which has to do with not wanting that list of people who dislike me to grow substantially longer.
Picked up A Prayer For Owen Meany and a book of poems from the Romantic period at the Goodwill in Davis. Only two bucks. Take that, Kindle!
Therese was back at work today. Jeff had called her over the weekend, she said,and told her he'd like her to come back today, rather than later in the week, like originally planned. She recounted the Home Depot letter story that started this whole mess, but this time she told me she lied to Jeff when he saw she was writing an e mail to Home Depot. She told him she wasn't--she had minimized the window as soon as she was aware of his presence and hoped he wouldn't pursue the matter. But of course he did. He told her to maximize the window so he could see for himself what she was working on. She never had a chance.
As she was telling me this, I had images of a child, with crumbs on his face, denying he snuck a cookie from the cookie jar. She told me she was going to look for another job; Jeff was too severe, too strict. If you say so, Therese.
In line at the grocery store tonight, someone bumped the front of their carriage into my leg. It was Mara. She had an hour left with her Zip Car and wanted to get a bunch of groceries before she returned it. We sat on the bench by the exit and talked for a bit. She's been busy lately; our time together has been clipped, staggered. We've settled into a different phase of our relationship--a little closer, a little farther apart-- that's a touch bittersweet.
She cut short our conversation because of time constraints and went shopping. I walked out to my car and it wouldn't turn over. It's happened before -- this time, though, it took longer to turn over. That's been the way of things, I'm afraid.
I was going to workshop some psychological stuff I've been going through, but I've thought better of it. To do so would take multiple posts because, to fully explore the issues at hand, I'd be required to explore the underlying psychology, not only as it pertains to me, but of other people. I'm not up for doing that for a variety of reasons, not least of which has to do with not wanting that list of people who dislike me to grow substantially longer.
Picked up A Prayer For Owen Meany and a book of poems from the Romantic period at the Goodwill in Davis. Only two bucks. Take that, Kindle!
Therese was back at work today. Jeff had called her over the weekend, she said,and told her he'd like her to come back today, rather than later in the week, like originally planned. She recounted the Home Depot letter story that started this whole mess, but this time she told me she lied to Jeff when he saw she was writing an e mail to Home Depot. She told him she wasn't--she had minimized the window as soon as she was aware of his presence and hoped he wouldn't pursue the matter. But of course he did. He told her to maximize the window so he could see for himself what she was working on. She never had a chance.
As she was telling me this, I had images of a child, with crumbs on his face, denying he snuck a cookie from the cookie jar. She told me she was going to look for another job; Jeff was too severe, too strict. If you say so, Therese.
In line at the grocery store tonight, someone bumped the front of their carriage into my leg. It was Mara. She had an hour left with her Zip Car and wanted to get a bunch of groceries before she returned it. We sat on the bench by the exit and talked for a bit. She's been busy lately; our time together has been clipped, staggered. We've settled into a different phase of our relationship--a little closer, a little farther apart-- that's a touch bittersweet.
She cut short our conversation because of time constraints and went shopping. I walked out to my car and it wouldn't turn over. It's happened before -- this time, though, it took longer to turn over. That's been the way of things, I'm afraid.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
And they conjured spirits to make you smile
Near the end of the day yesterday, Therese stood next to me and whispered, "Jeff just came in and yelled at me." I didn't need her to elaborate to know that Jeff did not yell at her and was probably justified in scolding her. Therese has been in trouble before, usually because of her abuse of Jeff's email and cell phone use policy, which, I'll get to later.
"What happened?", I asked. I barely caught myself from adding the word "now" to the question. Make no mistake, Therese is a sweet, thoughtful, woman, but she's also her own worst enemy. She sometimes reminds me of Fredo from The Godfather.
"I was drafting a letter to Home Depot and Jeff caught me", she said.
"What did he say?"
"He told me to stop. I said I never do anything like this."
"How did he respond?"
"He said, 'Yes, you do' and left the room. I'm still in shock; I can't believe he spoke to me like that."
I thought back to the multiple times she's been spoken to about this type of thing and, though I knew she was hoping for me to say something like, "What an asshole, yelling at you over nothing!", all I cold muster was "Guess you'll have to keep your nose clean for awhile until this blows over."
"I guess. I don't know, I think he overreacted. "
I don't think so. Jeff has been explicit about not wanting his employees to be using their cell phones or reading and writing personal emails, unless there was an emergency. He's expressed this verbally and through e-mails. In my opinion, it's not too much to ask. I had to deal with that nonsense when I was managing at Taylor. How hard is it to stay away from your cell phone and not write e-mails for several hours a day?
Jeff called Therese into his office this morning. I was at the printer when she came out a few minutes later. She hurried to her desk and muttered something about being fired over an e-mail, that she had done it to herself." She shut her computer down, collected some things, and proceeded to leave, not before stopping in to see Jeff for a few more minutes.
While she was with him, Ellen and I exchanged confused glances, though, as I was about to find out, Ellen knew a lot more about what just happened than I did. "I told her not to write that e-mail", she said.
"The Home Depot one?"
"No, after Jeff spoke to her yesterday, she sent Diane (a coworker) and e-mail about the incident."
"Right after?"
"About twenty minutes after. I told her not to do it, that she'd get caught, but she went ahead and did it, anyway."
"She was going to see Diane today; couldn't she have waited?"
"Or she could have just called her or e-mailed her after work."
"Shit. So, obviously Jeff saw the e-mail."
"Yup, and poor Diane is caught in the middle of it", she said.
Therese exited Jeff's office and left without saying a word to anyone. I found out from Ellen that she was told not to come back until next Wednesday. Jeff must have softened his stance when she met up with him the second time. We'll see what happens. Therese was right about one thing: she did it to herself.
--
It feels like multiple aspects of my life are set to crumble. The question is, which aspect will crumble first? Or will it happen all at once? Ah, who knows what will happen.
--
There's more to say, but I'll have to get to it another time. I'm wiped .
"What happened?", I asked. I barely caught myself from adding the word "now" to the question. Make no mistake, Therese is a sweet, thoughtful, woman, but she's also her own worst enemy. She sometimes reminds me of Fredo from The Godfather.
"I was drafting a letter to Home Depot and Jeff caught me", she said.
"What did he say?"
"He told me to stop. I said I never do anything like this."
"How did he respond?"
"He said, 'Yes, you do' and left the room. I'm still in shock; I can't believe he spoke to me like that."
I thought back to the multiple times she's been spoken to about this type of thing and, though I knew she was hoping for me to say something like, "What an asshole, yelling at you over nothing!", all I cold muster was "Guess you'll have to keep your nose clean for awhile until this blows over."
"I guess. I don't know, I think he overreacted. "
I don't think so. Jeff has been explicit about not wanting his employees to be using their cell phones or reading and writing personal emails, unless there was an emergency. He's expressed this verbally and through e-mails. In my opinion, it's not too much to ask. I had to deal with that nonsense when I was managing at Taylor. How hard is it to stay away from your cell phone and not write e-mails for several hours a day?
Jeff called Therese into his office this morning. I was at the printer when she came out a few minutes later. She hurried to her desk and muttered something about being fired over an e-mail, that she had done it to herself." She shut her computer down, collected some things, and proceeded to leave, not before stopping in to see Jeff for a few more minutes.
While she was with him, Ellen and I exchanged confused glances, though, as I was about to find out, Ellen knew a lot more about what just happened than I did. "I told her not to write that e-mail", she said.
"The Home Depot one?"
"No, after Jeff spoke to her yesterday, she sent Diane (a coworker) and e-mail about the incident."
"Right after?"
"About twenty minutes after. I told her not to do it, that she'd get caught, but she went ahead and did it, anyway."
"She was going to see Diane today; couldn't she have waited?"
"Or she could have just called her or e-mailed her after work."
"Shit. So, obviously Jeff saw the e-mail."
"Yup, and poor Diane is caught in the middle of it", she said.
Therese exited Jeff's office and left without saying a word to anyone. I found out from Ellen that she was told not to come back until next Wednesday. Jeff must have softened his stance when she met up with him the second time. We'll see what happens. Therese was right about one thing: she did it to herself.
--
It feels like multiple aspects of my life are set to crumble. The question is, which aspect will crumble first? Or will it happen all at once? Ah, who knows what will happen.
--
There's more to say, but I'll have to get to it another time. I'm wiped .
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
And in the night of tiredness, let me fall asleep without fighting, trusting you, and trusting me, too
Took the T into Hay Market this morning and headed over to the courthouse. While in line to record my documents, I reviewed the many that needed to be recorded and hoped for a smooth transaction. I'm still new at this; the fewer snags the better.
The clerks all looked to be jovial and well-mannered . That was reassuring. When I was at the front of the line, a large African American woman emerged from a room behind the counter and bellowed,"Next in line go to the back room!", in a voice rich with authority and mild contempt.
This is not good, I thought to myself. I went where directed, knees wobbling and jaw trembling. There was no one else there. Once she realizes I'm a rookie at this and, consequently, mistake prone and ignorant, she'll be free to abuse me as severely as she sees fit; no one will bear witness to her crimes. I cursed my luck and handed over my documents to her.
"First of all, you don't have any self-addressed, stamped envelopes", she said in exasperation. "And you didn't put a return address on any of these documents!"
I didn't know I was supposed to address the documents, but the absent envelopes were on me: I had left them at work.
I shook my head. "They just threw all this stuff on me as I was leaving work yesterday. This is my first time doing this; I wish they would have been more thorough in explaining to me what needed to be done."
Okay, so I embellished, but I was scared, damnit! I needed her on my side. Fortunately, she allied herself with me once she realized it wasn't my fault, that I was just a patsy.
"They threw you to the wolves, didn't they?"
I nodded meekly.
"Well, don't worry about it. Go buy some stamps down the hall and I'll supply the envelope. And you can address the documents as I record them."
"Thanks for understanding", I said. I went and bought some stamps and the rest of the transaction went smoothly. I made sure to throw my work under the bus a couple of more times before I left.
Went for a run after work and it was tedious. I felt sluggish and stiff and wanted to stop several times. Later, back at the house, I took a cold shower and erased the run from my memory. They're not always going to invigorating.
--
I'd like a wife. I want to know what it feels like to love someone deeply and completely and to be loved the same in return. It seems I'll never have that, but what the fuck do I know about the future, about how my life will unfold? Know what? If I desire a wife, I will some day have a wife.
Simple as that.
The clerks all looked to be jovial and well-mannered . That was reassuring. When I was at the front of the line, a large African American woman emerged from a room behind the counter and bellowed,"Next in line go to the back room!", in a voice rich with authority and mild contempt.
This is not good, I thought to myself. I went where directed, knees wobbling and jaw trembling. There was no one else there. Once she realizes I'm a rookie at this and, consequently, mistake prone and ignorant, she'll be free to abuse me as severely as she sees fit; no one will bear witness to her crimes. I cursed my luck and handed over my documents to her.
"First of all, you don't have any self-addressed, stamped envelopes", she said in exasperation. "And you didn't put a return address on any of these documents!"
I didn't know I was supposed to address the documents, but the absent envelopes were on me: I had left them at work.
I shook my head. "They just threw all this stuff on me as I was leaving work yesterday. This is my first time doing this; I wish they would have been more thorough in explaining to me what needed to be done."
Okay, so I embellished, but I was scared, damnit! I needed her on my side. Fortunately, she allied herself with me once she realized it wasn't my fault, that I was just a patsy.
"They threw you to the wolves, didn't they?"
I nodded meekly.
"Well, don't worry about it. Go buy some stamps down the hall and I'll supply the envelope. And you can address the documents as I record them."
"Thanks for understanding", I said. I went and bought some stamps and the rest of the transaction went smoothly. I made sure to throw my work under the bus a couple of more times before I left.
Went for a run after work and it was tedious. I felt sluggish and stiff and wanted to stop several times. Later, back at the house, I took a cold shower and erased the run from my memory. They're not always going to invigorating.
--
I'd like a wife. I want to know what it feels like to love someone deeply and completely and to be loved the same in return. It seems I'll never have that, but what the fuck do I know about the future, about how my life will unfold? Know what? If I desire a wife, I will some day have a wife.
Simple as that.
Monday, June 1, 2009
And I want you and only you, let my heart say this over and over
Ok, The Happening.
With each new film, my faith that M. Night has another great movie in him diminishes like breath on a mirror. It's just about gone. O' Shyamalon, thy golden touch has been sullied, the muse a friend no more.
I knew, as I put the dvd in the player, there was at least an eighty percent chance I was going to strongly dislike this movie. We were great together, M. Night and me, but somewhere along the way, we grew apart. Somewhere around the release of The Village, as I recall.
The Sixth Sense came out of nowhere, held me firm in its grip, and filled me with endless glee at the prospect of more films with his signature. If I hadn't known it was his first, I would have guessed it was his fourth or fifth. It was a mature offering and hit all the right beats.
Unbreakable was just as good, but more ambitious; one of the best super hero movies ever. It never really found it's niche, mainly because it wasn't based on an existing super hero. After watching it the first time, I envisioned him going on to make other films in the genre, like a Batman or X Men installment. Didn't happen and, at this point, I don't believe it ever will.
Signs was next, a great film in my estimation, maybe his best, but to many, the first chink in the armor. The element of suspense never wanes with each viewing. I'll have to watch it again soon.
Then The Village. When I saw the trailer for it, I was as almost as excited as I was when I saw the one for Return Of The Jedi as a kid. But M. Night-- in a case self sabotage, I suspect--went ahead and embarrassed himself, his cast and crew, and his audience. The great Roger Ebert gave the movie one star and demolished it so thoroughly I knew there wasn't much hope it was going to be as good as the trailer indicated.
All M. Night had to do -- and this is so simple and obvious -- was make it so there really were demonic creatures stalking the woods at night. Oh, it would have been magnificent! He had the exact tone, the exact atmosphere, intact: all he had to do was come through with the script. But he got a little too cute, a little too crafty for his own good and it bit him in his ass.
I watched The Lady In The Water incrementally when it was playing on HBO one month (after hearing it was perhaps worse than The Village, I begged off seeing it for as long as I could, which meant, and this is sad to say, it wasn't even rental worthy -- Ouch!). What I saw was so foul and offensive, I decided not to attempt watching it in its entirety; I was afraid I'd have a stroke.
Ebert gave The Happening three stars, but noted he felt he was probably going to be in the minority. Not particularly encouraging, but I guessed it would at least be rental worthy. And, you know, it was, which is not to say it was good, because it wasn't. But it wasn't terrible, either. In fact, there were elements that bordered on being pretty good. Let's break it down.
Premise: Not bad. Plants rebelling against humans. Sure, why not. 8.0
Script: choppy, uncomfortable, lazy. 4.5
Casting: Mark Wahlberg killed in Boogie Nights. No hyperbole, here: he's a fine actor. Zooey
Deschanel is also a fine actor; so is John Leguzamo. The little girl, though, sucked.
She was a dry cryer and talk about wooden delivery! But, she was adorable. So, overall, pretty good job casting. 8.3
Acting: (see Script) I suspect Shayamalan may have played a hand in the poor acting, kind of like
the way George Lucas made it impossible for his actors to give natural, emotive,performances in his Star Wars films for the sake of stylization . But the acting was meant to pay homage the serial space operas of long ago. M. Night wasn't paying homage to anything but bad taste if he shaped the performances. And you know he did: he wrote and directed the damned movie! Saying that, I think Wahlberg was out of his element playing a soft elementary school teacher. Still, it's hard to blame the actors; I think they did the best they could withmaterial, but the game was rigged, they were destined to fail. 5.4
Score: Probably the best thing about the movie. 8.9
Directing: Oh, just shitty! You break my heart, M. Night. Where did the glory go? 3.0
I still believe M. Night can redeem himself, though it's looking more and more unlikely. The Happening should have been called The (Not) Happening. You may not believe this, but I'm capable of being even more clever than that.
Spielberg's War Of The Worlds is a similar film, but it's much, much, better. It didn't do well with the fans and critics, mostly because of Tom Cruise's couch antics, but I think in time it will be appreciated for what it is: a superb film! M. Night should watch it again and again. And so should you, because you were probably one of the rabble who dismissed it out of hand. M. Night needs to be put back on the path to glory.
--
When five o'clock hit today, I shut down my computer, gathered my stuff, and poked my head into the other room to say goodbye to its occupants, Marcy and Therese. Marcy asked me if I could stay a couple of more minutes. She had some documents that needed to be recorded in Boston and wanted to give them to me before I left so that I could take them to record in the morning before I headed to Andover.
I had a feeling she was going to do that. I hung around for another twenty minutes as she wrote checks and gathered paperwork. Between leaving late, getting gas, and stopping at the grocery store, I didn't get home until six thirty.
Listening to a lot of Marnie Stern. I love her new record. It's so exultant and joyous and rocking, I want everyone to listen to her. I know that won't happen, though. As great a musician as she is, she's not very accessible.
The night's agenda:
Watch an eppy of The Wire.
Read some Ruckley
Play some music (need to start rehearsing-- gig next saturday at P.A's)
meditate
With each new film, my faith that M. Night has another great movie in him diminishes like breath on a mirror. It's just about gone. O' Shyamalon, thy golden touch has been sullied, the muse a friend no more.
I knew, as I put the dvd in the player, there was at least an eighty percent chance I was going to strongly dislike this movie. We were great together, M. Night and me, but somewhere along the way, we grew apart. Somewhere around the release of The Village, as I recall.
The Sixth Sense came out of nowhere, held me firm in its grip, and filled me with endless glee at the prospect of more films with his signature. If I hadn't known it was his first, I would have guessed it was his fourth or fifth. It was a mature offering and hit all the right beats.
Unbreakable was just as good, but more ambitious; one of the best super hero movies ever. It never really found it's niche, mainly because it wasn't based on an existing super hero. After watching it the first time, I envisioned him going on to make other films in the genre, like a Batman or X Men installment. Didn't happen and, at this point, I don't believe it ever will.
Signs was next, a great film in my estimation, maybe his best, but to many, the first chink in the armor. The element of suspense never wanes with each viewing. I'll have to watch it again soon.
Then The Village. When I saw the trailer for it, I was as almost as excited as I was when I saw the one for Return Of The Jedi as a kid. But M. Night-- in a case self sabotage, I suspect--went ahead and embarrassed himself, his cast and crew, and his audience. The great Roger Ebert gave the movie one star and demolished it so thoroughly I knew there wasn't much hope it was going to be as good as the trailer indicated.
All M. Night had to do -- and this is so simple and obvious -- was make it so there really were demonic creatures stalking the woods at night. Oh, it would have been magnificent! He had the exact tone, the exact atmosphere, intact: all he had to do was come through with the script. But he got a little too cute, a little too crafty for his own good and it bit him in his ass.
I watched The Lady In The Water incrementally when it was playing on HBO one month (after hearing it was perhaps worse than The Village, I begged off seeing it for as long as I could, which meant, and this is sad to say, it wasn't even rental worthy -- Ouch!). What I saw was so foul and offensive, I decided not to attempt watching it in its entirety; I was afraid I'd have a stroke.
Ebert gave The Happening three stars, but noted he felt he was probably going to be in the minority. Not particularly encouraging, but I guessed it would at least be rental worthy. And, you know, it was, which is not to say it was good, because it wasn't. But it wasn't terrible, either. In fact, there were elements that bordered on being pretty good. Let's break it down.
Premise: Not bad. Plants rebelling against humans. Sure, why not. 8.0
Script: choppy, uncomfortable, lazy. 4.5
Casting: Mark Wahlberg killed in Boogie Nights. No hyperbole, here: he's a fine actor. Zooey
Deschanel is also a fine actor; so is John Leguzamo. The little girl, though, sucked.
She was a dry cryer and talk about wooden delivery! But, she was adorable. So, overall, pretty good job casting. 8.3
Acting: (see Script) I suspect Shayamalan may have played a hand in the poor acting, kind of like
the way George Lucas made it impossible for his actors to give natural, emotive,performances in his Star Wars films for the sake of stylization . But the acting was meant to pay homage the serial space operas of long ago. M. Night wasn't paying homage to anything but bad taste if he shaped the performances. And you know he did: he wrote and directed the damned movie! Saying that, I think Wahlberg was out of his element playing a soft elementary school teacher. Still, it's hard to blame the actors; I think they did the best they could withmaterial, but the game was rigged, they were destined to fail. 5.4
Score: Probably the best thing about the movie. 8.9
Directing: Oh, just shitty! You break my heart, M. Night. Where did the glory go? 3.0
I still believe M. Night can redeem himself, though it's looking more and more unlikely. The Happening should have been called The (Not) Happening. You may not believe this, but I'm capable of being even more clever than that.
Spielberg's War Of The Worlds is a similar film, but it's much, much, better. It didn't do well with the fans and critics, mostly because of Tom Cruise's couch antics, but I think in time it will be appreciated for what it is: a superb film! M. Night should watch it again and again. And so should you, because you were probably one of the rabble who dismissed it out of hand. M. Night needs to be put back on the path to glory.
--
When five o'clock hit today, I shut down my computer, gathered my stuff, and poked my head into the other room to say goodbye to its occupants, Marcy and Therese. Marcy asked me if I could stay a couple of more minutes. She had some documents that needed to be recorded in Boston and wanted to give them to me before I left so that I could take them to record in the morning before I headed to Andover.
I had a feeling she was going to do that. I hung around for another twenty minutes as she wrote checks and gathered paperwork. Between leaving late, getting gas, and stopping at the grocery store, I didn't get home until six thirty.
Listening to a lot of Marnie Stern. I love her new record. It's so exultant and joyous and rocking, I want everyone to listen to her. I know that won't happen, though. As great a musician as she is, she's not very accessible.
The night's agenda:
Watch an eppy of The Wire.
Read some Ruckley
Play some music (need to start rehearsing-- gig next saturday at P.A's)
meditate
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