Been in the grip of a nasty sinus infection. At times it's manageable, almost to the point where I think the worst is over and then another wave of pain arrives and it's all I can do to maintain. Mostly, though, I feel weak and tired. I'm not new to this: I know I'll get better, but it's a hard road.
I attended my first Seder last night at Mara's place. Didn't really know what I was getting into, but that was half the fun. Bridget and I were the only goyim, or non-Jews, and were seated together like two foreign exchange students. I had eaten a little pasta beforehand in anticipation of having to wait a while before eating. That saved me. I was feverish as it was, and probably would have passed out otherwise.
Mara led the proceedings and, even though I didn't grasp some of what was going on, I found it quite interesting. Everyone at the table, at one point or another, helped explain what was happening to Bridget and me. We made it through in one piece. The only rough point was eating horse radish and some sweet nut concoction between two pieces of mozza. That was rough.
Overall, it was a good time. Plenty of interesting conversation. I found out Alister, his wife, Jane, and Bridget are Unitarians. I may attend a service in the future. Mara read a vignette from a book her uncle wrote about their family's Holocaust experience. Equally moving and terrifying.
Later, I drove Bridget home and we shared our impressions of the Seder. Unlike me, she hadn't eaten anything beforehand and, because she has gerd (severe and constant acid reflux), it was tough going for her drinking wine and eating horseradish on an empty stomach. She took it all in stride, though, and didn't suffer any ill effects. During the ride, she told me how she writes her dreams on her sheets when she wakes up. I was tempted to ask if she'd show me, but, for obvious reasons, I abstained.
Ok, I'm fading fast. Had more to cover, but will leave it for another day. Tomorrow looks to a great day weather-wise; maybe it'll be a great day for me health-wise. Let's hope so.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
If the rain comes, they run and hide their heads, they might as well be dead
Thoughts of death, rain, The Human Condition, feeling unwell, Kurosawa at the Brattle, a gentile's first Passover dinner, Seinfeld fest, more rain, 30 Rock, more rain -- all in my sphere. I'll be back in better, and more detailed, form, but tonight I'm wiped. Peace.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
And it turned into a ballroom blitz
Lately, I've been fatigued. I get about seven hours of untroubled sleep a night, yet I've been struggling to stay awake at work. I think it's because our office is so quiet and the heat is always up fairly high. For all intents and purposes, I may as well be nestled cozily before a fire with a warm mug of hot chocolate heating my hands. And when it's slow, like it's been the last couple of days, well, you're looking at a veritable perfect storm of sleep-inducing conditions. So when Marcy came by and asked if I'd be willing to do some work up in Nashua, I snapped to attention and had my coat on before I could finish saying yes, please. The trip provided the pep I needed.
Now, though, I'm tired again. I'm having some coffee, but not too much, because I'm meeting up with Foley later at True Grounds, where I expect we'll talk about a plethora of subjects, like the story arc of Lost, his latest crush, music, and books. Who knows, maybe we won't talk at all and just stare at each other in existential despair. (Update: we're rain-checking this bitch and will meet up some other time. He got out of work too late for anything meaningful to happen).
My dreams lately have been incongruent with the stresses of my waking life. For example, I'd been ruminating over troubled friendships and then I go and have a dream in which everyone I'd been thinking about contacted me in one form or another with joy and affection and everything was fine. And this week, when I've been stressed over matters I'll not mention here, I go and have a dream last night in which I'm at a sunny beach with my family, riding the waves in some phantom summer of youth. I wish I remember more of what happened. I do recall looking over at my sister, who was wearing a magnificent grin as she was about to jump in the water and thinking, "Wow, I forget sometimes that we grew up together, that I have a sister." The dream brought back the flavor of the time when the four of us were entirely more present in each others lives. I'm surprised I didn't awake feeling sad and wistful about how far away I am from those days.
So, good dreams: I'll take 'em. I should be dreaming about subterranean cannibals and laudanum delusions, considering how much I've been reading from Drood, but I'm not complaining. I'll take the beach every time.
On the horizon:
Watch Precious and The Human Condition (part two), the two Netflix films currently in my possession.
Decide on which direction I want to pursue as concerns recording gear and then take action. I used to record a lot more than I do now. I'd make up whole albums on the spot. Fun and fertile days, they were. Yeah, it's time to make some records and, knowing me, I'll overlook most of the welter of songs I've already written and fine tuned in favor of a create as I go approach.
Put some lyrics to the two new songs I've working on.
Go to Kendall Square and see the Secret of Kells.
--
I received Impossible Visits today. Read the preface already, and if it's any indication of the rest of the book, I'm in for a well written, thoughtful experience.
It's getting late and I want to practice before I incur the wrath of the intemperate beast that dwells below me. Wish me luck, dear readers.
Now, though, I'm tired again. I'm having some coffee, but not too much, because I'm meeting up with Foley later at True Grounds, where I expect we'll talk about a plethora of subjects, like the story arc of Lost, his latest crush, music, and books. Who knows, maybe we won't talk at all and just stare at each other in existential despair. (Update: we're rain-checking this bitch and will meet up some other time. He got out of work too late for anything meaningful to happen).
My dreams lately have been incongruent with the stresses of my waking life. For example, I'd been ruminating over troubled friendships and then I go and have a dream in which everyone I'd been thinking about contacted me in one form or another with joy and affection and everything was fine. And this week, when I've been stressed over matters I'll not mention here, I go and have a dream last night in which I'm at a sunny beach with my family, riding the waves in some phantom summer of youth. I wish I remember more of what happened. I do recall looking over at my sister, who was wearing a magnificent grin as she was about to jump in the water and thinking, "Wow, I forget sometimes that we grew up together, that I have a sister." The dream brought back the flavor of the time when the four of us were entirely more present in each others lives. I'm surprised I didn't awake feeling sad and wistful about how far away I am from those days.
So, good dreams: I'll take 'em. I should be dreaming about subterranean cannibals and laudanum delusions, considering how much I've been reading from Drood, but I'm not complaining. I'll take the beach every time.
On the horizon:
Watch Precious and The Human Condition (part two), the two Netflix films currently in my possession.
Decide on which direction I want to pursue as concerns recording gear and then take action. I used to record a lot more than I do now. I'd make up whole albums on the spot. Fun and fertile days, they were. Yeah, it's time to make some records and, knowing me, I'll overlook most of the welter of songs I've already written and fine tuned in favor of a create as I go approach.
Put some lyrics to the two new songs I've working on.
Go to Kendall Square and see the Secret of Kells.
--
I received Impossible Visits today. Read the preface already, and if it's any indication of the rest of the book, I'm in for a well written, thoughtful experience.
It's getting late and I want to practice before I incur the wrath of the intemperate beast that dwells below me. Wish me luck, dear readers.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Hello Amsterdam, my name is Fernando
An active day. I would have preferred, in my over-tired moments before rising this morning, a day of inactivity, the Sabbath, Part Deux, if you will, but it wasn't to be. I made out alright, however, and this day was favorable enough for it not to be labeled shitty. Could have been better, though.
For starters, it was raw, windy, and rainy. Guess who was out walking around in the midst of this foul weather, traversing the streets of Boston and Cambridge in his efforts to record documents at the Registry of Deeds of each city? I wasn't whistling merry and I certainly didn't have a spring in my step, but my umbrella helped and I wasn't outdoors long enough to be wholly immersed in misery.
On the T to Boston, I determined that I needed to have my car's brakes looked at. They'd reached the point -- and this had been going on for a while -- where, if I didn't take care of the problem, I'd have a potentially much larger problem on my hands. No brakes, no stopping; no stopping, no fun. If for no other reason, I needed to be proactive because I was getting tired of hearing my brakes squeal like a stuck boar every time I applied pressure to them.
After my business at the registries, I dropped my car off at the mechanic and walked home. I hand washed some clothes, which will be the last time -- way more work than I anticipated. The reason for the old school approach was because our washer went kaput. Probably due to the flood, but I suspect Rich; he was the last person to use it. Hey, he's been blaming me for everything from manipulating his soap to the health care debacle; I'm entitled to a little paranoia of my own.
While bent over the tub, squeeze-drying my clothes, I heard the front door open and the jingling of Baby Boy Z's collar. He was being dropped off from his first day at daycare, a/k/a Wags To Riches. I came out of the bathroom, excited to see him, and was met with a dazed and most likely sleepy pooch. He surveyed his surroundings for a minute or two and then lay down and fell asleep. I let him be and went upstairs for a while. When I saw BBZ next, his physiology had undergone a sea change. He was running circles around me all bouncy like as I made my way to the kitchen. I figured I should let him outside -- you know, just in case. Well, good thing I did: within ten seconds of being outside, he took a dump.
My brake issues were costly, but only half as costly as I figured, which was a nice consolation. When I picked up my car, I marveled at how great it was being able to stop the car without worrying about running over a pedestrian, most likely a young mother pushing a baby carriage, because my brakes stopped working.
My Ipod died on me today. It was only a few months old. It's predecessor had only lasted a year. Thanks, Apple. Thanks for nothing!
Another great Lost episode. We're in the final stretch and every episode has been stellar. Been especially impressed with the acting. Everyone's bringing their A game.
Off to read some Drood. Maybe, if time allows, I'll watch Amadeus, which I haven't seen in years. If memory serves, I really enjoyed this film. It's story parallels Drood in one key aspect (average artist's burning envy of genius artist), so watching it may be redundant, but whatever. I live by my own code, and if you don't like it, you can go straight to hell!
Just found out that Turner Classic Movies has been showing Kurosawa films all day. Seven Samurai's on right now. I'm tempted to watch it, but I'd rather watch it another time on DVD, when I can give it my full and undivided attention.
While waiting for my car to be fixed, I watched an episode of Monster Quest, this one centering around Sasquatch sightings in Vancouver. I've seen a ton of episodes of this show and I'm always a little surprised at the end of each episode that they never get closer to solving any of these Cryptid mysteries. If they had, I would have heard about it well before the episode aired. I don't know, but something tells me that if, while filming an episode, they capture the Loch Ness Monster, the news will break immediately. I still like the show, despite knowing that the most I'm likely to get in the way of new evidence will be a hair follicle, a murky photo, or old evidence repackaged as new evidence. Tomorrow's episode concerns the Michigan Dogman, and will not only be the last episode of the season, but also the last episode, period. I'm surprised it lasted this long; there are only so many Cryptid mysteries out there. Anyway, cheers to Monster Quest.
Ok, really this time, off to Drood.
For starters, it was raw, windy, and rainy. Guess who was out walking around in the midst of this foul weather, traversing the streets of Boston and Cambridge in his efforts to record documents at the Registry of Deeds of each city? I wasn't whistling merry and I certainly didn't have a spring in my step, but my umbrella helped and I wasn't outdoors long enough to be wholly immersed in misery.
On the T to Boston, I determined that I needed to have my car's brakes looked at. They'd reached the point -- and this had been going on for a while -- where, if I didn't take care of the problem, I'd have a potentially much larger problem on my hands. No brakes, no stopping; no stopping, no fun. If for no other reason, I needed to be proactive because I was getting tired of hearing my brakes squeal like a stuck boar every time I applied pressure to them.
After my business at the registries, I dropped my car off at the mechanic and walked home. I hand washed some clothes, which will be the last time -- way more work than I anticipated. The reason for the old school approach was because our washer went kaput. Probably due to the flood, but I suspect Rich; he was the last person to use it. Hey, he's been blaming me for everything from manipulating his soap to the health care debacle; I'm entitled to a little paranoia of my own.
While bent over the tub, squeeze-drying my clothes, I heard the front door open and the jingling of Baby Boy Z's collar. He was being dropped off from his first day at daycare, a/k/a Wags To Riches. I came out of the bathroom, excited to see him, and was met with a dazed and most likely sleepy pooch. He surveyed his surroundings for a minute or two and then lay down and fell asleep. I let him be and went upstairs for a while. When I saw BBZ next, his physiology had undergone a sea change. He was running circles around me all bouncy like as I made my way to the kitchen. I figured I should let him outside -- you know, just in case. Well, good thing I did: within ten seconds of being outside, he took a dump.
My brake issues were costly, but only half as costly as I figured, which was a nice consolation. When I picked up my car, I marveled at how great it was being able to stop the car without worrying about running over a pedestrian, most likely a young mother pushing a baby carriage, because my brakes stopped working.
My Ipod died on me today. It was only a few months old. It's predecessor had only lasted a year. Thanks, Apple. Thanks for nothing!
Another great Lost episode. We're in the final stretch and every episode has been stellar. Been especially impressed with the acting. Everyone's bringing their A game.
Off to read some Drood. Maybe, if time allows, I'll watch Amadeus, which I haven't seen in years. If memory serves, I really enjoyed this film. It's story parallels Drood in one key aspect (average artist's burning envy of genius artist), so watching it may be redundant, but whatever. I live by my own code, and if you don't like it, you can go straight to hell!
Just found out that Turner Classic Movies has been showing Kurosawa films all day. Seven Samurai's on right now. I'm tempted to watch it, but I'd rather watch it another time on DVD, when I can give it my full and undivided attention.
While waiting for my car to be fixed, I watched an episode of Monster Quest, this one centering around Sasquatch sightings in Vancouver. I've seen a ton of episodes of this show and I'm always a little surprised at the end of each episode that they never get closer to solving any of these Cryptid mysteries. If they had, I would have heard about it well before the episode aired. I don't know, but something tells me that if, while filming an episode, they capture the Loch Ness Monster, the news will break immediately. I still like the show, despite knowing that the most I'm likely to get in the way of new evidence will be a hair follicle, a murky photo, or old evidence repackaged as new evidence. Tomorrow's episode concerns the Michigan Dogman, and will not only be the last episode of the season, but also the last episode, period. I'm surprised it lasted this long; there are only so many Cryptid mysteries out there. Anyway, cheers to Monster Quest.
Ok, really this time, off to Drood.
Monday, March 22, 2010
You say that you'll give me all your love some day, but baby that some day seems so far away
A pretty good weekend. In light of the Rich situation, which, aside from a couple of arbitrary displays of passive/aggressive behavior, hasn't changed much since I last wrote about it, and a couple of other vexing instances that keep resurfacing, I was going to riff a bit on the destructive influence lack of communication has had on some of my relationships. I decided against it because I'm kind of tired and don't have the necessary energy to be thoughtful about the subject. Maybe another time. Or maybe never. I'm ready to move on.
Finally watched The Big Lebowski last night. Three out of five stars. It was good, but I was definitely not as enamored with it the way so many other people are. One thing I couldn't understand is how it came to be such a cult classic like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I guess these things are hard to predict.
I finished Carrion Comfort over the weekend and, without missing a beat, I moved on to Drood. Carrion Comfort was a good read, but not as good as The Terror. I'm about fifty pages into Drood and my attention was rapt from page one. How can you go wrong with a Gothic horror story that centers around Charles Dickens?
At the Registry of Deeds in Nashua today, Linda, one of the abstracters who works there, and the one I've had a mild crush on, was flirting with me more overtly than she ever has. A little back story: Linda looks to be in her mid to late forties, is pretty quiet, and is probably married (which is why I've only ever had a mild crush on her). As far as our interactions have gone, they've mostly been brief and have centered around her teasing me about hogging the printer. As I said, she's pretty quiet, and while there have been instances of flirting between us (I recounted one in particular in a previous post), it's mostly been subtle; you could say the majority of our interactions haven't exactly been torn out of a Harlequin romance novel.
Today, though, she seemed to step up her game. Comments were made, glances exchanged. When I left, it was with accelerated heart beat and stirred up libido. Will anything happen between us? Probably not. I'd have to find out about her marital status, for one thing. But, if it looks workable, then why not? I need some fun in my life, damnit!
Finally watched The Big Lebowski last night. Three out of five stars. It was good, but I was definitely not as enamored with it the way so many other people are. One thing I couldn't understand is how it came to be such a cult classic like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I guess these things are hard to predict.
I finished Carrion Comfort over the weekend and, without missing a beat, I moved on to Drood. Carrion Comfort was a good read, but not as good as The Terror. I'm about fifty pages into Drood and my attention was rapt from page one. How can you go wrong with a Gothic horror story that centers around Charles Dickens?
At the Registry of Deeds in Nashua today, Linda, one of the abstracters who works there, and the one I've had a mild crush on, was flirting with me more overtly than she ever has. A little back story: Linda looks to be in her mid to late forties, is pretty quiet, and is probably married (which is why I've only ever had a mild crush on her). As far as our interactions have gone, they've mostly been brief and have centered around her teasing me about hogging the printer. As I said, she's pretty quiet, and while there have been instances of flirting between us (I recounted one in particular in a previous post), it's mostly been subtle; you could say the majority of our interactions haven't exactly been torn out of a Harlequin romance novel.
Today, though, she seemed to step up her game. Comments were made, glances exchanged. When I left, it was with accelerated heart beat and stirred up libido. Will anything happen between us? Probably not. I'd have to find out about her marital status, for one thing. But, if it looks workable, then why not? I need some fun in my life, damnit!
Friday, March 19, 2010
When I woke up, mom and dad are rolling on the couch, rolling numbers, rock and rolling, got my Kiss records out
I woke up with The Lemonhead's song Frank Mills in my head and felt a wave of melancholy, not due to the song, that took a while to shake off, despite the gorgeous weather. Maybe it was a dream, forgotten, yet present, that caused this. Probably. Whatever it was, the flavor of my morning was one of faint regret and longing. And, of course, the aforementioned melancholy.
My work day was abbreviated. I left the office around one to do some work at the registry in Cambridge. Marcy had given me a ten dollar bill for parking before I left. When I reached for it in my pocket later on, it was nowhere to be found. I wish I had the same kind of mojo receiving money that I have losing money. Really, in the last couple of weeks, I've gotten a ticket for fifty bucks for skipping out on paying a toll while on my way to pick up Janelle (I thought, because it was on the exit ramp and everyone was breezing through it, that it wasn't operational); I learned my car's registration needs to be renewed; I've payed my excise tax for my car; and more, but I'm getting depressed just thinking about it. Well, good thing I'm incredibly wealthy and these payments won't even cause a blip on my bank account's radar.
I was tired when I came home. I had some sushi and took a nap. I needed it. When I woke up about forty five minutes later, I went for a run. It was such a pleasure being outside; the air was warm, the sun blanketed everything in golden glory, and there were so many attractive women about it was almost overwhelming.
After the run, feeling hale and my libido in check, I put Baby Boy Z out in the yard and made him promise not to bark at anyone walking past the house like he's been doing. He wagged his tail and gave me a cute look. That was good enough for me. Ten seconds later, he freaked out on a woman and her son. Oh, why, Baby Boy Z, did you betray me? I brought him back in the house and we played with his rope for a bit. All was forgiven.
And now, you must forgive me, as I'm about to end this and do something sexy.
My work day was abbreviated. I left the office around one to do some work at the registry in Cambridge. Marcy had given me a ten dollar bill for parking before I left. When I reached for it in my pocket later on, it was nowhere to be found. I wish I had the same kind of mojo receiving money that I have losing money. Really, in the last couple of weeks, I've gotten a ticket for fifty bucks for skipping out on paying a toll while on my way to pick up Janelle (I thought, because it was on the exit ramp and everyone was breezing through it, that it wasn't operational); I learned my car's registration needs to be renewed; I've payed my excise tax for my car; and more, but I'm getting depressed just thinking about it. Well, good thing I'm incredibly wealthy and these payments won't even cause a blip on my bank account's radar.
I was tired when I came home. I had some sushi and took a nap. I needed it. When I woke up about forty five minutes later, I went for a run. It was such a pleasure being outside; the air was warm, the sun blanketed everything in golden glory, and there were so many attractive women about it was almost overwhelming.
After the run, feeling hale and my libido in check, I put Baby Boy Z out in the yard and made him promise not to bark at anyone walking past the house like he's been doing. He wagged his tail and gave me a cute look. That was good enough for me. Ten seconds later, he freaked out on a woman and her son. Oh, why, Baby Boy Z, did you betray me? I brought him back in the house and we played with his rope for a bit. All was forgiven.
And now, you must forgive me, as I'm about to end this and do something sexy.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
There's a lady in a turban in a cocaine tree, and she does a dance so rhythmically
Yesterday, I had a post about halfway written about St. Patrick's Day, but it was tough going and about midway through, I gave up. I was tired, I guess, or maybe the quality was poor, but whatever the cause, it wasn't published. Basically, I was just riffing on how, despite being Irish, I have little interest in the holiday. I hardly drink and I'm not prone to wearing green, even on special occasions. To me, the holiday has almost nothing to do with the Irish, at least not in a favorable sense. Change the name to St. Get Hammered Day and we're closer to the mark.
I have the Bruins game on in the background as I type. I've hardly watched them all season, mostly because I don't find the team appealing, but tonight's game has a lot of fanfare surrounding it because of Matt Cooke's egregious hit on Marc Savard that left him heavily concussed and most definitely out for the season. No one on the Bruins defended the honor of their fallen comrade and neither did the league. No retribution came Cooke's way. So tonight is the Bruin's chance to redeem themselves, to save face in front of their fans. I don't think much will happen, but I'm curious.
I was reading from The Cryptoterrestials on the couch last night with Baby Boy Z beside me. I had my knees pulled up and BBZ used the nook that was created to rest his head and catch a little shut eye. Out of nowhere, he sneezed right into my butt. It wasn't just an "ah-choo"; no, this was heavy and abrupt: "Uhh...bwuh bwuh bwuhhhh!" It scared the hell out of me, and once my heart settled down, I thought it was the funniest thing. I've never had anyone sneeze into my ass before. A first.
I watched Cache last night, the French thriller I've been interested in seeing for a while. When it came out a few years ago, it generated a lot of buzz. And a massive amount of theorizing. Unlike most mainstream thrillers, this one didn't resolve it's mystery and left the viewer with more questions than answers. We're educated as film goers to leave a movie with all the loose ends tied up. Here, there are numerous possibilities and none of them are tied up. I've perused different websites that speculate endlessly about the film. "It was so and so who was leaving the video tapes"; "The last shot of the film explains everything -- you just have to look carefully"; "It was the father sending tapes to himself."
The film was so well crafted that it keeps it's mystery hidden, while letting it known that it can be deciphered. Or maybe not. Either way, it's a great film with a lot of little cool things about it and I've been thinking about it all day. Especially the ending, which at first I thought was cheating me, but when I figured out what it suggested, I was thrilled by it. Here's a link to Roger Ebert's review:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=%2F20100113%2FREVIEWS08%2F100119986%2F1023
If you aren't put off by subtitles and like putting on your detective hat, then I wholeheartedly recommend this film. Hell, even if you disregard the mystery of the film, it still works on other levels. Go ahead, give it a try. Don't be scared.
--
Ok, I'm done. I was as busy as a tennis ball in a room full of puppies at work today and I need to regroup.
I have the Bruins game on in the background as I type. I've hardly watched them all season, mostly because I don't find the team appealing, but tonight's game has a lot of fanfare surrounding it because of Matt Cooke's egregious hit on Marc Savard that left him heavily concussed and most definitely out for the season. No one on the Bruins defended the honor of their fallen comrade and neither did the league. No retribution came Cooke's way. So tonight is the Bruin's chance to redeem themselves, to save face in front of their fans. I don't think much will happen, but I'm curious.
I was reading from The Cryptoterrestials on the couch last night with Baby Boy Z beside me. I had my knees pulled up and BBZ used the nook that was created to rest his head and catch a little shut eye. Out of nowhere, he sneezed right into my butt. It wasn't just an "ah-choo"; no, this was heavy and abrupt: "Uhh...bwuh bwuh bwuhhhh!" It scared the hell out of me, and once my heart settled down, I thought it was the funniest thing. I've never had anyone sneeze into my ass before. A first.
I watched Cache last night, the French thriller I've been interested in seeing for a while. When it came out a few years ago, it generated a lot of buzz. And a massive amount of theorizing. Unlike most mainstream thrillers, this one didn't resolve it's mystery and left the viewer with more questions than answers. We're educated as film goers to leave a movie with all the loose ends tied up. Here, there are numerous possibilities and none of them are tied up. I've perused different websites that speculate endlessly about the film. "It was so and so who was leaving the video tapes"; "The last shot of the film explains everything -- you just have to look carefully"; "It was the father sending tapes to himself."
The film was so well crafted that it keeps it's mystery hidden, while letting it known that it can be deciphered. Or maybe not. Either way, it's a great film with a lot of little cool things about it and I've been thinking about it all day. Especially the ending, which at first I thought was cheating me, but when I figured out what it suggested, I was thrilled by it. Here's a link to Roger Ebert's review:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=%2F20100113%2FREVIEWS08%2F100119986%2F1023
If you aren't put off by subtitles and like putting on your detective hat, then I wholeheartedly recommend this film. Hell, even if you disregard the mystery of the film, it still works on other levels. Go ahead, give it a try. Don't be scared.
--
Ok, I'm done. I was as busy as a tennis ball in a room full of puppies at work today and I need to regroup.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
My blood runs cold, my memory has just been sold
We have our heat back, but it's still a no go as far as far as the hot water is concerned. That meant a cold shower for me after my run tonight. It wasn't terrible, but it felt like my head was in a vice grip when I rinsed the shampoo from my hair. Which, in case you're wondering, is not a pleasant feeling.
I'm expecting two books in the mail, both of the Fortean variety. The first is called Cryptoterrestials, by Mac Tonnies. Its thesis can be summed up from this passage in the book:
"Aliens," whether perceived as gnomes or fairies or demons or even humans (as in the case of the mysterious airship sightings of the late 19th century), may be forced to appear as they do by the cultural biases and limited expectations of the witness. Thus we have a pageant of fantastic beings of all descriptions: robot-like monsters, winged entities such as the infamous "Mothman," furry giants, all manner of "little men," and of course the ubiquitous "Grays." However, most if not all of the above may share a common psychical origin; only by appealing to our collective unconscious can they take form at all. As such, they constitute an ongoing waking dream; they are "true hallucinations" -- quantum composites that, while objectively real (as revealed by physical effects on the environment), demand a level of unconscious participation on behalf of their wide-eyed spectators.
I love it. Let me at it! The next book is called Impossible Visits, by Chris Noel, and concerns itself with people's interactions with Sasquatch at habituation sites. I've debated for a while whether to give this one a shot because I'm not interested in obvious tall tales. I've done a lot of research on the author and have come to the conclusion that he's a serious researcher and author in his own right. What sold me was watching some of his mini documentaries. He's come up with some compelling bits of evidence in support of the existence of Sasquatch. I'll let you know how the book turns out. I know it will be well written: I was listening to an interview he gave on a radio program about writing and he read a passage from the book. I was impressed.
Off to Mara's place to watch Lost. I never got around to The Big Lebowski last night and don't expect to tonight. I've got Cache to watch, too. Maybe tomorrow.
I'm expecting two books in the mail, both of the Fortean variety. The first is called Cryptoterrestials, by Mac Tonnies. Its thesis can be summed up from this passage in the book:
"Aliens," whether perceived as gnomes or fairies or demons or even humans (as in the case of the mysterious airship sightings of the late 19th century), may be forced to appear as they do by the cultural biases and limited expectations of the witness. Thus we have a pageant of fantastic beings of all descriptions: robot-like monsters, winged entities such as the infamous "Mothman," furry giants, all manner of "little men," and of course the ubiquitous "Grays." However, most if not all of the above may share a common psychical origin; only by appealing to our collective unconscious can they take form at all. As such, they constitute an ongoing waking dream; they are "true hallucinations" -- quantum composites that, while objectively real (as revealed by physical effects on the environment), demand a level of unconscious participation on behalf of their wide-eyed spectators.
I love it. Let me at it! The next book is called Impossible Visits, by Chris Noel, and concerns itself with people's interactions with Sasquatch at habituation sites. I've debated for a while whether to give this one a shot because I'm not interested in obvious tall tales. I've done a lot of research on the author and have come to the conclusion that he's a serious researcher and author in his own right. What sold me was watching some of his mini documentaries. He's come up with some compelling bits of evidence in support of the existence of Sasquatch. I'll let you know how the book turns out. I know it will be well written: I was listening to an interview he gave on a radio program about writing and he read a passage from the book. I was impressed.
Off to Mara's place to watch Lost. I never got around to The Big Lebowski last night and don't expect to tonight. I've got Cache to watch, too. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday, March 15, 2010
He was last seen with his friend, a drummer who resembles George Harrison of The Beatles, but he wears his hair tied in a small bow in the back
The recent torrent of rain has made a wading pool of our basement. I'd estimate about ten inches of water. Since I've lived here the basement has never flooded. Fortunately, a lot of our stuff is up on pallets and in plastic containers. There have been casualties, however. Janelle's been hanging some of her art work to dry on a couple of clotheslines she rigged in the dining room. We won't know the full extent of the damage until the water subsides. I fear I may have lost some books. I hope my volumes of Gossip Girl emerge unsullied.
Another, and more immediate, casualty of the flood was our furnace. No heat, no hot water. Just got word, though, that the fire dept. will be by tonight to resuscitate the poor chap. We're number fifty on the list. They may not be here for a while.
Rich actually spoke to me tonight. And in an amiable manner, no less. So there's progress for you. When we have a house meeting, we'll hopefully hash out some of this nonsense and at the very least realize there's no need for hostility between us, no matter who things pan out with our living situation.
Harakiri represented, son! Wow, I keep waiting for Kobayashi to disappoint me, but every film I see of his absolutely enchants me. And Tatsuya Nakadai was an incredible actor in his day. He's right up there with Toshiro Mifune. They were the Pacino and DeNiro of Japanese cinema. I'll offer a modest assessment and say Harakiri is a perfect film. Zero complaints. Five out of five stars.
I'm going to try and put a dent in The Big Lebowski tonight. Whenever I tell anyone I've never seen it, I usually get a shocked response. "How could you never have seen it? It's the Big Lebowski, for crissakes!!" I've seen bits of it before, but I never had the ambition to give it a go. Well, it's time to buck up and see what all the hype is about. Hey, it's the Coen Brothers: how bad can it be?
At work today, Therese was wondering out loud if her tennis match would be canceled because of the rain. "We play under a big plastic dome, but I'm sure it's leaking water all over the court."
"That would be no good", I said.
"No, it wouldn't. You shouldn't play in those conditions."
"Nope"
"You shouldn't play tennis if your balls are soaked."
It was then that I performed the heroic deed of not bursting out in laughter. Maybe I've got the mentality of a sixth grader, but it took every ounce of will power to restrain myself. What a hero I am! I'm very impressed with how I kept my composure. In almost any other situation, I would have laughed very loudly and with a great amount of mirth, but, in an effort to be respectful to Therese, and because I didn't want her to know my sense of humor sometimes rides the rails of simplicity, I kept a straight face. What a hero I am!I truly am the King of Kings! (Speaking of that, at another job I used to command my coworker Doug to refer to me as the King of Kings. He decided to disrespect me and call my sexuality into question by instead referring to me as The King of Queens. One of these days he'll realize the error of his ways.)
Ok, I'm out outta here.
Another, and more immediate, casualty of the flood was our furnace. No heat, no hot water. Just got word, though, that the fire dept. will be by tonight to resuscitate the poor chap. We're number fifty on the list. They may not be here for a while.
Rich actually spoke to me tonight. And in an amiable manner, no less. So there's progress for you. When we have a house meeting, we'll hopefully hash out some of this nonsense and at the very least realize there's no need for hostility between us, no matter who things pan out with our living situation.
Harakiri represented, son! Wow, I keep waiting for Kobayashi to disappoint me, but every film I see of his absolutely enchants me. And Tatsuya Nakadai was an incredible actor in his day. He's right up there with Toshiro Mifune. They were the Pacino and DeNiro of Japanese cinema. I'll offer a modest assessment and say Harakiri is a perfect film. Zero complaints. Five out of five stars.
I'm going to try and put a dent in The Big Lebowski tonight. Whenever I tell anyone I've never seen it, I usually get a shocked response. "How could you never have seen it? It's the Big Lebowski, for crissakes!!" I've seen bits of it before, but I never had the ambition to give it a go. Well, it's time to buck up and see what all the hype is about. Hey, it's the Coen Brothers: how bad can it be?
At work today, Therese was wondering out loud if her tennis match would be canceled because of the rain. "We play under a big plastic dome, but I'm sure it's leaking water all over the court."
"That would be no good", I said.
"No, it wouldn't. You shouldn't play in those conditions."
"Nope"
"You shouldn't play tennis if your balls are soaked."
It was then that I performed the heroic deed of not bursting out in laughter. Maybe I've got the mentality of a sixth grader, but it took every ounce of will power to restrain myself. What a hero I am! I'm very impressed with how I kept my composure. In almost any other situation, I would have laughed very loudly and with a great amount of mirth, but, in an effort to be respectful to Therese, and because I didn't want her to know my sense of humor sometimes rides the rails of simplicity, I kept a straight face. What a hero I am!I truly am the King of Kings! (Speaking of that, at another job I used to command my coworker Doug to refer to me as the King of Kings. He decided to disrespect me and call my sexuality into question by instead referring to me as The King of Queens. One of these days he'll realize the error of his ways.)
Ok, I'm out outta here.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Our mother the mountain
So here is the elaboration of my last post. Unburden thyself, the wind whispered. I shall obey. So without further preamble, let's get this post rolling.
Over a week ago, in response to my guitar playing and singing, Rich pounded on the wall in his room with such ferocity the entire house shook. If you've been reading this blog for a while you'll know this wasn't the first time he's done this. I stopped playing for a second and then started up playing again, only this time with mounting anger.
Since I've lived with Rich, which has been a few years now, I've had to speak to him several times about his outbursts, which have always been directed at me specifically, whether I was the true source of his anger or not. Each time, I made it a point to confront him, to try to come to some kind of resolution, because if I didn't he would never say a word and let things fester. Rich is not the confrontational type. When he loses his temper, it's not directly. One time I caught him cursing me out for -- God forbid! - turning the heat up (Anything over 65 degrees would incur his wrath). He was startled as I made my way down the stairs - he hadn't expected an audience. I asked him if he'd like to repeat what he said to my face. His response was to flee to his room. The next day I knocked on his door and tried to hash things out. I asked him, as politely as I could, to speak to me directly when he has a grievance with me. I told him it wasn't my intention to anger him, that all I wanted was for him to let me know, in a civil manner, when I did so that I could make the proper adjustments. He said it hadn't been me he was upset with, only the fact that the heat seemed to be constantly on. I didn't believe him, but because he agreed to my request, I kept silent.
I've known for a while now that Rich just flat out doesn't like me. If pressed, I'm not sure he could articulate the precise reason why. Well, maybe he could, and has, but to other people, not me. I've tried with him. I really have. And I've never made an inch of headway with him. Nope, just the continual, barely restrained hostility. Even when it became absolutely clear he just didn't like me, and probably never would no matter what I said I or did, I still wanted to be able to share the same house with him in a comfortable manner. And, to be candid, it didn't sit well with my ego knowing I was disliked.
Before the latest wall pounding incident, it came to my attention that he thought I was messing with his head. He keeps a bottle of hand soap in the shower and, apparently, someone was turning the dispenser so that it faced the wall. And guess who he thought that someone was?
I was dumbstruck, despite the fact that I knew he blamed me for pretty much everything that bothered him in the house. First of all, just the fact that he keeps tabs on how his soap is positioned is a little odd to me. You could move my stuff around every day of the week and I wouldn't notice. And then to accuse me of moving the bottle around, as if I was perpetrating some elaborate, yet subtle, mind game! For him to reach that conclusion, he had to believe that I was out to get him and that this was one way to do it. Besides the voices in his head, which have to be downright disturbing, I suspect his theories have been getting support from other sources. I'm willing to bet anything that there's a whole host of other similar things he's blamed me for. "Hey, my can of Pepsi has been moved a fraction of an inch! Must be that scoundrel Kevin! Who else could it be?"
Knowing that Rich had reached the level of paranoia with me was disturbing but it made sense. It fit his profile. He's a guy who lacks communication skills, particularly as concerns confrontation. Rather than say to me, "Perhaps this sounds a little weird, but have you been playing around with my soap?", he opted to tell Janelle and Craig about my diabolical scheming. I don't know how long that particular issue had been stewing around in his head, but I bet it had been for a while.
I decided, after the wall pounding incident, that I was no longer willing to tolerate that type of behavior. I'd reached my breaking point. Probably should have happened sooner, but I wanted to make our living situation work. A friend told me he would have punched Rich in the face after the first incident. While I don't think the violent route would have worked for me, it probably would have settled things, for better or worse. Probably worse. I'm glad I kept my cool - someone had to - but I'd be lying if I said I didn't harbor fantasies of breaking his jaw for him.
I chose not to confront him directly this time. That method had failed to get the desired results. No, he was getting a note, and in it I was going to voice my displeasure with his behavior and let him know that it would not be tolerated anymore. If he couldn't keep his temper in check and learn to communicate like an adult, we were going to have to make some changes. Despite being fed up with his nonsense, I wanted to be as diplomatic as possible. To that end, I decided to wait a day for my anger to subside before I wrote the note. I wanted to be level headed.
He didn't make it easy on me. I came one night to find the cable bill stabbed on the cork board above our sink with angry red circles drawn around the due date of the bill. It was clearly directed at me. I won't get into the hypocrisy of the action and why, especially in this instance, it was uncalled for, but trust me on this: he was taking another jab at me.
Now I was even more furious. How dare this fucking rat try to bully me into doing his bidding? And from behind the scenes like a coward! Again, I put off writing the note because if I wrote it then it would have been vicious and wholly undiplomatic. It took a few days for me to get into the proper mindset.
Last week I sat down and wrote the note. I had put a lot of effort into it, more than he deserved, perhaps, but at the end of the day, no matter what he thinks of me, Rich is a decent enough guy. He's just not happy with his life and his unhappiness affects how he interacts with others. That's not conjecture, he's said as much to me. It took me about a half hour to write the note. When I was through I showed it to Janelle and got the green light to give it to Rich. I left it in the kitchen before I went to bed.
The next morning, the note was on the counter with another note written on the back. Rich had responded quicker than I expected. I read his reply. Here's the gist:
1. Regarding the wall pounding incident, he was only knocking a bit on the ceiling to get me to stop playing. According to him, I knew my guitar playing drives him crazy, so I shouldn't have been surprised at his mild request (I'm not quoting him directly here, but I'm coming damn close)
2. Posting the cable bill in the manner he did was only to remind me that it was soon to be due. Oh, that's all it was. Why that bothered me I don't know.
3. He resents the fact that I don't contribute to household supplies. This, almost more than anything else, infuriated me. It was patently untrue. I thought about what I'd bought for the house in recent memory: Light bulbs, trash bags, visitor passes, sponges. As Janelle said, he was reaching with that one. Whatever I haven't bought for the house, Janelle has. I don't know what Rich has bought. I'm not saying he hasn't contributed, but as far as I know, he hasn't
4. He accused me of being equally as passive/aggressive as I accused him of being because I had left a note one time about taking out the trash. Guilty as charged, but it happened a while ago and it was the only time, current note notwithstanding, that I've left a note. He seemed to be implying that what I did was no different than his practice of screaming of yelling, wall pounding, door slamming, etc., that he engages in. Sorry, Rich, but you're reaching.
The note ended with him stating he wasn't comfortable living here anymore and it was time for him to move on. He didn't address the soap dispenser issue. He hasn't talked to me since. He has, however, warmed up to Janelle even more. That night, he did all her dishes for her. I wonder if he did that in an effort to secure her as an ally, to show her he's a rational, contributing member of the household, unlike me. Of course not. He's always that generous. Hear that drip? That's sarcasm.
Janelle and I are going to speak with Rich and hash out an exit strategy. All well and good that he says it's time to move on, but when? He could be here another week or another five months. And, because he didn't agree to our ultimatum that he communicate in a respectful way, should we dictate when he leaves? I don't want it to come to that, but I can't go on living with someone who actively disrespects me. That's why the meeting should take place.
It's all too bad. It could have worked for Rich here, but his anger gets the best of him. And because he's unable or unwilling to communicate his feelings, he harbors a welter of negativity that has spread throughout the house. I hope this gets resolved soon.
So there you have it. Not so vague, this post. I think I'm all set with the Rich situation for a while. Off to watch the rest of Harakiri, which, so far, has been fantastic.
Over a week ago, in response to my guitar playing and singing, Rich pounded on the wall in his room with such ferocity the entire house shook. If you've been reading this blog for a while you'll know this wasn't the first time he's done this. I stopped playing for a second and then started up playing again, only this time with mounting anger.
Since I've lived with Rich, which has been a few years now, I've had to speak to him several times about his outbursts, which have always been directed at me specifically, whether I was the true source of his anger or not. Each time, I made it a point to confront him, to try to come to some kind of resolution, because if I didn't he would never say a word and let things fester. Rich is not the confrontational type. When he loses his temper, it's not directly. One time I caught him cursing me out for -- God forbid! - turning the heat up (Anything over 65 degrees would incur his wrath). He was startled as I made my way down the stairs - he hadn't expected an audience. I asked him if he'd like to repeat what he said to my face. His response was to flee to his room. The next day I knocked on his door and tried to hash things out. I asked him, as politely as I could, to speak to me directly when he has a grievance with me. I told him it wasn't my intention to anger him, that all I wanted was for him to let me know, in a civil manner, when I did so that I could make the proper adjustments. He said it hadn't been me he was upset with, only the fact that the heat seemed to be constantly on. I didn't believe him, but because he agreed to my request, I kept silent.
I've known for a while now that Rich just flat out doesn't like me. If pressed, I'm not sure he could articulate the precise reason why. Well, maybe he could, and has, but to other people, not me. I've tried with him. I really have. And I've never made an inch of headway with him. Nope, just the continual, barely restrained hostility. Even when it became absolutely clear he just didn't like me, and probably never would no matter what I said I or did, I still wanted to be able to share the same house with him in a comfortable manner. And, to be candid, it didn't sit well with my ego knowing I was disliked.
Before the latest wall pounding incident, it came to my attention that he thought I was messing with his head. He keeps a bottle of hand soap in the shower and, apparently, someone was turning the dispenser so that it faced the wall. And guess who he thought that someone was?
I was dumbstruck, despite the fact that I knew he blamed me for pretty much everything that bothered him in the house. First of all, just the fact that he keeps tabs on how his soap is positioned is a little odd to me. You could move my stuff around every day of the week and I wouldn't notice. And then to accuse me of moving the bottle around, as if I was perpetrating some elaborate, yet subtle, mind game! For him to reach that conclusion, he had to believe that I was out to get him and that this was one way to do it. Besides the voices in his head, which have to be downright disturbing, I suspect his theories have been getting support from other sources. I'm willing to bet anything that there's a whole host of other similar things he's blamed me for. "Hey, my can of Pepsi has been moved a fraction of an inch! Must be that scoundrel Kevin! Who else could it be?"
Knowing that Rich had reached the level of paranoia with me was disturbing but it made sense. It fit his profile. He's a guy who lacks communication skills, particularly as concerns confrontation. Rather than say to me, "Perhaps this sounds a little weird, but have you been playing around with my soap?", he opted to tell Janelle and Craig about my diabolical scheming. I don't know how long that particular issue had been stewing around in his head, but I bet it had been for a while.
I decided, after the wall pounding incident, that I was no longer willing to tolerate that type of behavior. I'd reached my breaking point. Probably should have happened sooner, but I wanted to make our living situation work. A friend told me he would have punched Rich in the face after the first incident. While I don't think the violent route would have worked for me, it probably would have settled things, for better or worse. Probably worse. I'm glad I kept my cool - someone had to - but I'd be lying if I said I didn't harbor fantasies of breaking his jaw for him.
I chose not to confront him directly this time. That method had failed to get the desired results. No, he was getting a note, and in it I was going to voice my displeasure with his behavior and let him know that it would not be tolerated anymore. If he couldn't keep his temper in check and learn to communicate like an adult, we were going to have to make some changes. Despite being fed up with his nonsense, I wanted to be as diplomatic as possible. To that end, I decided to wait a day for my anger to subside before I wrote the note. I wanted to be level headed.
He didn't make it easy on me. I came one night to find the cable bill stabbed on the cork board above our sink with angry red circles drawn around the due date of the bill. It was clearly directed at me. I won't get into the hypocrisy of the action and why, especially in this instance, it was uncalled for, but trust me on this: he was taking another jab at me.
Now I was even more furious. How dare this fucking rat try to bully me into doing his bidding? And from behind the scenes like a coward! Again, I put off writing the note because if I wrote it then it would have been vicious and wholly undiplomatic. It took a few days for me to get into the proper mindset.
Last week I sat down and wrote the note. I had put a lot of effort into it, more than he deserved, perhaps, but at the end of the day, no matter what he thinks of me, Rich is a decent enough guy. He's just not happy with his life and his unhappiness affects how he interacts with others. That's not conjecture, he's said as much to me. It took me about a half hour to write the note. When I was through I showed it to Janelle and got the green light to give it to Rich. I left it in the kitchen before I went to bed.
The next morning, the note was on the counter with another note written on the back. Rich had responded quicker than I expected. I read his reply. Here's the gist:
1. Regarding the wall pounding incident, he was only knocking a bit on the ceiling to get me to stop playing. According to him, I knew my guitar playing drives him crazy, so I shouldn't have been surprised at his mild request (I'm not quoting him directly here, but I'm coming damn close)
2. Posting the cable bill in the manner he did was only to remind me that it was soon to be due. Oh, that's all it was. Why that bothered me I don't know.
3. He resents the fact that I don't contribute to household supplies. This, almost more than anything else, infuriated me. It was patently untrue. I thought about what I'd bought for the house in recent memory: Light bulbs, trash bags, visitor passes, sponges. As Janelle said, he was reaching with that one. Whatever I haven't bought for the house, Janelle has. I don't know what Rich has bought. I'm not saying he hasn't contributed, but as far as I know, he hasn't
4. He accused me of being equally as passive/aggressive as I accused him of being because I had left a note one time about taking out the trash. Guilty as charged, but it happened a while ago and it was the only time, current note notwithstanding, that I've left a note. He seemed to be implying that what I did was no different than his practice of screaming of yelling, wall pounding, door slamming, etc., that he engages in. Sorry, Rich, but you're reaching.
The note ended with him stating he wasn't comfortable living here anymore and it was time for him to move on. He didn't address the soap dispenser issue. He hasn't talked to me since. He has, however, warmed up to Janelle even more. That night, he did all her dishes for her. I wonder if he did that in an effort to secure her as an ally, to show her he's a rational, contributing member of the household, unlike me. Of course not. He's always that generous. Hear that drip? That's sarcasm.
Janelle and I are going to speak with Rich and hash out an exit strategy. All well and good that he says it's time to move on, but when? He could be here another week or another five months. And, because he didn't agree to our ultimatum that he communicate in a respectful way, should we dictate when he leaves? I don't want it to come to that, but I can't go on living with someone who actively disrespects me. That's why the meeting should take place.
It's all too bad. It could have worked for Rich here, but his anger gets the best of him. And because he's unable or unwilling to communicate his feelings, he harbors a welter of negativity that has spread throughout the house. I hope this gets resolved soon.
So there you have it. Not so vague, this post. I think I'm all set with the Rich situation for a while. Off to watch the rest of Harakiri, which, so far, has been fantastic.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Me and my arrow, straighter than narrow
A record short post because I just don't feel like delving deep into something that, if covered, won't allow anything less. Just know that today my reaction to one person's antics can be summed up with "You've got to be fucking kidding me!". And know also that if it weren't for the friendly people I encountered everywhere I went today, I would have been more aggravated than I was, which was plenty. Today, I ruminated about loyalty, about sticking up for your friends when it's called for. I came to the conclusion that at least one person I'm close with has done the opposite. I'm okay with that. I'm trying to accept people for who they are. Trying to take the high road.
Okay, maybe not the shortest post ever, but it won't be a long one, to be sure. Sorry if I was too vague. The dust needs to settle a little and then, maybe, I'll elaborate. It may not seem so, but I'm in pretty good spirits. I'm just bedraggled and need to regroup. Things are changing and not really in a bad way. Well, maybe for one or two people. There I go being vague again. Best I end this before you really get upset with me.
One more thing: the latest episode of Lost was sublime! Positively sublime!
Okay, maybe not the shortest post ever, but it won't be a long one, to be sure. Sorry if I was too vague. The dust needs to settle a little and then, maybe, I'll elaborate. It may not seem so, but I'm in pretty good spirits. I'm just bedraggled and need to regroup. Things are changing and not really in a bad way. Well, maybe for one or two people. There I go being vague again. Best I end this before you really get upset with me.
One more thing: the latest episode of Lost was sublime! Positively sublime!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I'm lying in my bed, the blanket is warm, this body will never be safe from harm
I missed tonight's episode of Lost because I still hadn't watched the episode from last week. I was hoping for a double header, but it wasn't to be. I really enjoyed the episode I watched. Really well done. I was going to comment on how this show has jumped the shark in reverse, but I don't have the energy to explain what I mean by that, even though I think it should be readily apparent.
Yes, lack of energy. I'm starting to drift. A short post, this, but I want keep a rhythm going with my writing. Well, Kevin, before you go is there anything you want to add? No? Are you sure, because it seems like you want to say something? Okay, this is it -- the post is ending. One last chance: speak now or forever hold your yada yada yada. Alright, then. It's off with me, readers. I seek the soft comforts of my bed, where under the covers I'll read, maybe listen to some music or a Bigfoot podcast, before sleep overtakes me.
(
Yes, lack of energy. I'm starting to drift. A short post, this, but I want keep a rhythm going with my writing. Well, Kevin, before you go is there anything you want to add? No? Are you sure, because it seems like you want to say something? Okay, this is it -- the post is ending. One last chance: speak now or forever hold your yada yada yada. Alright, then. It's off with me, readers. I seek the soft comforts of my bed, where under the covers I'll read, maybe listen to some music or a Bigfoot podcast, before sleep overtakes me.
(
Monday, March 8, 2010
O' Paul, I know you feel disoriented tonight, but Paul, I hope you know that we're all here, and we won't let your sleep upset you tonight
I was at work briefly before I hit the road to Nashua to work at the registry for a while. I was happy to be out and about, especially because the weather was nice. I didn't get back until late afternoon. It was almost like having a day off, except I would never hang out at the Registry of Deeds on my day off. Well, maybe if they was some kind of magic show going on.
The Invention Of Lying was pretty good. Funny concept: In a world where everyone tells the truth all the time, one man figures out how to use lying to his advantage. What was particularly funny about the movie was everyone saying exactly what they were thinking. Unfortunately--and this is the case with most comedies -- the film was too formulaic for me to give it a glowing review. Still, I laughed out loud throughout, there were a ton of cool cameos, and it starred Ricky Gervais, who actually got me a little weepy at one point. It hit me like a brick because it was the only point in the film that wasn't trying to bring the funny. And Ricky sold it, son! Got me all teary and shit.
I've been away from running and yoga for about a week now. And I've stopped meditating and working from the Pathfinder book. Oh yes, something in me has rebelled, has curled up in a little ball and become unavailable to anything that might change it's reality only slightly. Time to get back on track, I say. Paralysis by analysis does me no good.
Didn't watch the Oscars, but I was pleased to hear Christoph Walz won an award for Best Supporting Actor. His performance in Inglorious Basterds was one of the best I've seen in a while.
Ok, troops, I'm done with you. Hope you've learned something, or at the very least become a better person, having read this stunning bit of writing I've delivered to you.
The Invention Of Lying was pretty good. Funny concept: In a world where everyone tells the truth all the time, one man figures out how to use lying to his advantage. What was particularly funny about the movie was everyone saying exactly what they were thinking. Unfortunately--and this is the case with most comedies -- the film was too formulaic for me to give it a glowing review. Still, I laughed out loud throughout, there were a ton of cool cameos, and it starred Ricky Gervais, who actually got me a little weepy at one point. It hit me like a brick because it was the only point in the film that wasn't trying to bring the funny. And Ricky sold it, son! Got me all teary and shit.
I've been away from running and yoga for about a week now. And I've stopped meditating and working from the Pathfinder book. Oh yes, something in me has rebelled, has curled up in a little ball and become unavailable to anything that might change it's reality only slightly. Time to get back on track, I say. Paralysis by analysis does me no good.
Didn't watch the Oscars, but I was pleased to hear Christoph Walz won an award for Best Supporting Actor. His performance in Inglorious Basterds was one of the best I've seen in a while.
Ok, troops, I'm done with you. Hope you've learned something, or at the very least become a better person, having read this stunning bit of writing I've delivered to you.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Drunk as hell and no throwing up, halfway home and my pager's still blowing up, I didn't even have to use my AK, I've got to say today was a good day
A lengthier hiatus than I realized. This past week found me preoccupied with several unrelated things; some good, some bad, some in between. Lack of time and energy prevented me from writing, even though I had stuff to write about.
The beginning of the week was devoted to rehearsing for Wednesday's show in Manchester. I say rehearsing, but it wasn't so much that: it was mostly writing lyrics for three songs I wanted to play. I do this all the time, this last minute rush to complete songs. I could have taken it easy and whipped out a set of older songs that would have required little or no preparation, but I chose a different path. Hey, it got me to finish up some songs that I feel pretty good about. I'll probably post some lyrics on the other site.
The performance went well. Besides myself, Scott and Shane from NSI, and Nikki Farr and her band played. Jewell and Beanstalk (or is it just bean?) is a cozy little eatery in Manchester and everyone who worked there was really laid back. Scott and I were the first among the performers to arrive and we were given spinach pie and lamb filled grape leaves to tide us over before we played. The food was excellent. Our waitress told us a cute little Greek man makes it fresh everyday and brings it in. Based on her description, I envisioned a cute, little lawn gnome and I asked her if he was the type of guy you want to pat on the head. She gave it some thought and said, "You know, he's actually like six-five, so even if he was sitting down, I'd have difficulty doing that. So, I guess I didn't describe him that accurately. He is a cute old man, though."
I went on first. What served as the stage was a cleft in the narrow space that divided the front and back of the restaurant. A tight fit, but it enabled everyone to get a view, or at least a semblance of one. My set coincided with the dinner rush, and while it wasn't the most attentive audience I've played in front of, there were enough people listening to make it worth it. I don't always mind this scenario and I didn't that night. I always like playing whether people are listening or not.
What made the night really worth it was hearing the other performers, who were excellent, and spending time with friends. Kim and John, Kevin and Janet, Rachael and Mike, Jenny, Shane, and Scott: a solid lineup if I ever saw one.
Last night was Michelle's surprise birthday party at Martha's in Nashua. There was a 70's theme and funk and disco poured out of the monitors all night. A good amount of attendees were decked out in regalia appropriate to the decade. Heath, with his giant afro, mustache, vest, and tight burgundy pants, was hilarious to behold. Rachael wore roller skates and shared them with anyone willing to brave the experience. She tried, in vain, to get me to put them on. It was enough that I was goofing it up on the dance floor for a good chunk of the night. A great time! I love my friends.
I was exhausted when I left the party and it took listening to the first Cheap Trick record at a high volume to keep me alert. By the time I got home, I was so jazzed from listening to them, that I went up to my room, plopped on a pair of headphones, and blissed out to At Budokan.
--
On the home front, trouble has been brewing. It will be addressed shortly. It's been a thorn in my side for days. As things develop, I will go into more detail.
--
Hit the jack pot yesterday. I found a site that has free downloads of every episode of Ricky Gervais' podcast. I've listened to about five episodes already. He and Stephen Merchant make me laugh and laugh and laugh. Speaking of Ricky, I hope to watch The Invention of Lying tonight. Ebert gave it a positive review. Doesn't matter, I'll watch anything with Ricky Gervais in it.
Today's playlist:
1. Lhasa De Sela - Lhasa
2. Nirvana - In Utero
3. Sandy Denny - The North Star Grassman and the Ravens
4. Richard and Linda Thompson - I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight
5. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
I'm off to watch a little of the Celtics game, play some music, read from Carrion Comfort, watch that movie, and maybe, just maybe, I'll start a religion. That last one may take some time.
The beginning of the week was devoted to rehearsing for Wednesday's show in Manchester. I say rehearsing, but it wasn't so much that: it was mostly writing lyrics for three songs I wanted to play. I do this all the time, this last minute rush to complete songs. I could have taken it easy and whipped out a set of older songs that would have required little or no preparation, but I chose a different path. Hey, it got me to finish up some songs that I feel pretty good about. I'll probably post some lyrics on the other site.
The performance went well. Besides myself, Scott and Shane from NSI, and Nikki Farr and her band played. Jewell and Beanstalk (or is it just bean?) is a cozy little eatery in Manchester and everyone who worked there was really laid back. Scott and I were the first among the performers to arrive and we were given spinach pie and lamb filled grape leaves to tide us over before we played. The food was excellent. Our waitress told us a cute little Greek man makes it fresh everyday and brings it in. Based on her description, I envisioned a cute, little lawn gnome and I asked her if he was the type of guy you want to pat on the head. She gave it some thought and said, "You know, he's actually like six-five, so even if he was sitting down, I'd have difficulty doing that. So, I guess I didn't describe him that accurately. He is a cute old man, though."
I went on first. What served as the stage was a cleft in the narrow space that divided the front and back of the restaurant. A tight fit, but it enabled everyone to get a view, or at least a semblance of one. My set coincided with the dinner rush, and while it wasn't the most attentive audience I've played in front of, there were enough people listening to make it worth it. I don't always mind this scenario and I didn't that night. I always like playing whether people are listening or not.
What made the night really worth it was hearing the other performers, who were excellent, and spending time with friends. Kim and John, Kevin and Janet, Rachael and Mike, Jenny, Shane, and Scott: a solid lineup if I ever saw one.
Last night was Michelle's surprise birthday party at Martha's in Nashua. There was a 70's theme and funk and disco poured out of the monitors all night. A good amount of attendees were decked out in regalia appropriate to the decade. Heath, with his giant afro, mustache, vest, and tight burgundy pants, was hilarious to behold. Rachael wore roller skates and shared them with anyone willing to brave the experience. She tried, in vain, to get me to put them on. It was enough that I was goofing it up on the dance floor for a good chunk of the night. A great time! I love my friends.
I was exhausted when I left the party and it took listening to the first Cheap Trick record at a high volume to keep me alert. By the time I got home, I was so jazzed from listening to them, that I went up to my room, plopped on a pair of headphones, and blissed out to At Budokan.
--
On the home front, trouble has been brewing. It will be addressed shortly. It's been a thorn in my side for days. As things develop, I will go into more detail.
--
Hit the jack pot yesterday. I found a site that has free downloads of every episode of Ricky Gervais' podcast. I've listened to about five episodes already. He and Stephen Merchant make me laugh and laugh and laugh. Speaking of Ricky, I hope to watch The Invention of Lying tonight. Ebert gave it a positive review. Doesn't matter, I'll watch anything with Ricky Gervais in it.
Today's playlist:
1. Lhasa De Sela - Lhasa
2. Nirvana - In Utero
3. Sandy Denny - The North Star Grassman and the Ravens
4. Richard and Linda Thompson - I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight
5. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
I'm off to watch a little of the Celtics game, play some music, read from Carrion Comfort, watch that movie, and maybe, just maybe, I'll start a religion. That last one may take some time.
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