Mighty Casey Has Struck Out

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Stop Freaking Out On Me

Amy Stein, Halloween in Harlem

I am back, after a long, sweaty, and sticky weekend spent mostly in the car driving up and down our fair coast. Without air-conditioning. With one working window. And oh, including a 55-pound, panting dog squirming on my lap. Ah, the joys of owning a now-aging, gas-guzzling, pick-up truck. We arrived wilted and returned, if possible, even less unrefreshed.

All in all, it wasn't that bad. In fact, you might even say the trip was good. The boyfriend met the family. The family bought the dinner. The girlfriend, or, me, that is, felt comfortable enough to leave them alone together while she washed up. She returned to find both parties not only unharmed but actually engaging in conversation. To wit, she couldn't get a word in edgewise the rest of the night.

As for the rest of the weekend, it went smashingly well. And when I say smashingly, I do mean smashingly. The boyfriend broke the parent's shower, in addition to the side window on my truck. Though both events were, as far as he assured me, unrelated and accidental, I am considering a padded helmet and an insurance policy for any future southbound trips. Other highlights included: a pod of dolphins, a swarm of bees and a gaggle of siblings.
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Wednesday, June 20, 2007

oh boy oh boy oh boy

painting by Dennis McNulty

Take a deep breath. OK. OK. Did that. Now what?

Too much coffee. Too many things on my brain. Too much socializing. Too much beer. Too much homemade ice-cream (toasted coconut!) But all good for my health. The best, in fact.

The weather. Somewhat hot. The dog. Somewhat lazy. The boyfriend. Somewhat amazing. It could be worse. This order could be reversed.

¡Damas y caballeros! We could be reaching a break through here. Or maybe just a turning point. Or it could be more like the end of a really, really long journey. Like through the desert. Like being lost and then found. Like the coldest beer after the hottest car ride. Or the fizziest coca cola after unpacking all of your boxes. Do I make any sense?

I am talking about the film here. THE FILM! Other things, may be to apply as well. But THE FILM. It is nearing completion. It is nearing ohmygawd completion. Ready or not. It's done!

Shit.

SHIT!

And then what?

A vacation.

A much needed vacation.
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Monday, June 11, 2007

No one cares about me more than you do

Idris Khan, every...Bernd and Hilla Becher Gable sided Houses

The weekend. The weekend! Can you hear me, I said the weekend!! Can you d-i-g i-t?! (and I do not mean digit!)

In short, a barbecue. Strawberries that were planted. More blooming flowers that were bought and subsequently planted. A dog that was bad, very bad, and scared away the neighbor's puppy after whom we all had to run in a million different directions looking and whom was found, but not by me, and at a much earlier hour, much earlier than the hour I actually came back from looking for her.

To continue: a strenuous hike. With a view! A knowledgeable fellow hiker who pointed out a rattlesnake track on the dirt! A break! A much-needed break from the film I can't finish! Potato leek soup, even though it is by no means potato leek soup season!

!!!

Also, a day spent helping the fifteen year-old with her special final history video project for which she had done hardly any work at all! All semester! And for whom I could offer very little assistance, seeing as she hadn't done anything at all, and also who had very little to say about Nicaragua, the subject of her special final history video project which, in addition to, is the birthplace of her father.

One more thing. One more thing!

I saw an OK movie: Since Otar Left. A crier! But slow! I read some good stories, like those that were inside the last issue of McSweeney's. I continue to read that good book, Everything Is Illuminated.

And

Ali Farka Touré on the stereos! Mom on the telephone!

And

An argument with the boyfriend that was resolved amicably and quite possibly for the betterment of the relationship! Apologies accepted!

Plus

Successful annual gynecological exam at 9AM this morning! Even though I was reminded that I am past my prime for child birthing!

Success!
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Friday, June 08, 2007

No one knows me better than you


Hot Knives, Tim Barber

Coffee and donuts. No wait. More like cherries and peaches. More like, more like, chocolate. And tea. Fancy tea. The kind where the leaves unfurl like fists. Baby fists. The kind in the see-through tea pots. They kind they sell at upscale markets.

The kind I don't have.

That's what today feels like. Special and not special at the same time. But right. Just right. And me. It feels like me. Which is a good feeling. It means human. It means normal. It means I can feel excited and antsy and angry and sad and bored. And I promise I won't blame anyone else for it.

Tomorrow I hang out with the fifteen year-old. The one I made a film about.

Weird.

To quote Miranda July for no other reason than I just read her book and, whom, if you know me, know is both my hero and my nemesis:

I look forward to seeing you next week if you live in LA, SF, Portland or Seattle.
It will be terrific, I will bow when I see you, you will bow when you see me, we will bump heads and knock each other unconscious and when we come to we won’t remember anything, we will mumble pardon me and shuffle off in to brand new lives. I really can not wait.
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Monday, June 04, 2007

Coming Through Slaughter


Buddy Bolden and Band

This weekend was all decentish (thank you to Kurt's OPE for letting me borrow one or two of his idiosyncrasies. Although technically I didn't ask, I must also assume he stole it from some where else). Though the weather gloomy and cold–despite the fact that it is now June–we managed an outing or two. One thing is that we discovered our local library. We both got cards and have become quite compulsive in scouring their DVDs, CDs, and New Materials sections. Did you know you can check out back issues of Harper's, The New York Review of Books (which modestly claims the title: the premier literary-intellectual magazine in English language) and, well, we haven't actually located a copy of Hustler yet, but we can see no reason why it shouldn't be there, too.

It feels really good to go to the library. Like riding your bike to work. Like I am a good citizen of the world! Hooray for me! Because of all the doom and gloom we spent the rest of the day browsing through our materials. I got two cookbooks; I am finally able to read Everything Is Illuminated; and here is a tip for you: do not confuse the band Django with the legendary musician, Django Reinhardt. Not all of our CDs, it seems, can be winners.

Cookies were made. No cleaning was done. Intimacy was had. And while some were out triumphantly consuming hot dogs, we were watching movies outdoors, in the park, with cute kids, all bundled up, some of the cute kids being kids I knew pretty well. And despite an expensive and alarming trip to the Vet, the days felt leisurely and long. So leisurely, in fact, I have a hard time admitting to myself that I am now supposed to be working.

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