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Friday, December 05, 2003
I'm obviously coming a little late to the party, but I just watched "Proof of Life" for the first time. Not a great movie, but not a waste of a couple of hours, even though a) the fight between Meg Ryan and her husband made absolutely no sense and b) I never got any clear sense of Meg Ryan's character, other than that she was conflicted and that she had the hots for Russell Crowe. Although, I mean, who wouldn't, but the scene where they finally kiss (sorry if this spoils it for anyone) is the only true moment in the movie.
The most interesting choice in the movie is how they show the progression of the relationship. Naturally there are boring pans of one staring at the other, little eureka moments of lust, but at one point Russell puts down his beer and Meg picks it up to drink it. Then they call for the maid in the same way, at the same time. These little moments of familiarity, of shared life, are so much more true than one person staring at the other without the stared at saying, "What?" In real life, people do not stare longingly at one another. They steal glances, turn their heads when their beloved walks by in hopes of catching the scent of the intended person. If memory serves.
I was offered another position today, working in the wine room in a major store here in the valley. I need to sleep on it, but I do know that it is way too early to leave the job I've had for less than two months. It's flattering, though- the offer came from my reputation alone. Although it might be, in many ways, a perfect job, it would most likely have a much deeper commitment level and at this point, I am truly only committed to getting out of my bed every morning and showing up wherever I'm supposed to be. It's daunting in the same way that looking for a place to live, signing a year lease scares me. As I've been saying since before I moved here, I'm simply not able to commit past tomorrow. I just don't know.
I had so much fun with my friend Jon this week, and one of the big fat losers from work who spurned my friendship is actually reaching out to me, talking, joking, still allergic to the idea of actually hanging out with me, but at least he's being super nice when I do see him. These things are good. I've started my Christmas shopping, which so far is also good, but I'm terrified to take a peek at my bank account. My stupid cold still plagues me. The dog is barking at the lamp. That's about how things go around here.
The most interesting choice in the movie is how they show the progression of the relationship. Naturally there are boring pans of one staring at the other, little eureka moments of lust, but at one point Russell puts down his beer and Meg picks it up to drink it. Then they call for the maid in the same way, at the same time. These little moments of familiarity, of shared life, are so much more true than one person staring at the other without the stared at saying, "What?" In real life, people do not stare longingly at one another. They steal glances, turn their heads when their beloved walks by in hopes of catching the scent of the intended person. If memory serves.
I was offered another position today, working in the wine room in a major store here in the valley. I need to sleep on it, but I do know that it is way too early to leave the job I've had for less than two months. It's flattering, though- the offer came from my reputation alone. Although it might be, in many ways, a perfect job, it would most likely have a much deeper commitment level and at this point, I am truly only committed to getting out of my bed every morning and showing up wherever I'm supposed to be. It's daunting in the same way that looking for a place to live, signing a year lease scares me. As I've been saying since before I moved here, I'm simply not able to commit past tomorrow. I just don't know.
I had so much fun with my friend Jon this week, and one of the big fat losers from work who spurned my friendship is actually reaching out to me, talking, joking, still allergic to the idea of actually hanging out with me, but at least he's being super nice when I do see him. These things are good. I've started my Christmas shopping, which so far is also good, but I'm terrified to take a peek at my bank account. My stupid cold still plagues me. The dog is barking at the lamp. That's about how things go around here.
When all I did was write in my journal, I'd skip days and weeks if I was sad. It wasn't a conscious choice, I don't think, but I also hated putting my misery on paper. It seems to be the opposite on this blog. I've had a terrific couple of days and yet not fought the rain and dial-up to post. And now, at work, I have no time.
Why does the spell check on Blogger not recognize "blog"?
We have a Christmas tree in the lobby, and Aimee Mann is singing "A Christmas Song" on our satellite radio. It doesn't yet feel like the Christmas season, though. Maybe because it is 60 degrees and rainy here.
I had a fun week with my new friend Jon, even through the haze of a rotten cold. My dad has been laid out from a flu and infection for over a week. We are a sorry pair.
Sigh. More on everything later.
Why does the spell check on Blogger not recognize "blog"?
We have a Christmas tree in the lobby, and Aimee Mann is singing "A Christmas Song" on our satellite radio. It doesn't yet feel like the Christmas season, though. Maybe because it is 60 degrees and rainy here.
I had a fun week with my new friend Jon, even through the haze of a rotten cold. My dad has been laid out from a flu and infection for over a week. We are a sorry pair.
Sigh. More on everything later.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Ohh, Chr-IST! it does seem as though I'm lost in California, trying to find myself, doesn't it Greg? How utterly boring. But then, I suppose all of my loyal readers are used to this crud I write, right? I have no excuse. Blogs are nothing more than Polaroids, fragments of thoughts, sometimes planned hours in advance but always altered by the moment fingers strike keys. If I had my druthers I'd write every day, every hour, but I'm suffering through dial-up and a dead laptop battery. And a wee case of the blues.
There is so much to write, every given day, that I feel sometimes I might burst or throw up if I can't get to a keyboard. I cannot help it that pen and paper fail me; no one can read my handwriting, least of all me. If I cannot find a way to do this I will go mad.
I was sick for three boring days but tonight I had fun with my new friend Jon. It was a terrific, long, funny night, almost eight hours of good stuff, but near the end we just listened to music. We drove to the top of my hill sat in the car and he played music important to him and I thought I truly might stop breathing. The music he played was so filled with love and loss and useless truths that I didn't quite know what to do with my false, half-drunk self. I know nothing of love. Nothing but reminders of what it once was to me. Truly, other than family, love has exactly nothing to do with my life and while that might seem a tragic or pitiful thing, it's not. Love is just not an option, not something I wake with every morning. In fact, it confuses me. And this music, this music that shook my chest, that challenged my cynicism, that, sadly, reminded me of thoughts past, pressed upon my wine-laden mind and threatened to crush, to press me, each song like another stone on Giles Gory's plank. What to do with so much foreign information. There should be warning signs on CD's, not for "adult themes" or "racist lyrics" or whatever nonsense currently reigns. It should read: "total bullshit" or "beware: truth". Something that warns of what is really there.
All of my thoughts are the same. What the *ahem* am I doing. I know nothing of contentedness, I mostly only know the difference between miserable or no. I watched the hills rolling by tonight, almost black against black, and understood that I have to keep plugging along. I have to keep believing, have to put yet another stupid f-cking foot in front of another, like I've done for so many years, and keep hoping that it will eventually lead me SOMEWHERE. If I am lucky enough to live to be 90, then I've already lived over a third of my life. I don't even know what to do with that information.
There are good, hopeful, happy moments as well, but I never seem to be near a computer when they happen. I feel as though I'm floating, and little more.
There are a thousand things here to be thankful for, and I know them. A stepmom lovingly heating me soup when I'm too sick to stand. A dad who will never allow me to go hungry or cold. But the absolute question is this: what can I do for myself here? Or anywhere? What exactly can I do?
I was sick for three boring days but tonight I had fun with my new friend Jon. It was a terrific, long, funny night, almost eight hours of good stuff, but near the end we just listened to music. We drove to the top of my hill sat in the car and he played music important to him and I thought I truly might stop breathing. The music he played was so filled with love and loss and useless truths that I didn't quite know what to do with my false, half-drunk self. I know nothing of love. Nothing but reminders of what it once was to me. Truly, other than family, love has exactly nothing to do with my life and while that might seem a tragic or pitiful thing, it's not. Love is just not an option, not something I wake with every morning. In fact, it confuses me. And this music, this music that shook my chest, that challenged my cynicism, that, sadly, reminded me of thoughts past, pressed upon my wine-laden mind and threatened to crush, to press me, each song like another stone on Giles Gory's plank. What to do with so much foreign information. There should be warning signs on CD's, not for "adult themes" or "racist lyrics" or whatever nonsense currently reigns. It should read: "total bullshit" or "beware: truth". Something that warns of what is really there.
All of my thoughts are the same. What the *ahem* am I doing. I know nothing of contentedness, I mostly only know the difference between miserable or no. I watched the hills rolling by tonight, almost black against black, and understood that I have to keep plugging along. I have to keep believing, have to put yet another stupid f-cking foot in front of another, like I've done for so many years, and keep hoping that it will eventually lead me SOMEWHERE. If I am lucky enough to live to be 90, then I've already lived over a third of my life. I don't even know what to do with that information.
There are good, hopeful, happy moments as well, but I never seem to be near a computer when they happen. I feel as though I'm floating, and little more.
There are a thousand things here to be thankful for, and I know them. A stepmom lovingly heating me soup when I'm too sick to stand. A dad who will never allow me to go hungry or cold. But the absolute question is this: what can I do for myself here? Or anywhere? What exactly can I do?