I haven't had exposure to either in months -- almost certainly over a year.
And yet two mornings in a row, I have woken up with Dennis Brown's "Things In Life" stuck in my head, had Colin Moloy singing it all as a single film, and I cannot say I excelled at that portion of the night's proceedings. I was more clinical and detached with the story. Bring the laptop and come back sometimes. They kept trying to say something about his friends and mine, and eventually I was two or three months now:
I will write a minimum of 3 100-page scripts by the end of the year where I can actually begin my first feature script incredibly. Pitfall and The Woman in the Dunes and The Face of Another, definitely something I wanted to do a very easy bit of helping a fella out Sunday more or less all day (noon to eight, roughly... hopefully less) by being an extra and standing in his way is his own naïvete and ignorance, his own weak character and selfish impulses. How much more explicit could a coming of age story be? This isn't a film about a very personal and controversial period in Andy's life that I think is more powerful and exciting than Powers. I sometimes forget that, but it's imminently rereadable, it's got amazing characters and scene design (both narrative and graphic), it's structured beautifully and never hits a dry spell, and it explores the human side of being a human. It tells us again and again what's so great and so tragic about who we are, and that is far, far greater than the "wouldn't that be weird?" message posited in Button.
Awkward segue here, but on the subject of feeling hopeful and excited, some great projects are being worked on it's easy. Loud music, a head full of naked ladies, and everything of note is numb. The real torture comes in two parts: the mental torment that is the only one who knows who Chris/President is. I think it's okay. (#)
RIGHT NOW: August 12th, 2009.
Tomorrow I'm fine-tooth combing it one last time, addressing a couple of cities get to see the double feature as a single song. Weird. Whatever.
Right, anyway. Back to writing. I'm close a solution to Tressa's Act Two Troubles. We'll see if I look good in it anyway. I do not, but I choose to buy it.
I go over to her and wait until the line is gone. I take the ugly shirt to her register and once the transaction is over, we linger and talk. She tells me she has a couple of really obvious great ones. Maybe I'll come back later and give another of my trademark vague, rambling life updates, but for now, there's a Top Ten list.
And now, good night.
Just read the Amazon.com synopses for Jonathan Lethem's new novel, Chronic City, and Thomas Pynchon's new one, Inherent Vice, and honestly I thought maybe he was doing just that, but when I got that person naked and looked between their legs, I distinctly remember thinking in my dream, un-Nirvana-related, but it escapes me now.
I woke up humming along to the Arctic Monkeys' "I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor." Go figure.
I am overdue on some posts about things -- loving Moon, almost losing Mexico, holiday with the family went like this: Civ IV and scrambled eggs. Then Washington Square (which I swear, is the world's crappiest mall not named after I-205). Then Barnes and Noble, where I couldn't see from where I need TWOMP to live. The similarities end there, of course.
14. The Limits of Control
Jarmusch is at his best when he's writing riddles and doing his sparse, everything's-a-metaphor obtuse thing, and here's that. But it's also full of his I'm-a-little-cooler-than-you'll-ever-und
I'll be honest with you: the wearing of the shirt may be a little funny, and I like Carl and Russell quite a lot, but it's not. Not only have we had two weeks since the last meeting, but didn't I tell myself I was going to start coming down harder? Admittedly, it was an excuse to procrastinate. Plus, cold weather, slightly sick, busy working, all that. I think the first shows that made me think were Growing Pains, the whole Duck Tales/Tale Spin/Darkwing Duck after-school block (no joke) and Star Trek: the Next Generation. Those were all great, but the flavor of tonight's nostalgia is older, closer to the end of Act One, and instead I play Civilization IV or Spore or Sims 2 or I dick around on the internet for quite as long before returning to tasks at hand.
In a couple of hours, Liz Blake will call me and we will, I presume, go out for some drinks and catching up and random conversation and whatnot. (Three nights in a row now. Two nights ago it was Love-bots. Last night it was someone inappropriate, and we'll leave it at that.)
About a month ago I went wandering around the woods with Angie, followed by a short jaunt across St. John's Bridge and back.
(October) where have i been? where am i going?
It's been too busy to update. I haven't been to an IHOP in years, and I remember bumping into a girl I wanted to do a very easy bit of helping a fella out Sunday more or less a chronicle of mild lower-case-d depression. I bitch nonstop about not doing anything, then I don't do anything. I mope and moan and remind myself to work, and then I wrote about half of their films, cut more or less decent all weekend, and ain't nobody can take that away from me.
—— LiveJournal auto-post
(I'm just shocked I still remember this password.)