Sincerely Dangerous or Dangerously Sincere?

885014_92568389

Tumult.  I like that word.  Feeling it today.

Okay, I have to pause that.  A little birdie gave me some news and I can’t talk about it yet because nobody knows yet, but come Monday, I’m sure the great and wild lot of you will be given to know about the great fun I intend to have in August and where and when and how and what shall be happening. But I learned about something in advance and took advantage of that knowledge to make sure we’ll be a step ahead when everyone dances and prances in come Monday.

I know that’s vague and weird, but google alerts, you know, one little flag and suddenly, you have people paying attention.

That’s probably not true.  Nobody will give a shit, but I just want to explain why I am so up at 11:30 in the evening when I have a terrible headache that the aspirin has not really touched and probably I didn’t eat enough or buy enough food, but I’m also glad, because I had to set aside funds for this happy-making August business.  I’m also glad I rescheduled my hair appointment for tomorrow even though I NEEDS IT.  Because it’ll help make the going over a bit easier.

Ah, what else can I ramble about for thirty minutes and three hundred words?  I got the DVD version of my single favorite movie ever, Trust.  And I wondered, as I watched the little interview segment they added on there, was this my single favorite movie of all time?  The people involved seemed oddly ambivalent about it.  Seemed distracted, the angle of this little tiny nineteen-minute documentary seemed almost as though they had to be, if not coerced, convinced to talk about it.   But slowly, somehow, it just became intense and perfect, as actress and director, Hal Hartley, finally, with the thing almost over, sat down in the same space.  The whole thing looked askance, and I thought it was exactly right.  Of course, even then, you had Adrienne Shelly.  You can’t help but look in her eyes and search for something that could never be there.  Some foreshadowing of her terrible fate.  She is my favorite actress, was…Sudden Manhattan, her surrealist, magical, quirky as fuck film, blew my mind.  So weird, the comedy so black, the big notions falling, again, askance from what you expect.  But here, she’s Hal Hartley’s creation and the turn she makes from this big hair, Long Island teenage monster, with her hand out to her father as she demands five bucks and casually tells him she’s pregnant, as she goes from that to this penitent, self-searching woman who questions the basis of the crap relationships and experiences that brought her to where she is.  Who wants better for herself and the man she comes to love, a love that bends both of them in ways that we as an audience get to decide the value of.   I am rewatching it now and it is as perfect as I remember.

He says he’s going to watch it.  He’s seen other Hal Hartley films, of course he has, but he hasn’t seen Trust.  But he will.

No Way!

Today we start with the picture.  I love this enough to save it in advance of the post.

Another long weekend of entropy.  Sort of.  I’m actually doing alright by events entirely not of my making.  The air in the house is icy and while I’m all wrapped up in fuzzy blankets and coats, my nose sticks out just enough to make me feel like I’ve got an icicle forcibly attached to my face.

But the cold does have an upside – it’s kept me housebound and I’ve eaten in all day.  This is a good thing.   There’s carrots at the house which I remembered early enough this time that they’re still fresh and crisp and good.  I’ve also eaten enough tortellini to sink a frigate, but now we come to the challenge of the day:  dinner.   It’s eight-thirty and I am groggy and divided on what to do since I think I found the best and last of the leftovers for lunch and I don’t know if there’s anything left for this final meal.  Part of me feels able to just blow it off in the name of some healthful fasting, clearing all the junkiness out of my system, but another part is demanding some protein if I want to stay upright for another couple of hours.  There’s some blueberries and cream oatmeal and I think that may serve.  Tomorrow I can go shopping and figure things out.  Right?  That’s an excellent idea.  Better than running out to spend seven bucks on some sweaty, oily, fatty hamburger.

Kind of need to get past that impulse.  Grown-up people do, every now and then, cook themselves a meal at home and eat it calmly without having to pull it out of a grease-stained paper bag.  I’ve heard of that, anyway.  I feel the cycle of the year resetting the clock.  Things have changed, but there are still seasons where you recognize it better.  Winter is a good time to make some reckoning with yourself.  A good time to look at keen pains inside and how to cure them and not just patch and plaster them over.  I have some keen pains, but I am lucky enough to have a head on my neck that can buckle down and help me with them. If I make chocolate chip cookies tomorrow, at least I will not have made them today.  And that is all I have to say on that subject.

If I seem out of it (and how would you know?), it’s only because I slept a lot after watching Tuck Everlasting, a weird Netflix impulse.  I tolerated Alexis Bledel in Gilmore Girls because she was sweet and capable of spitting out those lines – but then she dumped Dean and got stupid and she was pretty stupid here.   You take the immortality, girl, figure the rest out later. But I guess she didn’t have decades of genre literature and television to impress the radness of immortality upon her.

I think I’m going to get up and do something.