Oct 17, 2005
Thunder. Fire. Rain.
This was my Saturday. Beulah and I went to the Sunset Marquis to collect Alex, who was flown in to interview HIM (His Infernal Majesty), who were to play at The Wiltern that night. We had beers and french fries at Mel's. Then we dropped Alex off to go meet up with his people. Beulah and I drove to La Luz de Jesus, where we desperately needed the bathroom, which smelled of b.o. We shopped for a while and then got in the car and saw banners for the Basquiat exhibit at MOCA, where we are members. We drove Downtown and parked near the museum only to find that the exhibit had closed the previous week and that the museum was closed altogether in preparation for its next show. It was very windy. We walked back to the car and drove to my apartment, passing The Wiltern, where youthful black t-shirt-wearers sat on the sidewalk, die-hard and lame. Beulah and I made some artwork with the Mulan DVD playing. Then we drove to Hurry Curry and ate the curry that they serve there. We drove to the UCB Theatre and watched ASSSCAT. The house was so full, Beulah and I had to sit right on the stage. John Krasinski was the monologist, and Beulah has a boner for him, so that was nice and all. But for most of the improv scenes, we could only see the backs of people. To the credit of their backs, we still laughed a great deal. We collected our car from the valet and then drove to meet Jeff at The Dresden, where we had a drink but found it to be noisy and crowded, so why not go get our own booze and tailgate? We were going to walk to a liquor store, but it started to rain. Hard. So we ran to my car, smoked the remainder of wet cigarettes, then drove to the liquor store and bought beer. It was raining so hard, my skirt was soaked from the wind. My broken umbrella provided some shelter. But still. We hung out at the Steve Allen Theater and drank our drinks. I had whiskey in my bag, so I drank that. Bobcat Goldthwaite was there. As well as a Japanese pop star who came to see Brendon and had the cutest accent. And then we watched the show. And then we hung out for a while and talked and laughed. And then Beulah and I went to Lucy's on the way home and bought food, but my burrito was just a bunch of onions wrapped in a tortilla. We watched episodes of the BBC version of The Office, and Beulah fell asleep at the most important parts. But can you blame her? We'd had a long day.
Thunder and lightning and giant raindrops. That was Sunday. And more of the same today. Someone who lives near me has their fireplace going. I envied them when I smelled it. But it's too late to put a fire on. I'd feel obligated to sit in front of it until it burned down a bit, and I should probably get some rest. Today, I had to go meet with a friend about a possible project, and in the evening I had to go to Bryn's, where we did a readthrough of his screenplay that we will be reading on stage tomorrow night. Ginger Lynn is the lead character in the film. I am a handful of not-lead characters. Most with trailer park dialects and character descriptions that fail to flatter. But I project very well.
Anyway, I feel tired. Drained dry. A flat little flap of Mylar that may once have been a cheerful balloon. Everything feels like nothing. Which is a poor description of numbness.
Sideways is on the television. I never saw it when it was in the cinema. I still haven't seen it technically. It's just on now. And I've looked at it between taps of the keys. The thing I keep paying attention to is how discolored everyone's teeth look when they're drinking red wine.I guess I don't know how to watch movies anymore.
I don't hate the use of wine as this metaphor for life and relationships. But I don't entirely believe in it. Of course, I've had my share of conversations which -- if overheard -- would make an intelligent pair of eyes roll right out of their sockets. Hoity-toity bullshit with overly florid lyrics. Everything unimportant made to sound the opposite. Sometimes even stumbling onto bits of accidental brilliance. Maybe people do talk that way. When they're trying. Or trying not to try. Maybe you can't ever not be trying. I admire those who seem not to. But then I also deplore their stasis. I shouldn't be the only one who always ends up talking too fast. It's so unfair.
I wonder what tomorrow will be like.
posted by Mary Forrest at 11:56 PM | Back to Monoblog