lundi, juin 28, 2004

You Gotta Admit

I just got back from seeing a nearly sold out show of Michael Moore's "Farenheit 9/11". Say what you will about whether it is totally factual or unbiased, you have to admit the man has balls. And in this era of ass kissing, I respect anyone who has balls and a sense of humor to boot.

There are many gems that made me laugh out loud (much to the detriment of the eardrums of the people next to me), but one of my favorite scenes is the hilarious sight of an ice cream truck Michael Moore convinces to help him circle the capital and read over its loudspeaker the text of the Patriot Act to the senators who voted for it without ever reading its contents. One of its best attributes is the choice and placement of the music in the film. It is utterly perfect.

Go see it. If nothing else, it is a moving piece of cinema. You will tear up, laugh out loud, hide your eyes behind your hands, and shake your head in shame.

And that, boys and girls, is the power of good movie making.

jeudi, juin 24, 2004

Gray Green Goodwill

You know those days when you put on something to wear because you're late or uninspired at having to put clothes on your body that you're a little pissed at that morning anyway?

Well wonder of wonders, after staying up way too late talking to a customer with a stogie and cognac in hand (me, not him) I spent the night in Madison, GA and got way too little sleep and dragged my feet through the next day, so that upon finally making it home after miraculously not killing myself on the drive, I totally overslept this morning.

This could help explain the horribly mimatched tones of gray green and gray that I threw together while cursing and rushing out of the house.

See, there is this really weird phenomenon that happens to me in the morning. I used to think it was unique to my old apartment in Decatur where pimples seemed to disappear, mismatched socks looked the same color, and all cat hair was completely camouflaged. Until I would get out of my car in the parking lot at work and look down at the one gray and one black sock, and the two uncomplimentary tones of black clothes completely covered in masses of caramel colored Max hair. This would happen on a regular basis when I lived in Decatur. I used to just think my studio had this Vermeer like light that made everything look ok. The light was half the reason I chose it in the first place.

But I suppose it has nothing to do with place, because this morning I was rushing in to my office and looked down at the gray green jacket I had so horribly paired with a gray shirt and gray green pants, and suddenly my whole day was shot before it even began. I don't know if I am uniquely narcissistic or just kind of loopy, but if I don't like what I'm wearing, it can ruin my whole day. Seriously. So my day was kind of mismatched and gray, and I interpreted an email in the most negative way possible so I could feel even grayer.

And then later in the evening a friend said loudly in the middle of a French restaurant, "You don't look fat!" when I hadn't even mentioned it. She's a dear, but she's the type to ask you about your yeast infection in a crowded cafe next to a table of guys you were eyeing.

So blah. Is it that I am so much of a noztna ptiza that I can't function correctly in the morning enough to pick out something flattering?

Is is that I am really tired of living out of two suitcases after six months?

What the hell am I going to do with all my stuff when I finally find a home?

I hope they have Goodwill in France.

samedi, juin 19, 2004

Noztna Ptiza

Now that I finally have weekends free and don't have to work, I often find that I don't want to do anything at all. Most of the time, I can only get dressed and out of the house by the late afternoon, by which time I feel a vague sense of having wasted a day. Until I remember that there is always the night. I am, after all, a noztna ptiza, or night bird. (If my Bulgarian friends would please excuse my attempt at spelling their language phonetically)....

So what am I putting off right now? Hmmm, let's see:

- Balancing my checkbook? Yep. Booooring!

- Getting dressed? Who says I can't hang out in a towel all day?

- Cleaning up my room? Yuck. Even though I can't find anything in here. A thought occurs to me to adopt the sexy Frenchman's philosophy and apply 5S to my room, but then a moment later, um, nevermind.

- Writing on my Baroness story? How about total laziness/fear of failure/general angst?

And the most annoying thing I am putting off.....

- Going out to the mall (egads! Yikes! Oh, the horror of it!) to buy cognac glasses for an event for work on Monday night.

The only motivating factor is the prospect of seeing the sexy Frenchman holding the cognac glass that I bought JUST FOR HIM in his beautiful hands and bringing it slowly to his lips....

lundi, juin 14, 2004

No More Excuses

While I will spare you an account of the deep frustration and humiliation that went along with it, I will say that "Before Night Falls" with Javier Bardem is very moving, sad and beautiful movie, even if I couldn't concentrate on it as much as I wanted to due to the blatant lack of interest displayed by the Olivier Martinez lookalike next to me.

The story of Reynaldo Arenas, a Cuban dissident author who was thrown in prison not only for his writing but also for his homosexuality, is a hard one to watch, especially since it is a true story and the man's death is just as tragic as his life. But when I saw that he managed to write a novel in prison using pencil stubs he earned by writing his fellow prisoner's love letters, I thought, now if that man can write a novel in those conditions, surely my lazy ass can churn something out from the comfort of my bedroom.