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[Aug. 22nd, 2005|06:09 am] |
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So, I'm thinking I'm going to move operations over here, where I'm allowed to stick a pretty pretty flickr badge on my page. I wanted to keep it a secret until I thought I would really use it, and now I do, so tada! Surprise! I won't delete this journal, case you wonder. |
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| neat |
[Aug. 5th, 2005|06:34 pm] |
Today I found a Cross pen lodged on the ledge between one of my pantry shelves and the wall.
This is a re-enactment. All parties involved portray themselves.
It was left with the nib twisted open, but it still writes. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 27th, 2005|12:53 pm] |
"Volte-face" is, in my experience, the weirdest dictionary.com word of the day. In good part because on first reading I took it as "volt-face," and that sounds like some bizarre insult. A wonderful insult, kind of like you are saying the person's face is revolting, and not only that, of such powerfully revolting impact that its repugnancy strikes you like electricity.
Then you look at the definition and it's only fakey french pretension-speak that no one really uses, because we already have words for it.
I am telling you this so you know what I'm talking about, how very annoyed I must be, if I ever call you volt-face. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 10th, 2005|08:57 pm] |
I'm in need of a haircut, because my thick, short hair is in that delightful puffy stage, strangely squared-off at the sides when you view me head-on, just, well just no good. At times like this, I usually give up and try for a return to the classic pixie cut--a request that oddly enough seems to confuse a good many hairstylists. "A....pixie cut?" Like it is not what you call the short hairdo for women. And there are indeed tons of variations, many little specifications to make, which I try to avoid by simply saying "you know, like Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby". Not usually, no, they don't know. So before going to get a haircut this week, I rooted around the internet trying to find some photographic guidance for whoever's shears I wind up under, and ok there are pictures, but many of them look something like this
and that's a difficult thing to take to some stranger, with the request "Make me look like that". |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 30th, 2005|09:02 pm] |
I'm going on a little vacation starting tomorrow, to see family, in a cabin in the woods of California. I am thinking I will get sunburnt, take dull pictures, eat well, play a lot of pinochle, and finally have that internet detox I so frequently put off. I have so many books that I'm genuinely interested in, and I'm not even going to be taking my new library ones for fear I'll lose them, but STILL I have many portable options left me.
To be honest with you, it's a coin toss whether the visit will be refreshing or excruciating, and especially lately I am not so much in the mood, I have nothing, really, but broody crankypants to wear, and I know they're ugly and no one likes them, but I don't know, the metaphorical zipper's stuck?
I will be there till Thursday, I said (in drunkenness? When and why did I commit to such a thing? Rash nostalgia? Also the thought of the apartment complex's 4th of July potluck, I bet).
But like I said, coin toss. You never know. I might suddenly feel really good, there, like when I went to the carousel park this week to take pictures on a sunny day for a change, and lots of other people were there, and it was bright, but it was ok, and I kind of felt really happy. Yes, it might happen that when I get to the cabin I'll breathe in the pine and not something to make me sneeze, that I'll see the things I like in my family, that I'll go through the week bewildered, suddenly, mysteriously, crankypantsless.
I wanted to give you a song. It's a nice one, a live recording from a Texas bar a little over 30 years ago, in which you can hear glasses or bottles clink in the background while he sings. Townes Van Zandt, "No Place To Fall". Click on it, takes you to site where then you download. Link goes dead in 7 days. |
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| grey hair and books i've read. |
[Jun. 19th, 2005|05:30 pm] |
I haven't colored my hair in a long time, and although more grey than before is showing it's only noticeable up close. I don't think I'll ever get a nice, concentrated patch like my brother, and Cruella DeVille, Susan Sontag, and Holden Caulfield. Though I suppose Susan Sontag just dyed the rest. I haven't researched this.
Today on my walk to the park a teenage boy stopped playing basketball to say, "How you doing, young lady?" Funny, yes, but only for so long.
BOOK UPDATE:
no lj-cut because this won't be that long--
Finished
Girls of Slender Means by Muriel Spark---- picked up some pep in the end, when the unexploded bomb hiding in the garden suddenly remembered what it was, but still, not good enough Muriel. Not good enough.
Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith----I loved this book. Even though the edition I had was very badly edited (typos, small continuity problems--like, somehow the protagonist aged 2 years in a matter of months), still, not a big deal. Engrossing, romantic, good characters, pretty writing, and how neat was Patricia Highsmith to be levelheaded enough in 1951 to write a homosexual love story with a happy ending? That shouldn't ruin anything for you, because I knew it from Amazon reviews before I read it and I'm glad I did. I almost wanted to stop reading midway through, feeling that despite the happy ending spoiler, no, no happiness, only lawsuits, scandal, and everyone dying alone.
But no! I held out for the happy ending, and I'm so glad I did. Not that it's unqualifiedly happy, because Highsmith was much, much better than that. |
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| Three stupid things about Oregon |
[Jun. 16th, 2005|08:08 pm] |
1) They will not let you pump your own gas. You can do it real quick if all the attendants are busy, but they look at you funny and probably you are breaking the law.
2) You have to go to the pharmacy for Sudafed and the like. So mind-altering, the Sudafed. I don't think you need a prescription, you just have to go over there to get it. Oregon: all about the minor inconvenience.
3)You can buy no alcohol other than beer and wine (and rubbing and robitussin) in the grocery stores. To compensate for this, all grocery stores stock 100 types and 5,000 brands of wine, and this will make you do stupid things like stare for several minutes in blank bewilderment with your hand on your forehead, because jesus, then end up buying watermelon beer. |
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| a lot of random bits of ....whatever |
[Jun. 15th, 2005|03:00 pm] |
The other day I watched an early Ingrid Bergman movie, from Sweden and all, in which she was a rich ward of a rich man who goes to a carnival that is using his estate without permission, but he doesn't care, because he sees the...carny or whatever, Valdemar, and thinks, OH MY GOD, THAT IS MY BASTARD SON. But Valdemar is in love with the owner of the carnival, and they have kind of a cute relationship, him always calling her by her last name, Mortenson, teasing her about being his employer--he is happy in his freewheeling life. Anyway, the rich guy sends his butler over to the carnival the next day, to say there's a problem with them being on his land, because he thinks his bastard son owns the thing and that will bring the bastard son to the estate and then THEY WILL BE TOGETHER AGAIN. Anyway, even though his bastard son doesn't own it, he volunteers to go over and smooth things out anyway, spanking Mortenson on the fanny while he's at it, both actions prompting her to say,
"How dare you? This is my wagon, and my fun-fair!"
You may not believe me, but it is hilarious. See, it is like she is also talking about her personage, "this is my wagon, and my fun-fair,"
but no matter how I try to explain it, it will never be funny to you. You weren't there to see it for the first time as I saw it for the first time and laugh at the same time I laughed, so I can't as I'd like quote it at will, because you will think I'm stupid. It is only an in-joke with myself.
That was the point of me bringing the movie up, to tell you that sad, sad truth. Not a movie recommendation, just a pathetic story.
Oh, I will tell you why the movie was bad, that will be fun: the main actor was not exactly handsome, especially not with that lipstick; Ingrid Bergman's character was a neurotic prude; Valdemar didn't look much like his "father," nor like the picture of an ancestor which he was supposed to resemble exactly, the picture which was the old man's only proof of paternity; the movie ended with Valdemar marrying his carnival girl, working there, because that was where he belonged, see, he's an uncouth bastard, and after he left the mansion Ingrid shuddered in relieved disgust, seemingly reliving the horror of the night before when he, HER THEN-FIANCE, started to MAKE OUT with her. Maybe they were trying to imply attempted rape, but my goodness, it only looked like her freaking out about horizontal kissing, and him getting mad because, WHAT, Ingrid? What? I AM MARRYING YOU, god, you're the one who put YOUR HEAD IN MY LAP.
Nice thing was, after the movie, our TCM host told us that Ingrid had thought the script was retarded, and would only do the movie if the studio let her do another about...I don't know, a girl with a face deformity? Anyway, good on you, Ingrid.
( BOOK UPDATE...POSSIBLY VERY DULL! )
I also want to share that this fall is DYLANMANIA, apparently. I am so stoked.
And now here is the cutest thing I've seen maybe all month:
I might write here forever if I don't get ahold of myself, so I bid you adieu. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 6th, 2005|01:22 pm] |
It's a rainy day, and I can't seem to take a decent picture.
It's funny, I just realized that this morning I left my mop outside to dry.
Anyhow.
It is hard, here, in the middle of free time and ease. That doesn't make sense, because ease by definition can't be hard, but you know what I mean. I'm losing interest in looking for things, and worrying too much about a rough part on my veneered tooth. I read a thing, notice how much I like it, and then forget about it while starting something else. I remember about the music store that might exist if I looked again for it, and maybe I will look again today. I don't really think it's there though. I often feel an urgency in me, but don't know toward what it's pushing.
There's moss growing on my patio, and on the concrete at the bottom of the fence opposite it. I bet I'd think it was pretty if it was in England.
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| in which I give away the ending to a film you'll never see |
[Jun. 5th, 2005|04:48 pm] |
Out of my Big Box O'Noir, I just watched The Stranger by Orson Welles, starring him, Edward G. Robinson and Loretta Young. Orson's a Nazi war criminal undercover as a literature professor in a small Connecticut town, marrying Loretta, wholesome, imbecilic daughter of a Supreme Court justice, and Edward G's the war crimes investigator bringing the hard truth to light. In the final scene, as townspeople help Loretta and Edward G climb down from the clocktower where Loretta just confronted her Nazi husband, evaded his murder attempts, shot at him, and watched with Edward G as Orson was IMPALED ON THE SWORD OF THE CLOCK'S MOBILE ANGEL FIGURINE, THEN FELL FROM THE TOWER TO HIS DEATH IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE, GASPING TOWN (in the middle of the night, yet!), Edward G warmly delivers this masterstroke of dialogue:
"Goodnight, Mary. Pleasant dreams."
She smiles up at him, and a chipper orchestral score brings us to the fade out.
I love old movies. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 2nd, 2005|03:06 pm] |
I haven't been talking much about my life here in Salem, have I?
Let me check real quick to see if I have.
Nope!
Just the pictures, speaking for me. Well then, I will tell you more.
I have been here, about a week and a half now? Something like that, and in addition to my internet access and new printer/scanner and photo-taking and little walk around town, I ...
well, not much, frankly. The agoraphobe that I am, I don't go out all that much, plus it's a slightly sleepy town AND I AM ALL ALONE. Been to the grocery store a few times and to a used book store (got Another Country by James Baldwin---very good) and then last night I went downtown to the Elsinore Theatre to see Casablanca. I will tell you, that is a fine movie. It is funny it took me so long to notice that Ilsa and I share a last name, I think this was the first time I heard every mention of it. I mean, it's only that and a boat company, pretty much, carrying on the glory of the Lunds. I took some phone cam pictures of the theatre, got them on the ol' flickr. Bizarre decor; I approve heartily. I wish they showed films there more often than once a week in summer, it is a fun place.
I still haven't found music stores other than Borders, but I do have a few other places to look, and I want to go around to other parks, take pictures, and I still need a library card, and there is another little independent theater, and maybe I will find a job though probably not, and there's an, ahem, ICE CREAM SOCIAL for my grad program coming up in about a week so maybe I'll meet somebody good there, and, anyway, there's ice cream to look forward to.
THIS IS WHY I DON'T WRITE TO YOU ABOUT MY TIME HERE. Has there been more dullness read by you in recent memory?
Tonight, though, I am going to Portland for the Sleater-Kinney concert. Hopefully a good time. I bet you I will get another t-shirt, because I cannot resist their adorable designs. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 26th, 2005|06:10 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | nina simone, "nina's blues" | ] |
My old printer, that I hadn't used since living in San Diego...what? 3 years ago? Wait, I'm adding a year I think. I keep skipping to a year from now, which I've got to stop, because now is not nothing
ANYWAY
I lost an important cord for which my father insists there is no replacement and so today I got a new printer, with a scanner, for cheap at the nice Office Depot a few blocks down. Where also I had my only face-to-face chat of the day, a man named Van I think who said he liked my shoes but I think he liked them in the -headshake-"youth today" way.
Before I moved about a year ago I pilfered some of my favorite early early photos of my immediate momdadbrother family, and I only found them again when repacking for this move. Brought them again. Here are some, newly scanned.
They look so very old. It's interesting, and I thought I'd want to write about it, but I don't now.
I should end every entry that way. |
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a_green_door's journal
