May 2007


Just kidding, you’re awesome.

Does anybody watch those special features on DVDs (I just saw one for “Sybil”) that talk about how a movie was cast and that sort of thing? It’s always, “There was only one person left to audition, and it was some homeless dude off the street, and we wanted to have him in for a laugh, but the minute we saw him we knew that it would be impossible to ever cast anyone else in the role…” Like everyone who ever winds up in a movie was the perfect choice, and everything was destiny. You never hear them say, yeah, he did okay, we couldn’t find anyone better, he was miscast but we could cover up his deficiencies.

Do movie types really  buy into their own mythology, or do they just propagate it for the masses? Or is it just the perfect casting choices that make it to the DVD? Or the movies with perfect casting choices that get this particular special feature?

It’s a fascinating question…which brings up a related, and equally banal, point. It seems like people pat themselves on the back quite a bit in show biz, like on talk radio, when they ask a question, and then say, “it’s a fascinating question.” You shouldn’t be allowed to say that about your own questions.

I spend two hours a day listening to the radio. I gotta get back to books on tape, or get something new on my iPod.

Isa and I finished watching Six Feet Under last night. I was half expecting there to be some reunion in heaven, but no such luck. I was glad to have seen a show so focused on death, real death. Made me realize how easy it is for mass media to skirt around the issue, even when people are dying left and right.

I don’t think I’m afraid of death. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. If I was more afraid, then would I be more motivated to do meaningful things with my life? If you have too blase an attitude, then there’s really no rush, because it doesn’t matter much anyway.

Lately I’ve been imagining myself as a delicate machine that could stop working if it were the least bit off kilter. It’s almost a disbelief that my body will continue to function on its own, without being supported from the outside or plugged in or something. I also get this feeling that my body, all my blood and guts, are in this really thin plastic baggie, and everything will come tumbling out if it gets punctured. Then I imagine my heart exploding. These thoughts have replaced the vertigo of jumping from high places or driving into oncoming traffic. Anybody else think these things?

Here’s my big screen debut:

Went to the screening last night. I parked in a garage that was closed when I got out, so I had to drive over a curb area to bust my way out without paying.

There were several cool films there. Each one had to incorporate the gossipy character Tom or Thea Quimby, a shoelace, and the line of dialogue “If you think of something good, let me know.” Not too many are up on Youtube, but this one, made by some at-risk teens at a film school, was pretty rad:

Happy Mother’s Day, though perhaps there are no mothers out there in the audience.

Nevertheless, is any relationship more complex than a mother to a son or daughter? Or perhaps not so much complex, but powerful, a vortex of emotion that shapes your whole life. You’re never as dependent on, or devoted to, another person as you were to your mother as a child. The attachment is not a choice, but a biological imprint. I am still realizing the extent to which my mother’s  style of raising me has affected who I am, how I act. I cannot separate where my natural self leaves off and my mother’s influence begins.

Getting older, the relationship changes. I’ve spent so much of my adulthood pushing away from my mother. Now I think she’s given up all hold on me, and will just take whatever she can get. Sensing that, I want to give her more, to help her not feel lonely. I know her whole life was wrapped up in her children, and want her to feel that that part of her life is still there, still meaningful. But still I hold back, so that I can be sure I am creating a relationship other than that of the obedient son.

We got my mother a “mother’s ring” today. It’s this ring made up by the jewelry companies, I’m sure, that has the birth stones of all your children. She had been hinting at it for a while, so we went ahead and got it, and she got all choked up over it. I guess it a worthy expense. We also went to the garden store and picked out some plants, and had brunch, and all that. It was a fine mother’s day. 

Okay, did everybody go away and find new blogs to look at? I hope not…cause I want you all to read this site and this site alone, even when there’s nothing on for weeks.

What’s been happening? I was part of this 48 hour film festival this past weekend, where groups of people get together to make a movie. One of Isa’s coworkers was fielding a team, so I decided to be in it. I was a drunken leprechaun. It was a story about santa and the easter bunny at a college reunion, and how santa went all hollywood, so the easter bunny got mad, until they remembered back to the good times. Top-notch stuff. They’ll be showing all the movies in a week or two.

Went out to the Ivy Tavern for a bite to eat tonight. It’s a cute little place for sandwiches and drinks, reminds me of the Hopleaf, only less interesting. We eat out far more than we should. Especially now that we’re looking at houses, and Isa’s been thinking about leaving her job. Actually they’ve been laying everybody off over there. Don’t know how we’ll keep up this lavish lifestyle.

I don’t feel quite prepared for the whole house-buying thing. Maybe it’s fear of commitment, or maybe it’s just the fact that owning property is not something that has great appeal for me. Maybe if it was a really interesting place, and it didn’t take any work to upkeep, and I got a great deal, I would be more excited.

For now, I can’t seem to get beyond the reading housing bubble blogs stage, where I go trolling for news about whether prices are going down in Boston, and estimates of how far down they’ll go. My favorites are calculatedrisk and thehousingbubbleblog.com. I don’t know if I’m waiting for a bargain, or looking for excuses not to have to commit. Maybe both. Or maybe I just like feeling like I’m smarter than everyone, as if the reason I rent an apartment is that I knew housing prices would crash.

Anyway, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.