Simple Men.

If i could give one movie director a great big hug, it would be Hal Hartley. (Trust is one of my all-time favorite movies.) Seriously, the man never lets me down. Am currently watching Simple Men and being reminded of what a genius he is:

"But that’s what life’s about.
The adventure, the not knowing.

- No, it isn’t.

I want adventure.
I want romance.

- Ned, there’s no such thing
as adventure. There’s no such thing as romance.
There’s only trouble and desire.

Trouble and desire?

- That’s right, and the funny thing is
when you desire something
you immediately get in trouble,
and when you’re in trouble
you don’t desire anything at all.

I see.

- It’s impossible.

It’s ironic.

- It’s a fucking tragedy, is what it is."

Y'all have 2 days left to watch the thing on Watch Instant before it goes away who knows where for who knows how long, where you may never get to see it! And that, my friends, is the real fucking tragedy... watch it. Watch it now, and watch it good. Learn about subtle metaphors for the fragility of life, relationships and love (trees, fire, stolen motorcycles, not necessarily in that order). Marvel as a nun tackles a policeman, but not in a slapstick way. Listen to Sonic Youth while the cast does an impromptu dance number.

Yes, it's a bit stilted, and theatrical– but that's just his way. Get over it. And watch.


As a bonus, here is my favorite Thomas Newman track from Desperately Seeking Susan, which would fit right in almost any Hal Hartley scene:



Happy summer.

"Muldoon knew."

...this was, absurdly, the most frequently heard phrase by yours truly at a gathering this past July 4th. Visiting friends-of-a-friend were there, drinking lots of Tecate, and at some point Jurassic Park became the topic of conversation, after which there seemed to be no going back. The most contentious point became whether or not Muldoon knew how the raptors were going to behave when he hunted them.



i feel like he certainly wouldn't have willingly walked into his own death (i.e. "knew"), although on the other hand maybe he simply realized his bell was tolling and wanted to go out doing what he loved (observing the habits of large game), and had no idea what he was truly in for.

As the empty red cans multiplied on that end of the table, i wondered if the heated conversation would ever end. On a side note, i would totally wear this T-shirt:



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Other highlights from the afternoon:

~A cantaloupe was passed around with a Sharpie. We drew the continents of the world on it, rather competently, until someone passed it to a drunken P., who attempted to draw Asia with non-political lines. When he passed it back, the whole thing had suddenly become unintelligible.

~On the succulent-covered hillside a few feet away from our outdoor table, a lizard's severed tail lay covered in ants. Apparently the cat had had an interesting lunch. i heard that the tail twitched for almost ten whole minutes. It was actually pretty beautiful, covered in precise geometric scale-designs.

~Watermelon slices were marinated in a tequila bath, then sprinkled with black salt. The run-off from this strange polygamy resulted in a sublime concoction which we drank down in tiny cupfuls at the end of the evening with gusto and delighted surprise.

~Halves of navel oranges sat brightly in tree-branch crooks collecting yeast for our host's future beer-making endeavors.

(apparently the theme of the day was fruit... i even brought triple-berry yellow cupcakes.)

So, all in all, not sure if patriotism was the theme of our day but a good, strange time was certainly had by all.

"...because if this pebble has no purpose, then everything is pointless. Even the stars."

Instead of crafting some ambitious Summer Reading Plan, i've decided i want to catch up on all the classic movies i've never seen.

So, after watching Nights of Cabiria a few weeks ago, i fell in love with Giulietta Masina. Netflix suggested (Fellini's) La Strada; i took their suggestion, and got to watch her again, only now this journey led me to Anthony Quinn! Hated him the whole movie, until i realized at the end how great it all really was. Looked back on some of his older stuff and realized that i have a big ol' crush on him. Found this clip (from 1941's Blood and Sand) on YouTube*:


(*please note that this clip was found quite at random and i posted it because: the guitar solo at the beginning? fabulous; her hooded, flimsy, sparkling, noirish shawl? spectacular; and Anthony Quinn? young and smokin'.)

...and then realized how amazing Rita Hayworth was! Have not seen her in a film even once. Jeez, suddenly i am into the golden era of film. Left field, but i am happy to be there. Saw The Seven Year Itch at an open-air cinema last week and could not believe just how hammy and slapstick and goofy it was... Still, enjoyable nonetheless. Looking forward to The Man Who Knew Too Much and The Woman in the Window. Bring on the oldies and goodies, i say.

Marilyn Monroe strawberry cake.

Nothing like feeling like a complete failure to get the shame coursing ruthlessly through your veins. i would say that it makes you feel alive, but there is a deadness there too. Here i am sitting alone on a Saturday night with a ridiculously decorated cake in the fridge and all i want to do is go and smash it on the sidewalk. When you are so depressed that you sleep until 11:00 and then spend hours baking and procrastinating until no one wants to come pick you up anymore, what else can you do? Write a self-indulgent blog post just to feel even more ridiculous. If anyone even reads this, i sincerely hope that there is some measure of scorn felt so as to mirror mine. Hopefully one day i will be a normal fucking person and cease to be a prisoner to this apartment, and my mind. That's something to hope for, at least.

truth is stranger than fiction.

Yesterday evening, my boss gave me a ride home because i had a metric ton of paperwork to do for the shop (i am the new accountant, apparently). In addition, i had 2 bags of groceries and a delicate little pot of climbing jasmine. Just call me Pack Mule. i headed for the elevator (normally i take the stairs), super excited to get to my apartment and put all the stuff down, tired after a long day of prepping flowers. Glancing down the hallway, i can see that a girl, also laden down with packages, is heading towards the elevator with me. Great, i think antisocially as i step inside. Commence awkward silence.

i hit the #2 button, and she shuffled in and asks me to hit #3. After a minute of painfully slow ascent–our elevator has always been a little hinky–she blurts, "oh my gosh that smells good...!" and i realize that i'm still holding the jasmine. "yeah!" i say. "i got it for like five bucks at Trader Joe's! They sure know how to get me." And she laughs, while i silently berate myself for over-combating my painful shyness.

Then we begin to realize that we've been at floor #2 for quite a few moments and the door is not opening. i hit the DOOR OPEN button a few times; nothing happens. We smile nervously at each other and i say, "well, if we get stuck in here, at least it will smell good!" Ha ha ha ha, we each offer. Nervous laughter. But seriously. Nothing is happening. The elevator feels dead. i start pushing more buttons, DOOR OPEN, 2, 3, DOOR OPEN again... The lights are not even lighting up on them: the elevator is completely unresponsive. i am starting to get a little scared. "Oh, no. You've got to be kidding me," she says, and leans over to push one herself. Her eyes get wide and she stares at the doors uncomprehendingly. Our eyes meet. At that moment we both realize that we are stuck in the elevator. It's probably been about three minutes at this point, but it's kind of felt like forever.

She puts the shoes she's been holding (some strappy gold pumps) on the floor of the elevator and says pleadingly, "what are we gonna do?" i consider pushing the button with the firefighter's hat on it (CALL), but then decide that i'm being overdramatic.

"do you have a phone?" i reply, suddenly extremely grateful to be in there with someone else (i do not have one). Meanwhile, it is starting to sink in, that powerless and trapped feeling. My legs suddenly feel leaden and weak. We might fall three floors, my brain says to itself matter-of-factly. Shut up! i retort. Panic is creeping in at the edges, and my breathing feels wrong. She is fumbling around in her bag for her cell phone, muttering that she can't find it, she can't find it.
"Fuck!" she says. "Do you know the number for the security office, though?"

i do. Thank lucky stars for my photographic memory right now. Guess we were a good team.

"It's 272..." i wait as she dials with panicky fingers, "...0172."

She holds the phone up to her ear, eyes darting around, as i close my eyes and silently will the elevator not to fall. You'll probably just break a leg, or an arm, my brain is trying to process rationally. "Wait, is it 619 or 858?!" She has dialed the wrong area code. "Oh, it's 858..." i say, trailing off. This is like a Three Stooges routine. i begin to get used to the idea of being stuck in this tiny space with a complete stranger, one who actually might be more scared than i am. And, i am realizing how fortunate we are to be in a building with only three floors. Sweet.

Before anyone can answer the line, though, we hear the blessed ding!. We look at each other, incredulous, as the doors slowly open. i look to make sure that we are not between floors or some such ridiculousness, but we have somehow made it to floor three! i leap out, and tell her that we're at her stop. She smiles, in a daze, and hangs up the phone as she steps out of the elevator. i tell her with great relief and sarcasm that i'm taking the stairs down a level, and she says "have a good night!" i wave goodbye and we are each alone again.

Later, after my extreme case of the jitters (hello, adrenalin!) had worn off, Nat and i went to a friend's house to watch The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (bloody brilliant film, that). During Japanese food beforehand (smoky noodles, green tea, banana sushi and mochi aftewards), the conversation suddenly turned to strange afflictions such as the ability to squeeze one's phlegm out through one's tear ducts (i knew a guy once), people who bite their nails down far that they begin to actually eat their own fingers (this is true, sorry :/), and children born with no mouths (so, teeth and gums completely exposed), at which Nat and i both started, because last night i'd had a bad dream:

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in the first scene, i was staying overnight at a ramshackle hotel in some sort of grungy western ghost town, right by a railroad track where each night a train loaded with terrifying people who'd had their lips eaten off (by who or what, i didn't know) would begrudgingly tease and seduce us to their cars for gallons of potable water (for some reason our hotel had none); the man i tentatively approached held the water out to me then quickly took it away, over and over, until finally i had to be bold and grab for it, at which point he made a point of touching my hand with his– something i had not been aware that i was avoiding. He gave me a bitter smile and i broke free and ran away pell-mell with my water.

Later in the dream i was in one of the topmost floors of the same hotel (except now it was all clean and pristine and white and i believe we were in Tokyo) with Nat and our friend Allison. We were unpacking and getting ready for bed when a huge earthquake struck. Our building began to rumble and shake, then sway from side to side, more and more each time. i screamed and Allison tried to console me: there, there, heather, it's just a bad earthquake. everything'll be okay.
No! i screamed, and bolted for the other room to find Nat. This is for real!
i tried to run to him, but when i got to the couch i had to grab it so i wouldn't fall over. i could see him on the other side of the room; white as a sheet, trying to use his own body to counteract the swaying, to keep the building from toppling. i joined him in this motion desperately, keening, until suddenly the building began to crack and break apart to our left and i realized that the whole top of the building was falling off. We were going to die. As the world collapsed all around us and we raced toward the ground, i looked to him and screamed at the top of my lungs over the roar and chaos and falling walls and furniture: i love you! but then i lost sight of him and as the debris whirled and screamed and weighed down all over me, i had no idea how long it would be until we hit home and then i tried to take one last deep breath (why?) but there was no air anymore, it was like being in a vacuum.
Then i woke up.

i had initially attributed them to lingering worries over the situation in Japan, but who knows? Maybe we are being told, all the time, what the future holds, only we don't yet quite have the capabilities to decipher these messages. Beats me.