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Thursday, June 27, 2002
Lines from an unmade art film:
[Joshua, a successful New York journalist and photographer, has returned to the small town in New Mexico where he grew up in order to take care of his mother, Sarah, who recently suffered a stroke. Though he loves his mother, Joshua's none too thrilled to be back in what he describes to his New York friends as "two blocks east of downtown Nowhere." He expresses frustration at fact that the local grocery store doesn't stock decent bagels, and the coffee selection at the local diner isn't up to par. Yet one night, as he's relaxing with Sarah on the back patio, watching a breathtakingly beautiful sunset, his mother makes a comment that changes his opinion of everything....]
SARAH: It's 'cause of those big fires we've got such a pretty sunset this evening. You know, on the news the other night, they were talking about the fires and the trouble they cause, and they said that all that smoke can actually cause rain.
JOSHUA: I think you misunderstood them, Mom.
SARAH: It's true. All that dust and soot gets bundled up, and it sticks together, and makes a cloud--an honest-to-god cloud, with lightning and thunder and everything! A pyrocumu-something or other. And that cloud can cause rain--sometimes enough rain to put out the very fire that caused it... Fires make tornadoes, too... It's like the whole of nature's mad about something. Like god's angry, and he's got to get down on his belly and kick and scream until it's all out of him... People are like that, too. When there's nothing to scream about anymore--good scream or bad scream--it's no use to keep on living...
[Joshua exchanges a meaningful glance with his mother and reaches for her hand. They watch the sun quietly for a few seconds, then both begins screaming, each laughing and trying to outdo the other. Camera fades to black.]
In other news, I'm alone this weekend while someone's in the Apple. Who's gonna take me out for drinks and keep me company?
Saturday, June 22, 2002
You know those people, I'm sure you know those people, maybe you have five or six in your address book, people who can land anywhere, they could land in a bar on Mars and walk out knowing everyone's life story. Friends who have this uncanny knack of fitting in. I'm in Jackson, Mississippi right now, to attend a wedding for one of those people, one of my best friends in the world, Lesley. We've drifted apart a little the past couple of years--thanks to a couple of houses, hers and ours, and my endlessly, needlessly busy work/theatre schedule--but I still think we're pretty good buddies.
Anywhere, I've always admired Lesley for her ability to blend in, to make friends effortlessly. She's got no pretenses, no time for bullshit, she's down to earth, cuts to the chase. In short, she rocks.
Me, I'm not like her. Not even close. I'm generally hard to get to know. On occasion, certain people push buttons in me, and with them, I open up immediately, but most of the time, I'm not really good with the chit chat. I have no patience with it. I'm not good at making people feel comfortable. In fact, me, Little Miss Schadenfreude, I enjoy making people feel distinctly uncomfortable. watching them squirm. So there. I shouldn't be let out of the house.
I'm a creep and Lesley's not. That's all I'm trying to say.
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
Boyfriend: I know you like tropical environments and I know you're hankering for a vacation, but dude, we are so not going to Guatemala. At least, not to pick up trade.
Today I am a man.
I've just stepped out of a meeting--a meeting with four women--about a couple of events coming up. What started out as a fairly sensible meeting quickly devolved into a debate about the proper color of tablecloths and what sort of greeting services we should provide for our guests. Should we meet them and walk them to the venue? No, we want people to be free to move on if they're ready. Should we provide maps? No, maps are too confusing. Will we need walkie-talkies? Well, maybe. Should we use the headphone attachments? And Shadrach begat Chaim and Chaim begat Asa and Asa begat Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Yadda infinitum. I walked out thinking, "Jeez, woman..."
Now, I know it's not just women. In fact, I know a lot of men who really dig that kind of thing. But it's not me. I hate the freakin' details.
Fuck the kvetching and gimme a wrecking ball.
Monday, June 17, 2002
    Fathers' Day is pretty silly. We all know it's just a big marketing gimmick driven driven by the seemingly innocuous greeting card industry. We all know it's not a real holiday, since a real holiday would get us out of at least one day of work. And yet, we buy into it. Like, our parents making us feel guilty about not calling and not visiting isn't enough, so now we need a full day designated to drive the point home, too. That doesn't mean I ignore the holiday. In fact, I thought a lot about Fathers' Day yesterday. I get along really well with my father--I didn't when I was younger, but I think we've both adapted. Despite some serious differences of personality, by-and-large, I'm becoming him. Unlike my mother, with whom I haven't spoken in at least two years, my father and I talk all the time. Sometimes we even say "I love you." I thought a lot about my grandfather yesterday, too--my father's father. Growing up, I was probably closer to my grandparents than mom and dad. My grandfather spoiled me rotten, and he taught me a lot, too. All that Little House on the Prairie fishing and hunting and wisdom stuff. It's corny, but whatever. When he died my sophomore year in college, it was sudden: a heart attack in the middle of the night. He and my grandmother lived half an hour from the nearest hospital. He didn't have a chance. Thinking of him now is enough to make my eyes water. Of course, now I have a new father--a biological one. I don't have any opinion of him. The closest I've ever gotten to him is his college graduation photo. I can only hope that he's somewhere in Beirut, hoping to perhaps one day hear from his son. And then there's Jonno. He's not nearly old enough to be my father, but he's certainly my daddy: a man I love and who loves me back, without conditions or reservations. Happy Fathers' Day.
Monday, June 10, 2002
Design elements I have studiously shunned but which I am now beginning to appreciate and incorporate in Meaningful Ways: 
- Arial
- Photoshop's "lens flare" filter
- Times, Times Roman, New Times Roman
- The <hr> tag
- White text in black text boxes
- Courier
I guess I'm having a little Space 1999 moment. Shoot me now.
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