(This was mostly written Friday afternoon.)
If you're wondering why I haven't been blogging, it's because I've been feeling better. I'd been writing out of desperation. Usually, writing is not my activity of last resort. In fact, traditionally, I write less when I'm depressed, probly to avoid dealing with my emotions. But my anxiety was so intense I couldn't ignore it.
I went home Saturday (April 5th) to watch the Final Four with Dad. It was nice, but the following day was tough. Mom and Theresa (sister) were showing off their souvenirs from China. I was anxious to return to Uptown. The night before my resistance to Mom melted away briefly. I kinda wanted to give her a hug, but she had a bad cold or flu and I was hesitant anyway. On Sunday my feelings boomeranged, as if she'd rejected my interior thoughts.
I got drenched yesterday (Thu, April 10th) walking from Hollywood to Ragstock. When I started it was mostly rain. By the time I got to where I was going, it was mostly snow. I got no problem with the April snow showers, as long as it don't stick. It was actually kinda nice to walk thru that and not freeze my ass off. Two days before at Hollywood I scanned the shelves for quite a while. That's something I should do more often. Wandering the aisles of a video store is one of the few joys of suburban life.
That's why I have reservations about the phenomenon of Netflix. Of course, with Netflix you can avoid the whole "I have a vague idea of what I'd like to see but none of these fits the bill" hassle. But my other problem with Netflix is I generally don't know what I wanna watch until that evening. My preferences are apt to change between the time I add the DVD to my queue and the time it arrives. So those are my thoughts on Netflix, in case you were wondering. I'd hate to leave you in suspense.
On Tuesday I finally decided on The Man Who Would Be King. It was OK. With Michael Caine, Sean Connery, Christopher Plummer, John Huston as co-director, awesome mountain vistas and a cracking yarn by Rudyard Kipling, ya think it'd be cooler. Yesterday I picked up Michel Gondry's "sampler" DVD. Interesting stuff so far.
I'm at Plan B Coffeehouse right now. It would be an ideal writing locale if not for the music. It's not too loud, but any music with lyrics can distract me. The fact that my WiFi connection only works when the laptop is on the coffee table (instead of my lap) is also annoying. The network isn't even Plan B's. I tried their password and it didn't work. God damn it! I'm typing this in WordPad to post later. I should probly go home and start on dinner. I gotta be at the Permaculture Film Festival at 6:30.
(The following was written today on my couch.)
The Permaculture Film Fest was mostly stuff I saw last summer. Once again, I flaked out on the Permaculture Workshop the following day. I had some insomnia on Thu nite. Even though I got maybe 8 hours of sleep I felt tired, so I was worried about being really sleep-deprived on Sat since the workshop started at 9 am. The irony is I woke up in time to go (without the alarm and despite being up til 2) and didn't feel tired, but I was afraid I'd crap out in the afternoon and I didn't know if I could handle spending all day with a bunch of strangers. The film fest had been slightly stressful.
Instead of the workshop I watched the Michel Gondry DVD (very good) and ventured out late in the afternoon for socks. The tube socks at Ragstock didn't look very thick, so I went next door to the new American Apparel store. The Cars were blaring over an undeniably early '80s decor. As I wandered toward the back, I saw a girl pulling on the waistband of some tights(?) in a dressing room. The curtain was pulled back, allowing a full view of her (clothed, except for the mid-riff) body. I must say, it was an awesome body, highlighted by an incredible rack. (Yes, that's right, Mickey's the kind of guy who uses the word "rack" in reference to the female form. Sorry to disappoint anyone who thought my brain inhabited loftier regions. I'm just a man.) She met my gaze just as I averted it. I successfully fought the urge to look again. It was almost cruel of her to leave the curtain open like that. If she was offended by my wandering eye, I'd have to say to her, "See here, miss. You are ridiculously hot, therefore you cannot leave the dressing room curtain open and expect men to keep their eyes to themselves. It is an unreasonable test of self-control." I'm sure then she'd understand.
Getting back to the socks, the only athletic kind they had were tube socks (again) and they were absurdly expensive. My sock expedition had come up empty, but on the way home I picked up a gyro and fries at the Soho Cafe, so all was not lost. By the time I finished my supper, I had to rush to get dressed for the Live Action Set's show at the Southern. I just barely missed the bus on Lyndale and waited 20 minutes for a taxi, much longer than I'd expected. I made it to the Southern in time to get one of the last standing-room-only tickets (half-price). Megan found me an empty seat next to the videographer, which was nice for a 90-minute show with no intermission.
The show, The Piano Tuner, was quite good and right up my alley, dealing with resource depletion driven by capitalism. It was like a theatrical companion piece to There Will Be Blood. The Piano Tuner is set in 1911, making the parallels all the clearer. There was a talkback after the show, during which I summoned the courage to ask a question. I blurted out, in what seemed like an unusually loud voice for me, "I'd like to know if the subject of Easter Island ever came up." Megan asked me to repeat the subject, which I did. (She was the director, mistakenly thinking that role would require less of her in the wake of her pregnancy.) They said it never came up, but I was just happy they answered my question.
After the long, inevitable round of socializing after the show, we headed 'round the corner to the Town Hall Brewery. I ended up chatting at length with a young (mid-20's) actor named Tony. I would've liked to spend more time visiting with Sarah and Noah and the rest, but I enjoyed the opportunity to lend guidance to an up-and-comer. Hopefully, Tony will benefit from my sage advice. I wound up rambling to Tim Cameron (who played the show's titular character) about the fall of the American Empire, Peak Oil and my accompanying nervous breakdown. I tried to keep it short and not sound too crazy. He was pretty quiet.
Noah generously drove me home, even though he lives in Dinkytown now. We amused each other and discussed the possibility of him moving in with me. Just that day my roommate Heather said she'd be moving out in a month to live (literally) across the street with some friends. Knowing that Noah was looking for a place after June, I called him right after she told me, simultaneously overjoyed at the prospect of rooming with Noah again and terrified by the chance it wouldn't happen. It was cool and kinda scary to want something so badly for the first time in quite a while. The initial euphoria has worn off, though, and I realize having Noah as a roommate again wouldn't fix all my problems. But it would be supercool.