Monthly Archive for May, 2002

Mem Day Weekend

We’re off to Buf­fa­lo for the long week­end, and I haven’t writ­ten in a while. The sox beat up on the yan­kees last night, and I hope they do it the rest of the week­end. Every­one in this town, (by that I mean the media), is talk­ing about how much Roger Clemens sucks, but he’s pitch­ing tonight. I wish I could watch the fans ride him… but alas, i’m off to the land of AAA-ball.

666 vis­it­ed this week, and it was good fun. We even played ten­nis, and I’m absolute­ly con­vinced that she will become an up-and-com­ing star. No doubt about it.

Commence Already

Pres­ley is final­ly com­menc­ing, (or grad­u­at­ing, which ever you pre­fer), from col­lege this sun­day… I’ve been putting off buy­ing a gift, but I final­ly tracked one down, and boy is it spec­tac­u­lar. I had to dri­ve all over the city to find it, and I can bare­ly hold back from spilling the beans… but I will have to wait till Sun­day.

Woo HOO!

Car Repair

I got the tail gate fixed on the Sub­aru today by Mike, so I thought I’d give him a shout out.

Photographers Have Fun Too

Pho­tog­ra­phers are play­ful, damnit. Remem­ber how they always framed the nude stat­ues of jus­tice behind John Ashcroft in pho­tos? (link any­one?) Well here’s Mass Gov. can­di­date Robert Reich cam­paign­ing with Bill Bradley. Do NOT, under any cir­cum­stances vote for this man in the Demo­c­ra­t­ic pri­ma­ry.

The Chelsea Hotel

Ethan Hawke has made a film called Chelsea Walls [WEBSITE] [VIEW TRAILER]. Jeff Tweedy of Wilco fame did the sound­track, and the movie stars Uma Thur­man, Kris Kristof­fer­son, Vin­cent D’Onofrio & Natasha Richard­son.

The Chelsea Hotel used to be grand, the place to live for New York City artists. Mark Twain, Thomas Wolfe, Ten­nessee Williams, Arthur Miller, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hen­drix; they all passed through the hotel’s halls. Still, even though the iron facade has become rusty, new dream­ers come every day, hop­ing to be inspired by the ghosts of the past.

The film looks like the typ­i­cal art­sy-talky wank­fest that I usu­al­ly have to beg some­one to accom­pa­ny me to… still, the visu­al style in the trail­er is intrigu­ing, as is the cast­ing choic­es. In the end, even if the film can be reduced to a beat-era homage where artists suf­fer in their pover­ty to achieve a sort of beau­ty, I think it would be inter­est­ing enough to see just what’s in Ethan Hawke’s head… he seems to be an intel­li­gent guy.

In Other News…

petite chou linked me…

- Ned­ward
Real­ly great design :) Some­times the entries are bit a depress­ing though :/

Could there be some­thing to this?? Do you think so? I’m a sar­cas­tic fuck some­times.

Also, thanks to katie for the aor­tal link (right-bar).

Slag

Some­times I get the feel­ing that peo­ple just don’t read me right… or maybe I don’t read them. It seems to me that peo­ple feel okay say­ing incred­i­bly rude things to me– things that they don’t expect to come out as rude, how­ev­er when it hap­pens they seem com­plete­ly sur­prised by their choice of words. I don’t get it.

For exam­ple, when I was work­ing at an inter­net ser­vices firm last year, upon shak­ing a client’s hand, he remarked some­thing like “Jesus, what are you, still in col­lege? This looks like the B-team. You look 18.” To which his part­ner remarked, “more like 14, Jim”. Nice to meet you two, I’ll be the per­son you’ll be speak­ing with on a dai­ly basis for the next 4 months. I mean, I was wear­ing an expen­sive brand-name suit and I even part­ed my hair which is some­thing I nev­er ever do. I thought I looked the part.

Now, this week­end, I final­ly met Kate, some­one I’ve known online from time to time. She was vis­it­ing from dc with her sis­ter, so pres, dan­no and I met them for cof­fee. The whole thing was weird before we even got there for rea­sons that I real­ly don’t want to get into. And so we met, and sat and pro­ceed­ed to chat for about an hour. Now, admit­ted­ly I was a bit with­drawn most­ly due to my mood ear­li­er that day and to those unmen­tion­able fac­tors, so I was quite hap­py lis­ten­ing to the two of them car­ry on– they were very enter­tain­ing and I remem­ber think­ing that it felt good to final­ly put this inter­net friend into real time and space– it felt very good.

And then, some­where near the end when we were wrap­ping every­thing up, Kate summed me up with one word: pos­er. or poseur, as I’m sure she’d put it. I don’t remem­ber how it hap­pened– but I’m sure that I react­ed bad­ly. It hurt. It was one of those stu­pid things that I’m sure she wish­es she hadn’t let slip out.

And so anoth­er slag has been added to my psy­che. I think my girl­friend sees my reac­tion to inci­dents like this as para­noid and noth­ing more, but maybe that’s her job to be unre­lent­ing­ly sup­port­ive… I don’t think it would do much good if she agreed with me. Still, I’d be dead-sur­prised if some­one that she knew were to tell her unso­licit­ed that she’s a pos­er, or some­thing equal­ly as low. It just isn’t done. I’m the most judg­men­tal per­son on the plan­et, and I can’t imag­ine say­ing such a thing in a semi-seri­ous tone. Yet, I must give off some kind of vibe that screams “tell me what you real­ly think of me…”

What to make of it? The answer that always qui­ets my mind is to say fuck it. I can’t waste my time wor­ry­ing about it, whether it’s true or not. I’ll have to give peo­ple the ben­e­fit of the doubt.