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.