Sunday, May 17, 2009
I woke early and spent the afternoon cleaning my half of the apartment: filthy. Sweeping, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, etc. to an odd playlist I found on iTunes, all instumental but very disparate. A mishmosh of what I like best--Japancakes, Do Make Say Think, Tortoise, Stars of the Lid--but clearly with no overriding theme. Odd. Finished cleaning and got the groceries. Came back, split the garlic, chopped the carrots, minced the onions, jalapenos and poblanos and put on the weekly batch of lentils; while those were cooking I hard-boiled some eggs and dropped off laundry and picked up some melatonin. Came back, put all away and watched about ten minutes of McCabe & Mrs. Miller before I kind of drifted off and started to pack for the studio. (The film stars Julie Christie and Warren Beatty. I have a hard time separating Julie Christie from bad 60s/70s sci-fi/horror (Fahrenheit 451, for instance, or this creepy stinker with a horribly "naturalistic" (read: icky as unshaven fuck) sex scene between her and Donald Sutherland. Beatty I can't seperate from the Dick Tracy/Madonna thing from the early 90s (when he first really settled into my "adult" consciousness) so the movie was tough to crack. I'll give it another shot later in the week.)
(On Saturday, I watched an Antonioni film, The Passenger, with Jack Nicholson. It was eh. I am beginning to have a greater affinity for films that just kind of . . . are. They begin and end and we just happen to witness them--there is no moral or ending or ka-zowie explosion or spoon-fed summation. I haven't developed a real hunger for these films yet but they make sense to me in a way that I'm willing to obliquely pursue. Anyway, the point that I wanted to make was: Nicholson. It was well before he became a parody of himself (I think The Shining really made that possible) and he was very much humble and grounded in the role of Locke/Davidson. He was Locke/Davidson, not Jack Nicholson pretending he was either of those guys. I really enjoyed his performance.)
Okay. Back to today. Put the lentils away and rode over to the studio. Climbed the six flights and settled in. Made a few more postcards. Listened to that Talk Talk's Laughing Stock, an old favorite that's been out of the rotation for a long time. The sky had been gray all day so I left while it was still light outside; figured there was no point in going up to the roof in the smirch and overcast. Rode down the block and snapped the "Teddy" photos at a recently-closed stripclub a few blocks away from the studio. Headed gradually over toward the apartment and--from a bridge overlooking the Sunnyside Yards--noticed a hot burst of pink light right when the sun set below the grey deck of clouds. SO FUCKING PISSED. Should've held out and went on the studio roof.