You are going to think that this is just an excuse, and maybe it is, but I have been experiencing writer's block due to my anxiety over MY OWN influence. Seriously. You might also think that this assertion is crazy, but I have had it in my mind that the story about the guy eating a hunk of cheese is actually the best story of all time, and that nothing so interesting will ever happen to me again in my life.
Also, I'm trying to write a dissertation.
But I have decided to push my deep fears to the side, and contribute yet again to the world of digital solipsism, because, you know, the world needs my 2 cents like it needs a hole in the head.
So here goes. This is what I have been up to for the past 7 weeks or so.
1) Worrying about when my sister-in-law is actually going to give birth to baby what's-his-name. His due date was February 29th, which would suck for the little tiger since it would mean that he'd only have his fourth birthday on the year of his sweet sixteen. (It's like being a person in dog years.) But signs have been good for the past week that the little guy isn't going to wait that long. SO at first it was a matter of being worried that he would be born on the birthday of someone whose birthday I would rather forget. That sucked. But the cusp came and went and NOW, I am worried that he's going to be a perverse little thing (much like his father) and show up on my special day. I know that I am going to be 33 this year, and that I should be mature enough to share this day with others. But I'm not. So--anytime now little Jesus/Beauxcecil/Indiana/Cid/Merle/Hank/Trucker. We're waiting.
2) Having my mind blown by Crispin Glover. I had to go alone to see Crispin Glover, since I didn't think that it was fair to force anyone to go see a movie about a man with cp having sex with women (one underage and two with disabilities of their own) and then killing them. But I have to say, the experience was one of the most intense I've ever had in an "art" context. His film (It's Fine. Everything is Fine) did exactly what he meant for it to do. It made me feel horribly uncomfortable, and then it made me have to struggle with why it made me feel that way, and what that says about my prejudices, and my aesthetics. I honestly felt convicted by the film, which rarely (almost never?) happens to me when I'm looking at/experiencing art of any kind. So, that blew my mind.
But then there was the celebrity part of the experience. J-Bro best summed this up for me when she said that it was like sitting in a theatre, and a spaceship lands, and Crispin Glover walks out and talks to you for 3 hours and then he gets BACK in the spaceship and takes off, only to return to Earth for his next performance. I would add to that by saying that you should really think about what it is like to see a spaceship land and to see an alien walk out of it who CLEARLY is an alien, but turns out to speak English, and to say really pretty smart things, and who seems to be just a hell of a nice guy. EVEN WEIRDER. What I realized when I saw him is that I have been thinking, all these years that I have been interested in him and in his work, that somehow he doesn't really live in my world. I know that George Clooney and the Dalai Lama and Brit Hume (I don't know, this is a random list--you know what I mean) and even Chuck--yes, even Chuck Klosterman--are just dudes walking around in the same world that I am walking around in. They may have more interesting lives, and know more important people, and do things that will have great effect on the world than I, but they are still just dudes. But I think that I never really thought that Cripsin Glover was a real dude. It's like finding out that there actually IS an Incredible Hulk. Or Batman.
This is all, of course, just another way of saying what J said.
3. Driving between Little City and Flightpath. I mention this because I spend a lot of time driving to and fro and then hanging out at these two places. Sometimes I get a lot of work done, and sometimes I don't. I drink a double Americano at Little City, preferably with soy milk. Sometimes I eat a bagel there too, but I always end up regretting it, because I really want a bagel from Flightpath. With olive cream cheese. And I try to keep myself to only one bagel a day. I drink triple iced espressos at Flightpath. And then, sometimes, beer. I need the decisions about what I am going to order to be automatic, since I spend so much time deciding which coffeeshop I'm going to go to, and when, and for how long I am going to stay. This is where higher ed has ultimately led me. It's no good, people.
4. Becoming a groupie. But only for this guy. http://www.myspace.com/raisedbypandas. Listen to the song "Where the World Stands Still" (Jen refers to this as "the Superman song") and tell me that this guy can't write a great song.
5. Watching The Tudors. OK Jonathan Rhys Meyers. I am soooo onto you. You are NOT actually a good actor. You distract us with your ridiculously defined arm muscles. AND you choose parts in which we may mistake your overacting for a reasonable interpretation of a particular character. (No one can deny this. I direct your attention to the characters Bryan Slade in Velvet Goldmine, Steerpike in Gormenghast, and Henry VIII in the aforementioned Tudors as representative examples.) In particular I suggest watching the scene in which Anne Boleyn and Hank finally get it on. (You know, after she survives the plague and all). JRM/Henry has a complete hissy fit--in his ridiculous royal undies--when Anne doesn't let him, well, complete, the act. (Note: I was describing this scene to Dr. Awesome the other day and could hardly get through it due to my hysterical laughter. This is probably the funniest scene that has ever aired on Showtime.)