Good thing we stayed up past 1am for no reason last night, because Charlie Rose came on and he was talking to Penelope Cruz and Spanish director Isabel Coixet about a new movie called Elegy.
Isabel Coixet is totally my doppelganger, plus 20 years of course (I read somewhere today that she was born in 1960). Man. I am totally going to be a funky, quirky 48-year-old.
The glasses she had on last night were purple, just like my glasses, not pink like the ones above. But still. Awesome. This is just further cementing my ultimate goal of growing old to look like Anjelica Huston in The Life Aquatic.
1. I will never be 5'11", and 2. I will never talk to Jeff Goldblum, if I can help it. He seems dangerously weird. But, 3. My hair lady wants to dye my blonde highlights turquoise next month. I'm pretty excited.
Sunday afternoons on the Metro in downtown DC are not a lot of fun, especially if you're located somewhere around the Smithsonian stop, which is where actual tourists and "it's a nice hot summer day, let's pretend we're tourists in our own town" folks alike may be headed. But I had to attend a rehearsal around Eastern Market, so I wheeled the second largest instrument I own down to the Metro and lugged it onto a tourist-clogged train, expecting to make people angry by taking up extra room.
Well, this was not so -- lugging a cello on a crowded rush hour train is an inconvenience, I have learned through experience, but apparently on a weekend train, it's a conversation starter. Not even necessarily for conversations with ME so much as everyone else's individual conversations. Usually it's the young kids with their families who would pipe up first. "What's THAT?" "Is that a gui-TAR?" And more often than not, the parents know what it is and do a nice job of explaining, "It's a cello. It's sort of like a big violin." I accept that more than I would "Yes, that's a guitar" or "No, that's a bass." People often start talking about people they know who play musical instruments, as though we were a rare commodity (are we?). "Oh, Aunt Becky plays cello." (this was my favorite yesterday, because some dude in that family responded, "Wait, who's Aunt Becky?" haha.) As I was getting off the train, the grandmother of a multi-generational family (I think it was the Aunt Becky family) said "Such a tiny thing, lugging that great big cello." I paused for a few moments, turned around, and said, in my not-so-tiny voice, "Thank you!" More often than not they don't really acknowledge me at all, they just start talking about music or instruments. Some really preppy couple around my age a few weeks ago started talking about a friend who played piano when I got on the train. Hey, that's an instrument too. If I get people talking about music, or even if I just help add to their regular conversation fodder, I'm pleased. The last thing I want is for people to run out of things to say to each other, even on the Metro.
I guess sometimes folks actually talk to me, too. I met a really nice, cool couple the other weekend and we had a 20-minute, non-awkward conversation as we rode out to the Virginia burbs. We didn't exchange information or anything, but you know, I already have more friends than I know what to do with, and I guess one of the more interesting things in life is the short interactions you have with people you know you'll probably never see again. Yes, yes, I know. How many thousand indie films have been made exploring this topic? (Amelie II: The Quirkening)
Sorry for not updating very often. Oh also I worked from home today because I had mosquito bites on my FACE that were very embarrassing but have gone down now to the point that they just look like regular bad zits. Ha. Okay, that's all that's worth sharing, right?
I was recently asked by a wonderful friend who blogs more than me -- whose blog I would link to but I'm not entirely sure it's still public or whether she has interest in me doing such a thing -- why I haven't customized my blog. It's funny because I don't think of this as a blog, but of course a Livejournal is totally a blog. And I know how to make websites look pretty, so maybe this is something I should do. I dunno. I haven't done anything administrative on LJ in a long time, editing bio and interests and shit like that. We shall see.
And now, a quote, which is what I really came here to post. I just bought a secondhand copy of one of my English professors' books, a biography of James Dickey by Henry Hart. This is is a Dickey quote that he includes in the introduction. I've shortened it by a few lines, noted with an ellipsis. At any rate, I think the quote does a fabulous job of describing many types of creative people, or even just people who are hypersensitive (oh, that would be me, and if you don't know that, you probably only know me online or only see me when I've been drinking).
I think there is a terrible danger in the over-cultivation of one's sensibilities, and that's what poets are forced to do in order to be poets. You will find that poets, almost without exception, are cast into the most abject despair over things that wouldn't bother an ordinary person at all. Living with such an exacerbating mind and sensibility gets to be something that one cannot bear any longer. In order to create poetry, you make a monster out of your own mind. . . Writers start out taking something to aid the monster, to give them the poetry. Poets use alcohol, or any other kind of stimulant, to aid and abet this process, then eventually take refuge in the alcohol to help get rid of it. But by that time the monster is so highly developed he cannot be got rid of.
--James Dickey, from a 1973 interview with Playboy
As far as many of you know who haven't been keeping up with me in person, you probably think I am well on my way to a masters degree in library science by now. If so, you are wrong! I took two classes and quit when I got a job working at a local university that offers pretty much free tuition, but no library science program. Then music and stuff got super busy and I forgot about schooling of any kind for a year.
Well, I'm almost done with my application for the Master of Science in Information Systems and Technology program here, with a concentration in Information Systems Development. That's a lot of capital letters, folks. Fancy shit.
We made quiche last night and it was the first time ever. Fortunately I am good with the pie crusts so I made that, pressed it in, prebaked a bit (note to stupid self: wax paper smokes in the oven, buy some parchment you idiot), and whipped up some great bacon/zucchini/squash innards. I just ate a leftover piece for lunch. Grand!
1. There is some conference happening here in DC about Israel (60th birthday party perhaps?) and my apartment is on the route where they're busing people back and forth with police escorts all day. Literally all day. I mean I haven't been home after 9am or before 6pm, but from 7:15am to 9am-ish and from 6pm to 11:45pm-ish, EVERY FIVE MINUTES OR LESS, a huge mess of tour buses sandwiched between cop cars wails by. And we have big, old windows on three sides of our apartment, directly facing the street where this is happening. Once, when somebody really important (Prime Minister Olmert, perhaps?) came by, it was more ridiculous than the presidential motorcade. How many cops are there in DC? I don't know, but they were all right outside my building when this dude went by. SUVs with tinted windows and open back hatches, presumably with dudes wielding guns just waiting for someone to fuck with them, multiple ambulances on hand "just in case..." It's a mess. Let me watch television at a reasonable volume and have a normal conversation with my husband and attempt to go to bed at a non-ungodly hour, damn you!
2. Walking out of my building and onto the sidewalk this morning, at the beginning of my 1.1-mile jaunt to work, I was walking next to a dude who might've been drunk and/or homeless, or else just dirty -- stained grey t-shirt, dirty old Levi's, general gruff look about him. Some young frat boy-looking dude in a t-shirt, shorts, flip-flops, and maybe a baseball cap walks out of a building with a woman who's gotta be his mom or SOMETHING (older, generally put together, whatever). Gruff dude says to fratty dude, "I LOVE the way you're dressed." I start laughing my ass off and look back at the gruff dude, who looks at me, shaking his head, and mutters, "Terrible." Awesome 8:45am double standard sarcasm.