OK, so really I need to call Sprint and deal with the fact that they have once again screwed up the bill (in their favor, of course) but I HATE dealing with that crap, and I always end up yelling at someone working in the Philippines for two bucks an hour and then I feel guilty and exhausted. So here's my solution: procrastinate!
Sometimes procrastination isn't all bad. It can get you to take care of other stuff, like cleaning out the microwave, waxing your floors, enrolling in online banking--all pretty essential to modern living. Argh.......
So before I take a shower, bake some cookies, sort out my old files and practice my guitar (I am now ONE PERCENT BETTER than I was 6 weeks ago, haha!) in lieu of screaming at "Brittany" in the Philippines, I thought in honor of Friday the 13th, I'd write a little bit more about the ghosts I lived with in Montreal.
The first one, who was there most frequently, I will call Zachary. His story is in my blog about Cambridge Clones. So I won't repeat everything about him--but maybe just one anecdote about something funny that he did.
The second ghost, who I really don't WANT to give a name, hung out in the bathroom. Sometimes he would leave drops of blood in the sink (SERIOUSLY! No idea where that came from!) and more often, he would turn on the water in the bathtub. So of course, I had the bathtub fixture checked, and there was nothing wrong with it.
After living with him for a long time (I stayed in that place for 15 years!), I found out that someone had actually died in the bathroom, long ago. Apparently he had a heart attack and was calling out for help, but the insane family living there (relatives of the insane family who currently owned the place) ignored him, and he died.
Knowing the insane landlords (the Goldbergs, whose son had actually killed his own father but never been charged--true to Montreal justice, the case didn't proceed, because after the father died of a severe beating, the judge dismissed the case for lack of a witness!!!) I figure there is much more to that story, but honestly, did I want to know what it was? Not really.
OK so there may have been a third ghost, but I don't want to talk about that at all right now, because he was waayyyy too scary, if he existed.
Instead, let me finish this segment of my procrastination vacation with the anecdote about Zach.
At the back of my apartment (it was the third/top floor of a triplex in the Plateau area, not far from Mount Royal Park) was a room we used as a study. One day at about 5 p.m. I was in that room writing, with the door closed. I heard the front door of the apartment open, someone walk up the steps, through the living room and hall and into the kitchen, which was right next to the study.
I figured it was my roommate Karen, so I kept working. Karen (or so I thought) banged around with pots and pans, so I figured she was making something for supper. But after a few minutes, the banging stopped, and I heard the person walk back through the apartment and out the front door. I thought it was a little odd, but maybe Karen changed her mind and decided to eat at the Souvlaki joint on the corner instead?
Twenty minutes later I thought that was a good idea--great Souvlakis, and I was hungry. So I walked over to the resto, and sure enough, there was Karen, sitting there enjoying a plate of chicken kebob, rice and salad. It looked good.
I sat down with her. "Hey Karen, so you decided not to cook supper at home tonight?"
Karen looked completely baffled. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
I told her I had heard her banging around in the kitchen while I worked on my writing in the study. She shook her head.
"I haven't been home yet. I came from downtown directly here, to eat." I didn't believe her at first, but she was adamant.
OK, so did she give keys to someone else? She swore no, and I believed her, since no one had ever just walked into the place before, and she had been living there for four months. AND, because my landlord and family were so insane, I had secretly changed the locks without telling them and NOT given them a key. Not legal, I know, but I didn't care. They were truly dangerous.
Oh well, so I ordered a Souvlaki sandwich and figured hmmm, strange, but...
Well, so a couple weeks later I was sitting in the same restaurant about the same time, and who walked in but Karen.
We had the SAME conversation again, only this time she thought it was ME who came home, rattled pots around and then left. But, like Karen the previous time, I had gone to the restaurant directly from a Spanish class downtown.
So Zach had a sense of humor, I guess. Or maybe it was his wife? One previous roommate claimed to have seen both Zach and a woman, walking arm and arm down the stairs. So maybe Zach's wife Cecily came home to cook a nice meal for him, and then went out to get molasses to make cookies?
Whoever it was sounded a bit annoyed. Probably thought the kitchen wasn't clean enough, cuz it never was. I only started cleaning more after I did Vipassana meditation and heard the birds chatting, but that's another story.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Walking at Walden Pond and Avoiding Exhibitionists
So today I finally got out to Walden Pond again. It has been one month, and the last time I was there I was feeling pretty devastated because of, what else? Some person with that extra appendage who had let me down big time.
Maybe I will write a whole blog about that very soon. (Don't worry, Darius Leavenworth, of Main St, Arlington, TX, 888-555-1212, I will NOT provide any details about you!) But right now, let's talk about walking around Walden Pond at about 4 p.m. in November.
It was so beautiful and calm, peaceful cloudy and overcast. Seemed a bit lonely, as in, not a lot of people around so I thought, "Well, I'll just walk to the cove and back." I took a bunch of photos--branches and water, leaves and sky. I'll post one I took awhile ago with this blog.
Normally I feel pretty safe at Walden Pond, but it can get a bit eerie when there is no one else walking the path. I was weighing possibilities when suddenly Sophie Freud, the granddaughter of Sigmund, who is in her 80's, hoofed it past me, wearing headphones and a brace on her right arm. She smiled at me. We've talked before.
"Hi, Sophie!" I called out. "Are you going to walk all the way around the pond?"
She nodded. I asked about her arm. She said it was OK. Obviously not in the mood for a conversation. The parking lot gates close at 5, and it takes about 45 minutes to walk around the pond. So I waved her on, while I took a few more photos.
But now I figured, if Sophie can do it, so can I. So I took a deep breath and started my trek around the pond. I took a few photos, got nervous a few times, heard mysterious crackling in the bushes from time to time, made my detailed plan for escape from any ravaging beast, human or animal (it involves throwing my backpack at the ravager and jumping into the freezing lake), loved the sounds of snapping twigs and shuffling leaves, avoided a few madly dashing joggers, wondered where I could buy some pepper spray (just in case), thought about how anyone in the throes of new love should definitely buy a new generic wardrobe and NEVER EVER wear that special Che T-shirt, because if the person you love ditches you, then you will want to burn anything that reminds you of the pain, and it would be much easier to burn new generic clothing than a special Che Shirt from Chinatown, NYC, and then I thought about how great it would be to have a special ISLAND for people in the throes of new love, so that, once again, if one person ditches the other, for absolutely no reason at all, then the injured party would not be inclined to leave town to avoid painful memories surfacing all over the damn place.
Anyway, at about 4:45 I rounded the last cove heading to the Kids' Beach and then the parking lot. For some reason, I decided to have a look at the public bulletin board. Well, actually, the REASON was that I wanted to see if the Ranger had finally posted a warning about deer ticks, since I got bitten by one a few years ago and when I called to let park supervisors know, they breezily told me they were having an INFESTATION!!! But NO warning sign anywhere!
OK, I found a small tick warning, but THEN...right next to the tick sign on the bulletin board...a larger warning: "Please be advised that an individual has been spotted at Walden Pond exposing himself to park patrons. If you see this person, do not approach him." (of course, it's a HIM--how often do you ever hear of a female exposing herself at a park?) "Call the police."
Well, damn. I was REALLY glad I hadn't seen that notice before my walk. And who knows, maybe those snapping twig sounds in the woods...?
I immediately wondered if an acquaintance, let's call him "Bill" had finally gone off the deep end. Bill has a tendency to grab women's butts and other parts, right out of the blue. I confronted him about this in September. He denied having a problem. I suggested he get help before he gets in trouble. Maybe silly old Bill, like so many silly old men, didn't listen to me.
Time to buy that pepper spray. Or maybe hoof it after Sophie next time.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Exxon Mobil Gets Iraq Contract, Sam Says Americans Are Innocent
“I’m for anything it takes to keep innocent Americans safe,” said Sam, talking to me an hour ago.
“But most Americans are NOT innocent, Sam. Do you know how many truly innocent civilians have been killed in Iraq due to the American invasion and occupation? A million or more. For real.”
Sam was in the military himself, many years ago, so he doesn’t pay me any mind. He was also a guitarist in a heavy metal band, until he got shot in his left hand while arguing with a cocaine dealer.
Exxon Mobil and Royal Dutch Shell just inked an agreement with the Iraq oil ministry to develop one of the largest oil fields in Iraq. I mention this to Sam. His face goes blank.
“So the people who screamed at my ‘NO BLOOD FOR OIL’ signs were WRONG and my sign was RIGHT!!!! Follow the money, Sam. The whole POINT of that invasion was the oil. It was never about Saddam Hussein, other than the fact that he wasn’t willing to fork over his oil as quickly as Exxon and other World Corporate Leaders wanted.”
I don’t really know why I am talking to Sam about this. He’s a great mandolin player. Amazing, since the middle two knuckles of his left hand are held together by a metal pin. But, like so many Americans I’ve met, even most of the “liberals” seem to have been horribly brainwashed.
I told Sam I thought Osama Bin Laden was “selected” to be the invisible bad guy because his name is easy to pronounce. Sam insisted Bin Laden IS a truly bad guy and said, “Well if they put it in the paper, there’s got to be some truth to it.” Whaaatttt????? I seem to recall something about proof of Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction being published in the NY Times a few years back.
But here’s the thing. How stupid can human beings be? WHEN are we the people going to get together and INSIST that we don’t WANT to burn oil or coal any more? When are we, en masse, going to voluntarily leave our cars at home, and use public transit, walk, ride bikes, in order to REALLY put less CO2 into the atmosphere? When are we going to insist on government representatives who truly understand that we are on a path of extinction, and that the whole model of GREED and unrestrained development must go the way of the Dodo?
The people in charge of the wholescale destruction of our planet, our home, our nest (and US), are criminals and should be charged and imprisoned as such. The rest of us have a huge mess to clean up. Fast.
“But most Americans are NOT innocent, Sam. Do you know how many truly innocent civilians have been killed in Iraq due to the American invasion and occupation? A million or more. For real.”
Sam was in the military himself, many years ago, so he doesn’t pay me any mind. He was also a guitarist in a heavy metal band, until he got shot in his left hand while arguing with a cocaine dealer.
Exxon Mobil and Royal Dutch Shell just inked an agreement with the Iraq oil ministry to develop one of the largest oil fields in Iraq. I mention this to Sam. His face goes blank.
“So the people who screamed at my ‘NO BLOOD FOR OIL’ signs were WRONG and my sign was RIGHT!!!! Follow the money, Sam. The whole POINT of that invasion was the oil. It was never about Saddam Hussein, other than the fact that he wasn’t willing to fork over his oil as quickly as Exxon and other World Corporate Leaders wanted.”
I don’t really know why I am talking to Sam about this. He’s a great mandolin player. Amazing, since the middle two knuckles of his left hand are held together by a metal pin. But, like so many Americans I’ve met, even most of the “liberals” seem to have been horribly brainwashed.
I told Sam I thought Osama Bin Laden was “selected” to be the invisible bad guy because his name is easy to pronounce. Sam insisted Bin Laden IS a truly bad guy and said, “Well if they put it in the paper, there’s got to be some truth to it.” Whaaatttt????? I seem to recall something about proof of Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction being published in the NY Times a few years back.
But here’s the thing. How stupid can human beings be? WHEN are we the people going to get together and INSIST that we don’t WANT to burn oil or coal any more? When are we, en masse, going to voluntarily leave our cars at home, and use public transit, walk, ride bikes, in order to REALLY put less CO2 into the atmosphere? When are we going to insist on government representatives who truly understand that we are on a path of extinction, and that the whole model of GREED and unrestrained development must go the way of the Dodo?
The people in charge of the wholescale destruction of our planet, our home, our nest (and US), are criminals and should be charged and imprisoned as such. The rest of us have a huge mess to clean up. Fast.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Trillium, Khanji, Dr. Thuna, The Diva and Me
I had a friend in Montreal, who broke up with her long-time boyfriend Paul to have a mad affair with a married older man, Khanji (and I THINK I keep seeing Khanji in Harvard Square and that he has relocated here, I guess I should just ASK the guy some day, "Are you Khanji from Montreal?"), but of course Paul was not happy about it and waited a long time to see what my friend would do.
Well, yes, eventually she and Khanji (who had left his long-time wife for her) did break up, and my friend moved by herself (poor Paul) to a ranch in Arizona and changed her name from Patricia to Trillium and as far as I know she is NOT now relocated in Cambridge but still lives on that ranch in Arizona. I imagine that she still has that pale Medieval face and that dark hair to her waist and wears long midnight-blue gowns, but who knows? Maybe now she is weathered and tanned with a blond bob and wears cowboy boots and chaps.
But the point I am trying to get to is that Tricia and I had a discussion once about how hard it is to break relationship patterns. We came to this analogy: If YOU finally tell your partner that it really BUGS you that he leaves the toilet seat up all the time, then HE is probably going to finally tell you that you snore at night, which will lead to YOU finally letting him know that his breath REALLY stinks in the morning, and then HE will tell you that he actually hates your hair short and always preferred it long, and well... the madness will just never end. Which is why most couples just keep their mouths shut and end up silently hating each other after 20 years together, and take vacations to Sanibel Island and go out to dinner at Gramma Dot's and barely speak a word during the whole meal, all the while staring at the one single woman in the whole place, who sits alone reading and actually looks happy (that would be me, a few years ago in Sanibel Island).
But sometimes, you know, you just have to take a chance, dive in, hold your breath, hope for the best and OPEN your damn mouth. And that is what I have done recently with a close relative who is, quite frankly, very often a total Diva Beyatch with me. She takes her stress and her crap out on me and I JUST HATE IT!!!!! So, I have started hanging up on her the minute she gets that attitude. I have also refused to let her set foot in my house for the past five months. And it's really interesting how, rather than trying to alter her behavior or even apologize, she has just gotten worse and worse, until I hang up after about thirty seconds, and sometimes less.
I figure something is about to break (as in breakthrough) or maybe we will end up with a relationship in short bursts of text only. But the harder I put my foot down, the more she just seems to want to stomp on it. Pretty painful, until I finally figured out that I need to not only put my foot DOWN, but move it the hell outta the way. We'll see what develops. I'll keep you posted.
As for Tricia or Trillium...well the other best part of her story is that we worked together grading papers for an herbalist correspondence course which was pretty much either bogus or stolen from other sources. A very old (85) crotchety mean man, Dr. Thuna, ran the place. But I think he was a figurehead, since he pretty much did nothing except complain and daydream. He was also profoundly deaf.
One day the fire alarm went off, which it had never done before. We worked in a basement office, twenty feet from Dr. Thuna, and there was only one exit. Dr. Thuna was daydreaming and had not heard the alarm.
Tricia looked at me and then Dr. Thuna, the wheels turning, and asked, "Do you think this is a real fire?" I answered, "Maybe. This IS a pretty decrepit building."
Tricia grabbed her knapsack and yanked my arm. "Then let's get the hell OUT of here!"
She ran for the exit. But I called after her. "Tricia, we can't leave Dr. Thuna!" Tricia turned to me, a burning dark fire in her eyes, some primal instinct I had never suspected nor seen before in her angelic alt-girl face. "Oh can't we?" she asked. "Just watch me!" And she ran up the stairs. To freedom. Alone. Without the Boss.
I didn't hate Dr. Thuna quite as much as Tricia, since I only worked 12 hours a week. Tricia worked 35. So I ran to his side, yelled, "FIRE" in his one slightly less-deaf ear, and helped him hobble out of the building.
In the end, there was no fire. But six months later Tricia ran off with Khanji. And poor Paul sat there shaking his head in dazed incomprehension, while I remembered that look in her eyes. She was just running for freedom, and honor or Dr. Thuna be damned. If the whole place burned down behind her, sobeit. Tricia was breaking patterns, and that takes guts. With a big helping of insanity, for good measure.
Well, yes, eventually she and Khanji (who had left his long-time wife for her) did break up, and my friend moved by herself (poor Paul) to a ranch in Arizona and changed her name from Patricia to Trillium and as far as I know she is NOT now relocated in Cambridge but still lives on that ranch in Arizona. I imagine that she still has that pale Medieval face and that dark hair to her waist and wears long midnight-blue gowns, but who knows? Maybe now she is weathered and tanned with a blond bob and wears cowboy boots and chaps.
But the point I am trying to get to is that Tricia and I had a discussion once about how hard it is to break relationship patterns. We came to this analogy: If YOU finally tell your partner that it really BUGS you that he leaves the toilet seat up all the time, then HE is probably going to finally tell you that you snore at night, which will lead to YOU finally letting him know that his breath REALLY stinks in the morning, and then HE will tell you that he actually hates your hair short and always preferred it long, and well... the madness will just never end. Which is why most couples just keep their mouths shut and end up silently hating each other after 20 years together, and take vacations to Sanibel Island and go out to dinner at Gramma Dot's and barely speak a word during the whole meal, all the while staring at the one single woman in the whole place, who sits alone reading and actually looks happy (that would be me, a few years ago in Sanibel Island).
But sometimes, you know, you just have to take a chance, dive in, hold your breath, hope for the best and OPEN your damn mouth. And that is what I have done recently with a close relative who is, quite frankly, very often a total Diva Beyatch with me. She takes her stress and her crap out on me and I JUST HATE IT!!!!! So, I have started hanging up on her the minute she gets that attitude. I have also refused to let her set foot in my house for the past five months. And it's really interesting how, rather than trying to alter her behavior or even apologize, she has just gotten worse and worse, until I hang up after about thirty seconds, and sometimes less.
I figure something is about to break (as in breakthrough) or maybe we will end up with a relationship in short bursts of text only. But the harder I put my foot down, the more she just seems to want to stomp on it. Pretty painful, until I finally figured out that I need to not only put my foot DOWN, but move it the hell outta the way. We'll see what develops. I'll keep you posted.
As for Tricia or Trillium...well the other best part of her story is that we worked together grading papers for an herbalist correspondence course which was pretty much either bogus or stolen from other sources. A very old (85) crotchety mean man, Dr. Thuna, ran the place. But I think he was a figurehead, since he pretty much did nothing except complain and daydream. He was also profoundly deaf.
One day the fire alarm went off, which it had never done before. We worked in a basement office, twenty feet from Dr. Thuna, and there was only one exit. Dr. Thuna was daydreaming and had not heard the alarm.
Tricia looked at me and then Dr. Thuna, the wheels turning, and asked, "Do you think this is a real fire?" I answered, "Maybe. This IS a pretty decrepit building."
Tricia grabbed her knapsack and yanked my arm. "Then let's get the hell OUT of here!"
She ran for the exit. But I called after her. "Tricia, we can't leave Dr. Thuna!" Tricia turned to me, a burning dark fire in her eyes, some primal instinct I had never suspected nor seen before in her angelic alt-girl face. "Oh can't we?" she asked. "Just watch me!" And she ran up the stairs. To freedom. Alone. Without the Boss.
I didn't hate Dr. Thuna quite as much as Tricia, since I only worked 12 hours a week. Tricia worked 35. So I ran to his side, yelled, "FIRE" in his one slightly less-deaf ear, and helped him hobble out of the building.
In the end, there was no fire. But six months later Tricia ran off with Khanji. And poor Paul sat there shaking his head in dazed incomprehension, while I remembered that look in her eyes. She was just running for freedom, and honor or Dr. Thuna be damned. If the whole place burned down behind her, sobeit. Tricia was breaking patterns, and that takes guts. With a big helping of insanity, for good measure.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Jesse and Ben and Paranormal Activity
I keep running into Jesse Eisenberg. Why IS that? Am I meant to speak with him? And why Ben Affleck? Ran into him a couple times also.
Oh, I know they are making movies in Boston and Cambridge, but I have NOT been going out of my way to find them. I am just peddling down the street on my bike and suddenly there is Jesse in front of my face. Or I’m writing at Au Bon Pain, and there’s Ben looking at me while he takes a break from filming.
Maybe I need to finally FINISH my two screenplays. Or write a new one, all about difficult men and the havoc they can wreak in one’s life. Speaking of which—if you haven’t seen Paranormal Activity, and you are in the mood for a feminist revenge fantasy disguised as a horror movie, check it out! Really, it’s hilarious. Some kind of parable there. I noticed the main people saying "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight" after the movie were male. Sorry, but that did make me laugh...personally I slept fine.
Oh, I know they are making movies in Boston and Cambridge, but I have NOT been going out of my way to find them. I am just peddling down the street on my bike and suddenly there is Jesse in front of my face. Or I’m writing at Au Bon Pain, and there’s Ben looking at me while he takes a break from filming.
Maybe I need to finally FINISH my two screenplays. Or write a new one, all about difficult men and the havoc they can wreak in one’s life. Speaking of which—if you haven’t seen Paranormal Activity, and you are in the mood for a feminist revenge fantasy disguised as a horror movie, check it out! Really, it’s hilarious. Some kind of parable there. I noticed the main people saying "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight" after the movie were male. Sorry, but that did make me laugh...personally I slept fine.
Monday, October 26, 2009
I Need more Fun in my Life!!! NOW!!!!
Not really a blog, this. Just putting it out there. I realized today that I spend far too much of my life being serious, worrying, working, fretting, not liking my roommate, not really being able to relate well to Boston-type people, missing some guy who very RUDELY ditched me for no apparent reason, and what I really want is to have some FUN!!!!
So I'm putting it out there to the universe: I need to have some good clean (or slightly dirty would be fine too) FUN!!! SOON!
Like Nick explained about hooking Mariah. "Speak it so." So I am speaking FUN into my life.
OK, so what would that include? Laughing with someone I can really relate to. Dancing. Listening to some amazing music. Talking, exchanging ideas and observations, again with someone I can really relate to (which would be: smart, creative, unusual, quirky, open, funny, honest, compassionate, brave, silly, intuitive, deep). Feeling beautiful, and finding other people also beautiful. Giving and receiving physical affection, nice comfy hugs and kisses (and MORE with the right person!). Singing. Playing guitar, even if I am pretty much horrible at it. Traveling somewhere really interesting, even if only for a few days. (well, heck, a trip around the world would even be better!) Finding a great movie I want to see over and over again. Leaf-peeping NOW before all the leaves in these parts are blown off the trees. Walking around Walden Pond and seeing that beautiful blue loon again. Free money!! Yes! I WOULD like to win the lottery!!! Two or three million dollars should do it. But I will happily take more.
Wait a minute, universe! I just spoke FUN into my life and here comes Howie and his beloved wife, sitting right next to me. I meant fun as in REAL fun, not "drive me crazy til I want to scream” psychosis that sometimes passes for fun. C'mon universe!!! Listen to me for once! I need REAL, soul nourishing FUN!!!! And that includes depth, connection, fire (as in volcanic fire!), wind (as in wild thunderstorm wind), water (as in warm tropical), earth (as in moist, warm, smells GREAT earth), love (as in ALL kinds of wonderful real love), joy (as in gee I feel GREAT joy) and complete and utter silliness.
Thanks universe. Howie and wife have moved to another spot. I think I might just go see a movie. In anticipation of more REAL fun today and every day of my life.
PS I asked for fun and then 4 of the weirdest people in HvdSq sat near me. First Howie and Wife, then old chunky big Man who thinks he is the best of everything in the entire world (long annoying conversation with him a couple years ago at Starbucks while he drank whiskey from a flask), and now thin man with glasses in red jacket who obsessively cleans tables and chairs before he sits down and then looks at me like he hates my guts when in fact I don’t even know his name!!! Ay yi yi!!!! This is NOT exactly what I have in mind, universe!!!!!!! I know you have your own quirky sense of humor, but.... Come ON!!!!
So I'm putting it out there to the universe: I need to have some good clean (or slightly dirty would be fine too) FUN!!! SOON!
Like Nick explained about hooking Mariah. "Speak it so." So I am speaking FUN into my life.
OK, so what would that include? Laughing with someone I can really relate to. Dancing. Listening to some amazing music. Talking, exchanging ideas and observations, again with someone I can really relate to (which would be: smart, creative, unusual, quirky, open, funny, honest, compassionate, brave, silly, intuitive, deep). Feeling beautiful, and finding other people also beautiful. Giving and receiving physical affection, nice comfy hugs and kisses (and MORE with the right person!). Singing. Playing guitar, even if I am pretty much horrible at it. Traveling somewhere really interesting, even if only for a few days. (well, heck, a trip around the world would even be better!) Finding a great movie I want to see over and over again. Leaf-peeping NOW before all the leaves in these parts are blown off the trees. Walking around Walden Pond and seeing that beautiful blue loon again. Free money!! Yes! I WOULD like to win the lottery!!! Two or three million dollars should do it. But I will happily take more.
Wait a minute, universe! I just spoke FUN into my life and here comes Howie and his beloved wife, sitting right next to me. I meant fun as in REAL fun, not "drive me crazy til I want to scream” psychosis that sometimes passes for fun. C'mon universe!!! Listen to me for once! I need REAL, soul nourishing FUN!!!! And that includes depth, connection, fire (as in volcanic fire!), wind (as in wild thunderstorm wind), water (as in warm tropical), earth (as in moist, warm, smells GREAT earth), love (as in ALL kinds of wonderful real love), joy (as in gee I feel GREAT joy) and complete and utter silliness.
Thanks universe. Howie and wife have moved to another spot. I think I might just go see a movie. In anticipation of more REAL fun today and every day of my life.
PS I asked for fun and then 4 of the weirdest people in HvdSq sat near me. First Howie and Wife, then old chunky big Man who thinks he is the best of everything in the entire world (long annoying conversation with him a couple years ago at Starbucks while he drank whiskey from a flask), and now thin man with glasses in red jacket who obsessively cleans tables and chairs before he sits down and then looks at me like he hates my guts when in fact I don’t even know his name!!! Ay yi yi!!!! This is NOT exactly what I have in mind, universe!!!!!!! I know you have your own quirky sense of humor, but.... Come ON!!!!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Ben Affleck and the Brighton Electric Gigolo Van
So this is the second day I have seen Ben Affleck hanging out in Harvard Square. OK, he’s not just hanging out, he’s acting in and directing a film. Fortunately, it’s right next to my usual hang-out, the outdoor Au Bon Pain patio. So I can sit here and write, read, drink tea, while simultaneously watching Ben and his team prepare for a shot that will take two hours to set up, 7 minutes to film, and end up as a 30 second blip in his film, “The Town”.
One positive off-shoot of this film crew’s presence is that the normally cloned appearance of a Cambridge denizen seems to miraculously transform the minute the person catches sight of the lights and cameras. First, a quick hand to the hair to fix the locks. Then the face settles into character. I have noted quite a range: quirky character actor, romantic lead, Allston indy-type, intellectual snob, corporate criminal, homeless drunk or druggy, off-the-meds crazed schizo, studious but handsome nerd (male or female), worried mother, sad father, and on and on. Or maybe, these people are here all the time and they only look unique because I am seeing them through film-crew-colored glasses?
Now I notice a few people who look like versions of various movie stars. Here is a guy who looks a lot like Scottish actor Ewan McGregor. Now another guy, a shorter skinnier version of Denzel Washington. Oh, and there’s that woman who plays Sami on “Days of Our Lives”, my new favorite unemployed pastime. Just love it!
Did you know Sami is trying to HELP Nicole keep her adopted baby Sydney, who is actually Sami’s baby, although Sami thinks she buried her own baby Grace awhile ago (but Grace was really teenage Mia’s baby, switched by Nicole), and meanwhile Nicole is actually a former porn star who is married to EJ, who thinks baby Sydney is no relation to him, but in fact EJ IS the father, and EJ is the son of Stefano Dimero, one of Salem’s Mafioso-type patriarchs who lies on his possible death bed, knowing the truth but in a coma, so how can he help? And all that after watching this soap for only ONE week!
Man, THAT is my ideal job! A writer for a soap opera. They must have so much fun thinking up this stuff!!!
So now a cop makes us all move away from the Au Bon Pain wall so we won’t be in the shot. Like HOW am I going to be in the shot? This looks like a medium close up again. Anyway. They should be so lucky as to have me in their movie, and for free! I know I will bring luck. I usually do.
I have to admit I am getting a little tired of hearing that name...Ben Affleck Ben Affleck Ben Affleck. I never minded it before but it is starting to drive me NUTS. Sorry, Ben!
Yesterday a woman watching the scene with me noted that the PA’s (the grunts) didn’t seem to be “very talented”. Just as she made this comment, and I laughed, a young guy driving what looked like an adult-size open playpen with a motor almost ran into one of the bigger wigs on the set, an intense, slightly chubby curly-haired guy who keeps telling people not to take photos with their flashes on.
Most of the people wandering around this set are men, with a few women. I’d say 90% male, come on BEN! Give the girls a break! Hire more WOMEN!!!.
Now they are filming inside the maroon red robbery van which reads “Brighton Electric” and in smaller letters underneath, “Fast • Reliable • Professional” and then “Serving Greater Boston”. I am thinking this would be a perfect van for a gigolo from Brighton, not that I know anyone who would fit the bill. With a shag rug, a psychedelic poster and a disco mirror ball on the interior, the Brighton Electric Gigolo Service could function like a Bookmobile!!! But without books, maybe a few magazines, and of course specialized services...
OK so I see that Ben’s scarlet red Boston Red Sox toque has moved down the street. See what I mean, after all that time setting up, it took all of 7 minutes to film the shot. A lot like sex with a difficult man. And sometimes, after all that work, the 7 minute shot is just completely edited out, as though it never happened! And maybe it never did! Again, a lot like sex with a difficult man.
Ben was looking at me at one point (not that I think Ben is difficult, but then again...). Yes, Ben, I probably am one of the few truly interesting people you might meet here in Cambridge. But I have a headache, for real. Maybe next film.
One positive off-shoot of this film crew’s presence is that the normally cloned appearance of a Cambridge denizen seems to miraculously transform the minute the person catches sight of the lights and cameras. First, a quick hand to the hair to fix the locks. Then the face settles into character. I have noted quite a range: quirky character actor, romantic lead, Allston indy-type, intellectual snob, corporate criminal, homeless drunk or druggy, off-the-meds crazed schizo, studious but handsome nerd (male or female), worried mother, sad father, and on and on. Or maybe, these people are here all the time and they only look unique because I am seeing them through film-crew-colored glasses?
Now I notice a few people who look like versions of various movie stars. Here is a guy who looks a lot like Scottish actor Ewan McGregor. Now another guy, a shorter skinnier version of Denzel Washington. Oh, and there’s that woman who plays Sami on “Days of Our Lives”, my new favorite unemployed pastime. Just love it!
Did you know Sami is trying to HELP Nicole keep her adopted baby Sydney, who is actually Sami’s baby, although Sami thinks she buried her own baby Grace awhile ago (but Grace was really teenage Mia’s baby, switched by Nicole), and meanwhile Nicole is actually a former porn star who is married to EJ, who thinks baby Sydney is no relation to him, but in fact EJ IS the father, and EJ is the son of Stefano Dimero, one of Salem’s Mafioso-type patriarchs who lies on his possible death bed, knowing the truth but in a coma, so how can he help? And all that after watching this soap for only ONE week!
Man, THAT is my ideal job! A writer for a soap opera. They must have so much fun thinking up this stuff!!!
So now a cop makes us all move away from the Au Bon Pain wall so we won’t be in the shot. Like HOW am I going to be in the shot? This looks like a medium close up again. Anyway. They should be so lucky as to have me in their movie, and for free! I know I will bring luck. I usually do.
I have to admit I am getting a little tired of hearing that name...Ben Affleck Ben Affleck Ben Affleck. I never minded it before but it is starting to drive me NUTS. Sorry, Ben!
Yesterday a woman watching the scene with me noted that the PA’s (the grunts) didn’t seem to be “very talented”. Just as she made this comment, and I laughed, a young guy driving what looked like an adult-size open playpen with a motor almost ran into one of the bigger wigs on the set, an intense, slightly chubby curly-haired guy who keeps telling people not to take photos with their flashes on.
Most of the people wandering around this set are men, with a few women. I’d say 90% male, come on BEN! Give the girls a break! Hire more WOMEN!!!.
Now they are filming inside the maroon red robbery van which reads “Brighton Electric” and in smaller letters underneath, “Fast • Reliable • Professional” and then “Serving Greater Boston”. I am thinking this would be a perfect van for a gigolo from Brighton, not that I know anyone who would fit the bill. With a shag rug, a psychedelic poster and a disco mirror ball on the interior, the Brighton Electric Gigolo Service could function like a Bookmobile!!! But without books, maybe a few magazines, and of course specialized services...
OK so I see that Ben’s scarlet red Boston Red Sox toque has moved down the street. See what I mean, after all that time setting up, it took all of 7 minutes to film the shot. A lot like sex with a difficult man. And sometimes, after all that work, the 7 minute shot is just completely edited out, as though it never happened! And maybe it never did! Again, a lot like sex with a difficult man.
Ben was looking at me at one point (not that I think Ben is difficult, but then again...). Yes, Ben, I probably am one of the few truly interesting people you might meet here in Cambridge. But I have a headache, for real. Maybe next film.
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