December 2003 Archives

fantastic is a word that gets used a lot.

but, really, the Triplets of Belleville is fantastic. dripping with fantasy. jaw droppingly creative.

i haven't seen animation that made me shake my head in wonder that way since i was in college. it's as different as Akira.

Akira. i never get sick of Akira. who could get sick of giant rampaging teddy bears and neo-tokyo cycle wars?

Triplets is shown with a short made collaboratively by Walt Disney and Salvador Dali. iIf you can believe it, it captures both of their styles and that is an amazingly wonderful thing. it's like Fantasia for surrealists. shown alone it would be worth the price of admission.

i doubt Triplets will last more than a week in theaters. go see it now.

it's been slumber party fun here!

and we're making anagrams from everyone's names. i'm snakey zarchur.

today my friends are:

chaplain snerm
dorcy jonono
helmut weltarmur
thrust mor
eels ernpanty

and, the best,

wanko moonstool!

here's to you, wanko!

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this is pretty interesting.

i stayed home sick from work today. slept really really really late. went to see the Return of the King with stacey and matt.

it rocked.

there were numerous moments when i caught myself with my mouth either open in awe (expose: minas tirith!) or clenched shut in fear (damn that shelob...). the best of the three, i'd say. and a new high water mark in entertainment.

now i've got to go put on my sailor suit. you know. costume party.

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if you've been getting frustrated because friendster keeps crashing your browser trying to load pictures, try using netscape instead of MIE. netscape plays well with friendster.

i've been working fifteen hour days this week, running dressing rooms for Peabo Bryson, Natalie Cole, Sheena Easton, and Christopher Cross.

backstage, the rock star turns to me and says, "some days are bad hair days and some days are bad ass days. my hair looks good today."

i say, "hey. fifty percent ain't bad."

got to watch the first set from the front of house tonight. best seats in the house, right in front of the soundboard. while i must admit i get a little tingle watching sheena belt out For Your Eyes Only, the show really belongs to natalie. by which i mean it was easier for me to not fall asleep during her songs. but not by much. after all i've been working fifteen hour days.

today was sarah's last day at the symphony. and stephanie gave notice. and ana's leaving. if you're cool and looking for work, apply here. there will be three bar stools that need filling soon.

if you get a job here, you might get to open natalie cole's sticky mustard (this is not a euphemism).

sometimes it's december and sometimes it's january. sometimes it's a new year and sometimes you're stuck in the last one.

i pulled out a box of memories last night. it was beautiful. notes to myself saying, 'what should i do? = surf it, baby.'

i've got a voucher for one of her apple pies. one for an hour long massage in a hotel room on valentines day. i remember the voucher she took away. it was fucking steamy. i almost forgot i could be that steamy. i can't remember exactly what i wrote, but i can remember her expression when she read it. i remember 22nd street. i remember everything. i can. i can take it.

and i surf it, baby. in january or december, it doesn't matter. the hawaiians say, 'never turn your back on the sea,' cause you always have to look out for the next wave. i'm ready to catch it.

the date says december, but it lies. it's january now.

last night, i asked someone i'd just met, "what's up?"

she got irritated with me; felt pressured to have something interesting to say to satisfy my curiosity (insatiable). wanted to know what i expected to hear.

i was in the neighborhood, feeling a bit daffy, so i thought i'd stop by for an aperitiff.

it's been six months. so sitting there at the phone booth with the lads, it occurs to me to wander the block over to Amazonia, my old house, and just ring the bell.

i moved out half a year ago and haven't been back since. too much memory there.

so why tonight? dunno really. i just let the impulse take me to those dirty blue steps. and ringing the bell, i see those neighbors, the ones who practically live out in front of their garage. i see the beer bottles rattling around in the corner of the drive. the crack house across the street.

the lights are on upstairs, but no one comes down to let me in.