Saturday, September 09, 2017

the delicious other of disclosure

I was dreading to update the home page with a disappointing apology for having nothing much to say. But I came up with a note that I’m happy with—especially the ending, in implicit honor of my streaming last night of “That Obscure Object of Desire” (1977, but remastered in 2001), which is now a dated (rather outdated) experiment in scripting sexist stereotypes and playing with elderly auteurial despair about life in 1977, not only as times which were shockingly insane, but also as absurd, perhaps, as sending a satellite-bound gold plaque of nude humans waving into interstellar space?—and having learned to parody aging without a partner in misogynist society.

Tuesday, May 09, 2017

archetropal spring day to never forget

Beautiful day—and short line at the grocery checkout. Lucky me. The only thing ahead on the conveyor belt was a huge bottle of vodka (half gallon!)—which seemed odd, but none of my business. Someone’s pretty stupid about alcohol, I might have thought (if I’d given it my attention).

I put my stuff on behind the bottle. A short old man in front of me was bubbly, talking with a middle-aged woman who was enjoying him immensely, also helping him pay with his plastic card. I was in no hurry, but didn’t really notice them (but recall in retrospect—before I forget).

“I’m 95!,” he heralded to her, which she cheerfully praised. This caused me to turn toward him. He didn’t look 95. So, I joked. “You’re not 95!” He turned to me, looking surprised through his thick lens, bubbly as, say, a 70 year-old.

I said, “You don’t look 95.” Grinning, seeming flattered, he finished his purchase.