Due to cool factors in somebody else’s interesting life, I and some loved ones got taken out on the town last night by a very nice person with an expense account, and I ate at a fancy restaurant and people ordered wine like they knew what they were talking about, and the wine was really good, and I finally had blancmange, the dream of any self-respecting anglophile (it’s basically pudding, like all English food. I highly recommend its disgusting wikipedia page (“Though it is fairly certain that the etymology is indeed “white dish”, medieval sources are not always consistent as to the actual color of the dish. Food scholar Terence Scully has proposed the alternative etymology of bland mangier, “bland dish”, reflecting its often mild and “dainty” (in this context meaning refined and aristocratic) taste and popularity as a sick dish”)). FOOD SCHOLAR. SICK DISH.
It turns out that it is fun to eat at fancy restaurants–who knew those dipshit New York assholes eating $500 worth of endangered songbirds for lunch were right about something in their dumb lives? Fancy restaurants…so right, yet so wrong…even the BUTTER was incredible. I felt too embarrassed by the presence of a stranger to do what I really wanted to do, which was to ask the waiter for “more butter” and then eat it with my fork. Also this restaurant was probably not that fancy, but I am used to eating at Sizzle Pie or at the waffle cart in the parking lot of the Videorama by my house, so.
In conclusion, I am hungover and in kind of a salty mood. School starts day after tomorrow and I can’t tell if I am ready or not. I think I am, but you never know.
It is a glorious day. The previous evening, two evenings ago, as you know if you live in Portland, was what meteorologists would describe as “insanely foggy” or “just really fucking foggy.” It was so foggy I felt like I was in that movie “The Fog.” It was so foggy that on our way somewhere in the car we seriously considered not going due to safety issues w/r/t driving in said fog. It was so foggy that the city of Portland was apparently forced to make use of its FOG HORN, a thing I had never heard before. It horned all night, that damn fog horn, hallooing poignantly into the nothingness of fog over the river. All night I lay and listened, and was cowed by all I do not know.
But today it is brilliant and sunny and the Snoopy did his wind sprints at the park in fine fettle. He is a wonderful prancing pony and he delights my eyes each day. He is very good at wind sprints. He would love to live in Colorado, where the sun is bright each day in the high big sky, the snow like diamonds, weird white animals making cool tracks for sniffing.
But lets face it, he would like living anywhere. “Dog has 437th consecutive best day of life”
I feel like I put too many things on my to-do list and now I am asea and don’t know where to start, and when I do start something I immediately switch to some other thing. I want to read and think and write with focus, not like a chicken with its head cut off. I think to accomplish this I must go on some sort of solo yoga retreat to that place with the hot tubs where you have to bring your own coffee because of hippies.
Blanket update: the blankets at Andy & Bax are indeed massively cheap ($25!), but they really illustrate the ol’ saw that “you get what you pay for.” They are pretty gnarly, like probably Bulgarian soldiers died in some of them. Deeper mothball smell, disturbing stains considering blanket provenance (war). If you wanted a big pile of blankets for camping, or if you needed a dog blanket, or if you were starting an emergency orphanage, definitely that’s your spot, but if you want more of a tasteful bed blanket I would say keep hitting up ebay for those vintage LL Beans or Pendletons or even Woolriches that are never going to be cheap enough that you actually buy one.
We went and saw Douglas Sirk’s “Magnificent Obsession” yesterday. Douglas Sirk makes incredible, weird, idiosyncratic films that are basically the thing you use when you want to explain what melodrama is to someone. They are the kind of film where you’re laughing ironically through the whole thing because it’s so kitschy and ham-fisted and the dialogue is so hilarious but then somehow when the credits roll you realize you are crying so hard the front of your shirt is soaked. I really think we could save a lot of time and arguing by just trashing the psychopath test and instead showing prisoners “Imitation of Life,” because anyone not crying at the end of that movie is a robot and/or a serial killer.
“Magnificent Obsession” is no “Imitation of Life” though. I frankly don’t know how to find Jane Wyman sexy, maybe because I can only see her as Aunt Polly with her tight-ass hair bun and her stern navy blue dresses, making Hayley Mills cry because she won’t play the Glad Game. Rock Hudson of course is the world’s most beautiful man, but I just wasn’t feeling it between them. Great music throughout though. And a really good drunk-acting scene by Hudson, where he kisses his girl goodbye by sort of grabbing her entire face with both hands and smacking her on the lips, which I really wonder if it was an ad-lib because she looked so surprised. Then he goes to med school and becomes a famous neurosurgeon in 2 years, so that he can give sight back to poor ol’ blind Jane Wyman, who he first accidentally killed the husband of because he crashed his speedboat and they had to use the husband’s resuscitator to resuscitate him while the husband unbeknownst was having some sort of cardiac issue, and who he then accidentally shoved in front of a car while trying to apologize for the whole husband thing, which somehow made her go blind.
Rock Hudson is delightful though. The premise of the film is that he learns from this weird old guru that the way to find his destiny and access his true potential power source is to help people constantly while never taking credit for it. So then he says “I’ve gotta find somebody who needs a coupla thousand bucks…then all my problems’ll be over.” And Aunt Polly is like “I don’t think you totally understand the concept–” but then the car runs her over and he has to become a neurosurgeon instead. “Doctor, nobody at this hospital is qualified to perform such an operation! What about….YOU?”
Great melodramatic potential, but I could not cry at any movie that delivered its titular line in echoing auditory flashback not once but twice.
I will watch any Douglas Sirk movie, any time.
Don’t you wish you were friends with Rock Hudson? He seems so nice and so fun and so weird. I could not keep up with him at all, but still I’d like to maybe be the friend he calls every once in awhile so I could hear about his crazy night.
We were talking about hunks with Sarah the other day, and we were all agreeing that we don’t find hunks sexually compelling, but I am starting to think that all I mean by that is that Sean Connery is disgusting. I can’t think of any other hunks I don’t like! Rock Hudson is totally sexually compelling. Even Channing Tatum, who I once so despised. Dude is a babe, would totally french him if opportunity arose (ha)! I don’t mind a hunk, after all. Daniel Craig is a hunk. “Hunk” is a very funny word. I also just think, as per my entry on Girls, that pretty much everyone is good-looking, depending on what you go for and on what a person’s vibe is. I like a waify elvish weirdo, I like a hunk, I like James Gandolfini. If you inhabit your body in an interesting way, and if you’ve got a twinkle in your eye, then handsome you are, so say we all.
In that same conversation I described Sean Connery as “a log covered with oil”