| THE MORNING AFTER THE MORNING AFTER |
[Aug. 16th, 2003|08:35 am] |
My backup keyboard is definitely dead. I now have one keyboard for two machines. So, if anyone in spitting distance has a spare, or spots one in the garbage or something, pls contact me.
I slept at my folks' place last night. They were in Mystic, so I had the house to myself. I ate all their leftovers and gorged myself on television AND passed out on the couch in my sexy underwear (all the sensible underwear is, uh, dysfunctional right now) in the middle of a movie with Cindy Crawford and a Baldwin brother, which had surprisingly good action scenes but lots of ridiculous stuff of them "acting natural" and "not drawing attention to themselves" while Balwin is renting a hotel room covered in badguy-blood, and woke to a WWII movie with a bunch of Big Names of a previous generation. The only name I knew, because I am a Colombo FREAK, was Peter Faulkner, but there were lots of others. It was about a ragtag bunch of infantrymen trying to hold an Italian castle against the Hun, and y'know, war is hell and all that. But the amazing thing about this movie was that the dialogue consisted entirely of one-liners.
Two soldiers walk into a bakery:
SOLDIER 1: I'VE GOT A PLAN TO END THE WAR.
BAKER (PETER FAULKNER): YEAH, HOW YOU GONNA DO THAT?
SOLDIER 1: I'M GOING TO WIN IT.
Apparently, Peter Faulkner's some kind of supercommando infantryman who's gone native and started baking bread. Or something. It's like, 0620 hrs and I've just woken up in the middle of this scene, so I'm not positive what's going on. Anyway, they're trying to convince him to help them capture a German tank that they know has been abandoned nearby. He won't do it, because he's crazy and only wants to bake bread.
SOLDIER 1: OKAY, IF YOU WON'T COME WITH US, AT LEAST GIVE US SOME BREAD.
BAKER: NO, BREAD IS FOR MEN WHO WANT TO LIVE.
Then he gives them some bread, has some kind of soliloquy that creeps past my forebrain (trailing barbed wire behind it, probably), puts aside his baking gear and helps them capture the tank. Later, SOLDIER 1 is hit in the back with shrapnel:
SOLDIER 1 (ROLLS OVER): I KNEW THIS WAR WOULD NEVER END. (DIES)
b-dumCH.
Pretty sure everyone dies at the end except Private Cleanshaven, who is a writer. I read somewhere that Thor may not have been as important to Norse culture as all the Sagas make out, but was the patron of the court poets so got more props from the people who wrote the histories than, say, Frigga. It's very important, the profession you choose for yourself.
So, now I'm home again and the power's back and I am going to clean my house--there are resumes, nail-clippers and candle-shavings everywhere from my midnight blackout ravings (boy howdy). While I'm doing that, if you can't think of anything to write on your blog, you could write a scene, for any type of story except a comedy, where the dialogue consists entirely of one-liners.
BTW, my houseplants are no worse for the loss of power.
yt,
Q |
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| QUESTIONS! QUESTIONS FOR APPLEPICKER |
[Aug. 16th, 2003|12:03 pm] |
They finally arrived! I had them flown in special from from Patagonia, which explains why they are slightly different in tone from the usual questions. I think the translater was one of those toad-lickers.
1) Describe yourself as a cinematic/literary villain, eg, monster? evil genius? scheming rival? etc. What's your motive?
2) There is a storefront with a sign outside that says "Queen of Spades." What's inside?
3) What is the vilest, yet most concise insult/expletive you can think of? ("Use your imagination!")
4) What's your favorite comedy? Any medium, but if it's a TV show you must describe specific episodes.
5) How do you feel about sports? |
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| EVIL NAP |
[Aug. 16th, 2003|04:10 pm] |
Just woke from a horrible dream that I had gone to California with A. and we broke up there; walking her up a steep sidewalk next to the higway, with KwikiMart or something by us, to the airport she won't talk, carrying too much, won't let me help wants me to leave
So I leave
Then I have armloads of my own stuff and am looking for my building--almost mugged in stairwell and realize I'm in the wrong building. Get back to my room and it's a a horrible mess.
And I realize I don't know if I'm in California or New York. I don't remember coming back. I would remember the flight... how did I get back? Looking out the windows doesn't help--everything looks familiar, but of course it would. Have I gone insane?
In a terror, looking for Alex's number--Alex will help. The room is such a mess. Why didn't I call Alex right away? I'm so lonely...
but if I'm in New York, Alex isn't here. Am I hallucinating, am I crazy? Find Joyce's number...
back and forth back and forth
My neck is coated with sweat. Nvr sleep in the afternoon. |
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