.Sunday, April 7, 2002

hands
I told you I'd give you a picture of Hollywood...this is what I ended up with

"C'est au moment où l'on triche pour le beau que l'on est artiste."
Max Jacob

When you get to the point where you cheat for the sake of beauty, you're an artist.

So, coffee. A little work with the computer. Some more independent film channel. FFP has a guy come over that he is interviewing for West Austin News. I take his picture, a couple of shots with the digital and edit one for the paper. When he arrives, there has been a wreck outside. The guy says he saw one of the participants pulled out from a side street earlier, stopped in front of ongoing traffic. A bicyclist appears to be involved but he's walking around, no one appears hurt.

We go to the Four Seasons for a birthday party. Everything seems Four Seasons these days. So. Jaded.

This is a massive, mostly stand-up party for a local lobbyist who is our friend. There are lots of politicians there, getting in their licks. We eat a little, drink a little, gossip a little. On the way home, FFP feels like having 'meat.' So we stop at Holiday House for a burger. I have one of those burgers with hickory sauce. I had burgers two days this week. I almost never do that.

Evening. We go back to the house. Mom called. She wants to know why she has five new email messages but can't see them. I don't know...um...maybe you clicked on the heading and sorted them out of date order again. Could that be it? I mean, it could be something else. You never know. Last time she listened to my explanation and did fix it herself. This time she says, 'huh?' It is as if I'm telling her this for the first time. She's been feeling bad. And, I fear, giving in to feeling bad.

I end up once again in the big room, reading papers and reading a bit of my Fireworks book. I stay up too late watching Fight Club. I guess I didn't realize how very weird and violent this movie was. I'm glad I waited for cable. Movies in the theater demand to be paid attention to. Movies on cable can be walked away from. To get a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, some cereal, a snack of cheese. Even to go write an e-mail. I do watch the end. I haven't seen the beginning, but maybe I will soon. I wouldn't buy the DVD. I also happen to be reading in the newspaper (not today's some older one) an interview with Barry Sonenfeld who directed Men in Black and Get Shorty. (I don't think I've seen either.) In this series of interviews, the interviewer and the director watch one of the director's favorite movies. In this case, it's Dr. Strangelove, Stanley Kubrick's famous piece. He points out some cool things about that movie (we do have it on LD) and I hand it over for FFP to read.

I wonder two things about ever quitting work. How would I really spend my time is one of the questions. True, I've been 'practicing' this in my spare time. But nights and weekends hardly give enough time to see. Or do they? Would I really still fail to exercise, plan trips, cook, write more seriously than the journal? Would I really still read so few books? Watch too much TV? Even more TV? Would I spend more time with my parents? Would it be helpful to them?

The other thing? I wonder if I would find something else to frustrate me as much as work. Would I fall into spending my time doing something that not only didn't give satisfaction but also didn't pay well (or at all)?

One thing is certain. Work is frustrating. And I don't know how to make it less so. I get up every Monday and try to make the week make a difference. But, I feel, I usually fail.

JUST TYPING
What's the purpose?
I can't find it.
Still looking.
Life fleeing.