Sunday, February 27, 2005

What will you say when the clock is ticking and you have only ten seconds of breath left?

If you are Hillary Swank (on stage at the Oscars and the trumpets are sounding), you’ll say --- wait! wait! I have been saving Clint Eastwood for last, don’t cut me off. Oh, but let me just say this: I want to thank the lawyers...

You're welcome.

Surviving, though not thriving...

A little one said this once and I drag it out on evenings like this one. I will be glad when the Oscars are over. Blogging about them proved impossible for a million reasons. This is as simul- as I get tonight.

To a better week!

This place is littered with good souls

A trashy day (weekend? winter?) made better by people sitting behind computer screens – you know who you are! But so that this does not become an inside story, let me acknowledge some of you in turn. Thank you so much for these messages today:

[On the subject of the Oscars, in response to this, from me: I am, however, dragging these days and so I'm guessing that I'll be reluctant to leave the house, let alone the neighborhood:] You should do whatever you prefer, whatever is more comfortable or fun…

[In response to my tattoo idea:] Anyway, if you weren't exaggerating for comic effect, I'd probably be compelled to drive over there and throw myself under the wheels of your van until the impulse passed.

[In response to my threat to come visit a certain blogger couple living in the Polish highlands this May and blog away from their family b&b:] Na pewno cos wykombinujemy. W najgorszym wypadku w moim starym pokoiku mozna sie podlaczyc do gniazdka przez modem. Czekamy na dalsze wiesci.

[And finally, the succinctly perfect one, in response to my own email saying this: I'm still up for a walk, but you may change your mind after you hear that I am not a little sullen all week-end, make that all week, make that all month:]
I still want to go. Sullen's alright.

In answer to the emails that ensued, after my tossed around idea about a tattoo (see post below):

Here’s why it wont happen: I would never be able to decide what piece of “art” I would not regret carrying with me for the rest of my life. Surely the choices are limited and snakes and dragons and astrological signs just do not do it for me. Now, if there was a Monet water lily, I may cave, but unless they got the colors precisely right, I’m afraid it’s a no go. If I am fussy about getting a blogroll set up exactly right, you can well imagine that I would be fussy about the creamy yellow tones to the petals of that lily. Body part hosting the tattoo? That’s easy: something perpetually covered up. Back of an earlobe maybe?
The one flower I would never get tired of: Posted by Hello

Promises, promises…

Okay, blogroll is in production but production has been stalled for reasons having to do with the technical incompetence of the production team (me). I will prevail. I WILL PREVAIL, but the project is on hold until I bribe someone to help me do this in the complicated way I want to do it. Ocean is fussy. It has to look minimalist and cool. Your patience is deeply appreciated.

[You can laugh at me behind my back if it makes you feel better.]

On this day, I should do something significant, like announce a major move or go get a tattoo or roll in the snow in my pajamas at midnight

Oscar night. So many things to so many people. I dare say, no one could treat this event more seriously than I do. It’s not the awards per se, it’s the evening of watching them being handed out, like gifts bestowed to nobility, jewels and crowns and promises of undying loyalty.

If life is one capricious frolic and tumble, then mine certainly can be said to have been given a jumpstart the day that Rocky walked off with the Best Picture/Director award and Faye Dunaway and Peter Finch hauled it in for their acting in Network.

It was the year of Great Changes for me and each Oscar night is a reminder of that, a celebration of sorts, except each year, it is a quieter celebration.

And finally comes 2005 – the quietest of them all. Tonight, I’m staying home. I would love to spend the evening with my friend and her son – they are as knowledgeable about the industry as people who were in the room with me watching back in 1976. They will open the door for me gladly, they’ll even let me watch and write, too. Or, I could simply go across the street to my sweet sweet neighbors who are also movie nuts, in addition to having hearts of marzipan and dark chocolate and gold.

I wont do either. It’s one of those things. It’s my time to descend into quietness.

Or, I may get a tattoo. Body piercing is out of the question and the snow looks solidly iced-over. A move? I could, I suppose, conjure up an announcement of a major move, without necessarily committing to a physical relocation. Day is young. Possibilities are numerous.