So I went and saw The Departed on Saturday (good timing, eh?), and let me just say it: It shouldn't've won best picture.
It was very, very good-I was ready to say it's the best damn gangster movie since Miller's Crossing. And then, without revealing too much, they cut the emotional legs out from under the audience. I think it was done to give it that Scorsese feel, but it really was unnecessary, because of the way things were going anyway. I was left dissatisfied, because the movie fucked with what I wanted from it as a story.
Don't get me wrong: Scorsese is one of the best, and most important directors in cinema. What he's forgotten about movies is more than any 4 people know about them. But The Aviator was a much better movie, and Goodfellas is a classic.
My desire, however, to see Infernal Affairs remains unabated.
I've also started watching The Wire and while some people have said it's the best show on TV (yeesh-the hype, the HYPE) I'm not seeing it yet. I've only watched 3 episodes, though, and it is pretty good.
Monday, February 12
The dream was a recast of The Breakfast Club--you can imagine which character I was playing--and what I remember is Ally Sheedy's character smiling at me, but that I wasn't going to get to interview her. She wants to be interviewed, but we're both too shy around all the other people.
Anyway, the whole thing was taking place in a white single-floor house, and I kept going into the back, though the kitchen, into a living room and then a bathroom in the back. Wash my hands, look at the backyard, it just seemed important to keep moving through there. There was this co-worker of mine standing in the living room, and I kept squeezing her butt as I walked by, and she kept laughing at me, so I figured I'm good.
I return to everyone passing around a glass of wine in a church chalice. I drink from it, but the wine spills from my mouth, leaving me parched (I have a cold, and was sleeping with my mouth open). We put a kerchief on the spilt wine and as the red is soaked up, the word 'recline' comes up in black lettering.
And so I go outside, and lay down in the grass outside. Fireworks start to go off in the sky, and I'm thinking: everyone else is missing this but me. Why is that? As the dawn breaks, the fireworks are still going off, but I can tell it's time for me to go back inside.
Thursday, February 8
Friday, February 2
I went to lunch with a co-worker today, and we did our comiseration thing, talking about life the universe and everything.
Next to us at the bar, sat a woman; red, tighly curled hair that fell down just past her shoulders. She's constantly aware of her cell phone, and there's some twinkling in her eyes that isn't from joy. She's chain smoking menthol Camels.
And I ask her if she's alright. She isn't, but thanks for asking.
So the 3 of us have this conversation about relationships. The two women I'm with: in bad relationships. Me: in a pretty good one.
I fully intend on doing what I can to keep it good.
But, here are these two women, who seem to be interesting people, interested in the universe, and they have surrounded themselves with men who, for whatever reason, aren't that good.
And all I can think of now is: please, please, please, don't let me turn into 'that guy' for very long. Please, please, m'lady, talk to me, tell me what's going on, tell me what is on your mind.
If someone has given up talking. The relationship is fucked. If someone has given up sex. The relationship is fucked.
I don't want to be that person, who has just let everything wither, because he is unable to rise up and say something. I worry about this because I look at my life and I worry about that...
I know I won't be happy all the time, but I no quitting. Please. No quitting.