a Cheap Holiday: 07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004

Cheap Holiday

Welcome to a cheap holiday in my life. At least you get to go home at the end of the day!

Monday, July 26, 2004

The weekend was eventful, perhaps in more ways than necessary. Saturday I drove up to Manhattan to spend the day with Kali, who had flown in from San Francisco for a little vacation, so that we could indulge our elitist snobbery by trolling about Soho and the East Village. This resulted in a side-trip to the Marc Jacobs showroom where Kali introduced me to the most vixenish pair of faux crocodile pumps, who then proceeded to break my heart with their $500 price tag. I'm sure the average shopper would question my use of the word faux crocodile in light of the $500 price tag, but I assure you gentle reader, authentic crocskin shoes cost a good deal more than a mere five bills. Kali and I were so despondent over the trollopish pair that we had to console ourselves with lip gloss from FACE Stockholm and pumpkin cognac cheesecake later that evening. All in all, cocktails were had and family relations were debriefed.

But before this retail therapy could begin, I spent Friday night assisting dorei with her all-girls play party in Philadelphia. The night went smoothly and only on a couple of occasions did I have to roust a few overzealous males trying to gain entrance. The tragedy of the evening was when V and I were helping Satyr dismantle the bondage frame. In a prescient flash, I saw the accident coming, but could not avoid it. As Satyr was removing the 2"x8" top cross-member from the frame legs, which V and I were holding, his grip slipped on the cross-member and it began to tumble. I think it first hit him in the head, but then changed its course and proceeded to veer into my upper lip, further bouncing off and taking a pass at my chin. In my attempt to keep a hold on the frame leg, I lost my balance and proceeded to drop to the floor like a proverbial opened sack of potatoes, spilling out in a tuberous arc. At impact, I felt the skin of my lip rend. It's an odd sensation, feeling parts of your body unknit. I gripped my mouth and chin as someone ran off to get an ice pack. I nervously felt out my front teeth, now numb, with my tongue. As I held the ice pack to my face, I tasted a bit of iron. I did not think to look at my shirt, because at that point I was certain my injuries were such that I would require numerous stitches, so obviously I would be drenched in blood. However, when I inspected the paper towel surrounding the ice, there were only a few small blood drops. I had gotten off with a minor split lip and a bumped chin.

However, even though the injuries were minor, this did not preclude my upper lip from swelling to Joyce Wildensteinian proportions. By Saturday early morning, my intact-lower lip lollygagged in the generous shade that my duck-billed upper lip now provided. And not just the upper lip, but also the entire area under the nose. Never have I felt more disfigured and Satyr was quite despondent over it all. I left a voicemail for Kali to warn her that I was not the most pleasant visage to be in the company of, but since nothing seriously ached, I was still on my way. When I met her at her hotel room, she exclaimed "Oh that's not so bad! From the way you made it sound, I thought half your face was going to be black and blue!" Over the course of Saturday, 90% of the swelling retreated and I'm currently left with a crusty upper lip and a chin that's a bit blueish on one side.

The moral of this story? "Let the frame fall where it may."

Thursday, July 15, 2004

As usual, contentment begets apathy. As a result of being about as happy as a satiated tick, I've neglected updating the blog. Princess actually got a bit tiffed about it. "Don't make me wait to read new news!" she recently whined. Lord knows one should not keep Princess waiting! *wink*

Fortunately, my lack of communication is a direct result of a) being in a joyously happy relationship and b) busily participating in numerous community activities. And since I'm not one to comment in great detail on my personal relationships on this blog, I don't have too much left over of relevancy to discuss. So for now, here's a little filler...


Fahrenheit 9/11: I will certainly not be able to comment with as much authority as the more learned columnists of, say, Slate, so I will just say this..."good filmmaking + lousy scholarship = ambivalent viewer reaction." I'm not sure I would rely on Michael Moore for my news any more than say, Fox News.

The Professional (aka Leon): Yes, this Luc Besson offering is 10 years old, I know, but I've never seen it in its entirety until I rented the DVD this week. Word on the street is that a sequel is being made, where Natalie Portman reprises her character "Mathilda" having become a "cleaner" herself in adulthood. I have to say, the movie is far more kitschy and endearing than I had anticipated. Jean Reno is fabulous, as always, and while Portman was not the most brilliant child actress (and Gary Oldman certainly chews the scenery with more vigor here than in most of his vehicles), she and Reno have a lot of chemistry on-screen. If a sequel is indeed released, it will be interesting to see how they write and play it.

Girl with a Pearl Earring: I used to go to theatrical releases more often, but I just haven't had the energy to deal with rabble in the last couple of years, so now I typically wait for them to come out on DVD. (I still need to rent Amelie, for example.) Girl with a Pearl Earring is a speculation on the relationship between the painter Johannes Vermeer and the subject of his painting of the same name. Scarlett Johansson does an amazing job in the title role of Griet, a scullery maid helping out her financially-strapped family by gaining employment at the Vermeer household. A great deal of ink has been spent extolling her startling resemblance to the actual painting, which is true, but her greatest triumph is in holding our interest in her character with barely more than 20 lines of dialogue. She delivers a wonderfully nuanced physical performance that manages to rise above the cliches of Vermeer as an obsessed artiste and his wife as a gold-digging harpie.
Holy textual diarrhea, Batman! Apparently there has been a groundswell of rock musicians blathering about on blogs and I've completely missed it! As a result, I've started collecting these links and adding them to my "good stuff" sidebar. Dave Navarro and Stephen Perkins so far seem to be the most interactive, as they also host forums and respond to readers' questions. Thank God I didn't arrive late to this blogging train, so I can be somebody.