I make a solemn vow to myself.
I vow not to talk about this stuff anymore.
I vow to offer information only if it’s helpful.
I will not conjecture about motives or characterize actions.
To remember I do not have all the facts and even less than half the whole story.
I will not judge; I will watch what unfolds and learn from it.
Okay, I don’t know what I’m saying so bear with me.
Families are complicated. They’re a bolus of dysfunction. I should know. I’ve effectively cut off communication with my own. The cost of dealing with family far exceeded any benefit of belonging to one. Now I have my boyfriend’s family to consider. I’ve effectively adopted them over the years thinking this was what one did when met with a lovely unit of parents, kids, cousins, etc. This was before I saw the cracks. The little fights, the big fights, the ridiculous, the quirks, the strange behaviors. All this comes with the territory, I realize, but there are larger issues beneath the surface. It’s THOSE issues I have issues with.
The way people express their annoyances are important. I find kids do a better job than adults. Kids come right out with it. No, I don’t want to because… But adults take a tone or withdraw or throw up a screen. Instant tension. It draws more attention than just coming out with it. It’s the ‘tude. They need to lose the ‘tude.
Then there’s the thing that each gender does. Guys side with guys, girls relate to each other. To a degree, these things are natural, but when two in the room start squaring off, someone needs to jump in with help or support or just as referee before it gets embarassing. Those who do nothing or, worse, take sides make it much MUCH worse for the loser. Because what started out as a disagreement (for whatever dumbass reason) suddenly becomes a faceoff with an AUDIENCE. That’s a show I’ll pay not to see.
And then there’s the real dysfunction. The gorilla in the room. The unspoken elephant. The thing that makes me crazy. Here’s the deal. Dad’s got a second famly.. There, I said it. And not only is Mom still married to Dad, she won’t divorce him. For over twenty years! That’s how old the kid is — the older one! Yes, there’s more than one. No one wants to talk about it so no one knows what’s been going on or how much each member knows about it all. It’s super-dysfunctional. Everything is orderly and well-contained, and yes, quite mad. So whatever set of quirks or peculiarities riddle the surface, the Unspoken Thing puts them in a different light. They start to look less like funny behaviors and more like artifacts of shell-shock. Amnesia is the order of the day, studiously adhered to so it settles in the corners and silences, forgotten yet bidden.
Here is where the incredulous meets the incredible. He lives with the other woman. That home is his mainstay. Not that I understand any of this, but if I were to put myself in his Mom’s place, I might reason that Dad needed to raise his kids and do right by them and that might include making a life with them as normal as possible. But both those kids are fully grown and now out of the house. He visits his wife occasionally, but it’s not much of a marriage. I wonder if it ever was. I’m struck dumb by her reticence to divorce. It’s an empty threat by this time if one at all. The only thing she effectively prevents is his remarriage. She blocks the kids from being legitimized (though moot this day and age), but most remarkably, she prevents her family from acknowledging the situation, and hence the kids, openly. A tacit understanding marked by a line of devotion. Her kids, their devotion to her. Had she divorced him, she could have made another life for herself, her children could have been introduced to their half-siblings without all this funny business. She’s not compelled to do this for anyone. Not for her family’s sake, not for those other kids, certainly not for her husband, but she could have done it for herself. She still could, but age does funny things to a person’s mind. Makes them feel like life is over. The only thing I can’t figure out is the point of it all. Why draw it out like this? Is it about the money? Is it about the other woman? Does she still love him? Except for the last, they are empty reasons.
Wow. I’m glad this isn’t my family. I guess they are because I adopted them and they adopted me, but I haven’t adopted them fully. With my history, I might drop them.
Again, my friend is not writing me. Sigh. Been exactly a week since I’ve heard from her. My suspicion? She’s seeing TheBoy again. Yes, TheBoy. The man who she’s been seeing the last year. The conflicted Romeo. The one who doesn’t want to break her heart but doesn’t want to be with her.
I think they broke up about a month ago. Maybe more. I figured he’d restart the whole romance again, but I told her, I told her no contact, no texts, emails or phone calls until at least three months, maybe four. Breakups need a chance to hold. Then, you still miss the jackass, then fine, go ahead. Maybe it’s meant to be.
Right now, I’m making the top all nice and crusty on my mac-n-cheese. This one’s for me and my baby. It’s gonna be all nice and spicy. I put in a good dollop of habenero puree. I’m thinking pure awesomeness.
Sorry I don’t have more. I feel like so much has happened but it’s not the kind of stuff that translates in a blog. It’s stuff that’s not happened yet. It lies in the realm of possibility but not reality. To talk about it would be give a form it hasn’t taken yet and I don’t know what it wants to be. And I don’t want to know.
So mundane stuff. We ate at Mirchi Wok in Columbia. It’s a kind of Indian-Chinese fusion. We had momo’s which, if you don’t know, are like steamed dumplings but these were made with chicken and spiced with Indian flair. The dough was homemade which, if you truly love dumplings, makes all the difference. They’re crazy good. We didn’t even order these– the waiter brought them out to us because, I don’t know, to make us love the place? The rest of the meal was pretty fabulous. kebab meat, daal (made with black lentils) and saag paneer. The daal was out of this world. So good, you could have made a meal with just that. If you were thinking of going vegetarian, this would be the place. You’d be totally satisfied. The Indians are pros when it comes to going veg.
Then, we saw the movie The Blind Side. People, please bring tissues. You will thank me. If you are at all prone to waterworks, you will want to come prepared. Now, I consider myself a discerning filmgoer. Not a snob, but if it’s good or interesting, I’m pretty open to it. This movie is better than the typical feel good sports film. And that’s all I’m gonna say. I don’t want to start crying again.
Thanksgiving repast was a success! But I can only take so much credit.. you can’t when you have such appreciative dinner guests. They brought good cheer and plenty of wine. I could have made crap and they would have thanked me for it. I wanted to make sure the entire meal was gluten-free since there is a wheat-sensitive member. This turned out to be more than a thoughtful gesture since she’s used to watching everyone partake of the yummy carbs while she only looks longingly at them. Can you believe that? So sad. So she got to have cornbread (with honey butter) and mac-n-cheese. She went to town. Next, veggies.. you can make a good impression with them (especially girls) if you introduce new ones in new ways. Chard sauteed with garlicky goodness, and tossed with raisins and toasted pumpkin seeds is simple and a revelation to those who’ve never had chard before. Then pumpkin sauteed and marinated in a agrodolce dressing adds a nice bit acid to the meal. Then, little things, like a big yellow sign with the house numbers BIG AS DAY makes it easier to find the house, or the big arrangement of flowers to set off the food or even a lovely dining room done up in persimmon and taupe to embrace your guests in opulent color. I think things fell together better than I could have hoped.
So I hosted another writing group. My group with my dudes. Professional script guy has since taken himself out of it. He’s not keen on sending his stuff to them for their feedback or thoughts. I’m surprised he’s lasted as long as he did. He’s open to sharing his script with me and hearing my thoughts which just makes me incredibly grateful. So the balance of the group met and I added two others. These are older older guys and thoughtful. I don’t know what I think about my two regulars anymore. They come late, they don’t come prepared half the time, they act disinterested other times. I know it takes a while to get your act together, but their attitude is a strain. What should be a semi-professional gathering centered on a focused endeavor ends up being a slacker convention. Why throw out ideas you wouldn’t work on yourself had you one scintilla of discernment? They feel productive by association and that’s lazy.
On a happy note, I finally got together with an old acquaintance of mine. I had met him last year at the commencement of my scriptwriting group. He ran the coffeehouse in Fells and hesitantly asked if there were a prose writing group he could join. I happily brought him to my other one. He came for maybe two, three sessions but then the economy tanked, he had to close up shop and then apply for grad school. We had talked about coffee for the longest, but here is was nearly a year later. I caught him up with the writing groups, including my utter bafflement with my own, my gluten-free feast and other sundries that intersected with his own news. I don’t know why but I think he was relieved that we had so much to talk about.
On a serious note, I met with the guy for the script reading internship. He agreed to give me a go. He then promptly sent me two scripts to write coverage. Then he sent another. They are good. Really good. All totally different. Writing summaries gave me conniptions. Who knew it was so hard to condense? Analysis is hard, but it’s supposed to be. I’m doing my level best to not cuck it up. Having said that, it’s awesome! It’s like a writing group of one.
You will not believe. It happened again. Here I had resigned myself to not getting a crack at the script reading internship. I’d finally swung my conscience into accepting that sad fact and contenting myself with the joys and satisfactions of writing group. They are few but steady and very satisfying. Very satisfying, in fact.
It was heartfelt. I had closure. True resignation and peace. And just when I’d achieved this respite (from self-recrimination), I got the news. The chance to interview. It had not gone away after all. It was there, waiting, open to me.
I’m almost speechless. I’m most definitely anxious for now what does this mean? I have the absurd and contrary impulse to suspect fortune when it turns upward. I’m certain that just when I start to accept it’s forward momentum, that’s when it will crest and plunge me into shame and ignomy. Ahh, I should have been born Jewish.
I’m so incredibly grateful for just this crumb, I’m sure I’ll cuck it up. I’m worried I’ll relax myself into cockiness and out of good graces. It’s basically a clusterfuck in my brain.
I’m now watching Sherlock Holmes on MPT. Hound of the Baskervilles. I swear I’ve seen two different versions of this. This one seems familiar but it may be yet another version. It’s one of the BBC offerings, 1988.
I love Sherlock Holmes. He’s not suave or dangerous like James Bond, but I find the Holmes’ mystique awfully compelling. It’s sexy in an intellectual way. Plus, I love the British dramas, costume dramas, anything Anglophilic. The BBC stuff tends to be shot very simply almost in a meditative way. They lend themselves to contemplation after viewing. It’s almost a shame to surf beyond the end of the program to something less thoughtful, faster-paced and prime time. The schizophrenic pace of those procedural shows becomes apparent when you go from BBC to CIS.
Law and Order (the original) must be exempted from this generalization.
So, the Boy and I are at Sam’s and he notices a couple he knows. Both work at his place, different department. So the guy barely says hello and just crabs away like a zombie– he’s on a mission for candy bars. His wife brushes past and finally recognizes him. She flicks me a look and then proceeds to talk to the Boy– exclusively– like I’m not even there. No hello, no introductions, not even an acknowledging smile. Then she starts walking as she’s talking, pulling the Boy further down the aisle as if what they’re saying is confidential. I don’t mind telling you I was miffed– actually, I DO mind. What should this rude thing miff me? Why should I be miffed? Why treat a person like a nonentity?
Christ. I need to lower my standards. I should just be glad she didn’t spit on me or give me the evil eye. Perhaps no basic social courtesy is the norm these days. If someone actually says hello, perhaps I consider that the epitome of manners and wonder are they versed in diplomatic relations as well?
I got a lot to say lately. Have you noticed? I’ve no idea what’s up with me. Right now, me and the Boy are watching Arsenal play ManU on the telly. It’s a glorious game though I wouldn’t know–I’m going by the boyfriend’s reactions.
If you’ve ever been to Salsa Grill (Security Square Boulevard), let me know what you thought of it. I heart their Peruvian offerings, but everything else should be avoided. Caesar Salad, pass. Feta and spinach emapanadas, pass (though the pastry shell is quite good). Any dish that contains white meat chicken, overcooked. Don’t do it man, don’t do it. But their pupusas? Heaven. Tamales? Ungodly (especially corn). The rice that accompanies the platters, there’s talent there. It’s clear where they should concentrate their efforts, but not enough of the clientele appreciate or seek out Peruvian to make it exclusively.
I don’t want to seem grumpy but does it seem that women are a tad sensitive as creatures? A greater number of them appear to be control freaks to me. Even if they’re not, they require things to be just so otherwise they get pissy and leave or act stoical.
I just found out a friend of mine has Thanksgiving by herself every year. I don’t know when this started, but it sounds like it’s been going on awhile. She says she likes it which I believe. I used to celebrate Christmas alone for a number of years because my family lost their collective minds back in college and so I know about the restorative benefits of solitude. I used to welcome the absence of family, getting all the takeout I could stuff in my maw and the endless stream of Christmas movies that was actually the best part. But Thanksgiving? That’s all about the food and you can’t make that much food without a crowd. At least a crowd of three. I did Thanksgiving for only two one year and it was pathetic. But she says she gets to cook what she wants, doesn’t have to dress up or make small talk or put up with others’ quirks and she likes that. I think she could take it with friends if she wanted but that’s exactly what she doesn’t want.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, I’m doing a different thing this year. See, what usually happens is I go with the Boy and visit his side of the family. Consequently, I don’t get to make the dinner and the only part better than eating is cooking it. And the only thing better than cooking is planning it. This year, I’m having the writing group over and feeding them an abbreviated turkey menu. We just happen to have group about two weeks before the day. It’s brilliant. This way, I get to cook, have turkey leftovers and entertain all at once. it’s not screenwriting (prose, this one) but it’s stil writing. I’m hoping to make a small turkey, sage cornbread, mac n’cheese, chard with raisins and pine nuts annd sauteed pumpkin in a sweet and sour vinaigrette. And for drinks: cranberry seltzer (the best cocktail ever). It sounds like a lot of work, but I think everything can be made beforehand except the chard. Yum.
Just read the script for the upcoming film Prince of Persia. It’s completely winning. Charming, plenty of action, feels swift but not rushed and it moves with concision.
There is a neat little trick where time rewinds in small increments via a magical dagger and mystical “sands of time”. Sounds goofy but it’s wondrous and fantastical in the spirit of 1001 Arabian Nights.
The female love interest is feisty and engaging in the best tradition of plucky heroines ala Marion in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
A fun romp and a blast (just what you’d expect from Bruckheimer), but there are select scenes that actually rise above the material. In fact, the magical sands set up the most compelling scene in a way that’s unexpected for what’s essentially a gimmick. The material as a whole is better for one scenario in particular that might be worthy of tribute usually reserved for a favorite Twilight Zone episode.
Now I can’t wait to see the movie.
Anxious today. Okay, what gives? Keep thinking about one of the dudes at the recent reading and how he’s never liked me. Nothing obvious or hostile, but just enough of the subtle signals to know not to be chummy with this guy. And I don’t know why. He’s always been wary with me. One time, I made the mistake of joking with him. He was not amused and ran off quickly. Needless to say, I was aghast, but I couldn’t think what I had said to warrant such a retreat. Sigh. It’s not a big deal — I’m not a big fan of being popular — but it does arouse my curiosity as to what I’m doing to make this person turn and run.
I don’t like it when guys take a disliking to me. I like dudes. They never give me trouble. If a woman dislikes me, I’ve learned to chalk it up to some impersonal value judgement. Who knows what gets a woman’s goat? It could be anything, but dudes don’t just randomly disparage. Unless it’s people they don’t know, they give you benefit of the doubt. If they know you, they don’t formulate a prejudice unless you give them reason. Laugh too loud, that’s okay. Say something a little off-color, that’s okay. Dress like a whore, that’s totally okay. But women look at those things and see it as a reflection of your person. Women are rough. Everything is about preserving their sense of themselves and if they’re invested in seeming superior, you better fawn and flatter, because that’s the deal.
Needless to say, I don’t play that game. I don’t see the point. It’s not necessary for me to have my appearance complimented, my opinion valued (unless it’s writing) or my presence recognized with high-pitched squeals of delight. I’d rather have it not, to be honest.
You know what? I don’t understand people. Most of the times, they’re not thinking, they’re stressed, they’re insecure — I get it. I can usually rise above the situation but it’s the extended cluelessness that gets to me. Lady, how can you just leave your cart at checkout? Hey bagging lady, don’t tell her kid to go get it — tell her mom to wake up! Dude, I’m standing here waiting for you to take my order and you’re still wrapping that lady’s ham — the one who left because it’s taking so long? And yes, a pound and a half is a lot more than the pound I asked for. Hey, jackass, I got here first and you know it, but sure, go ahead–it’s lunchtime and even though I’ve been standing here like an idiot for ten minutes, I can wait another five. Cause that’s how long it takes to get the attention of the clueless.
All that would have been fine and recoverable, but then checkout girl, who was strangely arch to me, greets the lady after me in such a way that I realize it was intentionally not said to me. I’m like what gives? Did I look at her funny? Did I frown? Is there some special behavior expected from me I’m not aware of? Maybe I should wear a clueless smile and forget my cart and then I’d get timely service and friendly greetings. Geez.
Some days you can’t win for losing.
So I never went into my day with R. He’s the one with the script. In my group. Who doesn’t want to continue coming to group because he doesn’t really care what the other guys have to say. I can tell you he didn’t put much salt in what I had to say, but I think I argued my points badly. I read it very carefully and it’s not very good at the moment. It isn’t tight, nothing resonates, relationships don’t vibe, transitions are clunky. He sets up coincidences that, if realized, would be cliche; if denied, then just a trick to build suspense. A misdirection meant to be clever.
Having said all that, it’s orders of magnitude better than what the other guys have contributed thus far. For one, it’s a complete work, it’s got three acts and one can see development in characters if not scenes.
We met at the Daily Grind in Fells. I tried to make my points as lucidly as possible but I was too nervous. I’d prepared but perhaps too much. I’d read it three times and made rudimentary notes, but all my ideas were thematic suggestions aimed at boosting the redemption storyline so that it leads and drives development of the other two. R disagreed, saying that the mother-son bond is the main story but their bonding doesn’t provide impetus for anything outside of themselves. It’s a self contained loop. It should be secondary to the possessed/mentally ill dad and the penitent priest who both need the exorcism to save themselves. The boy plays a key role in that and thus, driving him to seek safety in the arms of the woman. See? I can’t see structuring this drama any other way.
I wanted to see his side of it, but I don’t see it building emotionally, logically or suspense-wise. I don’t know. We might be saying the same thing, just not very well. These are soft topics and I’m still trying to figure out how to say what I mean. I always feel like I’m describing a picture instead of analyzing a script.
Recent Comments