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Because I can't bear to eulogize Doug - 2008-08-19
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2:15 a.m. - 2004-08-04
Another day, another movie. Tonight was Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. A review in the Los Angeles Times said there was a nice little movie buried in there. This is correct. Beneath the obligatory bathroom humor and gross-out gags for the teen-aged boys there was a story. Nothing heavy, but a hefty step up from the typical stoner comedy. Besides, any movie that has Doogie Howser tripping on acid and fondling half-naked women is okay by me. And here you thought I was a cinema snob. Except for a couple of shanghaied parents, Mike and I were by far the oldest people in the theater. I’m certain we were the only people over 30 who were there on purpose. Being the sole adults in a sea of youngins is always interesting. For one thing it renders us invisible. I am free to become a suburban Jane Goodall and observe adolescent behavior in the wild. Mostly what I come away with is a deep gratitude I’m not that young anymore. To have that much energy and to be that simple-minded…oy. I remember that age very well tonight and can tell you I was an idiot. I was smart, but I was dippy. No common sense. None. It’s rare for me to be able to remember what I was like. Introspection and trying to tap into who I was is difficult. I can’t peel back the years and be her anymore. This is why I’m in awe of YA writers, they remember. They can go back to that place and tell a thirteen year old’s tale. I can’t. My writing voice is as old as I am. Another reason I don’t like looking back is because my self-critical psyche always drags me back to the least stellar moment of any given timeframe. I do a lot of cringing. Basically I’m a jerk. Not a conscious one, which is way worse than being a deliberate turkey. Nope, it’s like painting your house aqua. Seems good at the time. A year later you’re rolling into the driveway every night going, “Good Lord! What was I thinking?” So it is with me and my boorish personality. I think I’m doing just fine, but a couple years down the road the eyes truly open and I’m embarrassed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Making a sharp left turn into a whole new subject, my bathroom smells good. Your bathroom smells good? That’s weird, LA. Thanks for sharing. It’s the only room in the house that’s not air conditioned. The open window doesn’t help much. Too humid and still outside and there’s no cross current through another open window. I’d showered and dressed about an hour before we left for the movie. After we got back tonight I opened the kitchen door into the tiny back entryway. My closed office door is to the left and the open bathroom is to the right. The suction from opening the door sucked a blast of air from the bathroom. The jungle-damp gust was an olfactory feast. Shampoo. Body scrub. Perfume. Make-up. Hair spray. Vanilla candles. Clean towels. Toothpaste. Ripening garden scent. Cut grass. Nice. Really nice. Jinkies it’s so late! I have a scary early appointment tomorrow and must get my beauty sleep so I’m combobulated enough to go get beautiful-er. Ciao, ~LA
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