Sometimes life seems equal parts depressing and absurd and rote, but then I remember — and this happens way more often than it should, that I think of this fine film, like perhaps weekly — that there’s a movie in which Arnold Schwarzenegger carries and gives birth to a baby, like is pregnant with a human person, and Emma Thompson is its Mom (Dad?) and then he births it, and then suddenly everything is shockingly A Okay.
Speaking of WEEKENDS AMIRIGHT? Tiny little baby brother Tim is currently in Arizona til May for WTI? (Weapons and Tactics Instructor training?) and he just shared this picture of his weekend activity, in which he and his co-marines are Sling loading a Howitzer? Which looks impressive and terrifying and I’m sitting here pondering how vastly different our lives are, but how nice it is that he can text us and share what he’s going through and that big brother Pete can respond with this gif:
And we can all take a moment in our vastly different lives, and a have a laugh, through our phones, but also together.
Today, on privileged people problems: When you work many week hours, weekends are sacred and packed full of conflicting agendas – that totally expose the deep yet equally shallow anxiety I feel when I don’t feel balanced and like time is slipping away — like laundry but also chill out but also socialize but also wash your stupid car but also clean your house but also you should go for a run, fattie, like a nice long one but also WHAT IF YOU BAKED? but also you should really watch that movie to help you write that movie you’ve been hired to write but also YOU SHOULD WRITE THAT MOVIE but also you should hole up at home and do nothing, just think and reflect, but also you should drive to the beach because it’s right there, but also you should pay your bills and renew your passport but also you should go to church but also you should sleep but also wake up but also go to bed but also everything, but also, but also, but alsoOHWAITLOOKIT’SOVERTIMETOGOBACKTOWORKFORTENMOREYEARS.
In honor of buddy Elizabeth’s massively wonderful book How to be Vegan WHICH IS COMING OUT APRIL 20TH AND WHICH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY BUY BY CLICKING HERE ALL CAPS, I’ve decided to go vegan for a month, or at least make a valiant attempt. Five days in, I feel:
- Morally superior
- occasionally ravenous
- Oops I ate some cheese
- Don’t tell Elizabeth
I know this is very unfair, but I have a really hard time not feeling occasionally rage-y towards friends who do not have to go to work, as much as I love them.
Text from friend, who does not have to go to work everyday, Tuesday afternoon: What’re you doing?
My measured response:….. I’m at work.
My visceral inside response: I’M AT WORK. IT IS A WEEKDAY. IT IS THE AFTERNOON. THEREFORE, I AM AT WORK. WHY WOULD I NOT BE AT WORK? I AM ALWAYS AT WORK DURING WORK TIMES WHICH IS A THING THAT MOST HUMANS SHOULD UNDERSTAND. YOU ASKING ME ‘WHAT I’M DOING’ IS ONLY A RAGE-Y REMINDER THAT SOME PEOPLE ARE NOT AT WORK AND ARE SITTING AROUND, WONDERING WHAT I’M DOING, WHILE I AM AT WORK, SO WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO DIE OR MAKE A SALAD OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT PEOPLE WHO DO NOT HAVE TO GO TO WORK DOOKAYLOVEYOUBYE.
I’ve made a wonderful new friend named Russell Salmon.
Not. But that basically could be the whole story. Because his name is Russell Salmon. And so.
But Sir Salmon has started this thing called The Fleet, monthly casual readings of plays in his lovely Silverlake Home. Last night we read a bunch of Beckett shorts (Footfalls, Eh Joe, and so on and so plays), and I was totally transported back to my very first days of the writing of drama plays. I first saw / read Footfalls my first semester of college, became clinically obsessed with its language, and pretty soon after, wrote the first of my own, which I realized last night was a DIRECT Rip off. It was so nice to sit in a room and just — listen. To it all. (It all. It all. It all.)
I shoved seeing as many of them as possible into one evening, like I do, and it never feels FULLY satisfying, as I end up flitting about and shouting questions about their lives at them intermittently, getting partials updates and pieces of lives and pieces of hugs, but is way better than nothing.
e was sufficiently bacheloretted!
You guys, behind that sign is a wonderland of vodka red bulls and six packs and stereotypes. It was so full of carefully selected nostalgic songs and marines stripping off their dress blues and ethnically diverse half naked dudes whispering vaguely poetic things that e turned to me more than once, wait, did you write this?! indeed, it was an absurd and perfect evening, as if written. So as to not offend my Mother, please inquire within for more details.