Jan
12
The past couple of weeks have yielded significant amounts of spare time, most of which I spent reading and watching movies. However, it seems my progress will be a slowed due to a slight (though massively painful) problem with my vision. More specifically, a 2 mm "corneal abrasion" on my right eye. The diagnosis fails to thrill, as does the $15 dropper of acid (antibiotic, whatever) I have to apply every couple of hours. So if you pass my way and think I'm giving you stink eye, guess again. In other news, German's going well. Work is great, as usual. There's a project in the works that really excites me and ought to absorb every minute of my spare time over the next four-plus months (think Hegel and Michel Gondry, Nietzsche and Miranda July). The fruits of my labor will most likely make their way up here, but I'm also going to aim a little higher. We'll see how it goes, because German is also going to be very demanding.
As previously mentioned, I'm celebrating the repair of my laptop's optical drive by checking out the entire video collection at the AADL. For the entire last third of Almodovar's "Volver" I was a weepy mess, plagued with the guilt of long taking my mother's sacrifices for granted. "Est/Ouest" had a similar effect, though tears were cried out of frustration equally as much as over the film's beauty. "The Wonder Boys" revived my long-forgotten love for Tobey Maguire and had me laughing out loud to myself in bed. I found "Downfall" less enjoyable than "Russian Ark", but I don't think people make movies about Hitler to spice up one's holidays. Truffaut's "Domicile Conjugal" reminded me why I hate men with long hair and roused my inner francophile, who has otherwise been lying obedient, submitting to all the repression I've inflicted over the past few months. What else... "All The Pretty Horses" made me queasy. "Juno" is not to be missed. "The Big Lebowski" will have me drinking white russians all year long. I'm also looking forward to buying "Paris, je t'aime" when it's released in February.
Today a customer came into the store for the sole purpose of giving me a book from her personal collection. I am still touched, hours later. Not more than five people in my life have ever given me a book (six if you count an impromptu demand for a present). One was my grandmother, three were friends, and now M.J. makes five. This makes me pleased as punch.
