Everything is just fine

Hey y'all. A lot of random fun has been happening to little old me since getting back from NY. One of which is the super-fun exercise of forgetting where you left your camera with all those great NY pics. I promise I'll take my meds today and give my best effort at finding it.

Which brings me to another point, I think my brain is falling apart. Two instances support this. 1, the other day my friend came out for drinks with some people from my work. I introduced the first couple people by name and then completely blanked on the rest, having to hold my hand out gesturing like a magician. And then last night I was trying to refill a prescription over the phone and it asked me my last four numbers of my phone number. I blanked and had to call Andrea. In fairness, the last 4 of my phone number are very close to the last four of my social, but still that's embarassing.

On a brighter note, and back to the topic of fun, I've been out every night this week. On Monday I saw the Submarines play at the Echo. They are by far the nicest people on the planet. They even gave me a shout out from the stage, which was super nice.



Tuesday I went to the Grindhouse Film Festival and saw two greats from the great director Jack Hill: "Switchblade Sisters" and "Swinging Cheerleaders". Cheerleaders was a bit of saucy fluff but "Switchblade Sisters" is the real deal. It's like "The Warriors" but with a West Coast flair and much cuter chicks. The director was there and was sweet as punch.



Last night I saw the Danielson Famile documentary. Still formulating my thoughts on that one. It was a pretty bland affair in the beginning--which can't reflect too negatively on the filmmakers, in their defense all of the early stuff was made of family shot footage. The one point in the film where it really picks up is also its most painful. Through the beginning of the film, they keep peppering into the story bits of Sufjan Stevens. For those of you who don't live under a rock, Sufjan was a part-time fill in guy with the Danielson Famile who ended up sharing much wider acclaim and success. Which only makes sense, really. Daniel plays intentionally off putting, exuberant freak music (which I love), and Sufjan plays dreamy, sleepy pop.



Sufjan is handsome, Daniel looks like a Latter Day Saint from Pluto. It's like the difference between Jackson Pollack and Bob Ross. The really tough part in the film comes when it looks like things are breaking down for Daniel. He's all alone recording his strangest album to date, his voice is cracking, he rambles incoherantly about a tree costume that he wears. All this happens as we discover that Sufjan has now broken out to with a critically acclaimed masterpiece, his Michigan record. We cut back and forth between crazy Daniel and handsome Sufjan. It really hurts. Of course, we see Daniel finally overcoming his creative block with his most successful album to date, "Ships" (with the help of Sufjan, of course) and everything is just fine, again. I guess what I'm saying is, I could really relate to that experience. As a creative person, and a person who's trying to follow God's plan for my life, it's tough to exist at the whims of creativity. And at the whims of popular approval.

Not sure what the lesson is, but I think I'm learning it.

Okay, back to work.


EYES:NY Times Crossword Puzzle-a-day
EARS:Los Campesinos