This weekend's theme: independence.
Roommates are in different states (ME, NJ), and I'm stretched out on the futon, half-heartedly watching Stephen Colbert twist Thomas Frank's arguments into jokes. (The opening of the Olympics is entirely too long; I can only enjoy so many ancient drums and painted Geisha faces. It mostly just looks like a discotheque.)
While last weekend at the beach was summer in a nutshell, I consider this afternoon a preview for Sept/Oct/Nov. Walked to the Strand; bought the book for this month's book club; sheltered in Bank of America for that crazy mid-day downpour; walked to Teany and had delightfully spicy gazpacho with mango and avocado, and a cherry scone, and did some work for some time; and in conclusion, walked to the Angelika and took in a matinee--'The Wackness,' which I think was too highly anticipated on my part. Found it more dark than comedic, like it wasn't cooked all the way through, or something. Oliva Thirlby has charismatic hotness shooting out the ends of her hair, but pretty much my favorite character was New York. It was ever so slightly perfectly matched to my encounters this afternoon.
And it was the first time I've ever come out of a movie theater knowing where I am.
I realize that sounds psychotic, but seriously--there's something about being in a dark movie theater that resets my compass, and I always walk out looking for my car keys, thinking I have to drive back from Rt. 22, no matter if I'm in New York, or Lancaster, or Bath. But today I was one hundred percent in the actual and true present. Finally.
The Bleeding Heart Show - New Pornographers