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2000-08-06
Last night was really strange... something about those predictions really disturbed me... not the predictions themselves, but something about the general tone of the page. The page also had illustrations for predictions warning that, say, a blonde blonde musician or movie star was in danger of dying... in a sudden plane crash, maybe, during the months of August/September of 2001. The example I just gave was one I made up, but the predictions on the page followed a similar formula. That didn't bother me, really, but he had these strangely disturbing pictures of people with their faces erased. Now, I've seen the effect done before, I've even used photoshop to achieve a similar effect in the past, but something about these pictures just really scared me, though I couldn't explain why.
The first time I saw one of these pictures, I let out a startled moan and reflexively closed the browser. I'm not the type that's bothered so much by graphic movie violence... I'll generally get a little grossed out, change the channel, but I won't be haunted by it for the rest of the day. After reading that page I was so inexplicably shook up that I didn't want to be alone and I didn't want to turn off the lights, or turn on the TV, or turn off the TV once it was on. I ended up falling asleep with the lights on. Not even Eric Heatherly shaking his cute little ass around (the "Counting Flowers On the Wall" guy. They play that song on CMT... that song's the only modern "country" music I've ever listened to of my own volition.) could calm me down fully.
Yay, I just saw something that really cheered me up... it was the tail-end of this strange little independent short film. It was filmed in black & white and this woman that looked a bit like Bjork was sitting on a bench in a park with what looked like a hat box. She was kind of messing around with it, turning it side to side and examining it. She lost interest in it and was kind of staring outwards when she began to hear the music from some ballet very faintly. Her expression was one of pleasant surprise, and she looked into the open hat box and the music seemed to grow louder. She stood up and carefully placed the hat box over her head, and the instant she did that the film changed to color, (the hat box, it turns out, was pink and red) and she slowly began dancing with herself in a light ballroom or ballet fashion to the music from the hat box on her head. The closing shot was of the woman dancing down the paved park pathway like a little girl pretending to be a ballerina, totally unconcerned with who was watching.
Latex sent me a really nice e-mail today. Before I talk about that, let me first say this: All right. I know full well that I'm only 18. I feel a lot older. And I don't mean that in any sort of uppity way, like I'm not fit for friends my age, or something. I mean that in a "I've used up my time on this Earth in petty ways and now death is closing in" type of way. That having been said, Latex's e-mail really made me feel like an over-eager, too-big-for-his-britches little brat again, but in a good way. In my Oasis column, I'd used the phrase "fight or flight?" as a motif for various decisions I've made. A representative quote from the e-mail (and I hope he doesn't mind me quoting it) is this: "Oh, and Marble also informed me of the big step you took with your mother. Congrats. It's a hard thing to do and I send you a nice online pat on the back. You expressed some inner turmoil about having the guts to just Fight? Well, throw your punches carefully and strategically. If you hit harder than you're ready for, you'll just break your hand, and that's no fun. Nope. Not at all."
I haven't done that to myself yet, but I could see the truth to his advice... he'd just turned my motif into a metaphor and used it to smack some sense into me.
My mom just came in to tell me about the latest news regarding Kitty. He's lost his appetite... hasn't eaten anything all day. Hasn't moved his bowels since yesterday. She said that come tomorrow morning, he may no longer be here.
I tagged along with my dad to the book store. He was picking up one of Eric's required summer reading books. I got James Joyce's Ulysses. Just for the hell of it. I've discovered a lot of my favorite authors with similar impulse-buys. I've been making typos more often than usual... ones that I don't catch until a while after I've typed them.
I wonder if Eric will want to adopt a new cat.
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