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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon Who Turns On The Alphaville Boys
I made it through the first four samurai. Does that count? I wanted to rent a few movies, so I asked the The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing if she would lend me her TV/VCR combo thing. As she lives in the world's smallest apartment, she was overjoyed to get it out of the place as it more than doubled the available counter space in her kitchen. ("You can keep it for as long as you want," she insisted, more than once as I took it and then again in a phone call the next day. "Really. Seriously. Keep it as long as you want.") I rented The Business of Fancydancing (Funniest line? Perhaps: "It's that land bridge thing." Or maybe the whole passage about grandma's gay chicken.); Secretary (James Spader as the hot fetishist lawyer? Yum. James Spader as the hot fetishist anything? Yummy. See also: Crash, White Castle, Sex, Lies, & Videotape.); and Drunken Angel (Akira Kurosawa films are my kryptonite. Although an interesting bit of Sublingua trivia is that I have never made it through an entire viewing of Seven Samurai. Another interesting bit of Sublingua trivia is that the first time I didn't make it all the way through Seven Samurai, it was because the guy I was watching it with (a friend up to that point) about an hour into the movie, suddenly joined me on the floor of his living room, put his arm around me from behind and kissed me. Then he offered to "do anything," and asked me what I wanted to do. Needless to say, we did not finish watching Seven Samurai.) Anyway, I watched those movies, then came down to The Other Location and picked up my copies of The Untouchables, Ghost In The Shell, Annie Hall and some bad porn (which did me no damn good as I have my period at the moment and don't want my bed to end up looking like a long, satisfying evening at Jeffrey Dahmer's house). [Can I just say this about the bad porn? I bought the bad porn one evening when Max and I decided to go out and shop for porn. Being beginners, we both ended up with some pretty bad porn, but at least his was much raunchier than mine was. Mine was like some book that parents give their kids to introduce the concept of where babies come from. It has this whole "Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much..." vibe to it, which is very Anti-Porn as far as I'm concerned. While I actually like porn in which people who look like people you'd meet at the grocery store have sex (and, oddly enough, The Enforcer and I agree on this, having had this conversation in his living room one afternoon when his wife rescued me soon after the Magdalene/Matthew fiasco), I don't like for it to have a plot or for there to be any real reason for the sex to happen, for chrissakes. In fact, the more real the people and the more unstructured the film, the more I enjoy it. It's probably going way into TMI Territory to tell you that often layering my own ideas involving very inappropriate relationships over the standard porn images is what truly gets me off when it comes to porn. Otherwise, I can't watch porn without thinking about the zoo animals (pandas I think) which were raised in captivity and would not mate. Some genius got the bright idea to show them porn--and, no, not that freaky human/animal stuff from Germany, but just your garden variety human-on-human porn--and wouldn't you know it? Success. However, I hate any reminder that I am a caged animal (valium, jewelry, you name it--and I'll explain those another time), so I don't like your standard porn. I don't like the formulaic female-on-male oral sex followed by the basic three positions. I don't like the fake boobs. I don't like the wierd pound pound pound pounding away that most male porn stars do. And so on.] The Having and the Has Not: So, just to introduce the whiplash subject change, I should probably tell you that it's about to rain and that I went walking with Judi this morning around her neighborhood. Judi is a friend from the studio and she lives about a mile away from my little cell in the student ghetto. And let me tell you, a mile away from my place, it's a whole different world. She and her husband have this huge, beautiful house, professionally decorated and filled with artwork. They have a pond stocked with koi, each of which cost more than I pay in rent each month. They have an English sheepdog whose only job is to attend obedience training twice a week and then promptly forget everything he's learned. The dog will stare you down, growling menacingly, if you hold out your hand and offer to shake. And the neighborhood? Established. Beautiful. Manicured. Landscaped. Wide tree-lined streets. Everything everyone who moves to suburbia dreams about having and has not. This has not been much of an entry. But you should see what I have in store for you next time.
More lies:
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