after watching the oscars last night i have one, a huge crush on ian mckellan's boyfriend whose name i don't know | & two, the oddest feeling that josh hartnett strongly resembles my
brother, who would not be the kind of boy to follow up a
nice indie movie with smashingly popular military numbers.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:today at the clinic we had a patient who is a mail-order bride.
when i was in boston i would not shut up about this poem i want to write that is about mail-order brides, if only peripherally so. several times a day i would say, "i am just so excited about the mail-order brides," with the body-language exclamation marks that are my wide unblinking eyes & my even-straighter-than-normal posture.
that was nearly a month ago & so far i have built myself a title, an ending, & a couple of lines sort of near the middle-end. i am a lazy girl sometimes.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:also, every time they showed russell crowe last night i bristled. i think it is because he reminds me of this kid i met at smart-kid camp in high school, who like mr crowe had that rough, unkempt, vaguely strong look that says, "i'm rugged and i'm sensitive, let's go." all the girls liked him the best but one day in class he up & confessed that when he was eight or nine years old, he microwaved a kitten.
it's true.
the camera would come up to russell crowe, that heroizing shot from the ground up, & i would think "you fucking horrible person, you microwaved a kitten" & then remember that it wasn't the same person. but then i'd think "you are smarmy & untalented & in dire need of a makeover" & then i felt righteous in my own cattiness, & pretty happy, & i'd look forward to the next time i'd get to see a clip from am�lie.
i am a big geek: writing about watching the damn academy awards.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:what strange sentence ran through my head this afternoon as i walked over to see chris: "yes, but some days are queerer than others."
what strange sentence runs through my head now, against the arrythmic sounds of my hands driving the keys: "i will think of you as a tornado, love."
