I feel like I have an inordinate amount of writing to catch up on -- things that needs to be written for submission deadlines, things I keep meaning to post, and so forth. A million things happened today that I want to talk about, although I don't truly feel as if I've the energy for it. This turned out really long and it's still like maybe a third of the things I'm thinking about and want to write about, and that's just here in the journal.
The casting for the Coke thing went well, but you know whatever, you get your number you hand your stuff in they take a polaroid, you wonder if it matters as they try to get just the right angle for a shot of you, and life goes on.
The audition was, amazingly, in the loft style office building over a club I used to go to. I hadn't been on far west 14th street in ages, and while I knew it had changed, as much from conversations with others as from the occassional glance at magazines and all that -- dear god... it was like Soho circa 1986 -- huge cavernous clothing shops with no one in them, and tweed is even fashionable again. It was bizarre, and made me both melacholy and sort of strangely happy. It was a very full circle day, in every possible way. I was walking around singing Minstrel Boy because I'd been listening to the Black Hawk Down soundtrac again (which is working on the fact that I need to sit down and write on about six different projects, because that soundtrack is really tapping into the current spirit of several of things I keep stalling on).
Anyway.
So then I watched Maurice. Which of course I've seen, but not really in I suppose fifteen years. I blame all sorts of things on that film. Like my oxblood wingtips. Like my participation in the Roots of Western Tradition Living and Learning program at my university (a disaster of immoderate proporitons). There was a certain sort of education I wanted, a natural extension of the world Hewitt hinted at, and maybe, looking back on it, was the first impossible thing I pursued with my particularly patented form of irrationality. But in the end, while it wasn't anything like I'd hoped, I got what I wanted in a way. I mean, I did at least write a paper on Alexander the Great with cites from scholarly texts written in both Classical Greek and Latin in the mid-1800s. You know, all of that is just really starting to finally be funny. At any rate, it's a terribly formative movie for me (albeit mostly in the ridiculous pomposity of their friend who winds up getting sent to prison, but really, I always wanted to be just that sort of institigator in college, and I suppose anyone who has ever heard me drawl viciously about anyone knows that it's something I've never really stopped playing at). Anyway, the movie is lovely of course, but strange from so many vantage points -- my life, politics -- it all seems a little extraordinary now.
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