Snow in the City
Did you know that on the bridge of freighters, they turn off all the lights at night so's to see out into the darkness better? Easier to spot icebergs and whatnot. Similarly, we turned off all the lights the other night (maybe we left the TV on) in order to watch the winter storm on 57th street. Felt like little kids inside a fort.
Fragment of Winter
When you become part of a bad ass two-man gang—or, like other some people call it, a "relaaaationship"—you don't do stuff alone all that often. Sure, you're not with your other gang member every second, but the times you aren't, you kinda gotta maximize by catching up with all the other humans in your life: ladies night, coffee dates, brunch, and the like. That's all fine, too.
But what about doing something straight up alone?
It's weird and cool, and there's a kind of renewal that unfolds. Plus, there's no discussing/rehashing the experience—it just ... is.
Aaanyway, that was me, yesterday, walking up the side of a mountain, past the snow line, to obtain a small fragment of winter.
What Happens When
When you work constantly, it's hard to know what to do with your day off. When it rains constantly, it's hard to know what to do when the sun breaks out. The answer to both: NOTHING. Maybe just stay right where you are?
Manipulate Me
I don't have time to go to the movies anymore. Or I do now and then, but evening-time Jen either wants to be out with friends deconstructing things over beers or at home, sweat-panted, on the couch with bubby. However, when I was at home over "holidays" I went to the theater TWICE and it was totally awesome and hedonistic. I even liked watching the trailers, which of course, are mini movies in themselves deftly crafted to manipulate your emotions (the right song, the right scene, et cetera). I was down for it. Manipulate me!
So, I went to see The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (the American adaptation). As someone who has read all the books and seen all the Swedish movies, I can say from an informed place: It was GOOD—dark and haunting, et cetera. Plus, I've long approved of Lisbeth Salandar as a female role model for modern American women. Like, it would be obvious, maybe, for you or me to heroicize Lisbeth. But this book was a best-seller, meaning "regular folk" read it in spades. All those random frumpy women in windpants at my gym palming through the pages, and the fancy ladies in gold lamé at the airport—they all secretly wanted to be a highly intelligent ass-kicking bisexual female on the fringe of society ... Cool!
On Christmas Day we all went to watch The Adventures of Tin Tin. A tale of international intrigue—completely acceptably entertaining. Anytime my attention wandered, all I had to do was sneak a glance at li'l nephew Patrick, his 7-year-old face rapt with wonder, and I'd be suddenly awash in a wave of innocence and well being.