I’m committed

No, not the way you think. Ok, that was a cheap joke.

Aside from the kiddo, it is indeed, very, very difficult for me to commit to anything other than a magazine subscription. I think I’m comitted to where I live now. I dropped my subscription to the Hartford Courant and actually signed up with my area newspaper. Not the hometown newspaper—I don’t count a two section rag that can muster only daily crime as their reliable (yawn) headline as a real news source. I want to know more about where I’m raising my kiddo. Particularly about the good stuff, the interesting stuff; the real issues that affect our ongoing life. We’re going to be here for awhile —well, at least two years–I think. 

I was pleasantly surprised to see in my first delivery, Alistair Highet’s article on Marlon Brando and improv (Fee, I think you’d like this. Quite Freudian.). I’m not sure what I’d have to say about Brando except that his nose was interesting (I like strong noses, not prissy perfect ones), and that I’d have to agree that he delivered the moment and at times, the character, when inspired. I had a tough time getting around his voice much of the time. But I thought he was brilliant in Last Tango in Paris (which I’ve always believed was an excellent study in grief and loss, and less about sex. Sex was the instrument.). Godfather? Yeah, good…but I’m more of a Godfather II girl. And I’d rather read Streetcar than watch it. I do like actors who are…actors…and less movie stars. I’d read Newsweek’s Oscars roundtable discussion with various nominees and others  and felt a strong urge to vomit violently. Movie stars. But Brad Pitt was right…in the early nineties, Penn, Oldman, and Rourke were gods. I can’t think of any among the younger set that compare. And now I sound quite old.

Legal issues from that messy separation still go unresolved. Which mean more court appearances, nasty glances and soliloquies from a certain, er, character. But I’m not mad anymore. Ok, I wanted to cry yesterday when I couldn’t get my windshield wiper blade off so that I could replace it–it would be nice to have someone to help with  things like that. But now  it’s only little things that get in my way, and not some terrible, oppressive boulder blocking my path. Life is good.


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February 2009
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