Bergman Blues

I have not thought about blogging in the past week. This is just what happens sometimes. But just now I was sitting here at this desk and I remembered that it is Thursday night. I feel a routine that started last week has left the ghost of an impression (that tells you exactly how faint it is, btw) that I needed to do something tonight. Other than drink heavily, nothing really occurred to me. So I'm blogging. I have considered doing a challenge for April and posting a blog every day in that month. BEDA. Which doesn't work as an acronym for any month again until August. We'll see if I go through with it.

I reached a milestone yesterday when I not only finished writing a story, but I submitted it to a contest. I don't have any expectations whatsoever which, if that is not something you have ever experienced, I highly recommend. Neutrality. Indifference. Okayness. Why has this never been a tagline for a product? I had this creative writing teacher in my undergrad years who was the first person I ever heard say "write things that stand on their own legs". I love that so much. It takes the sniveling imp of my deep-seated insecurity and dampens it. No, not dampens...I hate that word. It mutes it? No, not that either. It, uh, bounces it on one knee and distracts it with cooing while I get on with the business of writing something down, regardless of whether or not it makes sense. Anyway, if anything should happen with that story, I'll be sure to shout it from the highest points of Long Island. And to buy 10 copies for my mother.

Last Sunday I traveled to the city with Dana to meet up with Lorraine to rid ourselves of this Groupon we bought on some deep, dark and depressing winters day. It was about to expire and we all three had a hankering for mussels. So we went here. The thing to do at places like that is to engorge oneself. I'm proud to say that was accomplished. Because we were in the West Village, because it was a fucking gorgeous day, because we could, we drank sangria on the sidewalk. Across the way was a doo-wop group of middle aged men performing with one bearded young dude with a pork-pie hat and a bass. Of course I noticed the bearded dude; he gave me a smile and I wanted to kiss his face. The waiter was hungover and he told us the restaurant was out of beer. That's really the only way we could be certain that the day before was St. Patrick's Day. With some time to kill we wandered up the street and found this. I loved it. One piece flashes in my memory on and off because it disturbed me so. It looked like a still from a home movie and had a little girl's face in a grainy, blurry black and white (quasi-night vision). It had two subtitles one that said something along the lines of "Say it. Say it out loud." The other line read: "Vultures." It creeped me the hell out! But it did not quench my desire for mussels.

I'm back to obsessively checking items out of the library, despite the fact that I work 13 hours nearly everyday and have no time to do anything that isn't directly related to the computer. It was sincerely depressing me today. I had this vision of the end of the film Wild Strawberries which, by the way, reduces me to tears every single time I watch it.  Just like that, I was randomly doing something utterly menial and I remembered that film and how Isak dreams of his family at the end and I felt what Bergman intended his audience to feel*...suicidal depression. So naturally I checked it out of the library.

I know right??

I kid of course. Ahem. I'm thinking perhaps I should watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 episodes for the next day or two.

Anyway, I need to take a walk around the library but considering I only get a 15 minute break, I'll likely stand behind the building and stare at the back of the electronics store that abuts the parking lot. THE SPRAWL!


*I don't think Bergman intended this. He just let it happen.