Although my life seems very full of activity and experience, I haven’t felt much of an urge to document it lately. Frankly, this single crap is the bunk. No matter what I tell myself, or you, I loathe the serenity that has settled on my home–everything orderly and predictable, low calorie, high fiber. Productive. I’d shuck it all for a furry femme-bear slobbering on my pillow right now.
In two days I turn 41. Prostate enlargement and cholesterol loom ominously over my psychic life.
Go see Dean Smith and Gay Outlaw’s show at Paule Anglim. Dean’s obsessively beautiful lines and liquid circles on paper play wonderfully against Gay’s pocked and probed 3-dimensional surfaces. Get thee to the gallery.
Of the billion movies that I’ve seen since my last entry, I highly recommend I Am a Sex Addict, by local filmmaker Caveh Zahedi, an exhilaratingly funny, inventive, and often squeamish comedy about the filmmaker’s obsession with prostitutes; and À Nos Amours, Sandrine Bonnaire’s extraordinary film debut as a 15 year old girl exploring sex and avoiding love in a story that seems drawn from real life, defying all cinematic narrative convention or cliche.