Had Him Around
I went to see Moulin Rouge this afternoon. I understand, now, the trouble critics had describing it. A musical set in turn of the century Paris, the last century, not this one, using contemporary music, special effects to the point it almost looked animated, and done at music video tempo, every number a grand finale, every hour a minute, every minute an hour. So? If the musical is going to make a comeback, this is not the movie that's going to do it, perhaps something more like Ally McBeal, television's current experiment with the genre. Nice songs, though, and you will understand what Warren saw in Nicole.
It's 6:30 in the evening as I write, the sun more an early than a late afternoon bright. Weird. Light in the night. Still no word from the landlord when he's returning. Still no real action on my part to find another place. Part of me wants to really move, find a job somewhere out there in unexplored territory the way I first found this one. This company was exciting those first two or three years, now it's way too familiar to me and I'm way too familiar to them, all possibilities for the future set in cement. Money's not great, but it's OK, and that's the trap.
Another Sunday, a Sunday in June, which is good, but another Sunday, much like many of my recent
Sundays. Where to go? What to do? Writing this journal and working with the photographs has taken up most of my time over these last couple of years, but maybe I need a break. Or maybe I need a vacation. Another vacation. What did you do this weekend that you didn't do last weekend? Something exotic? If not exotic, and yes, I understand the limitations of exotic after about your 25th year, but something satisfying? I hear working in the garden can be fun. Not an option for the Proprietor at the moment, and, if my history is any predictor, not for the near future. My parents were gardeners when they were younger. My father built a green house out back of our place north of Seattle and they worked their weekends away coaxing Rhododendron cuttings into plants to fill in around our gravel driveway before we pulled up stakes and moved to New York.
I don't recall what we generally did on Father's Day. Mother's Day was a plant or two. Maybe we did that for dad. The family had begun to disintegrate by the time my high school years arrived and I could be expected to remember whatever it was we did for family celebrations: Father's Days and Mother's Days, Christmas Days and Thanksgiving Days, Birthdays and funerals. Father's Day was pretty much the bottom of the totem pole. I miss my father. It would have been nice on a few occasions I can remember to have had him around.