Wow, Just Like in Clueless

Last Sunday I meant to go to Eugene’s in the evening, but got up extremely late because of the Dark Angel-athon the night before, so I decided just to do my chores and cooking at a leisurely pace and not worry about going to Eugene’s. I’m making the trip across town every Thursday night lately for the whole body breathing class, and maybe once a week is often enough to schlep over there.

You may have read in the newspaper, or wherever you apprehend the news, about the Environmental Working Group’s findings in regard to the safety and effectiveness, or lack thereof, of sunscreens. I looked mine up and saw it was a seven on their ten-point scale, but then I saw that zero is high on this scale.

(This reminds me slightly of that scene in Casanova where the one religious-type guy says to the other guy, “We’ve gotten a letter from Rome … cesspool of depravity.” “Surely not,” murmurs the other guy, “Oh, do they mean us?”)

Accordingly, a search for sunscreen is underway. I’ve already identified one I don’t like, which smelled strongly of orange and made my face itch, and revealed at least one good thing about using poor-quality sunscreen: it’s easy to get off again. My normal face-cleaning method left all of the itching sunscreen right where it was. Now I’m going to have to find not only a sunscreen but something to remove it with.

Wednesday evening I had my second guitar lesson, quite as enjoyable as the first. My time for practicing is extremely limited, so I’ve been trying to cram a little bit of everything in, one result of which has been that I’m so far completely incapable of changing chords without a lengthy pause for regrouping, so I got out the metronome after my second lesson and started doing these things very, very slowly, and writing down what the tempos are so I can tell if I’m making progress.

I also have developed a fairly severe pain in my left wrist, such that I had to make an appointment to see Jeff Harrison for acupuncture (I haven’t seen him in months). I’ve been holding the guitar in a death grip, making sure everything is precisely in place, which is also hard on my fingertips. Last night when I played, I experimented with deliberately flopping my left wrist back and forth while playing a chord. I honestly thought it might not be possible to move at all, but it was possible to move quite a bit, and, by trying it frequently, I soon found I could relax my left wrist and hand almost completely. A bit of precision was sacrificed, but I think it’s better to do it this way for now.

I don't get a chance to play the things I've written on the guitar every time I practice, but when I tried them last night, I could tell my two lessons have already had a beneficial effect.

On Friday morning, a guy either came from the insurance company or was dispatched by the insurance company to see if he could figure out why water dripped into the building manager’s apartment back in May; the plumber wasn’t able to find a cause, and it hasn’t happened since.

The leak guy ran the water hard, filling the tub almost all the way up, and did other various things in and around the tub, going in and out of the apartment several times, while Hammett hid under the blankets on the bed.

Later Hammy showed the leak guy just whose tub it is by taking a giant crap in it, something he’s never done before.

I said, “I’m appalled by your uncivil act,” but I could tell he was wholly unmoved, so I decided to try radical acceptance, a la Tara Brach, and told him, “It’s excellent that you pooped in the tub! It’s as much your tub as mine, so you go ahead and poop in it whenever you feel like it. Perhaps I’ll do the same.” I added that last so he wouldn't feel like he was some sort of freak.

It turns out that he, like me, may be susceptible to reverse psychology, because he went back to using his litter box after that. Or maybe once he was sure he had scared the leak guy off, he could turn his attention to more pressing matters, such as meowing plaintively for a cheese puff, which he never eats once it’s given to him.

Gino’s singing “One Night with You” right now! Every now and then, I turn off Todd Rundgren for a couple of minutes so Gino can sing, but for the most part, I wish I had four sets of ears so I could listen to four Todd Rundgren CDs at once. (I’ve been listening to Something/Anything? lately.)

Last night I watched Rails and Ties, starring Kevin Bacon and Marcia Gay Harden. It wasn’t the world’s best movie, though I can’t quite figure out why, given the outstanding performances by the two leads. Extremely lousy performances in a few smaller roles can’t have helped.

Kevin Bacon is an amazing actor. With an expressionless face, not moving a muscle, he can make you experience exactly what he’s seeing inside his own head, in full color and sound. He does it at least once in this movie, when he’s with the little boy in the car, and he did it in The Woodsman. I think the moment when he does it in The Woodsman, when he’s sitting with the young girl on the park bench, is the finest piece of acting ever to occur in American cinema.

(For some reason, this makes me think of the time I was at work talking to Paramjit on the phone, who I assumed was in some other town, but she was actually right behind me, and when she walked up to me, still talking to me on the phone, Emily said admiringly, “Wow, just like in Clueless.”)