Extremely Perishable

Sometimes I cut all the bull and get really vulnerable for a second. Lord knows I try to avoid it. Occasionally though, I grow weary of trying to protect myself.

Been hanging out with my mother, and tonight she was pretty down. It usually takes a lot for this to happen because she's a constant generator of optimism. She usually makes enough for herself and the rest of the family. (I did not inherit this trait.) She began to talk to me, unprovoked, about her marriage (or ex-marriage) to my father. She was blaming herself for the things that went wrong and then apologized for ruining my life. She thinks I'm showing symptoms of having never had parents who were kind to each other. Then she recommended that I go see a psychologist.

Whatever. This is not a new thing for me. This is strike number 2 for the summer.

I could've spewed a lot of the soundbites that parents like to hear from their kids, the ones that reassure them that there really is nothing wrong, it's all in your head, the ones I've used for twenty odd years ... but instead I just looked at her and said, "Yes, there's something there. There's stuff going on. But it's been there for a while. I can handle it. At this point, I don't think I would know what to do without it."

It would seem as if the right thing to do would be to go to the psychologist. But, other than the fact that the visit is more to ease my mother's conscience than mine, another fact remains - I was telling the truth; in a way, I think I need to feel downtrodden. It's like it defines me. I wouldn't know what to do with happiness. Anyway, Sigmund Freud often expressed (more eloquently and scientifically than I will do here) the view that psychology should be used to make people feel okay about being miserable. If this is the case, I don't need therapy. I've got that one in the bag.

I often think of things to write, on the subway. In fact, my mind is at its most imaginitive when it's whizzing beneath the surface of the 5 boroughs. Provided it's not rush hour, I'm pretty peaceful and I have space and time to dream and reflect. Most of all to reflect.

Today I was on the 1, going downtown, thinking about how glad I am to be out of Ithaca and back in my city. I think returning to Gotham saved my life. Being able to finish up my university training at the New York school has saved my career. Not that an Ivy league name couldn'tve done things ... it's just that that Ivy league institution was stifling the hell out of me. I had given up on myself. I was content to wander aimlessly and then fall off the Earth. I had no dreams. None. They wasted away.

Right now, though, I'm dreaming even bigger and more dangerously than I ever have. More than I ever did as a child. Don't get me wrong - it's not all rainbows and sunbeams. I mean, life is shitty. But you find peace in certain things.

I finally snagged some time to see Howl's Moving Castle. It was so rich and beautiful that words can't accurately describe it. The score, the visuals ... everything about it.

I only wish I had been able to view it in its original Japanese format because I'm willing to bet a few lines of dialogue were tweaked for American audiences. Billy Crystal's voice did not excite, but Miyazaki's hand overshadows any Disney produced flaws.

All I can say is that this film is gorgeous.

In general this was one of those "garbage disposal" weekends. I filled myself with junk. Other people filled me with junk. I just ended up feeling gross and depressed - - myself again.

I went to a graduation dinner on Saturday because my little God-sister just graduated from high school. I wore Spanx under my dress to reduce the whole bulging-stomach thing. I felt kind of like a sausage. And I started to think, "Shit, I'm already doing this and I haven't even hit 30."

The more serious damage to my psyche, however, happened later that night, in the car with my brother. I decided to go with him to a party in Connecticut, which was a terrible mistake. I could feel the dread of being stranded in the boondocks creeping up on me as soon as I got into the car. About half way through the journey, my parents called Jay, on his cell phone, to do their usual "Where are you? What are you doing?" routine, which promptly got him upset, leading to a raging tirade directed at me for not having my cell phone on (because then he could've more easily sicked them on me). But his ranting got completely out of control. There I am, sitting there, after having finished taking my mother's call, and my brother's angrily berating me, over and over ... ABOUT A DAMN PHONE.

My brother and I have had problems for a long time. Most of our lives. I try to avoid making him angry but he has a personality that likes to dominate and force all others into submission. I think he specifically likes treating me like dirt. So, no sooner had I told my brother to stop lecturing me and yelling at me, than he began to yell at me even louder (something along the lines of, "Shut the fuck up") and slammed the brakes on, which sent us skidding into the night.

And despite my womanist desire (or even my right as a decent human being) to defend myself, I ended up fading into silence for the rest of the night.

I don't even try to confront him anymore. I actually feel rotten, to my core, about the way the men in my family respond to me, and women in general. But there is nothing that I, as a girl, can do about it. It makes me feel shitty, as someone who wants so much to change the world, that my closest blood relative is so good at making me feel worthless.

On top of it all, I was roped into seeing that Heather Locklear movie instead of Howl. Depressing.

Unbeknownst to many, Christian Bale is not only starring in Batman Begins but also voices the title character in Miyazaki's new animated wonder Howl's Moving Castle.

I am looking forward to being able to see the Japanese language version of the film but, for now, I am bursting at the seams to see the English version which just landed in theatres. I adore Miyazaki's creations and, although this film isn't a Miyazaki original, I know it will be mesmerizing.

I found myself a little star struck today when I was crossing Broadway, in SoHo, and saw my second favorite blogger, in the whole world, walk past me, in the opposite direction. I found myself wanting to shout out, "Cia!" But that would've been completely embarrassing, given that she has no clue who I am.

I've been reading Cia's blog for about two years now and I've become a fan of her writing. It's not just that she is such a meticulous and hilariously compulsive chef/foodie/amateur food critic, or that she has informally reviewed just about every 5-star joint in Manhattan, or even that she and I have similar tastes in music, or that she's the type of person I could imagine playing a bit part in Sex And The City.

No. I think what I like about Cia is a hint of abashed humor and innocence that suffuses many of her posts - whether it's an alpha characteristic, or not - it's still there. And it makes every post of her's seem intriguingly personal ... because you really get a sense of that shadow personality. There's a sensitivity and lyrical delicacy to her writing, you feel like you're eaves dropping on the private conversations of a young girl, - even if that young girl is the type who routinely disparages the fois gras at Zagat rated restaurants.

For at least one inquiring mind, the news, that Keanu Reeves is indeed hanging out around New York City with a hot blonde, will not be well received. I'm guessing people will start telling me when this celebrity sighting gossip gets old. But I have to say ... I never get tired of stumbling upon stars in the real world, as they go about their business. It reminds me that they are actually alive and that they're the same as us lowly normal folk (but with fatter wallets). And, as demonstrated by aforementioned Keanu fan, I think most people want to know the intimate details of super-star lives.

Keanu Reeves was having a late lunch at Da Silvano Cantinetta in Greenwich Village - a restaurant he has been known to frequent whenever he is in New York. Paparazzi were sitting outside, on a bench, for at least 15 minutes, waiting for him to finish his meal and come out. It was actually kind of freaky. I honestly give famous people props for living under the lens and not going crazy. These photogs sat and smoked cigarettes and chatted. They wouldn't tell me who was inside (as if they have any shred of ethics they work under), but, soon enough, Keanu showed his mug.

He had that signature patchy beard thing going on and really ruffled hair. Looked good. Dressed in a black shirt and a black suit. Pretty typical for Keanu. He was in a good mood - self-deprecating smile. But the interesting thing was the lady he was toting. Those dark lens, fucking huge Jackie-Os totally obscured her identity (worst fashion trend EVER) but it could've been Reeves' ex-girl - Amanda De Cadenet. All I know is that this woman had blindingly blonde locks and was your standard issue Hollywood it girl. I've been told that Reeves is dating Lynn Collins, a co-star in his next film. I don't think this was her though. Collins has brown hair.

Look out for these pictures. I've scanned the internet, searching for them, and nothing has turned up. This is week old news, though. If the pictures eventually surface, remember - you heard it here first. Extremely Perishable is your temporary online gossip rag.

Today I saw Keanu Reeves walking down the street. Just thought I'd mention that briefly.

Ahem ... to the point ... is it wrong for me to have an irrational attraction to Hayden Christensen/Darth Vader? A discussion of the recently released Star Wars: Episode 3 was overdue, but I never thought I'd get around to it in the form of Hayden worship. Sorry. I guess I'm having a bad week.

The fact is, when I first saw Christensen, I was unamused, unattracted, in general - unconcerned. He just seemed like one of many spindly, so-called golden boys. But, somehow, over the last few years, the allure of the dark side transformed a run-of-the-mill pretty-boy into a guy who could charm the pants off of anyone with just a smirk -- no light-sabre necessary. And yet, I can only attribute my new found fandom to one thing: It has to be the Vader effect.

There's something incredibly mysterious, sexy and deep about the 2005 version of Hayden Christensen. He seems a little bit ... bad. And that's kind of hot. So hot, you want to get under that calm surface and get some of the badness for yourself. There must be a really dangerous, intensely fierce person underneath all that smoldering seriousness and decorum, you tell yourself. I mean, just look at him. Watch the film. It looks like he's hiding something that only Padme knows.

Seriously ... Natalie gets all the fun.