Hello, you. It sure has been a while. I'm about to make the most of the rest of my weekend. By it, I mean reading books and art magazines, and watching as many films as possible. I feel dehydrated in that area somehow. It's been a rather emotional month; last week I surrendered my furry feline, Miss Boo Radley, at the Seattle Animal Shelter for reasons I do not wish to disclose. Luckily, I had friends there to comfort me as I cried hysterically. (update: She's been adopted!) I have absolutely no excuse for why I am also in the middle of reading one of the most depressing novels, ever. Ever. It is A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, an 800-page, gut-wrenching page-turner. Someone take it away from me (but please, give it back to me after you're done, because it's a really good book and I have other friends who want to borrow it. kthnx). It's almost atrocious how books can occasionally sync with what's going on in your life. Absolutely atrocious, yet somehow beautiful. Various films from the early 20th century have been a soothing distraction. I've been in a "film noir" craze lately; The 39 Steps, Night and the City and The Lady Vanishes immediately come to mind. I find it so comforting how I can just search YouTube for various films (some but not many) and can be instantly transported to that time period, completely lost in its lucid black and white dream, floating before my tired eyes.
My new favorite, Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945):
This past Tuesday, I grabbed my red scarf and walked to the SIFF Uptown Theatre, where they were playing an original Japanese version of Isao Takahata's Only Yesterday (1991). It is a well-crafted film with gorgeous animation and cinematography. However, the film as a whole was rather slow. I mean, literally, there were moments where the theatre and I sat alone in complete silence. Despite the occasional popcorn munching, which I personally found aesthetically pleasing, it was quite awkward. [listen to the voice memo below] When I couldn't handle much more of said awkwardness, I walked out and immediately felt an urge for something salty. I approached the counter and noticed the two attendants cleaning up their stations. There, on the ground, was an enormous plastic bagful of my piquancy-of-a-craving, waiting to be consumed ferociously. I asked if I could buy a small box. They looked at each other blankly, handed me a large, and said that it was on the house. I smiled and gave them five bucks anyway. Granted, the wistful end scene completely made up for the film's rather dull storyline; it actually left me in shambles. Luckily, I was seated in my usual seat: the very back right corner (next to the handicap section), so I had a very quick getaway. I proceeded to walk five blocks uphill in the pouring rain to my parked car. Actually, I love the idea of "ugly crying" while out in the rain. ♬ Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?