this is life
I have had such a long strange day it feels like several in one. I went to take my mother to the train station, from there she boarded the train to the airport. In the mad rush of jumping on as the bell was ringing, I forgot to pass her bag and then the doors shut. I followed her on the next train.
On my way back to Paris I was leaving the climbing the stairs of the metro. Girls screamed, it sounded like a movie star had landed. Then, behind me, several people running on the stairs, mouths covered like they were all collectively vomiting. A woman shouting, "he killed himself, he jumped". And then the stunned faces of people who don't know what to do, rush to their next train or watch the body being dragged from the tracks. I come home to a box of roses, sent by my love, who doesn't let our anniversary pass without a million thoughtful jests.
I go to school to hear more about how helpless the funding is. The screening was so poor that there is no hope of getting department funding. I was never told this screening was a kind of funding test, but apparently I had the chance at some but now I don't. My assistant director thinks we should look for a production company to help us finish, but that seems impossible.
I teach English to my old-man student, he's going to retire in a few months. He wants to visit Australia this fall. He's been a waiter for 39 years, and he works at a fancy restaurant. Paul Hogan and Robert Redford have been there.
I somehow acquired 4 new private students this week, which is a blessing in a moment of financial distress, but it seems I'll never have time to work on my film.
I am reading the third diary of Anais Nin; though I never read the first two it seemed fair enough to jump right in. It is wonderful and I identify terribly with her (well, I'm only on page 88, so we'll see). I love how she is a starving artist with no time to write and always having to take care of a million other little things.
Tonight I went and saw "Babel" which was very good even if I had to struggle a bit with the French subtitles. It was wonderful to see a movie I actually really enjoyed. Brad Pitt was the film's biggest flaw, but aside from that it was compelling and gripping and human. And the loveliest part was leaving the theater, the doors open right onto the Quai, and it was suddenly foggy. Not thick San Francisco fog, but a good post-rain mist that just floated on top of the waterfront and made Paris completely perfect. Well, it was a perfect moment at the very least.
On my way back to Paris I was leaving the climbing the stairs of the metro. Girls screamed, it sounded like a movie star had landed. Then, behind me, several people running on the stairs, mouths covered like they were all collectively vomiting. A woman shouting, "he killed himself, he jumped". And then the stunned faces of people who don't know what to do, rush to their next train or watch the body being dragged from the tracks. I come home to a box of roses, sent by my love, who doesn't let our anniversary pass without a million thoughtful jests.
I go to school to hear more about how helpless the funding is. The screening was so poor that there is no hope of getting department funding. I was never told this screening was a kind of funding test, but apparently I had the chance at some but now I don't. My assistant director thinks we should look for a production company to help us finish, but that seems impossible.
I teach English to my old-man student, he's going to retire in a few months. He wants to visit Australia this fall. He's been a waiter for 39 years, and he works at a fancy restaurant. Paul Hogan and Robert Redford have been there.
I somehow acquired 4 new private students this week, which is a blessing in a moment of financial distress, but it seems I'll never have time to work on my film.
I am reading the third diary of Anais Nin; though I never read the first two it seemed fair enough to jump right in. It is wonderful and I identify terribly with her (well, I'm only on page 88, so we'll see). I love how she is a starving artist with no time to write and always having to take care of a million other little things.
Tonight I went and saw "Babel" which was very good even if I had to struggle a bit with the French subtitles. It was wonderful to see a movie I actually really enjoyed. Brad Pitt was the film's biggest flaw, but aside from that it was compelling and gripping and human. And the loveliest part was leaving the theater, the doors open right onto the Quai, and it was suddenly foggy. Not thick San Francisco fog, but a good post-rain mist that just floated on top of the waterfront and made Paris completely perfect. Well, it was a perfect moment at the very least.
posted by sahra at 12:45
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