for all the prep stef and i did for our mutual special day, we neglected to plan or purchase a birthday cake. i didn’t notice until ben, ross, reb and i were up visiting ross’s grandparents in north salem. ben and i had brought a beautiful cake as a dessert that made me think of it as we were cutting it up. immediately ross’s grandmother said that would not stand. she summoned the crowd, lit a tall white candle in a cande-holder, and the circle sang for me.
the cake was good, and i was satisfied.
i’ve also been reading the strangest combination of books: ulysees, with ross: the two of us formed an exclusive book club. our notion is that no one reads ulysees outside of a class, and since neither of us is going to take a class on it, we have to push each other to read it and help each other understand it; a series of unfortunate events: the bad beginning, which i adored; uncle tom’s cabin for insight into harriet beecher stowe as well as her century; and easy riders, raging bulls about 70s filmmakers and how they grew.
easy riders, raging bulls is dispiriting in some senses. it’s about the guys you’re supposed to root for — your heroes, the ones who subverted the system and found enough of a heartbeat in the comatose movie industry to power chinatown, network, and bonnie and clyde, harold and maude, taxi driver and the godfathers.
and it turns out, they’re assholes. every one. coked up, self-aggrandizing, macho, violent, backstabbing, morally-bankrupt sex-addicts. they just happened to make great movies.
on the other hand, it’s a fascinating process to read about. and it’s fueled my ambition like nothing else. i want to work in casting. no, i want to work in directing. no, i want to be a writer. no, an editor. anything: i just want to work in film. somehow.
something about this city, too. it pushes, or deludes, you into thinking, maybe-just-maybe, you can do it.