Mish(igas) Mash

July 8, 2011 Comments Off on Mish(igas) Mash

Some of the things I’ve been thinking about this week:

Is it wrong for an elementary school librarian to have never read nor be interested in reading the Harry Potter series? I am helping little kids choose library books, but have a private aversion to all things Harry Potter. So far, I’ve gotten away with this. I can’t imagine the day I give in and crack the spine on the first book, but what if the kids consider me a fraud? Shouldn’t I join in on the “fun”? Is my heart so hardened to simple pleasures?

Yesterday, I left the house and smelled cat pee trailing me. When I got to the train station, I opened my bag and noticed that the first page of The New Yorker was soaked with Nancy’s pee. The train was pulling into the station, and I managed to tear off the front page before stepping on board. I looked down at my double issue and realized the entire magazine was soaked in her urine. I rolled it into a scroll and stuffed it into my bag, but the smell wouldn’t dissipate. All the way to the end of the line at Eighth Avenue, I reeked. As soon as I got there, I emptied the contents of my bag and threw everything, including the bag, into the trash. For the first time ever, I was that woman on a crowded train, who smells like cat pee. This will be the last time.

On Monday, the name “Cy Twombly” popped into my head and I asked Joe who he was. Joe said he was an artist and I said, as far as I knew, I never had seen his work, but what a funny name. The next day, I was on The New York Times homepage, and the main article was about how Cy Twombly had died that morning, Tuesday. Does this mean anything? Depends who you ask. My parents are collectors of coincidences, but I am a skeptic. Our dialogue on the subject of “What are the chances?” has been going on for a very long time. The question remains: what made Cy Twombly’s name appear behind my eyes?

In the world of smaller coincidences, I was reading an article about the backlash from one woman’s essay about her experience healing from PTSD through the use of violent sex. I decided to read the excellent article and as I began to read it, I saw that my favorite therapist, the life-changing Meredith Broome featured prominently. You can see the article here, but be warned that the author’s experience is very intense and upsetting.

Because we’re somewhat broke, Joe and I have stopped going to see films unless they are dirt cheap or free. Last night, we had the opportunity to see Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives for free at the Rerun Gastropub Theater in Dumbo. It had been years since either of us visited Dumbo and I imagine we won’t be back for a long time. The movie is brilliant, will stay with me, and challenged me in a way that only really well conceived films do. But the theater was as uncomfortable as Angelika Film Center and more difficult to read subtitles over the heads of the people in front of me. There’s a limit to what I’ll do to see a free film and I think I found my boundary. I loved the film, but I can’t appreciate spending half the time stretching and craning my neck to see the screen. And Dumbo is just plain goofy, it feels like an unconvincing movie set of Brooklyn. Where’s the soul?

I’m looking forward to fish tacos and a strawberry cream dessert at Kerry’s tonight. Finally, it’s going to be a very low-key weekend. There are so many projects to do around the house. I want to get in touch with my boring self this weekend.

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