September 8th, 2002

pencil

Chez Fou: House of Sleep

Yesterday I had a pleasant breakfast with grouchychris after which we walked around the Seward Park path. It was Bicycle Day or so the banners and signs proclaimed - as far as we could tell this simply meant the streets were blocked off such that we had to park at the top of the hill rather than in the lot at the bottom. If there were other booths or events going on they were well hidden - there didn't seem to be an inordinate number of bikers, particularly, either.

Quite the pleasant walk - Seward Park seems to be somewhat of a Poison Oak preserve, considering the numerous signs warning of its presence. We were able to avoid being attacked by even the most aggressive clumps, however, due to our cunning and exceptional mobility (comparatively speaking, that is).

Afterwards I came home to take a nap, and ended up sleeping the sleep of the dead. Or more likely, the sleep of the extremely-out-of-shape-having-just-finished-a-three-mile-walk. I slept through five phone calls and the alarm I'd set in order to get up and go out with Sharkins.

Today was more of the same - fortunately I consider sleep a leisure activity, so I don't particularly feel like I wasted my weekend.

I also watched Requiem for a Dream. Twice, since I went through it with the director's commentary on after I'd watched it the first time. Effective, affective - bits of it keep coming back to me, swimming into my consciousness sideways while I'm thinking of other things. Odd to me, drug culture is so beyond my ken that I am often bewildered by connections I'm supposed to make - not the intellectual connections between diet pill addiction and street drug addiction, more connections or resonances with usage behaviors. I'm obsessive, but I've never been that kind of obsessive, I don't think. I think I'm lucky, actually...

I hadn't known, before watching the extra commentary stuff on the DVD, that RfaD was based on a novel. Nor that it was by Hubert Selby, as is Last Exit to Brooklyn. Heh - that New York thing again. I didn't find the movie as depressing as I expected to, based on the comments of other people I know who have seen it. I'm guessing that too is a function of the setting/milieu being essentially alien to me.

I liked what Aronofsky did to tell the story, very much. A lot of very subtle visual tricks, as well as some not so subtle deliberate choices in visual style that were very effective.

Today, my head hurts - I don't think it was the movie's fault, no. But it does mean I'm inclined to do some more sleeping...