To Touch the Mystery of Death Without Dying
So the cute, drooly baby is Christian, the son of some friends. His mom had a dentist appointment and I kept him for the hour she was there. Even though the hour wore me out we pretty much did what I usually do in the afternoon. We read a book about bikes, we took some pictures, watched some videos, and spent some time looking at ourselves in the mirror. And he is a charmer, smiley, and cute the entire time he was here.
Apparently I'm amassing 1960s office equipment. Aside from the typewriter I've bought a slide projector and then the next day found one by the side of the road. I've also acquired a 1980s Panasonic boom box, for all those times I don't want to hear what others are telling me.
Over the past couple of weeks I've seen four woodchucks. The first was hissing at me from under a late model Passat and I wondered what it might mean. And according to animal-speak and totem analysis I'm about to "get deep within an area of interest" or I'm going to start studying something new that will take two years of "intensive study, digging, and building." All which sounds pretty great to me.
Luckily I've started a few new projects this summer. One deals with mapping trash and the other is taking 10 Polaroids on the 10th of every month. I'm also supposed to be writing my thesis, Part II of the project, but I haven't been feeling that as much.
I'm about to shell out some money to get the road bike rolling. On the other hand, is it okay to spend over a hundred dollars on brake levers (only the levers not the actual part that stops the tires) if the whole bike didn't cost more than a hundred dollars?
Apparently I'm amassing 1960s office equipment. Aside from the typewriter I've bought a slide projector and then the next day found one by the side of the road. I've also acquired a 1980s Panasonic boom box, for all those times I don't want to hear what others are telling me.
Over the past couple of weeks I've seen four woodchucks. The first was hissing at me from under a late model Passat and I wondered what it might mean. And according to animal-speak and totem analysis I'm about to "get deep within an area of interest" or I'm going to start studying something new that will take two years of "intensive study, digging, and building." All which sounds pretty great to me.
Luckily I've started a few new projects this summer. One deals with mapping trash and the other is taking 10 Polaroids on the 10th of every month. I'm also supposed to be writing my thesis, Part II of the project, but I haven't been feeling that as much.
I'm about to shell out some money to get the road bike rolling. On the other hand, is it okay to spend over a hundred dollars on brake levers (only the levers not the actual part that stops the tires) if the whole bike didn't cost more than a hundred dollars?
posted by Ellen at 6:56 PM
7 Comments:
it just occurred to me, what with the trash mapping and the 10 polaroids on the 10th, that you might like peter greenaway. not necessarily the "movie" movies but the faux documentaries like "the falls". if you're acquainted with him, do you like him? i'm curious.
boobaw! [the first interesting word verification in months]
This is why I love your blog.
(Also, I recently watched my first Greenaway film, The Pillow Book, because it was discussed in Serge Gruzinksi's book The Mestizo Mind and because my library had it. It was very, very strange. I haven't seen any of the documentaries.)
i prefer his mockumentaries. they're also very, very strange but in a different way. (just checking back to see if ellen reads her comments.)
sevfoo!
I do! And I'd never heard of Peter Greenaway but I checked out The Pillow Book this afternoon.
So how long do you spend staring at yourself each day??? ;-)
I total think $100 brake levers are worth it.
Actually I don't spend that much time looking at myself, in fact some days I've had to look down to realize what I'm wearing for the day.
And I totally needed to hear that I should go for the levers. I'm such a cheapskate that I'm missing out on riding my sweet bike.
Sometimes I have to look down to check that I'm fully dressed. Usually it's as I'm walking out the door. The internal monologue goes: pants, check; shirt, check; shoes, check. Sometimes I've forgotten socks.
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