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futon get!
Nov. 23rd, 2009 09:31 pmI found a futon this evening, finally, at this shop up in Durham. I was going to go straightaway after work, but when I went to pull up the directions I had emailed to myself on my phone, my phone played dead. Oops, forgot to charge it.
So, I went home for about an hour to plug it in and also put some soup in my belly. And some buttered toast, because that it actually quite good with clam chowder that's got a bit of sriracha thrown into it. I sipped soup and let my brain empty out from the day's work as I popped the DVD of A Knight's Tale in to watch.
A funny thing about that movie: the day that Heath Ledger was found dead in a NY apartment, the moment we all found out, most of the 42 office was out to lunch together in a big group at Gordon Biersch in Pasadena. There were maybe 10 of us, and we had actually managed to snag this little side room with a big roomy round table. Energy was high, and we had most excellent game plans to make. But at lunch, conversation was all about guilty pleasure movies. Around the table we went, naming title after title of sometimes terrible or cheesy or incredibly sentimental flicks that were our go-tos when we needed a boost, a bit of comfort.
And then Steve's phone pinged, and he said, "Ha! Kristen just texted me that Heath Ledger died, what?" His chuckle was more disbelief and weird amusement than anything else: was there some lame hoax or joke at the other end of this text? People began digging out their phones, checking CNN, waiting for calls from people who would Know For Sure. And the confirmations began rolling in, and as it was nearing the end of lunch, we worked on settling up our bill, and we expressed shock and said not much of anything about it, because what could you say? It was such an important thing. To say anything too strident meant shattering whatever strange sense of energy we'd had that day. We just didn't have anything to say. The shock was palpable.
On the walk back to the office, I took pace with Steve. "I just remembered one of my favorite guilty pleasure movies," I mumbled, feeling a surprising catch in my throat. "Yeah?" Steve said, holding this look of faint worry on his face that I think we all had at that moment. "Yep," I said, "A Knight's Tale." Steve nodded, "Ah, yeah."
"Weird," I said. The rest of the day was business and thinking and imagining and puzzling, like usual, but it was a little hard not to feel like the wind had been knocked out of me. I had spent several weeks - as had many of us in the office - hip-deep in the inky muck of a clown's psyche, trying to extend that out from an imaginary city into the world at large. We were all citizens in the game, you know?
So yeah, I've been thinking about that day, almost a few Januaries ago by now. Palm trees in winter, the late nights every night, the guilty pleasure movies we watch for comfort, familiarity. Everything is the same. Nothing is at all like it was. Life is so very short.
So, I went home for about an hour to plug it in and also put some soup in my belly. And some buttered toast, because that it actually quite good with clam chowder that's got a bit of sriracha thrown into it. I sipped soup and let my brain empty out from the day's work as I popped the DVD of A Knight's Tale in to watch.
A funny thing about that movie: the day that Heath Ledger was found dead in a NY apartment, the moment we all found out, most of the 42 office was out to lunch together in a big group at Gordon Biersch in Pasadena. There were maybe 10 of us, and we had actually managed to snag this little side room with a big roomy round table. Energy was high, and we had most excellent game plans to make. But at lunch, conversation was all about guilty pleasure movies. Around the table we went, naming title after title of sometimes terrible or cheesy or incredibly sentimental flicks that were our go-tos when we needed a boost, a bit of comfort.
And then Steve's phone pinged, and he said, "Ha! Kristen just texted me that Heath Ledger died, what?" His chuckle was more disbelief and weird amusement than anything else: was there some lame hoax or joke at the other end of this text? People began digging out their phones, checking CNN, waiting for calls from people who would Know For Sure. And the confirmations began rolling in, and as it was nearing the end of lunch, we worked on settling up our bill, and we expressed shock and said not much of anything about it, because what could you say? It was such an important thing. To say anything too strident meant shattering whatever strange sense of energy we'd had that day. We just didn't have anything to say. The shock was palpable.
On the walk back to the office, I took pace with Steve. "I just remembered one of my favorite guilty pleasure movies," I mumbled, feeling a surprising catch in my throat. "Yeah?" Steve said, holding this look of faint worry on his face that I think we all had at that moment. "Yep," I said, "A Knight's Tale." Steve nodded, "Ah, yeah."
"Weird," I said. The rest of the day was business and thinking and imagining and puzzling, like usual, but it was a little hard not to feel like the wind had been knocked out of me. I had spent several weeks - as had many of us in the office - hip-deep in the inky muck of a clown's psyche, trying to extend that out from an imaginary city into the world at large. We were all citizens in the game, you know?
So yeah, I've been thinking about that day, almost a few Januaries ago by now. Palm trees in winter, the late nights every night, the guilty pleasure movies we watch for comfort, familiarity. Everything is the same. Nothing is at all like it was. Life is so very short.
