January 1st, 2006


Happy new year, ya'll.

Sore. Muscles tight; alcohol in the bloodstream. Rich food in belly. Place a mess, but still better than it was yesterday.

Oh for a lover, just about now, who gives a good massage. Or, hell, a mere acquaintance who gives a good massage, and wants to give me one. I would so return the favor.

So here's a milestone, this new year.

I exist in parallel universes.

It's a sliding-doors-y schism man-that-really-messed-with-my-head thing. There's this other Starship Lisa-prise, see, and everybody's pretty much the same, except in this one some people have a moustache who don't in the other, the one we started out on. We all seem to've ended up on this one, unlike in the TV show, and in some ways it's actually better, even though you wouldn't think it with the moustaches. And it was always here anyway, even when I was ignorant of it, back in the before world. And a thought once thought cannot be unthought. So you have to end up in the moustached Songs of Experience reality, right?

You know. Wm Blake. No, not that actor who was a Li'l Rascal then Baretta then watered-down O.J.

I'm not drunk, btw. Tired and sore. Did I mention sore? Neck, feet. Back.

Remind me to write about my evolving relationship with my muscles. My musculature.

So wasn't there something in that episode of Star Trek, or another, in which somebody explains how the two things from the parallel realities can't meet in the same time and place or the fabric of spacetime will rip or explode and everything will cease to exist entirely? 'Cept that can't be right, cuz Regular Capt. Kirk actually physically wrestles with moustached Capt Kirk, doesn't he. Oh, but of course one of them's a stand-in for Shatner, so that's maybe why the universe doesn't implode upon itself.

Me and You and Everyone We Know

ratcliff me and you and everybody

So. Who's seen this movie and wants to talk about it? homovegetarian, have you? Humphrey and I watched it tonight, and I venture to say it was a novel experience for both of us. Though he slept through much of it, which is nothing new.

Most curious, this film! I'm struck right now with how greatly it seemed to lack pretension, given how off-beat it is. If there was a veneer of self-conscious hipness, I didn't see it.

Much stuff in it didn't work the way similar stuff usually works in movies (even good ones).

I think I'm going to have to see it again before sending it back. Not that I didn't enjoy those episodes of "Frasier" and all. (Also out from Netflix right now: Rain, with Joan Crawford, 1932.)