Beige sectional out. Auntie Mame/Liberace pink C-shaped couch in. First co-purchase as an engaged couple.
Providence was a bust. I did not read. Up against a slew of events and mis-billing confusion, and for some reason none of the posters or flyers made it up and then it rained and Lightning Bolt was playing and some popular girls art opening was happening at the same time and it was just a lot of fail. Down 90 people from last time I read there, two people came. One of them was about 65 and he came to give me a lot of unsolicited advice about my career and then asked me "Why is it that Burt Bacharach's entire catalog isn't available on CD?!" and I said "I bet the boxset from a few years ago holds most people fine." I did not say what I was really thinking. The other came an hour late, but she bought a book. I am not terribly sad P-town didn't work out, but I wished I had known. I would have done Austin instead.
Night off in NY, I had the mammothest sushi at the macro place with the so-boss Mary Manning, We were in a hurry to get to the Agnes Varda autobiography movie, Beaches of Agnes or Agnes on the Beach or something. I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING BAD I SAID ABOUT HER EVER OR HER MOVIES. I GET IT NOW AND I WANT TO BE HER WHEN I GROW UP. But, anyhow, in my hurry, I just ate the middles of the sushi, leaving the gluteny tires of rice and s'weed making a sad DOOD face.
Mary gripping the Peace Ball. Everyone needs to see the Agnes movie. The close up of a dying Jacques Demy's grey hair and arms I just sobbed sobbed sobbed. Partners, muses, aging, the grip of death--it was heavy as hell.
Posted by jessica hopper at July 24, 2009 09:08 PM
It's nice to be home, and be presented with the futures new meanings.