"No, I'm not gonna be your monkey."

I remember watching this four years ago, and it's still awesome.

I'm glad that emotional residue dissipated.

I watched Ronin for the first time in several years tonight. I started at 11:30, and now it's almost 2am and I have to get up in six hours to go to work. I took a three-hour nap this evening, catching up from staying up 'til 5am on Friday night talking to Laura's friend Angela. For some reason, I couldn't nap yesterday despite my exhaustion.

So I had some time to kill before sleeping tonight. I remembered Ronin being a good film, but the last time I watched even part of it was with Marta, before we'd even started dating. I think she fell asleep in the middle, and I hadn't watched it since, mostly because it still had this emotional residue for me.

I watched it again. It's better than I remembered. I picked up things I'd missed, or subtleties that hadn't seemed important to me before. Maybe it's because I don't watch many movies or TV shows anymore, and tend to view films not just as stories, but as art with carefully crafted components, each with their own importance. Regardless, I was struck by everything from the clothes, to the cinematography, to the story arc being rather well-done and unique these days.

I'm glad that emotional residue dissipated.

When life hands you lemons, make cantaloupe juice.

Two years ago this month, my cousin John died. I don't think about it much anymore, though at the time I pretty much escaped into the make-believe world of the Honor Harrington series of books. (You can download all 17 books in the series - I recommend them if you need to kill a couple months.)

The day after the funeral I was at my aunt Susan's house before heading to the airport, and she'd taken all the leftover cantaloupe from the reception and blended it, making a rather thick juice. I don't normally enjoy cantaloupe at all, but for some reason I think it tastes excellent in liquid form, and I drank about a quart of it (approximately eating one melon whole).

That's the one positive thing I took from that trip. Mostly I just remember the heartbreak on my aunt and uncle's faces, particularly when Susan was describing being at his bedside as he died. Tonight I made juice from two cantaloupes, and it brought the memories back.

Para bailar la shut the fuck up!

There's a techno version of "La Bamba" on at work. Again, here's to my own office where I can play the Richie Valens version instead.

Dreaming is Free...

Yesterday I dreamt of a first kiss. It was so realistic that I spent 40 minutes trying to relive it as I was falling asleep last night.

In the dream, I made a move not intended to initiate any kiss, then she made as if to kiss me and I turned back and, well, reciprocated. And like any good first kiss, it started with soft lip contact before progressing.

But the best part was the emotional context. The dream delivered all the disbelief and wonder packed into any good first kiss. It's been a long time since I've experienced any of it. No wonder I tried to relive it.

Dreaming is free...

Povichian Voyeurs

Maury Povich is on at work...the topic is "I was in a coma...I can't be your baby's father!"

Cue the Lawrence Arms:

I'm a clown and I'm choking on blood, tooth and tongue
Fuck the spectators, fuck the "he was so young"
Fuck forced sympathies from lifeless glass eyes
Povichian voyeurs drinking my cries
Fuck-faced trilobytes waiting to die...

Long time, no blogging...

Three months or more with no blogging, and this is what prompts me to post...

I'm at work right now, second day here in this group dental practice where I'm going to be the orthodontist for one day a week.

Playing on the radio is a techno version of "The Harder They Come."

I'm looking forward to having my own office, where I can have the original Jimmy Cliff version playing.

Uplift...

She had a great attitude, she was cute, had expressive eyes, and was able to carry a conversation in a way that few others can. She was smart, and smiled a lot. She listens to indie-rock and grindcore, and made fun of hardcore and emo kids. She volunteers at the Art Institute and at a community center. She was seventeen years old, and my last patient of the day. The kind of patient that - even when I'm hungover, at the end of a long, full day, and underslept and exhausted - really makes me love my job.