oh dear.

to cover all the bases: still no definite news on any jobs. cool, bases covered.

i spent the day at the us open. my aunt julie said that she wanted to go for her birthday, though i would have probably gone anyway without the birthday impetus. it's a strange game, tennis, made all the weirder by the pomp and circumstance that these professional tournements afford it. there are a lot of white people there, and a very heavily imbalanced upper-crust presence. i started thinking of a movie plot that involved bombing the us open because of the high-concentration of rich white folk, but just as this idea occurred to me, i looked around and at that particular moment, i was surrounded by minorities. go figure.

all of the ritual involved with the game is so goddamn precious i could just puke. there needs to be silence for play, fans who cat-call the players are given dirty looks and clucked tongues, and people are seated only in between games. come on... are these guys professionals or are they pansies!? "i'm sorry, sir, but that woman was calling my mom a whore while i was trying to serve." pansies. the best part of that whole thing is that the us tennis center or whatever the place is called is in flushing, queens, right next to the subway, the long island railroad and la guardia airport. the official at one particular match, blake v. monaco (fifth-seeded blake has a following of vocal and well-watered fans known as "blakeheads") had to shush the crowd three or four times, and then gave the players the go ahead even as a 747 roared right over the stadium. peace and quiet indeed.

along with julie, my cousin isabel and her friend francis attended. isabel had had four teeth taken out the day before, and they'd forgotten her pain medication, so that was fun, though probably, least of all for her. francis is going into eighth grade, and his voice has just dropped the first octave... he sounded quietly obsessed with his new tenor. his dad is white and his mom is brazilian, so i predict (with no pedophelic inclination whatsoever, sickos) that he's going to be a lady-killer someday, probably soon (what am i talking about? eighth grade? he's probably knee deep in dead women as we speak...).

it was good to hang out with julie. i got to unburden copious amounts of my parent- and job-related anxieties on her, an occaision to which she rose admirably, helping me contextualize and rationalize some of my parents more peculiar behaiviors. for instance, she pointed out that my parents have this life surrounded with academia, and that it's hard for them to understand certain things outside of that realm. also, she quoted my uncle's speech at my cousin's wedding, which involved birds and nests and so on and so forth, saying that their way of channelling there parental anxiety is to pass it on to me. how kind.

so, long story short, it was a good day. i had a pensive train ride back from dobbs ferry (where i dined and indulged in some daily show/colbert report), trying to convince myself not to feel guilty about being at the open instead of... what, really? that's right. nothing to feel bad about. chin up, say what.

oh, neglected friends! how i grovel for forgiveness at your very worthy and well shorn feet! don't hate me, for i love thee!

so... who saw this coming?

i've got lots of back-posting to do, and perhaps some day i'll get to it, though i'm having a very bitter, honest moment right now, and bitter honesty in my case usually devolves into cynicism, so, make sure you read with that in mind.

it's what i like to call "my first day back in the real world," following almost a week of travel, family visits, and the criss-crossing of several state lines. there also was a jewish wedding in there somewhere, as well as an engagement party, a tattoo party, and a burrito buffet, not in any way in that order. i know i'm coming off of a long stretch of having little to no idea of what being busy really feels like, but i'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this weekend was busier than most i've had of late.

so, let me set the scene for you un peu: i wake up at 9:30; a respectable time, i feel, for a twentysomething with no real pressing need for sentience to get up. i walk downstairs, to where my dear mother is still in her nightgown, looking over the paper, a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. after a quick check of my e-mail (nothing but my daily update from the hollywood reporter), i have a light breakfast of quaker oat squares (delicious), after which i make a cup of coffee. my mom has mentioned going to the y to work out, and has invited me, an invitation i did not decline, although i imagine my lack of enthusiasm to go all the way to 1st avenue and fourteenth street might have colored her perception of my enthusiasm for the endeavor. at this point she declares she's going to be in her room. it's just me, now, with my cup of coffee, alone in the kitchen/dining room/tv area, and so i turn on the ol' telly. what do i find? why, it's a classic episode of the x-files, one of the jucier conspiracy episodes. i've got my coffee, my tv, and nowhere to be really... not bad for a rainy tuesday morning, right?

now, it's possible, probable, perhaps, that my mom doesn't understand that an episode of the x-files for me is kind of like, what, dragnet is for her? it's a trip down memory lane, part of my cultural upbringing; it brings me back to my middle school days, when friday afternoons and evenings were given over to spending time with my friends, discussing possible conspiracy theories and crank-calling the local radio station. good times, you know?

anyway, about two-thirds of the way through the show, my mom comes downstairs, having donned her workout clothes, and asks if nows a good time to have a "heart-to-heart." i've known my parents long enough to know that no relative importance of a specific tv show could ever override a request for such a converstation, and, knowing that cancer-man has moved the spaceship to a bunker in minnesota or montana, a bunker that krycek will eventually become trapped (entombed?) in, i douse the tv and prepare myself for what i'm pretty sure is coming.

the word that i believe was used the most throughout my mom's portion of the conversation was "worried." "me and dad are really worried about you spending all day on the couch watching television." "we worry that you're not getting out into the world and making connections." "and we're just really worried that you won't have any funds or anything for yourself."

if i were more devoted to spontaneous comedy and less of a pussy when it comes to being an asshole, i think the most appropriate reaction would have been to make what i'd like to now dub the "anna eisenberg sound." it's a kind of a groan/whine in tonality, but conveys nothing but sheer annoyance. but, instead i laid out my reasons as to why i thought that it was a bit early to start worrying about long-term unemployment (we've only been home in the city for eighteen hours), why they didn't need to worry about me becoming a total slacker (though my year in nice and my summer in san francisco were fun, they were by no means a long-term goal in terms of busyness), and how i understand their fears and concerns, and promised to keep talking to them about what's going on, blah blah blah. at no time did i smoke pot on the living room couch, nor did i use the terms "riding my ass," or "it's my life, i'll do what i want."

what's really upsetting for me is that, as far as i can tell, what is more upsetting for them than my sitting on the couch watching the x-files is my sitting on the couch watching the x-files, while pursuing a job in the entertainment industry. for reasons that escape me on a very broad level, my interest in such a career is like a drinking problem. just last winter, my dad was saying to me that "this is an industry that leaves bodies behind..." substitute the word "addicition" for "industry," and we might as well be talking about a nifty little methamphetamine problem. i'm so used to having my parents support for most things, that the lack thereof feels unfamiliar (okay, to be fair, it took them a little while to come around to both the newspaper and stage crew at lowell... but they did come around).

and, i guess it goes hand in hand with this, the fact that they seem to believe that i don't have a realistic grip on the situation is equally disturbing. sure, i've had my moments of wackier schemes and life-plans, but i've always felt that one of my nicer attributes is having an okay head on my shoulders and keeping fairly good tabs on where i am. maybe that's my inner egotist speaking, but i think if i started doubting myself as much as my parents seem to be doing, i'd become pretty lost pretty fast.

the coda to this is something that i think we could all see coming: living with my parents this year is going to be at the very least a challenge. i think, if it's necessary, it'll be doable, but, as much as i love hanging out with them when everyone's feeling groovy, their (for lack of a better word) harping is going to drive me up a wall faster than i would ever admit to out loud. the kicker to all of this, of course, is that things could be entirely different within a week... the long island job or the marvel job could come through (knock on wood), and before i know it, i'm knee deep in midtown or hamptons, depending. i can only pray for such a miracle, both for my own interest, but also in the interest of the good relations between me and my parents. otherwise... heaven help us.

i finally got some work today. my supervisor at the assignment desk called me at 10:45 and said that he had an assignment for me tuesday through friday. i said yes to it so eagerly, i'd forgotten that i was flying out on friday to austin. anyway, he also had an assignment for me today that just happened to start thirty minutes from when they called. normally, this wouldn't be a problem, because the family here usually lets me borrow their second car; however, today that car was out of commission, so i had one of the most breakneck trips on muni of my life. i made it there not too too late, only to find that there really wasn't anything for me to do. i read and watched a wee bit of telly (they had one sitting on the goddamn desk! christ!) and did a bunch of crossword puzzles.

the real killer of the day was hearing that my supervisor hadn't gotten any of my calls last week asking for work... i don't know what was going on, but it was maddenning to learn that all that time i was just hanging around waiting for work, they didn't even know i wanted any. ugh.

the slightly annoying part of getting work was reworking all my plans that i had made with the assumption that i wasn't getting any work... most notably i had to tell alexis that i couldn't pick her up at the airport on wednesday. i feel kind of bad about it, since i'm going away for the weekend that she's here... she said she understands: my plans to austin were made before she found out she was coming here for work, so what was i supposed to do, but i feel bad regardless.

i have to buy a new suit this week; my mom is pushing one for my cousin's wedding which is at the end of august. i hate making large purchases. i always leave feeling like i've made some concession or mistake that i will pay for dearly in the long run. ugh. that's my second "ugh" of this post... not a good sign.

not much to report on the job front. everything seems very much up in the air. things have gone from vaguely uncertain to more uncertain with this job on long island... mary apparently still hasn't gotten a firm commitment from the people who run the show that she's going to be brought back as producer, and as such doesn't want to promise me anything (rightly so). hopefully i'll know more by the end of this week, but, yeah. slightly with the nervous making. mary also sent along a letter of interest of mine to a woman she knows in la, and i'm going to try and get in touch with her tomorrow, so we'll see about that... but i've been warned it's a long shot. great.

so... yeah. well, i'll be honest, i'm more depressed now than when i started the post... that's not how it's supposed to work! let's hope for better tomorrow.

until then.

i guess it's a little stupid that i have to couch this conversation in the context of a movie... but there is something about movies that get you thinking. they're more communal than a book, and being a passive medium, there's this idea that anyone can see the movie and join the conversation. but whatever, that's just fat.

i went to see the night listener. i'd had vague plans to go to a film with the sarahs, but it all spiralled out of control (to be fair, sarah tyler fell asleep. i know she's one of my more devoted blog readers... earlier, when i was feeling disappointed that the movie plans had fallen through, i was confronted with one of the biggest problems of public journaling: do you talk about people who you know read the thing? the answer, in the end, was yes. when it all comes down to it, this is for me first and everyone else second, and if i'm not going to write about what's going on, then that's stupid. suffice it to say, sarah, though i will never recover the "us" time that was robbed from me by your evening nap, i managed to have a good evening, so no worries.) (is placating someone after complaining about them just as bad as editing out those complaints? i don't think so...) (am i placating? i don't think that either). where the hell am i?

oh yeah, the night listener. the onion's a.v. club, which to my mind is one of the only places to find consistently reliable movie reviews, gave it a b, which i think is about right. it's based on something that i wasn't entirely clear on (well, they said "inspired by a true story" but we all know what that means). the basic premise of the film is that robin williams is a radio guy who writes short stories about his life with his boyfriend (played by former beckerman neighbor bobby cannavale) who has aids; anyway, they're breaking up, and gabriel (williams) is having a shitty week, and he gets this manuscript this 14-year-old kid has written about how he was sexually abused during sex parties held by his parents in their basement (this takes up about 30 seconds of the film, more of a background thing). anyway, now the kid lives with a social worker who adopted him when he was discovered; the kid also has aids, and he's very sick, yadda yadda yadda. after gabriel reads the book, he starts talking on the phone with the kid, pete (played by rory culkin). they develop a pretty intense friendship over the phone, and things are pretty good until gabriel's boyfriend (bobby!) suggests that the voices of the kid and the social worker are extremely similar. then, the whole point of the story becomes "does this kid exist or not?"

so, obviously, there are lots of scenes of williams trekking through the snow, looking all beardy and distraught. but there are interesting questions and points raised (though somehow the movie manages to miss them altogether). at one point, one of the characters (i believe its the kid, pete, but i can't remember exactly) says "you're only as loved as you think you are." i don't know how much scrutiny such a statement would actually stand up to, but it's an interesting idea... that with a concept like love, how much love other people feel for you is irrelevant if you don't believe that you are in fact loved... am i being stupid, or is this a cool (creepy?) way to think about it? likewise, if nobody loves you, but you believe that they do, does it matter?

another point that was good (yet vaguely missed) was asked by williams, trying to abstractly ascertain whether pete exists or not: "how can i miss something that never existed so much?" the response involves star trek, and i won't go into it, but i started thinking about how people are telling me to enjoy this time off i have while i have it, which is a challenge for me, because it's easy for me to spend the time freaking out or meandering around the internet instead of enjoying it. of course, i can see that inevitably, as soon as i do start working, i'll look back on this time as the great time, the easy time. so i ask the question: how much of what we miss actually exists (existed)? how much of what we remember is actually constructed? i remember living in nice as a time when people were constantly around and i lived fancy free and i did a lot of hanging out and i was generally happy... and there were certainly spans of that, but at the beginning, i was miserable, and there were no people around. in high school, all i can remember succinctly was hanging out in the journalism room with everybody; in college, all i can recall were how many boys i seemed to be surrounded with as actual potential relationshippy people... but how much of that is real? oy vey.

anyway, it's getting late, and i'm getting less and less coherent. i'm going to pack it in. night, everyone.

hey folks. went to the giant's game last night, which was fun. i really do like going to baseball games... there's something very culty about it: the big stadium, people all cheering and chanting together. but it's a good cult. a nice cult.

what is fascinating is the cross-section of the population you get at these things. this may be a mean thing to say, but there are some really fat people at these ball games. we're talking triple wides. but then, at a place like pac bell park (or whatever the hell they're calling it now... at&t park? gross) you've also got all the trendy san franciscans who've got their blackberries out and their designer clothing. it's a strange confluence of people.

i dont' exactly know how i learned the rules of baseball, but i do still remember most of them, which kind of schocked me when i started explaining things to sarah tyler. of course, i know only the most general rules... i still have no clue what a "balk" is, though one happened last night. also, last night, at barry's third or fourth at bat (he hit homer #723 at his second or third), he had words with the umpire over a strike call which got him ejected from the game. this was in the bottom of the ninth, giants down 3, a man on third, and barry at bat... another homer could have made it a one point game. it felt like a miniature zidane at the world cup... "why'd you do it, zizou? why'd you do it, barry?" anyway, the fans in the bleachers (where we were sitting) responded by chucking garbage onto the field... sarah got slightly freaked out, and thinking back on it, had the people been drunker or the anger been fiercer, we could have had a riot on our hands. but they cleaned up the field, and the giants took it in the gut, 5-2. ah well.


still no work. i feel like i'm becoming a dull boy. until next time.