Monday, April 19, 2004
At the risk of being premature, or summoning icy gods, I think that I've survived another winter. As always, it comes as a surprise. I'm pretty sure I've said this in here before, but every year, towards the end of December, it seems very certain that I'll never see another spring. And the thought of dying in a cold time terrifies me.
Please excuse that uncharacteristic moment of candor.
Yesterday there was no writing, which means it was a day amazingly free of stress and frustration. Spooky and I saw Kill Bill, Vol. 2. I won't go on and on about it. Surely there are enough legitimate film reviewers to cover that. I'll just say it was perfect, in every way. As a whole, I think there's no doubt that Kill Bill is Tarantino's best since Pulp Fiction. Daryl Hannah almost stole the show, a smoldering, one-eyed predator. The battle between Elle and The Bride has to be the best girlfight ever filmed (and has taught me the folly of trying to use a katana in the confines of a house trailer). David Carradine was impressively threatful. And Uma is still amazing. And in case you were wondering why the black mamba (actually a common green snake) that Elle employs was green, here's a quote from kingsnake.com:
The name "black mamba" is somewhat confusing as this animal is not black at all. The common name is given to the snake because the mouth is inky black on the inside. Most mambas have a dark olive, olive green, greyish brown or metal grey colour. Some of them will show a light banding around their body. Slightly speckled mambas are also not uncommon. Juvenile black mambas are light grey or olive in colour but will darken when older.
My favorite cameo in Vol. 2 has to be the brief appearance by Sid Haig. But. Here I am going on and on when I said I wasn't going to. After the movie, we met Jennifer and Jim and The Other Jennifer for Thai food and sushi. It was an almost perfect day, marred only by a headache that began just before the film and has yet to abate. If only all my Sundays were so pleasant.
Today. Oh, I was trying not to think too much about today, hoping we might skip straight to Tuesday. But the proposal has to be finished. I have to talk to my NYC agent. I need to e-mail my LA agent to explain why there have been no new pages of Alabaster in the last two weeks. And I need to begin the next short story, which is being written for an anthology edited by Nancy Kilpatrick and Nancy Holder. And there's unanswered e-mail. And there are always surprises. Always.
I have to go now. I believe there's a rusty railroad spike lodged firmly between my eyes.
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