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muckefuckToday felt like a second Saturday. Our first Saturday was eight hours in the Loop shopping followed by a break for dinner and then, for me, four hours at SoFo with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clintswan. So today had to be correspondingly less ambitious, and it was: two hours shopping in Andersonville (including an hour for brunch at Vincent) followed by naps, some light pruning (for me), a second Thanksgiving dinner, and a movie on the couch together.
The movie was 2011's Bernie (thanks,joebehrsandiego, for the tip), which if I knew had been directed by Richard Linklater I'd forgotten. I have to credit his tremendous commitment to naturalism with coaxing probably the best performance I've ever seen from Jack Black and for sure from McConaughey. But his real coup was the interviews with smalltown East Texas natives interspersed throughout the film. I was genuinely unsure whether they were actually actors or not until I went and looked it up afterwards.
Needless to say, I lapped up the accents like melted ice cream. [Word of caution to Yankees and Europeans who think people who speak like McConaughey are difficult to understand: You will need subtitles.] The film is being touted as a "black comedy", though to some degree simply because it doesn't fit any other obvious marketing category. There's real pathos as well as the occasional laugh-out-loud moment, and what ties it together is an attempt to explore the complexity of human nature.
Speaking of which, I had a personal growth moment at the bar last night. It was crowded up front, andclintswan and I headed to the back so he could use the ATM. On the way there, I scanned the crowd for familiar faces and found one: Le Ragoton. I was already past him before the penny dropped, so all I gleaned from his expression was that he'd recognised me. Later, as we took up a spot against the back wall (close enough to the bathroom that we were guaranteed "Are you in a line?" as a potential conversation-starter for as long as we wanted it) I knew that if I looked over to where I'd seen him he'd be gone and he was.
When I toldmonshu the story the next day, he said, "So, you made him leave the bar. Good." At the time, though, I didn't even feel a Pyrrhic sense of victory, only pity. He'd had to stop coming to Touché because he couldn't bear the possibility of running into me. Now he may feel he has to avoid SoFo as well. What kind of way is that to live when you're a month shy of your 62nd birthday? My response, by contrast, was equanimity: It was bound to happen sometime in this tiny gay village. It didn't really change my attitude toward the evening; I told my companion because I thought he'd find it interesting and fifteen minutes later I'd forgotten all about it.
Three hours later, I was at the front bar again with some guys from the gaming group thinking to myself, I should really go, but still enjoying the company and the atmosphere too much to make a move. The music was a surprisingly decent blend of current pop and 90s throwbacks, with a couple mashups and novelty videos (including a hilarious illustration of what happens when Carly Rae meets Chatroulette); some of the big bears across from us were doing some serious chairdancing. I'll see some of the guys again at brunch tomorrow. (Though not the chairdancers--they were a part of the crowd of out-of-towners I was hoping to catch by going out on a holiday weekend.)
clintswan. So today had to be correspondingly less ambitious, and it was: two hours shopping in Andersonville (including an hour for brunch at Vincent) followed by naps, some light pruning (for me), a second Thanksgiving dinner, and a movie on the couch together.The movie was 2011's Bernie (thanks,
joebehrsandiego, for the tip), which if I knew had been directed by Richard Linklater I'd forgotten. I have to credit his tremendous commitment to naturalism with coaxing probably the best performance I've ever seen from Jack Black and for sure from McConaughey. But his real coup was the interviews with smalltown East Texas natives interspersed throughout the film. I was genuinely unsure whether they were actually actors or not until I went and looked it up afterwards.Needless to say, I lapped up the accents like melted ice cream. [Word of caution to Yankees and Europeans who think people who speak like McConaughey are difficult to understand: You will need subtitles.] The film is being touted as a "black comedy", though to some degree simply because it doesn't fit any other obvious marketing category. There's real pathos as well as the occasional laugh-out-loud moment, and what ties it together is an attempt to explore the complexity of human nature.
Speaking of which, I had a personal growth moment at the bar last night. It was crowded up front, and
clintswan and I headed to the back so he could use the ATM. On the way there, I scanned the crowd for familiar faces and found one: Le Ragoton. I was already past him before the penny dropped, so all I gleaned from his expression was that he'd recognised me. Later, as we took up a spot against the back wall (close enough to the bathroom that we were guaranteed "Are you in a line?" as a potential conversation-starter for as long as we wanted it) I knew that if I looked over to where I'd seen him he'd be gone and he was.When I told
monshu the story the next day, he said, "So, you made him leave the bar. Good." At the time, though, I didn't even feel a Pyrrhic sense of victory, only pity. He'd had to stop coming to Touché because he couldn't bear the possibility of running into me. Now he may feel he has to avoid SoFo as well. What kind of way is that to live when you're a month shy of your 62nd birthday? My response, by contrast, was equanimity: It was bound to happen sometime in this tiny gay village. It didn't really change my attitude toward the evening; I told my companion because I thought he'd find it interesting and fifteen minutes later I'd forgotten all about it.Three hours later, I was at the front bar again with some guys from the gaming group thinking to myself, I should really go, but still enjoying the company and the atmosphere too much to make a move. The music was a surprisingly decent blend of current pop and 90s throwbacks, with a couple mashups and novelty videos (including a hilarious illustration of what happens when Carly Rae meets Chatroulette); some of the big bears across from us were doing some serious chairdancing. I'll see some of the guys again at brunch tomorrow. (Though not the chairdancers--they were a part of the crowd of out-of-towners I was hoping to catch by going out on a holiday weekend.)
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Mrs. Nugent's son, Rod, lived in Amarillo at the time the events unfolded - though in the movie it's referred to as 'West Texas'. His wife, Sylvia, was a well-known figure in town. Our paths crossed quite a few times, but I really didn't know her. Though I have a friend who was quite close. It's interesting to hear my friend recount the events. The Nugents moved to Florida a year or two after this time period.
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Oh well - guess it was kind of a 6° comment.
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