Another Way to Watch the Sun Set

First you'll need to lie on your bed, or on a couch, or on a pillow-padded floor. You could lie anywhere really, just as long as it's indoors. Also make sure whatever room you are in has at least one window. It's best if the window(s) opens to the West, but honestly, any or all directions are fine. Make sure the curtains that normally cover the window are drawn back, and/or the blinds are tilted appropriately. Natural sunlight needs to permeate the room. No electric light of any sort should be on, nor should a candle be lit. It is also important that you be reading something. This is a key step. A book is a good choice. I suppose a newspaper would also work. Just as long as it's not a magazine article. (Magazine pages, usually, are too shiny.)

Now begin reading. Don't stop reading. Just read and read. Don't stop to look out the window, stare at the wall, write something down, watch your fingers scratch your ankle, or consult a watch for the time. (Which reminds me, this process should begin around 7pm in the summertime, and 4pm in the winter season. Or, if you want to read for longer, start sooner. But other than checking the time before you begin to read, do not glance away from the text in front of you.)

Continue reading. As you read, the sun will begin to set. You will know this because reading will become increasingly difficult. But do not turn on any lights! Just keep reading. About every ten minutes or so, your eyes will lose focus and they will have to take a moment to readjust. This is due to the diminishing natural light, a direct effect of the Earth's slow roll away from the sun. The light will continue to fade for about an hour, with it becoming more difficult to read every ten minutes. As you keep reading, your pace will slow, and your eyes may feel strained. Keep going.

Eventually the light will disappear altogether. Sometimes this will happen when you are in the middle of a sentence, or even worse, during a really suspenseful, climactic part of the story. These things happen. Or perhaps it will be that just as the sun extinguishes, you complete a sentence! Or, in the most fortuitous of circumstances, you just read the last word of an entire paragraph, or even better, just finished a section, or a chapter, or (gasp!) your mind just uttered the very last word at the end of a book!

Take a moment, now, before you turn on a light, to lie in the darkness. Lay the book on your stomach and feel the weight of your accomplishment. Then you may either turn on the light to continue reading (if necessary), or leave the lights off for the rest of the evening (preferable) and either fall asleep and dream or lie awake and think.

Repeat.

Obvious Child on Brooklyn Vegan

Our film screened at IFC Rooftop Summer Film Festival last Friday. Thanks to all who came!

Read Brooklyn Vegan's coverage of the night here.

What Am I? A Bologna Sandwich?

As I've mentioned before, I live in Bushwick. I've resided here for almost three of the five years I've lived in New York City. I remember the day after I moved in, setting out on my own in hot pursuit of a new local laundry mat. Upon rounding the corner, leaving the nearly empty side-street of Grove for the more bustling sidewalks of Broadway, I immediately found myself the recipient of several nicknames: "Hey Princess"; "Snow bunny"; "Sugar cookie"; "Peach", which all were thrown in my direction before I had even walked an entire block.

That was 2007.

Today is different. I still walk down Broadway all the time by myself, but now with nary a call or effusive shout. At first, I thought my hair played a factor. As in early 2007 I was a shoulder-length blond, and since then my hair has been brown, red, and boy-short bleach blond. But my hair is now back to the early 2007 style, and yet the cat calls still don't compare to what I used to get.

So now I am left to wonder, since it's not the hair, what about me, or my neighborhood, has changed in the last three years?

Yes, perhaps the streets of Southern Bushwick are now more used to the sight of a fair-skinned, blond woman walking solo down the street. But also, maybe it's me. Perhaps my expression has grown more smug, and I now appear less innocent-looking. While I gleefully hope that the subtle change in my facial facade is capable of shutting the mouths of horny men, I must admit, though, that I miss them. The cat calls. A girl needs a certain amount of compliments to confirm her outfit decisions or hair style choices. I mean, if people don't say anything, how am I supposed to know if I look good? If a day passes where I'm not randomly shouted at on the street, I'll assume the worst.

Thankfully, there is still the rare and sporadic comment or remark. One weekend last summer, after I'd just switched two loads of clothing from the washer to the dryer, I stepped outside for relief from the stuffy, non air-conditioned confines of the laundry mat. I decided to head north, in search of a cool treat. I purchased a frozen strawberry popsicle from the corner deli and began consuming it on the street as I headed back toward my spinning clothing. On my way, I passed two young gentlemen, clad in baggy denim and wife beaters. They intently stared as I walked by, and somewhere deep inside I hoped that they would say something to me, make me feel like I existed. After all, despite it being laundry day, I had on my tightest pants. But they passed by, and my heart sank. But then, after they were already behind me, one of them said, "I would give anything to be that popsicle, baby."

Finally! After months of silence I at last had the confirmation I'd been waiting for. And I lived off this one simple comment for at least a week, able to again feel confident and secure in my appearance.

And then, a week later, just when the remnant feelings from the former comment were beginning to wear off, I passed two other gentlemen on the street, Bushwick Avenue this time, less than a block from my home, with my apartment building in sight. As I walked by them I began hoping. And again, once my back was to them (this apparently being an opportune moment for them), one of the men shouted, "Suck my dick!"

They couldn't see it, but I was smiling. And their simple comment, which I'm sure they forgot about almost instantly, affirmed my existence in this world for another entire month.

And it is because of these instances that I have to send out a whole-hearted thank you to the men of Bushwick. You make my life worth living.

Off to Portland --

To deliver a somewhat used cookbook with pink-speckled pages from all the beets sliced in its presence to this broad -- the loveliest little sprite with whom I share a fondness for chaise lounges and, at one point if not still, Donna Hayward-inspired skirts and sweaters.



I will deliver the cookbook, frolic in the misty woods, wear clothes that for the first time in almost a year will be within hugging reach of their original owner, and eat a donut or two. And maybe go to a strip club.

Mollycoddling the afternoon away

Molly: http://ashortwave.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/bagby_hot_springs.jpg
Get your pants of girl, this is gonna be a wet one
these guys may or may not be there
http://oregonhotsprings.immunenet.com/images/bagbytub.jpg
sorry, I meant "get your pants off." it's early. I need an editor.

Sent at 2:13 PM on Friday
Me: Oh man! Molly, I love log rides!!
and i sincerely HOPE that those guys are there!!

Molly: Well, if you're going to get a log ride they're the only ones capable of giving it to you
Sent at 2:28 PM on Friday

Me: Nice.

Molly: I am happy because I just found out the roads to that place are clear. Usually it's too snowy this time of year to get there!
oh boy!

Me: oh boy(s)!!, you mean
Sent at 2:32 PM on Friday

Molly: well, of course
you'll love the men who hang out there: hawaiian-print board shorts, pit-bulls, soul patch

Sent at 2:35 PM on Friday
Me: I love me a good soul patch

Sent at 2:58 PM on Friday
Molly: a soul patch log jamb

Sent at 3:05 PM on Friday
Me: a patched log, soul jam

Sent at 3:46 PM on Friday
Molly: hawaiian soul, pit jam

Me: jam band, jimmy buffet
Sent at 3:49 PM on Friday

Molly: cheeseburger jam, paradise patch
Sent at 3:54 PM on Friday

Molly is offline. Messages you send will be delivered when Molly comes online.

Me: Ball pit, Rick Warren

Portland Oregon Women's Film Festival

The schedule for the 2010 Portland Oregon Women's Film Festival, Obvious Child's second film festival appearance. Conveniently screened right after "Whore" and just before "Bollywood". Perfect. Though, I wish we followed "Catechism". Still, we're practically famous.

Also, for local people -- there's a screening of the film this Monday, the 22nd at The Tea Lounge in Park Slope. Info here.

The World Is What It Is

These girls are of the purest gold wound in the softest silk from the most luminous worm.



G: i heart pooping with james franco
ME: can you imagine an emoticon for james franco?
G: a big smiling dick