I had set a timer for 15 minutes. I just felt like writing. Grabbed my iBook and sat out on my balcony for a bit.
It's been a Douglas Adamsy week for me. Saturday, I bought his post-humous book, "The Salmon of Doubt", and have been reading it since. He was not only intelligent and witty, but also enthusiastic and philosophical. And he's making me want to read Richard Dawkins now. Adams became awestruck by Dawkins' take on evolution; I'm curious about what impressed Adams so.
Some other Adamsy things: Watched the movie "Mystery Science Theater 3000" (MST3K) and laughed myself silly. Really want to get the TV-series (yeah, all 11 seasons of it). An astrologer friend of mine calls it Sagittarian humor. No wonder I enjoyed it!
Both Adams and MST3K are giving me some philosophical and even spiritual experiences. About how the universe is put together and about laughing about your experiences. About laughing at the absurd and stupid, instead of being irritated by it. Much healthier to have a running dialog in your head à la MST3K than getting all huffy and self-righteous about others failings. Or even your own. No, especially your own.
Reading Adams really makes me want to write again. Editing my Web site (finally found a CSS design I like; you will eventually get to see it) also makes me want to write again. I'm editing some of the actual writing in my pages as I go.
Some other shit lately: I'm lonely. I'm really feeling it this time. I need more friends, a bigger network. One e-mail friend thinks I would better off in the States. I don't know at this time. Anyway, the Adams book is a pleasant distraction. Some thoughts shouldn't occupy the mind too much. That just brings you down.
I want to write again, I said, and I'd love to write good science fiction or a murder mystery, but I just feel so stupid. I don't have any plot. I have no body to hide, and no one who needs to hide it. Oh, well, there's a story: Go out and kill somebody, pin it on someone you know, and write what they tell you over a café au lait. Heh.
I have every second Wednesday off from work. Last night I stayed up too late, watching JAWS, or rather, the making of it and interviews with Spielberg et al – anniversary DVD. Today I watched the movie again. It's a classic. No two ways about it. I remember when it first came out, summer of 1975. I was living here in Bergen then, too. I didn't see it, but movie goers here got a good scare because someone had left a 3 foot shark by the exit. At the time I thought the small panic that caused to be silly. Three years later, I saw JAWS myself and could appreciate the paranoia the movie leaves you with.
The two best scenes in the movie for me, are the opening sequence with the first victim. She is so believable, right down to the sounds she makes. I remember that the sounds she makes always impressed me, like having her scream cut off by a gargle as water enters her mouth when she's pulled under again. The other scene that gets me is when the shark attacks the little boy on the inflatable raft: The moment when everyone's come ashore and his mother is looking around for him. She's the only one not reunited ñ and then they show the torn yellow raft with red-stained tide lapping over it. The first time I saw that mother, she irritated me. As I get older (and wiser), her situation grabs me more and more. She's too old to have such a young kid, but I understand. This is her change-of-life child, perhaps her only child ever, and she lost him and there's no way she can have another kid. She doesn't seem to be married, either. The shark leaves her all alone. Her offer of a bounty to get the shark killed becomes very understandable. The other scene that still irritates me, is when she's chewing out Chief Brody, but I understand that, too, now.
I had set the timer for 15 minutes and now it rang. The 15 minutes flew by. That's what I want! To lose track of time!
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