Ugh. I have the hangover to end all hangovers. Two glasses of wine; three martinis; and a half-bottle of Cava.
Last night I went out with an Italian friend to see Werner Herzog’s “Bad Lieutenant – Port of Call New Orleans. It was pretty disappointing (although I wasn’t really expecting much from it anyway, to be honest) but Nicolas Cage does put in a good performance from time to time. I’m getting rather tired of seeing films in which haggard, middle-aged men have stunningly gorgeous girlfriends, though. I mean, come on – would someone who looks as good as Eva Mendes ever consider dating Nicolas Cage’s character in real life?!
When will there ever be a film in which a frumpy, doughy middle-aged woman has a handsome, young boyfriend?!
Despite the film’s failings, it was good to hang out with this friend. In general, I’m very fond of Italians. This guy will be forty-six next month and, yet, he still has a very youthful, playful quality to him. I’ve found that many Italians are like that. They never seem to lose their joie-de-vivre no matter how old they get.
I also miss having male friends. I learned long ago that there’s just no point in trying to befriend American men. Platonic friendship just does not seem to be something Americans understand. In my first year in the US, I had a lot of male friends (I’ve always had more male friends than female ones – although my best friends are always female – because they’re so much more straight-forward than women), and, one by one, they dropped me like a hot potato as soon as they realized that nothing sexual was going to happen between us.
It was great to hang out with a European guy again because, generally, European men do seem to be able to relate to women as something other than potential sexual conquests. It’s just as well that “MM” decided to stop driving and get a hotel somewhere in Arkansas, though, because I got so drunk that I ended up falling asleep on the Italian’s sofa, and woke up at 9:00 a.m. this morning. Platonic friendship though it may be, I don’t think that “MM” would have been very pleased to have arrived home after a two-day car drive to find my bed empty because I was in another man’s house!
Comment, for fuck’s sake!
October 1, 2009 at 11:03 pm (blogging, tortured artist, writing)
Tags: blogging, comments, Deadwood, drinking, Julia Cameron, NaBloPoMo, The Artist's Way, tortured artist, writing
I came home this evening from a volunteer training session and immediately checked my email in the hope that I’d find at least one wee comment on yesterday’s post. But no! Not a single comment – and that despite the fact that poor Petrichor here nearly left the realm of mortals yesterday because of a careless driver!
Come on, people! Comment, goddamn you! I’m not just writing this blog for the good of my health, you know…well, OK, so actually I am….but still! Show me some love!
Yesterday I finished the NaBloPoMo September challenge (i.e. blogging every day for a month), and yet not a tiny word of congratulations from anybody? No? Sigh. Oh, what an underappreciaed, unloved blogger I am.
I do worry sometimes about having lost a bit of my mojo over at this blog. I worry that getting married, and no longer having quite the same need to seek solace in the blogosphere, has made me a bad writer. I also worry that writing every day with a time constraint (I try to take no longer than one hour for each post) has made my writing duller, too. Oh, but what if it has?! I can’t go through life being miserable, depressed and single just so more people comment on my blog. I really like what Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, has to say about the romantic myth of suffering for your art:
I will leave you with that thought while I go off to drown the sorrow of your terrible neglect in red wine and an episode of my beloved “Deadwood”. Goodnight, you miserable non-commenting bastards.
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