Inglourious Basterds -- did I misspell that correctly?

Sick and gross, first of all. It is a Quentin Tarantino movie. So get ready. I'd like to say you can set that aside and consider the rest of the movie, but the violence, after all is part of the point. Violence we do to each other. Cruelty we inflict, and when do we find it okay. When do we cheer or simply smile smugly? In the end we shoot each other, whether we are already dying or not.

I did smile. I did. Jeff quoted someone else (Mel Brooks?) saying, "it's always funny when a Nazi gets shot." There was a disgusting joy in watching Hitler picked apart in slo mo by bullets. Then, there is the general desire to see some wacky US dudes wreaking terror on the Nazis, tormenting them with the stories of their disgusting rituals.

The winner for best Jeff Toppall quote of the night:

After Brad Pitt gives his wacked-out, violent and non-PC sales pitch to the new recruits, Jeff leans over and says, "Sounds like you at a staff meeting." He would know, but he hasn't seen me in action for over ten years. I have a little more chutzpah now than before. Feel the power.

Honestly, I'll have to see the movie again to stitch it all together. The symbolism is constant, it seems. Time management is amazing. From the old-style credits at the beginning of the movie, QT slows us down to get ready for the lengthy and detailed opening "Chapter." Character development without words, in the faces of the actors, was amazing. The bad guy was really well done. You *knew* him by the end. And you also knew what was coming to him. And it felt good.

Feel the power.

Yes, Yes, O Yes: to remember my toes

I know, I know. Too long without posting! Lack of info, lack of consistency. It's like the rest of my life, things fall apart and I come back later to push it all into a pile again.

You should see my desk. It is an avalanche of paper waiting for a good echo to release it. "Hellooooooo!" Getting my shit together, it seems, is and will be an ongoing project. Honestly, I'm okay with that.

Love and it's complications have arrived. Let us (and by us I mean me) endeavor to keep sight of ourselves (meaning myself and all it's parts... there are many) and making sure we do what is in our best interests. Keep our word, yes. Say the right ones and mean it. Yes, yes. Restate and clarify and then, yes, protect the space.

It is the space I needed, truly. I could probably take more but I too crave the companionship. Alas: I am still figuring myself out. Thank you for your patience. And your honesty and communication. And yes, you did make it thunder, of that I am sure.

Right! Back to me! Ummmm....

O how the mighty have fallen

Or maybe just how they've gotten old. Let's face it folks: I am not 20 years old anymore. I am just not as resilient.

I had to sleep. I pulled over and maybe shoulda set an alarm. I didn't wake up until there was a crying baby outside my window. That'll wake you up.

Okay so it's 7:30 now. I'm relatively well rested after the standard 5 hour nap. I'll miss the Farmer's market on Peoria, but I should be there in time for the Scoggins shin-dig.

Full costume change. Coffee. Rub eyes one more time. Let's go!
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La Vale? MD, about 20 miles from Cumberland

This is one of those towns where all the folks are real nice to each other but not to me. I get the long stare, and then the cold shoulder. Eventually I get the long stare and some sort of interaction, a question maybe. Today, I asked the question, "what town is this?" "It's about twenty 'til..." "No, no. What's the locale? Where are we?"

Where are we?
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Leg 1-a, Metro to airport. Picking up the rental car.

Washington in the summertime: ladies' legs as far as the eye can see. I ain't mad at ya. Metro train gradually fills with suits and skirts. Young gay guy, annoyed at the disheveled proximity. Obvious Jews and those hidden, a brown skinned woman with round features and a subtle necklace pendant engraved with a seven-branched candlestick. Fabulous and fancy, men wearing cologne. If my earbuds weren't pumping Robin Thicke I'd hear four different languages, only two I can identify.

I scoot around slow moving tourists. Not mad at you either. No I'm just getting my adrenaline pumping with a brief jog in flipflops. I'm excited. I grin widely, splitting my cheeks, and just make every connection I need. Effort combined with luck will get me on my way, and keep me as I go. G-d bless.

This is D.C., so varied that I am only one of many brightly colored comments. Mine is not the only head bobbing to personal music, there's a blonde and a dude with twists who's pounding out beats on the hand grip bar.

My city. It accepted me and I took it. A little too buttoned up for most bohemians but a few still camp out here. A little too lefty for the uber-suited, but they've got plans. The grand machinery grinds here. I heard it every night when I slept in the underbelly of Capital Hill, down in the moisture with the bugs.

Here I start, reborn as myself, having found my feet, my root religion. From here I start, going back to Tulsa to meet my past -- the one I left but didn't mean to.
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