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We were watching the cable tv this past weekend. There was an elaborate advertisement for what appeared to be an oversized awning to attach to a patio. I thought the voiceover said: protection against subatomic waste. My first thought was: subatomic waste is what people are worried about but you know, it’s a culture of fear. My second thought was: how is an oversized awning going to protect people from that? Then I realized the voiceover actually promised protection from the suns harmful rays.

I don’t mind window-lickers, but not window-lickers on the short bus.

noun. For outbound calls, she offers extentions to press or blandly states the number is not inservice. For incoming calls, she offers deals on drycleaning or satellite tv ( today I picked up the landline and she said: I’m sorry. I’m not sure what to think of that).

We got a new second hand mattress and box spring so we had to get rid of the old set. Where I’m from, rural Wisconsin, one would normally throw the old mattress in a ditch or burn it in the back forty. The city of St. Paul frowns on such disposal methods so we had to find a “recycling” place. Places that take old mattresses also only take cash. We tied the mattress and boxspring to the top of the Buick (not an actual Buick; a Cutlass with the stoic trappings of a Buick) and drove to the bank. This is near the capital buildings, so we took University Avenue. We drove passed the hotel furniture place where we got the mattress a few years ago, passed the weak attempt at genrification via stripmalls (don’t forget to play “spot-the-crackwhore” — there she is!) and into the Frogtown, the neighborhood of dualing Vietnamese Restaurants. After acquiring our cash, we admired the reflection of the Buick in the government buildings and drove into downtown St. Paul and wiggled around until we crossed the Wabasha Street bridge. Wabasha becomes Concord and the restaurants become Mexican. This is the west side. There are caves to visit when we don’t have a mattress on our car. We drove down Concord, which becomes one lane either way due to the other side being dug up. Railroad ties is what they are finding and putting on trucks. Then we turned left. Crossed some tracks. The first pole-shed/warehouse is iron, then wood, then down further is more of the consumer goods. The office of this recycling facility was plastered with framed photos of Ronald Reagan; young Reagan, Reagan on horseback, Reagan with Bush Sr, etc. There were also American flags, and photos of Jesus and fishing trips. We unloaded and leaned the mattress and boxspring up against other, older and more floral mattresses. Briefly, we watched the workers clammering around on the charred pile of chairs and tables and other artifacts of broken homes.
Then we had lunch.

I found a business card at work for a paving and curbing company in southern California. It had the usual contact info plus this vague job title below the contact name: lifestyle enhancement provider.

I saw a bus yesterday that announced the smoking ban with a billboard that read: fresh air coming to bars and restaurants near you. Seems a little odd coming from a bus. The smoking ban in Minneapolis, Bloomington, and St. Paul went into affect March 31st. I think it’s lame, cityhall (or whoever) trying to impose “clean air” into venues where it doesn’t belong. When I go to a bar or nightclub, part of the experience for me is the second hand smoke. I’ve dabbled in smoking but it’s not a vice I took up fulltime. I like the smell of smoke and appreciate the additional filter second-hand smoke provides. Plus, smoke disguises the rank of sweaty drunkies at nightclubs. Now, people have to go outside, where at least before it was contained. I think fresh air is important on the outside. I would rather wash the cigarette smoke out of my hair and clothes than hear about another air quality warning where delicate lungs should stay indoors. If people drove less gas-guzzlers, clean air might have a fighting chance. But the people like their large cars, they’ll do anything to keep them and still believe in clean air. So the smoking ban it is.

Last night we watched Harvey (1950). I’ve watched this Jimmy Stewart movie numerous times, last night I really noticed how taoist the protagonist, Elwood P. Dowd is. Elwood is a child-like guy with a 6′4 Rabbit (Harvey) as a best friend. In the first scene, he accepts an official letter from the mailman while saying that everyday is a beautiful day, then Elwood casually tears up the letter without opening it; his mind so empty, he’s like an idiot. Both Harvey and Elwood enjoy their martinis. The drinking and the embarassment of him having an imaginary friend has motivated Elwood’s sister Vita to try to institutionalize Elwood. This turn of events really brings out Elwood’s taoist nature. He doesn’t reject anyone, he doesn’t take sides; Elwood welcomes saints and sinners alike (he invites nearly everyone from a ex-con to a psychologist over for dinner). He gets to know the taxi driver while Vita is inside signing the commitment papers. Vita is emotional and neurotic, Elwood is calm and content, acting without expectations. He chats with the nurse, then another nurse, he has nothing to prove so people trust his words. Elwood doesn’t force things, while there is much confusion among the psychiatric staff about whether it is Vita or Elwood who needs the help, Elwood continues to be approachable to everyone, leading without imposing his will, and the plot unfolds through the nonaction of Elwood. He gives them nothing to oppose. He lets the demands made on him come and go, without desire. He also seems to work with the mind of others, recognizing the amorous connection between the nurse, Miss Kelly, and Dr. Sanderson, the psychologist. This mild matchmaking is also done without expectations. Despite the attempts of others (perhaps with a bit of help from a taxi driver) Elwood endures as a martini drinker and a very plesant person.

This is where my new morning temp job is. The building is brick and nondescript. The interior is wood panelling and copper letters on each door, spelling out each vague office (ex: C&C Regional). People walking in the hallway are mostly drones in misfitting suits, marking their day with smoke breaks. My actual duties involves calling businesses in St.Louis and Portland, giving away free tickets to home and garden expos. I mostly “hold the line” to talk to another voicemail, all the while doodling MC Escher imitations on my legal pad.
For those who like coincidences: I started this job on March 14th (3/14). The area code in St. Louis is 314. The code for me to make long distances calls is 314. The suite is 215. It all adds up to 8. Uncanny.

This past week I’ve watched four Cassavetes movies, two lite new releases, and the last thirty five minutes of the Academy Awards. The Oscars were predictable. As were the new releases (even the plot twists were cliches if not outright a remake). I feel cautious about seeing any of the Oscar sweeping films. People have told me the two main winners are good, they stay with you. I am skeptical. Especially after seeing A Woman Under The Influence directed by John Cassavetes. That movie stays with you more that I think a recent Oscar winner would. Cassavetes characters are consistantly unpredictable and human. The awkward silence after someone yells at the dinner table are felt palpably on this side of the screen. The film is about a housewife that appears to be crazy. Mostly, it’s about the people in her life trying to cope with emotions related to Mabel’s behavior but also resisting sympathy for Mabel’s plight; they want to believe they are different from her. Faces shows the last stage of deterioration of a marriage, when each half of the couple is acting out in desperation. The end result is ambiguous. Cassavetes challenges the viewers expectations to the point of discomfort. Then there’s the slapping. In all of his movies, someone will be slapped. At first I thought this odd and extreme then I watched the documentary A Constant Forge that is included in the John Cassavetes - Five Films - Criterion Collection and realized the slapping is a last attempt to wake someone out of their coma. The seemingly real-time pacing creates an intimacy that lacks in recent Hollywood releases. Cassavetes movies are about people, regular people who aren’t so smart or special, having these breaking-point moments. The characters’ actions remind me that although we’d like to think we’re above and beyond the crazy behavior in his movies, nobody is. We’re human thus cruel and tender simultaneously.

noun. sheath of rankness. “The waiter at Bakers Square is doused in hobo cologne.”