I'm also the hugest procrastinator of all time, so as the moments and minutes fade away and my time in Seattle draws closer and closer to an end, I've done pretty much nothing in terms of moving. Last night, a little panicked and perhaps a little jacked up on coffee, I decided I'd accomplish two things. Both failed, here's why:
1. I have two computers. One huge and at one point the source of all things Noah Sanders. Well, as I'm moving in to a room with another person, I'm trying to downsize huge things, thus the big IMac is getting hocked to a new owner. Last night I went about trying to turn the damn thing in to an empty slate, only to realize that the "restore discs" I was supposed to have were probably subject to one of my "clean the room, garbage can" binges I tend to have every once in awhile. Thus, I sat in front of my computer, stewing in my ignorance, fist-shaking at Apple 'cause they couldn't talk to me right then and there. Anybody need an older IMac, a little loved, but still functional as the day she was born? I'll take food stamps and shiny objects in pay.
2. I'm trying to piece together a resume so I can make good on all the contacts and references I've been offered in the last few days (no joking, good people of Sea-town have really came through for this guy). So I sit down last evening, still wrought with panic, and try to update the old resume so it looks like I'm consummate coffee professional, and it takes me twenty-five minutes to remember what kind of machine we use at the coffee shop I spend almost my entire life at. It takes me another twenty-five minutes to eek out the line, "Skilled with customers" and then I'm done. Thus, I sat in front of the computer, heart pounding, back sweating, resume an incomplete mess.
Now, one might think these mirror some inability for me to make drastic changes in my life. But I'd like to say, no thank you sir, they only mirror my stupidity and inability to do anything early unless forced by gun. I'm stupid, not wussy.
Jean Cocteau has somehow broken down my barriers against boring, because I'm actually enjoying the first hour or so of Testament of Orpheus (69). Sure, it's still a film about a man on a journey to discover what it is that draws him and his art together, and sure, it still features after-school crafts special effects and some intensely philosophical dialogue that swan dives over my head, but I'm not itching to turn the damn thing off either. The reason for this is because, Jean Cocteau stopped making films after Testament of Orpheus (69) but instead of just putting out a puff piece and then retiring to a life of golden bathtubs and underage French mistresses, Cocteau instead wrote, directed and starred in a film that analyzes his own life as a filmmaker. The characters from The Orphic Trilogy all make appearances here, but in varied, almost exposed ways. We are looking at Jean Cocteau as the subject of scrutiny and each of these characters becomes a reflection of his reasoning behind creating film. Cocteau is actually quite a skilled actor, and I found myself laughing out loud at some of his wide-eyed asides. I'm a sucker for this sort of meta shit, so hearing Jean Cocteau defend his art form to two characters he created, gets me all sorts of, well, excited.I'm telling you, this is still not the most fascinating of trilogies, but hey, at least one isn't gut-punching with me boredom.
Thursday: Testament of Orpheus (69)
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