Beholden

It is sooooooo good to hear from you!!!-- my stressed out arson detective cousin, bit of a corn puff I was once almost tempted to an incestuous dalliance with when we were packing beers in the  backyard, but this was long ago, far away, and he looked a little like Stallone crossed with Tom Selleck

I tweeted trove's reposting (and how the reprint market will actually function in search engine digital space hints at bizarre absurdity) of Daniel D'Addario's Salon piece on Scarlett Johansson because D'Addario uses the industry tropes I am only just learning, and disparaging, without much thought applied to it, not on his part. Nope. I am the one struggling with what kind of comparative language we're dealing with, how impermanent it might or might not be when it is entirely dependent on how we interpret visual cues received through camera lenses. Do any of us really keep up with all these figures? Why they're in, or out? I simply don't see the beauty in Johansson that D'Addario references as an afterthought. Not even in Lost in Translation's opening shot. Pink panties?  We use underwear to cover, and thus repress, sexual and rectal function in the major orifices where humans still have significant hair coverage in abundance, and to me, Scarlett is Caucasian in color with somewhat African-like facial features. An oddity, this without any real knowledge of her genealogy. To me it is the character that holds interest, whether it be Amanda Plumber trying to hold a B-lead without being fatal to her range (her appearance in Hannibal expected, and, for once, a bit of a cliche), or Patrick Stewart's melt in my mouth virility. But let me not start foaming at the mouth.

I am a bit unwell, and had no intention of launching into this right now, but, like Proust, I'll die with pen in hand. As I had previously predicted, I did feel it, this Jesse my newly failed hire bailing on me. We had a fairy spastic argument, at least once removed. He is annoyed that I challenged his credibility. I realize many of us have shaky security in these times, but I'll be honest with my viewers. My mind doesn't work like that. I have had far too many coincidences with domestic custodians to believe that a guy who lives with a drag queen on South Street interviews with me for over an hour and then has to fly off the fucking handle cause of his mother. He said "It has nothing to do with you."

I hear this as if it's some kind of fungible containment field from ambulatory people who only want to help. It isn't that I think Jesse lied outright, but his mother's need enabled him to renege on me because he had his doubts, which is fine. I am angry, however, and I've often had to sublimate a great deal of that anger in dealing with assistance. I do not know if I can trust him in the future; I have no idea what I'm doing next, either. Letting him go isn't entirely curative, whether or not his mother emergency was genuine: he would not speak to me when I called, which for me rouses suspicion. He didn't need to go into intimate deals simply to speak to me-- and for me this is a signature way of telling me he wrote me off. Instead, he might have told me he didn't want the work in the first place.