Had the craziest nightmare last night. Made no sense. Only thing I can reason for its occurrence is the puzzled emptiness I was left with after watching the movies Henry Fool, and Fay Grim back to back. In the end, Leonardo Dicaprio was the guy who fell down from his injuries and began eating his entrails, since he reasoned entrails shouldn't be sticking out of one's gut, and since he was numb in the area anyway, where they were protruding, eating them would get them back into his stomach.
A lot of Hal Hartley fans think Fay Grim, the sequel to Henry Fool was a total disaster. I liked it. I still watch it occasionally but since I got rid of my Tivo, I've had to resort to my own burned copy of the movie. The quality sucks. I can notice small blips in the background music where the audio skips. It has to be a computer glitch because I don't remember these tarnishes whenever I would watch this movie with the Tivo device.
I've been talking a lot of shit about typing my blog entries with a manual typewriter and scanning them into the computer to upload to lj as a .jpg file. It's doubtful that will ever happen. I know how some zinesters love to use their old typewriter for their zines but I haven't made a zine in such a long time; just because I felt nobody ever bothered to read them.
So as a peace offering, I'm scanning the notes I took last night when I sat thru both Henry Fool & Fay Grim. It makes no sense, so I'll try to clarify some oddities.
You know how sometimes news reporters play themselves in movies. Ana Garcia did a scene or two in Day after tomorrow. Well, the film Henry & Fay takes place in Woodside, Queens. I don't know if Woodside is also the town Ana Garcia grew up in, but because she's mentioned plenty of times that she is from Queens, I thought it would be awesome to try to get in touch with Maraya Chase, a character in Henry Fool who gives a report of the chaos overrunning the town as a protest over the notorious poet Simon Grim breaks out.
Then I try to figure out when all this stuff actually transpires. Then I realize that, deep down in my subconscious, the only reason I am trying to learn these dates is because it may bring me that much closer to Ana Garcia. I mean, after all, there's a limit to how much a person can get his rocks off by listening to Parker Poser and Elina Löwensohn say my name.
The really stupid thing about all this is the name Henry use to be my name. And then, as I joined the work force, my real real name began to be used more frequently. Because I never liked my real real name, I filed some paperwork to have it legally changed. Heres the kicker. Ready?
I changed my name to something else besides Henry. Why, you ask? Because, and this gets complicated, all my friends I used to know in school disappeared off the face of the planet—no contact, no effort to locate, don't care anymore—so that made me fall back on the christian name that I was brought up with (even though I was brought up under a name not my real name) because my family is still around, and they still call me Rico. So it's done.
I am bitter about it. But my bitterness derives from other things. Perhaps a good analyses would make for another interesting post some day.