Monday, May 25, 2009

the magic of weekends

This has been an excellent weekend:

1 chocolate bread pudding
1 old movie involving glamorous people, jewel thievery, and France
1 new movie involving exploding spaceships and amusing accents
1 cemetery, beautiful at twilight
3 kids
5 dogs
30 new acquaintances (approx.)
an indeterminate amount of phenomenal potato salad

I also just discovered that an old friend of mine will be in town on Friday with his gal! I haven't seen him forever -- certainly not since he moved to Australia -- so this is officially fantastic.

To celebrate all of this cumulative awesomeness, I bring you two works of audiovisual magic:

I never went to the prom, but even I can tell you that this is officially The World's Best Prom Slow Dance/Necking Music of All Time. I mean, seriously -- how can anyone possibly resist all those shebop-shebops?

That John Foxx, back in 1983, was an exquisite man. Trouble is, I think he knew it -- but I'd still totally flirt with him based on cheekbone structure alone.

Side note: I just did some more noodling around online, and discovered that Foxx is an exquisite writer, too. His work reminds me of that of Ray Bradbury: the same sense of decay and dislocation, although with only an echo of Bradbury's longing.

I once met Bradbury a while ago on a film shoot. He'd recently had a stroke, but also had moments of lucidity and seemed perfectly happy to grant an interview. After we shot the segment (I was camera assisting) and packed everything away, I snatched a moment alone with Bradbury to tell him how much I loved his work and how deeply honored I was to have the chance to meet him. He was silent for a moment, slowly refocusing his eyes on me, only to grant me a gummy smile and a cheery "Hello!" I was utterly forlorn for weeks afterward. I'm not sure what I had been hoping for; how can you be Best Friends Forever with your idol when when he's old enough to be your grandfather? It's a bittersweet experience, finally meeting someone you've cherished like a lost love for years, only to realize you've met them too late.

As with Bradbury, I regret that I can't meet Foxx (or should I say Dennis Leigh?) in a parallel reality where we'd be the same age. Reminds me of the phase I went through a few years ago where I had a crush on a statue at the Huntington Library. I'm not goth, I'm gothic -- allow me my tender reveries. Shush.


  1. Do you have a pic or a link to said statue? I'm curious...

  2. Sadly, no. It was a while ago, I can't remember the name of the bust's subject or its artist, and I can't find an image of the darned bust online! (Except, of course, as pictured in wide shots from far away.)

    I just left a message with the Huntington's art dept., we'll see what happens....

  3. Victory is mine! I found the statue (info below), but here's the interesting thing: he used to be displayed under different lighting, which made him look much younger than he does now. Funny how marble can contain that degree of detail, and be that easily influenced by lighting.

    Or was my imagination that active?


    William Howley, Archbishop of Canterbury


    Maker: Francis Legatt Chantrey
    British, 1781 - 1841

    height: 21 13/16 in. (55.5 cm.)


    The Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens

    Accession No. 67.4

    Possibly by family descent to William Howley Kingsmill of Sydmorton Court; with Heim Gallery, 1966; acquired by The Huntington, 1966

    view image at