proof: (1992)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Proof is Jocelyn Moorhouse's (How to Make an American Quilt) multi-award winning directorial debut is the intensely original story of a cynical blind man who compulsively takes photographs to document his world but can't find anyone he trusts to describe the pictures for him. In English. (2:00)

-- Tuesday, July 20, 1999 --

12:28 p.m. The hours tick away, and I feel mute and frustrated because I don't really have a topic for today. I've neatened the place up, ordered some Alps cartridges from MacZone, and I'm still waiting for my inspiration. Some days the little wading pool is bone dry.

I knew a guy once, I forget his name, but I do remember his irritating nit. Whenever he couldn't come up with a story, he used to hand me a bunch of pencils to sharpen and then he used to line them up, perfectly, on the edge of his desk. He actually used his ruler to make sure they were straight. Maybe he wrote out words from each one until he blunted the point, and then thought the next pencil would hold the word he was looking for, or the next, or the next. I used to think, my back to him and my arm twirling the little black sharpener knob on the wall, that I was really glad to have my job, and not his. With my job, I could actually see the progress.

But I was ambitious, and now, of course, I've got his job.

Here is a list of small things, instead of any one big idea.

1. I had a nice bath last night. I always use really cheap shampoo for bubbles. They foam like crazy, last the whole bath and they keep the bathtub clean, too. Luckily, now that we've moved, the tub is a little bigger. Believe it or not, the last tub, in a humble cottage built in the '20s, was actually almost getting too small for me. Either it was my imagination -- the sides of me were touching the sides of it -- either that, or it was the time of the month and the tub was just retaining water.

2. Last night I also made potatoes and broccoli, using a new way to cook that's almost foolproof, diet-wise. I will share it with you now. First, you go out and buy a jar of chopped-up garlic in olive oil, or you make your own. Lots and lots of garlic. Scoop out mostly garlic, lay it in a heavy-bottom pan, and add whatever veggies you have around: onions, celery, potatoes, carrots, leeks -- all chopped into nice little squares.

Now, here's the secret diet-tip, which I invented myself: sprinkle the whole thing with lots of bouillon, either chicken or veggie. Add enough water to get the thing gooey as you heat it up slowly, mixing it up with a wooden spoon, moving it all around. Add lots of pepper and Mrs. Dash-type spices, whichever are your own particular favorites. Keep stirring and raise the heat. Eventually, add cooked broccoli and then some parmesan cheese, or if you're not lamely dieting, whatever cheese you like.

Eat.

3. Also last night, since we're lucky enough to have cable, I saw a really good movie, as usual, on the Independent Film Channel called Proof, with a young Russell Crowe, an almost-dead kitty in a trash can, and another young boy who loves his mamma. Previously, on the movie channels, there have been kitties in distress (Gummo), and boys who love their mammas and their mamma's fancy clothes (I've got to go look this one up -- it didn't have a memorable name -- but it did have Julie Walters). I'll find it and add the info. That's the fun part about an online journal -- you can look it up later and seem smarter than you actually are. That movie also starred the guy who later had his own TV series on a major network, for maybe a microsecond. He played a character who was supposed to be pure evil. Plus, he slept in a cardboard box, all curled up naked and loiny. That part I remember. His name, I forget.

4. I read some more of Cryptonomicon and I'm sort of liking it more now. It's becoming something of an old comfy friend, a few pages a night, nothing too exciting, very chewy, keeps you going like a handful of really intense homemade trail mix. Finally, before I went to bed, I read a little bit on the alt. current films newsgroup about the Blair Witch because I'm too chicken to go and see the movie for myself. Even reading the descriptions of the story gives me the creeps, makes it spooky when I have to go upstairs and all the lights are out. I can imagine a hand coming around the corner and grabbing mine before I can get the light switched on. Or somebody creeping up as I'm pouring the shampoo in the tub. Oooooo.

Imagination is a fearsome thing, a mystery, a miracle.

I only wish I had a little more of it right now.

Tomorrow -- an entire month on line.