February 27th, 2010

Flamenco

Back home from the Flamenco Gala

Had a nice night hanging out with M and catching up. There seems like we have so much more to say. I do hope she enjoyed the dancing tonight; we're trying to find more time to spend together, but it's hard. I swear that girl does not know how to find a job that won't suck up all her time.

Right now: home, drinking Maderia, writing up the show. Tiiiired.
Jizo

Get up. Get out of bed. Drag a ... wait, I haven't got out of bed yet.

Oh, one of those mornings when I understand my mother better.

She died at 53, in 2001. Not my goal, you understand; my goal is to live as long as either of my grandmothers, about 89. Maybe longer. But I don't think dying at 53 was my mom's goal.

Anyway, for all of high school and even junior high, I would come home from school and my mom would still be in bed. I guess it didn't register to me it was abnormal. She'd get up after a while, and make dinner, then sit up late watching tv. I think she'd probably break into some wine after I went to bed, but I don't remember ever seeing this, just the empty bottles in the garbage, which mostly never registered as having an meaning.

Someone convinced me at some point that all of this was due to my mom being an alcoholic. Sure, her yelling at us to keep things down on Saturday mornings was probably a hangover talking, but not this staying in bed until 3. I get it now, this morning, laying in bed until 11, letting myself fall asleep again and again, feeling gravity pulling me down so strong, urging me to stay there on my back, on my side, eyes closed, letting the dreams come and go and time pass, and pass, and pass.

Yeah, it's my mom. And it's not alcoholism, it's depression. I hate how I'm getting to understand her better and better as I get older. I worry that I'm replaying her mistakes, too, but I'm seeing now that so many of them weren't really about having bad taste in boyfriends or a feeling of entitlement (that a man should pay her way through life) but probably so much more about being depressed to the point of near paralysis, and then just finally giving up.
Sea dragon

Ozu, Flamenco, and the end of Mehbruary

In my calendar of events, July and August are Russian ballet, and February is Flamenco. My last review of the Flamenco festival, the Gala Flamenca last night, is up now, but I'm thinking of doing a recap of the highlights. I only missed one show and, retrospectively, I enjoyed it so much I should have slipped in the other one. Next year I'll do them all!

It's often turned out that the darks of winter are also when I will hit a movie festival. In Seattle, this was facilitated by excellent programming at the Grand Illusion and the Northwest Film Forum. Here, the BFI provides more than I can take in, and on a monthly basis. I dipped heavily into its Guy Maddin retrospective; and the last two months I crammed in all of the Ozu I could managed. This afternoon is my last movie, Green Tea Over Rice. I'll write about the series as a whole sometime tomorrow - and I should probably slide my one play review for this week to Up The West End, as it's always nice to have a friend patting me on the back for helping them make their fun project a success.

Tonight, party and friends; tomorrow, games and my place and at least one friend. Now, get off of couch and go find one of the cute Alice in Wonderland shirts they're peddling at Miss Selfridges before they sell out.