Blog On A Cold, Damp Day

Tropical storm left-overs...
wind & wet like splotches from an upturned ketchup bottle.
Raining steady as I drive out to the airport,
pick-up dad & Beverly from their Florida sabbatical.
Soon as we're home,
I'm out the door for my Saturday routine.
An egg 'n cheese bagel & juice in Easton...
reading a few chapters in the lot.
Then down to Bridgewater coffeeshop.
Type this & start on Slamdance Horror Screenplay pages
(can't find the original files, only pdf print-out...
so any typo & re-phrasings I have to do from scratch).

Little hung-over & tired.
I'm in line last night at Shaws express line,
the woman in front of me stretching her 15 items
across the entire conveyer.
My tuna fish & Triscuits are bunched in the corner.
Suddenly,
some jackass behind me plummets his carriage down
atop my would-be-purchases.
I know there's no room but what the hell?
I turn around & it's Paul.
We chat.
He stops by house later on,
after making sure his mom is to bed.
We drink beers & watch Anton Newscombe in DIG
courtesey of dad's Comcast On-Demand.
Weird hanging out in the parlor,
drinking Sam Adams.
But it's the only really exhibit of rebellion--
dad's away so the kids will play!
Whoo-hoo.

As usual-- no big talk just the small updates.
Martina's in Budhapest.
I gripe about the Annette re-shoot.
Chit-chat. No bigee.

I guess I'm so conditioned these days,
in constant penance,
that I forget what it's like to have friends.
My brother is quite another breed--
he has a pack of old high school buddies.
Al, Sully, Ray, etc. etc.
All rosy healthy apple-sounding names.
Me?
Paul & Shane, I guess.
But I'm barely a good friend.
I put little effort into it, I freely admit.
Just not in the mood to hang out & do what?
Drink? BBQ?
None of these old friendships seem constructive...
just patterns repeating themselves.
Habits & comfort like a winter scarf
that comes off the shelf every winter.
It's a lousy perspective.
But I can't feel anything deeper.

Let's face it, though...
I'd be the same if I had a whole gaggle of new friends--
film peers & urbane 30somethings,
united in the same artistic struggle.
As my brother put it the other day:
it's just the way I'm built.