Don't Act a Fool

I saw the new Michel Gondry movie, The Science of Sleep this past weekend. I liked it plenty, but can't really say it was what I'd hoped for. Ah, forget that. I'm glad I saw it. It left more questions asked than answered, but I'm okay with that.

Before the film began, the requisite messages of etiquette flashed on the screen. "Please abstain from using cellphones or pagers during the film," blah blah blah. Of course, all of the messages come down to common sense and really imply, "Don't be a jerk. You've got other people around you and you're not any more important than they are. Pipe down and let everyone get his money's worth." My friend Ryan put it succinctly: "Don't act a fool." I hope theaters eventually adopt this phrase in lieu of the current palaver regarding cellphones, crying babies, talking loudly, and generally causing a ruckus at the movies.

One interesting part of the film involved the protagonist dreaming that he had enormous hands. Gondry used the big hands in the Foo Fighters video for "Everlong," as well. Nice callback, Michel (pictured on the right). My favorite part of that video is towards the end when the drummer sits up in bed. The surrounding blankets fall away to reveal his drum set and he goes from sleep to playing in an instant. It's cut so well. When he first sits up and begins drumming, his cymbals and high-hats are missing, but in the next shot, they're there. It's barely noticeable. Mama likes.


So far, the beginning of October seems to be about recovering from the end of September. It's been a rough few weeks and I feel discouraged and burdened. However, I'm a bounce-back kind of gal and there are many moments in even the most stressful day when I notice that I feel quite good and hopeful. Today, I'm anxious about how much I want to do, but, again, I am hopeful that I can achieve my goals. Heck, I've already knocked out some of that pesky list, so that's a start.

Let's keep the stream-of-consciousness rolling here and I'll tell you about Grace Coufal. I think that's how her name was spelled. Mrs. Coufal lived across the street from my grandparents on Daly Avenue in Missoula, Montana. I used to visit there every summer until I was around 15, I guess. I loved Missoula and, sometimes, on a summer evening, just for a second, the east coast can smell a bit like Montana to me.

Mrs. Coufal was well into her eighties when I knew her and invited me over at least once during each visit to my grandparents. We made cookies together. She chose almond cookies and they often ended up looking sort of like the picture here to the left. They were nowhere near my favorite kind, but I really enjoyed spending time with her. She was one of those old women who had everything tidy and in place. She was permanently kind and amused. She had thick, wavy, grey hair that she wore short, but it managed to look old-worldish to me. She might have been rather tall and I know she was slim. I can't remember if she'd ever married or had children, but she was alone when I knew her. You could do a lot worse for yourself than being Grace Coufal, let me tell you. I admired her.

Sometimes I think I should go back to Missoula for a vacation and bother the people living in my grandparents' old home until they let me tour through the place. That house was the single most entertaining piece of architecture a child could visit, for two special reasons: 1. Laundry chutes. 2. Secret Door in the back of two, adjacent closets. COME ON, PEOPLE. YOU CANNOT BEAT THESE.

I'll blab more about the secret door in a bit. For now, I'll publish this little post and get back to work.

SECRET DOOR, PEOPLE!