Saturday afternoon.
Lying flat, no contemplation.
Isn't it sort of dark for 4 p.m.?
Trying to listen to the misty rain.
I know, I've got to get up and do something more productive, but let me just enjoy this ceiling-gazing for a moment...
One more minute, one more minute, and one more of that.
もう少し、もう少しだけ を もう少しだけ
Okay, I know nothing about acting. So if I praised an actor for his performance, he might feel humiliated rather than be flattered, like, let's say, a high-school celeb girl (maybe this analogy is humiliating too, though), when she makes a grand late entrance into a lab to show off her new bohemian-like knitted stockings, to find her plain auntie teacher wearing exactly the same. So please be generous, Sam Rockwell, when I say I think you're a very talented, versatile actor.
For example, I just fall for Rockwell when he, as a puppy-eyed sensitive genius in Charlie's Angels softly kisses Barrymore, walks away, then stretches himself "grrrr" to soul music... and snap! reveals who he really is: half-psychedelic, half-sexy enemy plotting to kill her boss.
Yes, I'd definitely shake-n-bake for you, Sam!この人好きー！と言いまわりたい、でも知名度はソコソコでとどまってほしい。（＝「誰やったっけ・・・？ いつもいい味だしてるねんけど」くらい）
Had my hair chopped off this past weekend - almost 10 inches - and now I feel so cute!
One problem, if any, is that the James Brown song keeps playing on and on and I cannot get it off my mind: I feel good, lah-di la-di la-di da...というわけで 今秋のテーマは「雰囲気のあるショートヘアの女性」ってそんな歌口ずさんでたら駄目ですよね・・・
It was another ordinary and orderly Sunday afternoon. I was folding (and sniffing) the laundry, and AFN radio started playing this song that went like, "The weatherman says goodnight... the refrigerator stops, and suddenly it's quiet."
And suddenly, flashback memories of the studio apartment on Landfair Ave.: how the on-and-off whirrs of the pale fridge made me feel so all alone in the dark. And how, somehow, though I really don't want to admit, the howls of those frat guys across the street canceled out the sound and made me feel better.
Something was so wrong with me the other day when I went to see a gynecologist. Every glass I saw was half empty.
It was nothing but a just-in-case cancer test, but I was all occupied with this imaginative "unfortunately…" ICU scene, and dragged myself back to Shin-Ochanomizu Station past busy Guitar Street, with my AV modes fixed at "display: bw; mute: on".
But easy come and easy go.
The moment I spotted Tools art supply shop and let myself flow into it, the remote was pressed to full color & hi-fi. This is the place that I call the Color Spa: I just deeply breathe in and gaze at an array of Staedtler transparent templates, whisper color names on Faber-Castell colored pencils, take Holbein drawing inks off the shelf, study, and carefully put the bottles back as if to rewind the move, and voila, all the worries are gone.
It'd be a little too much if I said the 1-hour therapy filled up the glasses, but it was truly enough to help me see them half full.
[色彩の効果]
カラーセラピーやら難しいコトは分かりませんが
絵具を見ると、心が洗われ、研ぎ澄まされます。
そういえば小学生のとき
ホルベインのコバルトブルーのドローイングインクを
三宮センター街のナガサワで買ってもらって
時折わけもなく引出しから出しては蛍光灯に透かして・・・
てことをしていました。 相変わらずです。
Saturday afternoon.
