Happy Late Night, Sweet Baby,
I hope you had a blast at Rock The Green! I had to Google it to discover that it is more than a music fest but also has an environmental cause behind it. Very cool, and in the pix on their website it looks like a huge event. I am guessing you had a band there, and that was a cute pic you posted. I like the facepaint. :)
You are sure putting in the miles with your work, I know Milwaukee is at about 100 miles away, right? Iam ready for another road trip myself, but it might be Spring before I get to it. Man, I wish I could go to the Desert Trip festival, coming up in early October. But there's no way, unfortunately. Oh well. I really wanted to see Paul McCartney most of all, and he will surely be back again.
Tonight I watched a movie called "This Sporting Life" (1963) which I heard of because Bill Nelson posted about it on Facebook. It is apparently one of his favorite movies ever, and because he is one of my favorite musicians and all-around artists, I decided to check it out. Plus it's on Criterion......
Well, it was really good, but very heavy. The legendary Richard Harris stars as a rugby player who is more or less angry at the world. As a side note, in the early 60s there was a school of filmmaking in England called the Angry Young Man style. These were films about disaffected young men with a lot of existential angst railing against the class-consciousness of British society. It was kind of like their version of the films of Marlon Brando and James Dean over here in America. Anyway, Richard Harris was a truly great actor, and in this movie he becomes a star player for his team but resents the wealthy owners. He is in love with his widowed landlady, a tormented soul herself who rebuffs him on and off throughout the film. His own boorish behavior doesn't help.
It's a very involving film to watch, though a bit overlong and not a film that would bear repeat viewings, I don't think, at least not for me because it's so, so, melodramatic and heavy.
I mean, gimme some romance or a happy ending or at least something to break up the torment, lol.
But that was the Angry Young Man school of the 60s, in British filmmaking. I guess they had a lot to be pissed about. :)
I had another nice hike this afternoon going up the Mario DeCampos trail toward Mission Point (aka "The Three Trees"). I wrote about this trail a couple weeks ago, and that time I went a mile up. This time, I went a mile and a quarter, which is a little more that halfway. It took me 27 minutes to go up, and 20 minutes to come back down. Not too shabby! The first time I went there (2014) I went all the way to the top, but it took me 65 minutes. Now I could probably do it in 50 or less, and then it would take about 35 to come back down, a piece of cake compared to my first try, which seemed epic back then, and it still is because it's an incline the whole way up for 2.2 miles, until you have climbed 1200 feet. I like it because it's now another "quickie hike" for me, and also because it's a workout, but mostly because there is a super good vibe on that trail, probably due to the man it is named after - Dr. DeCampos himself. He apparently used to walk to the top all the time. He lived nearby and loved the trail, and after he passed away they named it after him. So the vibe is good and I wanna start going up on a semi-regular basis.....
Tomorrow is church and choir. We are singing an easy one, a Spiritual called "Ride On King Jesus". After choir practise I am gonna take my sister Sophie shopping in Burbank, so I should be back by 3:30 or so. And I will also be around before church. :)
I will resume writing about 1989 tomorrow night. As I go through the evidence and scenarios, which I've been doing for at least a month now, it becomes a more stringent process of boiling things down. And it all requires a ton of focus as I've said before, so I kind of have to switch from "daily thinking" to "1989", say while I am on my walk or otherwise in a musing mode, and then I have to decide what bit of evidence - and what angle of that evidence - I am gonna examine each night. Most nights I am successful, but as I write night after night the evidence is reduced.....
Anyhow, last night I mentioned that "BC" called me by my middle name, which is the name I am known by to family and friends. We examined his usage of my middle name and concluded that he could not have known that by simply "coming into the situation cold". Instead, someone must have used my middle name - my main name as it were - in his presense. That's how he knew I was called Adam and not James, which is my first name.
Well, BC wasn't the only one to do that.
The insane Mr. Rappaport also called me Adam. Over and over again. Even though I did not know him, and had never met him (he and his family had moved to 9033 Etiwanda in late 1988), he seemed to know a lot about me. And one of the things he knew was that I am called "Adam".
That's what everybody calls me since I was born.
The only people who call me James, as stated last night, are people who don't know me. And they call me that because it is usually in an "official capacity', after I have filled out a form at, say, the DMV or somewhere. My apt. manager calls me James because that's how I sign my rent checks.
But Jared Rappaport, whom I had never met in my life on the night he knocked on the front door of my house at 9032, called me Adam once he got me inside his house.
How did he know that was my name; what I am called?
That's a good question, and I will explore it a little bit tomorrow night. There really isn't much to explore, but anyway......
See you in the morn, SB. I Love You. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxo :):)
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