Watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind again

probably for the millionth time. I remember watching this movie for the first time when I was in Oregon. Life was different back then and it was almost 10 years ago. I kinda feel like a sap saying it, but this it's such a romantic movie. The Jon Brion soundtrack. The colors. The dialog. The outfits. That grit in the film that gives it an almost British feel. All the rich shades of New York. Sure it's a bit romanticized, but it isn't slapped on the way cities are slapped on as backdrops to sitcoms. It's part of the movie's DNA.

I remember my first winter in New York. Feeling lost. Not sure what I was doing there or how long I'd be there. The cold winter air dry as concrete. Making random telephone calls to friends, getting a few from friends. And as the seasons changed and the walks grew longer, sometimes alone, sometimes with new company, those phone calls came fewer and further in between. Unexpected phone calls. Like sand paintings. "Thanks for calling." Like a sweet but unsentimental closing in a card that frays with our memories into nothing.

Things change. I've changed. And this, my thirty-third year, has been full of dramatic changes. And while I'm sitting on my couch, with a stomach filled with take-out pad thai and most of a twenty ounce Diet Coke, watching this movie I've seen a million times, I'm still relishing it.

The media vs. hurricane

I have to admit, I was a little scared at first. The first hurricane to hit New York in a really long time. And we took some precautions, got some extra rations, put away all the little things that might go flying around if one of the windows gave, unplugged all electronics, and put a lot of stuff we didn't want to get wet in the upper storage areas of the closet just in case one of the windows gave, and the rooms became inundated with water.

And we watched the news. Between each commercial break, you'd see a interstitial flash of stock video footage of tidal waves, lightning flashes, and palm trees waving around like pompoms. But if you listened closely to what the anchormen were saying, you could tell things were actually getting better.

- "This could still be a category 1 hurricane with sustained winds of up to 74mph." Basically, the weatherman is giving the definition of a hurricane, a hypothetical situation rather than an impending one.

- In one interview, the reporter asks an emergency crewman if people can use sandbags for the next hurricane if they don't use them this time.

- And of the major selling points, millions of people will be affected. While this is true, really, any storm over Manhattan would affect millions of people. It doesn't mean the world is going to end.

Meanwhile, rain was falling gently outside. What was supposed to be the worst of Irene got pushed out from 2am, to 6am, to 8am. Looking at a couple weather websites showed sustained wind up to 60mph. While that's nothing to sneeze at, it's not catastrophic either.

So long as a stray branch doesn't go crashing through the window, and depending on how much the subways are going to get flooded (it really doesn't take much to flood the subways), I'm guessing things won't be so bad. I understand the need for authorities to take the most conservative precautions when lives are at stake, but really this doesn't seem like that bad of a situation at all.

My quiet little niche.

I don't mind the time I have to myself these days. Sure, there could probably be more things I could be doing. But whereas in the past, my soul was running on a treadmill, I'd say these days it's taking a tranquil walk.

And that isn't to say I didn't do anything this weekend. Went to J-Town with Scott for a quick bite and a little festival music, nursing a hangover dealt the night before, where I met up with some folks from Fire Fly for a bar hop and a few drinks. Today I dusted Roomba off and set him loose in my room, haphazardly bumping into things, earning each scratch of white paint on his bumper.

I had an argument with Brian again. This is a recurring theme in my life. I'd like to think as people move forward in life, they can bring others along with them. But sometimes hanging out with Brian feels like I have a lasso tied around my waist, tied to an anchor. When given the choice, some people simply refuse change.

I also spent time with Jane on the phone. Like the summer, our long-distance relationship is quickly drawing to a close. Meeting Jane has been one of the most awesome experiences in my life. At this point in my life, I'm more independent and experienced that I have been in the past. To be able to say that and to meet someone like Jane, who is deeply in touch with her family and a bunch of close friends, smart as a whip, and has a sense of humor to boot makes me feel really lucky.

There's only been one other time where I have to remind myself everyday to appreciate how lucky I am. That was every day I set out to drop my niece off at school and walked to work. To enjoy the physical movement, the sights and sounds of people, traffic, and nature echoing down avenues of concrete canyons. To feel alive.

My life moves now at a decidedly more Californian pace. But I'm in a good place now. I'm managing the apartment building much more on my own. I've got a kick-ass job that pays well and that doesn't leave me feeling mistreated, but challenges me to think about how I can do my job better. And I've found the love of my life.

So here I am. Enjoying it. Relishing it. Knowing full well things will not always be this way, for better or worse.

Things are moving fast.

Man, so much has changed since the last time I posted. Took a trip with Jane to Cabo San Lucas for Tam's wedding. Had a blast. Plenty of sunshine, pooltime, and lots of tacos. Fish. Shrimp. Even a huitlacoche gordita. Fun. I also started my new job. New people. New work. It's my first contract gig. It's kinda weird thinking that I have a set end point somewhere in the future. But so far the work is good, the experience is great, and I got a shiny new senior title to boot.

Can things get better? Sure, why not. But I've done so much for my life over the past couple of months, it'll be certainly hard to top.

My town, my car, my dad.

I spent yesterday driving around town with one of Jane's friends, Lily, who just recently moved to San Francisco and is looking for an apartment. I figured it would be fun to cruise around the City and check out a few neighborhoods and give her a local's perspective on where might be a fun place to live. We kind of made a circle around North Beach, the Marina, Nob Hill, Pac Heights, the Presidio, Laurel Heights, Inner Richmond and Inner Sunset, Hayes Valley, Protrero Hill, and back to the Mission.

We took the roadster out and had the top down. The sun was bright and shiny. We had lunch with one of her friends in the Ferry Building, and Dinner with one of my friends in the Mission. A pretty productive day.

Two blocks away from home, I heard and awful squealing noise coming from the rear of my car. At first I thought it might be a noise coming from the bus I just passed up, but as I made a turn down the avenue, the sound followed me as the bus trailed off. Not good.

This has been one of my biggest fears for a while. Something happening to my car. And like most things I obsessively worry about, it's probably not as bad as the worst case scenario in my head. In fact, nothing is; I have a pretty wild imagination. So today, I called around and settled on a mechanic's shop in Daly City and decided to bring the car in.

I asked my dad for a ride. Turns out he has a AAA card, so he stopped by and made use of one of his free tows. My dad was being a little bit of his cooky self. Before we left he said he forgot something at home. He was fidgeting a little. When I asked him what it was, he mumbled something, and I could tell he was getting uncomfortable. After a little bit of prying he confessed he left his supplements at home, "I take something every half hour." Oh, Dad. Anyway, I convinced him to stay, and thankfully the tow truck came pretty quick. We dropped the car off, I told my dad to stay in the car, and afterwards we had lunch at In-N-Out.

Of course he was being a little weird there, too. I think we confused the hell out of the cashier after I gave her my dad's order, which he promptly changed. Twice. It was super-crowded inside, so we got a table outside. My dad happily munched away on his protein-style double double. And proceded to stuff his face with french fries.

We talked a little bit about stuff going on at home, his recent trip to Hawaii with my brother, my brother's girlfriend, and my brother's kids. Talked a little bit about my work situation and other random stuff. And for the most part, we got along. It's definitely a breath of fresh air when you can hang out with a parent without driving each other crazy.