Three days ago I sat with the Captain, noticing a few familiar folk in the theatre where 'Adaptation' was being screened: a few friends of Adi, the poker diva and some high school people, intellectual types. We dutifully ignored one another; life's too short for repeat cameos unless good sex was involved. Pretty soon the lights dimmed and Nicholas Cage was in a movie about writing a screenplay, telling a story about the story he was writing a screenplay about. It wasn't just clever, though: the sense of humor and timing actually made me laugh through most of the three hours. Almost nothing makes me involuntarily laugh out loud like that.

Tuesday (Christmas Eve) brought a bounty of mostly practical presents I didn't even know existed. All of a sudden there was a fibre-optic tree merrily changing colors like run-way models, wrapping paper arrayed around things like: an Italian sweater, a non-Italian sweater, a cardboard tiered office sorter and other adult gifts.
Then there was the tree in the plastic carry bag. It was a miniature fir, delicately rooted in a traditional Japanese planter for Bonsai. It was still dormant in the Don King stage, all the branches sticking straight up, not yet bent to my whim. I think I'll call it Kurosawa.

I visited d-land chat for awhile, talked to Nikki, Sash and a new friend, Desisky, whose handle escapes me. I've become this strange flirtacious beast lately. Usually I blend into the background, like vodka in a mixed drink..but nowadays people are noticing me, online and off. I like the attention. Maybe it's not having the beard that I sported for five years, maybe some universal constant getting misaligned somewhere.

Christmas this year was a day. I spent most of it at a friend of my grandmother's, on the grounds that she didn't want to leave me at home. I sat around listening to her female co-worker clash with her husband about there being no bread for dinner, her mother talking about her retirement in Vegas. At one point she asked me what line of work I was in. Now, most people seem to have this switch in their head labeled "Science". Whenever someone, say me, mentions they're involved in Science, the switch is flicked on and a puzzled/awed/cowed expression overtakes them like I'm a modern-day priest (which, in an ironically secular way actually works...). I guess it's better than the smirk most Art and Theatre graduates get.

Toward the end the daughter of the house came, hauling two very young boys and an overweight Frat husband. The boys stripped off their shirts, strapping their new bomber jackets on. Their quiet fear of me was quickly replaced by wanting to show off their cool new toys. I watched the grandparents smile and hug the kids, their parents lightly arguing over where X, Y and B items were. Some might say it was domestic bliss on the scale of "A Christmas Carol". For me, it re-affirmed how miserable and stifling that lifestyle seemed; I couldn't do it; I like privacy and porn too much.

Today was the last expedition I'd ever take over to Great Grandma Opal's place. It was just Mom and I this time. It was a familial obligation thing: drive 2 hours, visit for a little more time than that, then drive back again. She's 98, mostly deaf and repeats questions often. Her memory has gotten terrible. At one point half-way through the visit, she looked at me and asked mom who her friend was. Opal seemed shocked that it was me and said, "Oh, I wouldn't have even recognized you, honey. You're such a grown man now, Oh. I remember..." and went into the same you've-grown-so-much spiel all of us have listened to with plastered smiles.
What cued me into it being the last time was an odd offer. She told me I could borrow any of the hundreds of books she owned, some she didn't even want back. 10 minutes later, after she completely forgot I'd visited, I ransacked the hallway cupboard and a few of the bedrooms for old occult books. At one point she kept yelling at mom to turn off the hallway light, making it near impossible to see anything. I kept looking, though, shelf after shelf, with mom getting nervous that Opal's caretaker would find us out. I was just making it out the front door when he barged around just feet away. It was worth it: some of these books are over 150 years old, in bad need of rebinding. She'd completely forgotten about the occult decades ago...and in an unspoken way, I got first dibs on the real family heirlooms.

Good God, I've even bored the hell out of myself with all these details. The thing dominating my mind right now is this interview later today with Dr. Jorgash, the Hiltonvan professor guy. If this goes well, I have a job. If this doesn't go well, I start back at square one. He likes me so far, but I need to pull through tomorrow. Trying to remember Neuroscience off the top of my head hasn't been easy; I've been trying but it comes slowly, in a fog. Maybe it'll all come together later today.

Then again, maybe it won't. I'm going to try like hell, though.

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