It's been a year (give or take a few days) since we moved into this house (okay, duplex...). We moved in the rain, using a U-haul truck and various smaller vehicles. I remember that rainwater pooled on the roof of the truck, soaking me on several occasions. Jen said that we would probably be unpacked by the summer. I thought she was exaggerating. It turns out she understated things instead. After a week or two of living here, she took the kids to Texas for three weeks or so (a trip that had been delayed due to the 9/11 tragedy). I unpacked as much as possible and put the bed together (It was a nice, somewhat rickety old bed, which has since gone back to Jason. We replaced it with a metal framed bed from Ikea). I also got some sort of sinus infection, which didn't stop me from going to see Hungarian filmmaker Bela Tarr's epic Satantango at the Pacific Film Archive in Berkeley. Because of the running time (a mere seven and a half hours), and the fact that I felt miserable, I half expected it to be an ordeal. I needn't have worried. I think my illness only added to the experience. There I was, shivering and dripping at the nose, crouched by myself in a theater seat - and I loved it. It moved at a sedate, black and white pace through the desperate lives of a group of Hungarian villagers, sometimes folding back on itself to capture events that were happening simultaneously. ...but it is not my purpose here to review films. That said, I wish somebody would put the damn thing out on DVD so I could watch it again and again.
We were out in the garage today. Jen was looking for a box of maternity clothes. We've been dumping things in there for a year now, not to mention the things that never made it out in the first place. There are piles of old cardboard that needs to be recycled. Under the cardboard are torn bags of rocks from the time we tried to re-do the landscaping. Weeds, looking pale and serpentine, have sprouted in the bags, twisting their way over the rocks in a desperate quest for sunlight. There are various unopened boxes and outdoor toys and that huge aquarium I got from the museum, all waiting patiently for the day when they will again see use. As a whole, the space looks like it has been attacked by angry gibbons. We don't go in there much.

cds I listened to while knowing that my car will never be parked in the garage: irr.app.(ext.) "an uncertain animal, Ruptured: tissue expanding in conversation", "dust pincher appliances", and "foreign matter, nor frequency carrier", Varttina "Musta Lindu", and Kris Krawczyk & Goran Bregovic "Kris & Goran"

now: Coil "Unnatural History II"