This may be one of my favorite Jodie Foster posters ever. Jodie, a gun and a hint of belly. What is not to love? I’ve already drooled all over the beyond intense trailer for “The Brave One” and now the film’s stark-yet-stunning one-sheet (click above to enlarge) is making me think Sept. 14 can’t come fast enough.
We went to not only the Parade, but the Festival, and the God-des and She show the night before. And had houseguests. And installed most of the Marm0leum. It was quite a weekend. And much fun.
On returning from Pride I had that confusing feeling where after being around queers all weekend I started thinking everyone I saw was gay and had to reorient myself. Odd feeling it is, to come back to the real world. One that is not so friendly, not so vibrant and colorful, but still a very good world. But because I feel so much free-er in Portland, Pride can only be so exciting. Not like in NC, where Pride was our one chance all year to hold hands in public. I think if mwt and I were not so out of the habit we could hold hands in many places in Portland. But how sad is that, that holding hands is something we worry about? Ah, the world has a long way to go on this.
But what is pride weekend without a partially finished project? The Marm0luem was much harder (physically and mathematically) to install than we thought and it was a bit much to undertake on Pride weekend. So I am exhausted. And sore from all the flooring. And the dog has been neglected and discovered a way to escape the yard on Sunday and went missing and mwt and I freaked out. Then he came back, but we could not figure out where he had been or how he got out.
So this morning, in my exhaustion I let Bentley out in the back-yard and starting working on a computer problem and then realized what I done. So I run outside in my bathrobe, my crazy morning hair, and mwt’s bedroom slippers and start calling for him. And I think I hear my neighbor. So I go around front and there is my very nice neighbor holding my very bad dog.
Then he releases Bentley’s collar and instead of coming to me he runs across the street and jumps on a little boy walking with his Dad. And I have to run after him in my bathrobe and slippers. All I was missing was curlers in my hair.
Now I feel like the trashiest person ever. Bad enough that we were outside running the table saw on flooring all weekend, and had people in and out of our house at all hours, now we have a half-dressed crazy woman running down the street after her uncontrollable dog. We are “those people.”
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