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Infectious ride to Venice

My flatmate's girlfriend isn't in the apartment. She wasn't here yesterday, or the day before yesterday, either. Oh, how I hope she won't be here tomorrow.

Have they broken up? Whisper words of wisdom, let it be, let it be. It would be rude to ask, though, so I haven't said anything to Pike.

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With no-one to annoy me but the neighbors upstairs, they're doing their damnedest. They seem to have children, aged 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12 years old, and all the kids have lots of friends, and all the kids and all their friends love to stomp around on the floorboards that are my ceiling, and play in the stairwell directly behind my bedroom wall. 

How loud is allowed, I wonder, when you've got kids? I suppose parents would lose their minds if they didn't grow deaf to the kids' ordinary noises. Talking to the landlord would be futile, and I'm too young to become the grumpy neighbor, so I'm not going to say anything about it. What, are their parents going to muzzle the kids until they're old enough to move out? 

Sure glad to be childless, though. It's the only benefit of being unlovable by any woman.

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Spent most of the day doing nothing but muttering to myself about the neighbor's kids. To celebrate the nothing and get away from the noise, I went to see a movie, but riding the #33 might have been infectious. I sat across the aisle from a lady who didn't appear to be homeless, drunk, addicted, or otherwise disgusting by default, but she wouldn't stop coughing into the air, and never made any effort to cover her mouth.

"Thanks for sharing," I said loudly after her first coughing jag, four mucassy rumblers broadcast to everyone on the bus. She didn't hear me or didn't take the hint, so when she started coughing again a block later, I coughed back at her. We hacked and phlegmed to Ashbury Street, where she got off without even knowing we'd had an argument.

Hadn't noticed until she got off the bus, but some of the other riders were glaring at me, same as I'd been  glaring at her. The world is full of rude and inconsiderate people, and often I'm one of them.

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Before Sunrise is the new film by Richard Linklater, who made the excellent Dazed and Confused, so I had high hopes for Before Sunrise at the Red Vic. It's no Dazed and Confused, but it's good.

Ethan Hawke is riding a train across Europe, when he meets another passenger, Julie Delpy, who's young and French and gorgeous, so of course they get off the train and spend an evening together in Venice.

I know it's only a movie, but do people do that? Seems dangerous.

After they leave the train, the rest of the flick is set in Walt Disney's Venice, a city with no bad neighborhoods, no unsavory characters, no litter, no drugs, and no drunks. Perhaps Venice really is an endless stroll through picture post cards? I'll never know. The closest I've been to Europe is taking the #43 bus to Geneva & Munich.

Hawke and Delpe are both lovely, the scenery is beautiful, and it's everything you could ask of a fairy tale romance. I'm not into fairy tales, though, and would've preferred something more realistic. If you want fictional kisses and quiet moments and movie stars gazing into each other's eyes, you won't be disappointed.

After the show, I was lost in memories of some dames I've cared about, back long ago when there were dames. If art is whatever affects the soul, well, my soul was affected, so I'd say Before Sunrise is four bucks worth of art.

From Pathetic Life #12
Monday, May 8, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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