Damn, it's hot. Every time I think I might be able to turn the fan down a little, I'm sweating a moment later. Hasn't stopped me from going on long walks, though.
Yesterday, even though I was behind, I simply had to get out of the house. I had too much of the wrong kind of energy, the kind that really belongs in a rock tumbler or a wind mill. Instead I gave it to dirt and concrete under my feet, and my plan was to get some real Mexican food to make me feel sleepy. But all the authentic Mexican places were closed. How authentic, really, are the Mexican restaurants that close for Independence Day? I guess they're afraid of Lou Dobbs. I was about one horse pill of caffeine away from painting the Mexican flag on my face and screaming Spanish at the closest representation of Lou Dobbs I could find; maybe I'd make an effigy out of white cheese wheels and chick feathers.
Submarina was closed, too. I was finally herded by fate to McDonalds. I used to get their Big Macs without the meat paddies all the time--they're pretty good that way. Or they were; I could barely cram it down yesterday. The girl at the register was cute despite a severe case of acne I'm sure the McDonalds corporation would assure us has nothing to do with their food. She looked maybe eighteen, but talked like she was six, and I could see the simplest thought processes needed a running start from her temporal lobes. She was one of those people who just couldn't believe I wanted a Big Mac without meat, and kept smiling at her apathetic coworkers who never seemed to get the amazing joke that I apparently was. But she was a sweet kid, I shouldn't be so mean.
I drew a page yesterday and inked half of it. To-day I did set my mp3 alarm clock (I woke up to this song;
), for 11am, and I finished both yesterday's page and to-day's before 7:30pm.
I watched Gilda on Thursday, which I loved, but I can't say anything of value right now. I'm too spacey.
Does that movie seem mildly anti-homosexual to anyone else? Like maybe Johnny turned to Mundson and his stick because Gilda was so mean to him, but Mundson is inevitably evil? Well, it's a good movie, so I am going to choose not to look at it that way. And if you think about it, Mundson's not much worse than the other two. Though we never actually find out what Gilda did to Johnny in the first place, did we? Actually, all she really did remotely wrong was to cheat on Mundson, who treated her like a possession anyway. So much for the "ultimate femme fatale". I felt bad for her when Johnny was giving her the cold shoulder. A real femme fatale, let's see . . . Certainly Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity. Maybe Peggy Cummins in Gun Crazy. Definitely Helen Walker in Nightmare Alley.