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The Face of Depression or Movie Review: Synecdoche

[Read fast. . . if you miss something, just keep going. Life could be too important for this post.]


Woke up today with the apartment smelling like gas, but kept sleeping. That was about 9:45 in the AM. That last hour and a half of sleep was killer, though, until Brie came in and let me know that it was Noon—it was time to get up. Looked at the clock—12:17—rolled over and put a firm pillow between my legs did a quick fluff-up of the head pillows; went back to sleep. 12:21: got out of bed. Nine hours sleep. . . a little too much, but the gas smell, well not the gas smell, per se, but the fumes, were so intoxicating. The effects linger even now. Brie was just about ready to leave by the time I got up. Slipped slippers on and walked through the apartment out to check the mail. No mail, no unemployment check. Walked back up the stairs, and farted about half-way up; second day in a row I’ve had gas getting the mail; wondered if the neighbor heard—mildly concerned, rather uncouth, after all. Kept going up the stairs and into the apartment and asked Brie: Did you get the mail already? “No” Well, no mail, no check, again. * sigh *. Sit down at the computer. First: Unemployment site—my claim is pending—no payments have been made. Second: Hotmail—two new messages, one from Jason concerning a rideshare to NYC—turns out he’s leaving too late on Friday. Third: Craigslist—click “Rideshare”, click back, click “Free”, click back, click “Jobs”, click back. * sigh * Fourth: Bookmarks=>Pitchfork, quickly scan, nothing interesting. Fifth:—funny article about the finger in the Chili at Wendy’s. Farted while reading it. The gas smell in the house soon gets to be overwhelming. Brie is ready to go. I ask her if she has anything to do while I am showering. She says: “Just take your shower so we can get out of here. This smell is making me sick. I go to the Beaudoire and strip down to me underwear. I see the laundry’s all ready to go. I remember that I want to bleach my white stuff, but there’s like one shirt maybe. I really don’t need to do laundry yet. Brie always wants to do laundry. Whenever there’s a day off. I don’t know. I could have gone another week maybe. I’m just lazy about that kind of stuff. Dishes, sweeping, dusting. Who dusts? Anyway. * sigh * Now I’m in my underwear, the light brown boxers. My head itches. It’s been itchy lately. In the bathroom I start the shower. Look in the mirror; I ask myself: Why do I bother with this facial hair? Honestly, I can’t remember if I pee’d in the toilet or down the drain. It’s about 50/50 when I take a shower these days. Is it gross to pee in the shower? I don’t know. Sometimes I do. Half the time. I didn’t pee in the shower this morning. I remember now. It was one less pathetic thing I could avoid dong, so I didn’t. Dodged a bullet there. The shower heats up pretty quickly. Really quick, actually. Turn up the cold, still too hot, turn up the cold, turn up the cold. Just right. Wet, shampoo, lather, rinse. Turn the cold down. Wet down, soap up, rinse. Satisfying shower. Finally, I get a decent shower, but I have to rush out of the house. I want to wear my Marc Jacob jeans, but I’m feeling less than fit today, so I go with the Banana Republic jeans Brie gave me for Xmas. I like them. They are a good fit, and good color blue. Put on a white tee, and burgundy American Apparel pull-over. My dad-on-Sunday outfit. Brie’s wrapping her scarf around her neck. I still have to put my shoes on and brush my teeth. I think about where my shoes are. In the bedroom. I head through the kitchen and am faced with a Peanut Butter Cookie, resist the temptation, make it to the bedroom, grab my sneaks, head back through the kitchen, manage to resist the cookie again, sit down, put sneakers on, stand, look in the mirror, ask: what’s up with this beard? Brie says: “I’m going down to the car, you can bring the laundry baskets. * sigh * You can’t bring one of them? I’m bringing the Library videos, and my arm hurts. My back hurts. “Come on, I’ll get the doors.” * sigh * Apply toothpaste to the brush. Brush. Brush for much longer than usual. I haven’t been doing too good with the dental hygiene thing the past few days. Brush the tongue extra deep; gag a little. Spit. “You ready?” Yeah. Put my coat on, grab the laundry baskets, leave. Brie gets the top door. I get the bottom door. She probably would have gotten both doors, but I was being impatient, trying to make a stupid point about something or other. I felt kind of cranky at this point, so I was being a Mister Bungle, moaning and being extra-silent, things like that. “Where do you want to get something to eat? I was thinking Mamasan’s.” I’m not hungry. “Come on. So after we put the laundry in we’ll go to Marshall’s and then get something to eat.” Marshall’s!? Do we have to got to Marshall’s? “Yes.” * sigh * “How about Basha?” * sigh * So we go to the laundromat and as we turn into the parking lot Brie asks about the change from the beer I bought on Sunday. It’s in my coat pocket, but I reply that I gave it back to her already. Of course she knows I didn’t. “You did not.” But you said I could keep $5.00. “No I didn’t. It’s my money.” You did, come on let me keep 5 dollars so I can get a cup of coffee or something at the coffee shop. “No.” C’mon, for a cup of coffee? You said I could have it. “No.” C’mon, just to get a cup of coffee? I already gave her $5.00 back out of 10, but she wants to see the rest of the change. She thinks there’s more than 5 dollars change. But there isn’t. I pull the other five out and she relents, lets me keep it for coffee. The wind is blowing and it’s snowing like crazy outside by this point. We get out of the car. Brie opens the trunk. I grab the laundry baskets and we head inside. I walk them over to the machines while Brie stops for change at the change machine. This one guy had spilled detergent all down the side of a triple-loader and was asking the lady at the counter for a rag to clean it up. She grabbed one and went to clean it up herself, which I found surprising. Anyway, I put the baskets down and waited for Brie to come over and tried to get a hug. She wasn’t into it, but I wrangled one out of her. Then we separated the wash. Dark clothes—Towels and Rugged Stuff—Light Clothes. Brie put the quarters in and started up the machines while I separated. Done and done, we left and decided on Basha for lunch. We park out front and go in. This kid that worked at the Montage is there. Most of all, he needed a shower. Besides that he just looked tired. Anyway, we didn’t recognize each other. The server seated us at the front booth by the window, and brought us two waters. Brie and I talked about what we were going to order. Hummus ao baba ganush or some other thing for an app. We chose Hummus. The server returns and asks what we would like, and we order. Brie orders the Hummus, and a cup of lentil and the Grape Leaf Pita. I order a bowl of lentil soup and the Kafkah Pita. The server says she’ll bring out the Hummus and the soup to start, and we agree, even though I would have preferred to have the soup and pita together. Brie says: “What did you order?” The Kafkah Pita. “Huh, what’s that?” Marinated crows meat with tahini, tomato, red onion, and greek dressing. She doesn’t believe me, but doesn’t say she doesn’t. I tell her tha Kafka means “crow” in Czech. I talk unconvincingly about the novel “Frog” for a moment, and about the grave tour scene where it is explained that Jews had to chose names corresponding to animals or duties. Hummus and lentils come. Both are decent, but the pita triangles adjoining the hummus could have been better. Eat everything, and in the process I am admonished for eating the hummus with a fork instead of dipping with the pita triangles. The Pita’s arrive. Brie tells me that I don’t know what I am missing in reference to her Toasted Grapeleaf Pita. I assure her that I do. Kakfah Pita is different than I expected, a little cold, perhaps, but still edible. I ate the whole thing. We’re about to leave when Brie spills her glass of water all over herself. Brie and the server bond. It seems they both have a knack for that kind of thing. Many napkins are brought into help. Many. Possibly 25 or more napkins. The water spill is contained. We leave Basha’s and head back to the Laundromat. In the parking lot Brie says: “O.K. Put the clothes in the dryer.” But I say I don’t want to with a pouty face. “C’mon, I do it myself all the time!” Uh huh. . . I don’t have any change. “You’ve got 5 dollars!” But I don’t wanna go—What about the money for coffee! “I promise I’ll give you more money for coffee.” You won’t. “I will.” I don’t want to. “I promise I’ll give you more money for coffee.” Moving in real close: I want an Eskimo kiss. “I hate you” Brie whips here nose back and forth. I tell her I want a soft, sensual Eskimo kiss. Brie whips her nose back and forth. I say I’m not going. I get my Eskimo kiss. Brie whines for a moment, and I indulge in her whining, then go and put the wash in the dryer.