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A few weeks ago I walked 26 miles over the course of a weekend, and then
last weekend I moseyed around the floor of the San Diego Comic-Con
hand-in-hand with Brian. I'm suspecting that it was one or both of
those events that has made my knee so angry with me that I can move only
a few steps at a time without intense pain. Years ago I injured this
knee playing rugby, and it does flare up from time to time. However,
this is the most debilitated I've been since the original mishap. Did I
do the smart thing and take it easy this weekend? Of course not.
Saturday I made a pilgrimage down to Gilroy for their 25th annual Garlic
Festival, and a hot and dirty trek it was too. I paid my money to get in
so that I could stand in line to pay more money for food. I had some
delightful meat on a stick and a vanilla ice cream shake that I sucked
down in five seconds flat. After watching a few minutes of a cooking
demonstration I realized that I'd had my fill of cultural anthropology
and took off for Santa Cruz, accidentally ending up in Hollister on the
way (don't ask). Even though the Pacific Garden Mall is now lined with
boutiques selling Diesel and Miss Sixty and Custo Barcelona, Santa Cruz
still feels like home to me. It was very soothing to rest on a bench
there as afternoon slid into evening.
After a lovely dinner with Steph at Mobo and a visit to Streetlight, I
headed back up to the city to see Wildchild at Studio Z. Except when I
got there at 10pm, they weren't open yet. I know that's early by
clubbing standards, but come on. I don't mind being the only one in the
bar, but at least let me in. I was too tired to wait and clumped on
home. Sorry, Wildchild, I tried.
DVD intake this week included Sweet Home Alabama with Aimee, which
I loved despite myself, and Nanook of the North, one of the best
documentary films I have ever seen. I think silent film is a perfect form
in which to present a documentary: read an intertitle and then let the
words sink in while blissing out on the Arctic imagery. I loved the
igloo-building sequence, and the little snow animals Nanook built so that
his son could shoot arrows at them, and oh my God the puppies. So much
puppy porn. Highly recommended to anyone who has ever devoured a Jack
London story.
Gilroy Garlic
Festival
Studio Z
Wildchild
Sweet Home Alabama
Nanook
of the North
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Heidi J. De Vries
