Last night, ended up not having to work at the dance studio as i was supposed to, so I found myself 6pm, at my house with not a lot to do. Well, that's a lie. There's tons to do at my house, but i wasn't in the mood to do other than practice my knitting (i just learned over the holiday weekend, and I'm working on a scarf.. i'm such a dork). While knitting, i wanted to watch something. Something that would make me smile, but something that i didnt' necessarily have to "watch" too closely (as my eyes were largely on my knitting). So I put in XANADU. Wow.. i love that movie.
Watching it, i began to see how much it had influenced me at my young impressionable age, when i used to watch it religiously! Have to wonder, is it that movie that started me on my fascination with the Muses?
As it began, i found myself sad that the muse painting isn't still somewhere to be found in Venice Beach. And then, as one muse stepped out of the painting and began to dance to life, i looked and said "Damn, is that Sandal Bergman??" And of course it is... I LOVE that woman. She's had such a terrific career. I saw her live on stage in the national tour of "Chicago". She was Valareya in "Conan The Barbarian" (making her one of my all time FAVORITE ass-kicking females)...and now i discover she was a Muse in the roller-skating rock opera that is my childhood. *sigh*
Then, with Olivia Newton-John's character, I wondered why they went with "modern" names, and which muse she actually was. Later she says, "My real name is Terp...." (she's cut off). Anyway, clearly, she was going to say Terpsichore, goddess of dance... which i think is odd, as her character does far more singing than dancing, and that would technically make her a candidate for Polyhemnia, not Terpischore... but for some reason, of the Muses... Terp gets the most press, I think. She's certianly one of my favorites.
As I watched the film, i also was amazed at how really TERRIBLE the clothing is, and yet, how much that terrible clothing resembles some of the ensembles i put together still today. LOL. No wonder my father calls my fashion tastes "deplorably boho". (who talks like that?!?!)
Also, some may remember there is a scene where two fantasies collide: one being a 1940's bandstand, the other being an 80's punk band. Well, as i watched this scene, i was looking at the lead singer of the "Devo"-esque punk singer and thinking "I know him... why does he look familiar... oh dear god, is that Fee??" (Fee Waybill, lead singer of the Tubes, and an associate of mine). Sure enough, when i checked the credits at the end, there he was " John 'Fee' Waybill". hahahahahahaha... that's some funny shit when you start seeing your friends/past-coworkers in 80's movies. I just cheorographed him in a show a couple of months ago, and then i see that he was a part of my childhood. Strange huh?
So all this really stirred up my Muse juices, makes me feel i'm not doing my Musely job, ya know.... and therefore, I went to go hang with the Hottie (somehow, no matter what is going on in my life, there is always at least one writer, in the middle of a project, whose bouncing ideas off me. I love that part of my job... it makes me very happy)
Life is Good! And sometimes you just end up in fabulous conversations.
Met the Hollywood Hottie about 11pm last night, for chat and some very very late night Thai food (which was INCREDIBLY good). I wish i could capture our conversations in journal entries, but i never can. Largely because they are so speculative and cerebral... sometiems because I'm so tired I can't 'recreate' the conversation in the morning, but i still bring with me the feeling.
I suppose the best way i could describe talking with him is this-
Picture you are a seed, and it's dark and cold in your seed pod. Not uncomfortable, just familiar and cozy and a little boring. And the idea of sprouting is a bit daunting.... but in your boredom, you begin to shift and push, only to find that your seed has fallen into a crack in the sidewalk. Oh no... you can't grow here. You're stopped, you begin to panic. You could waste away here. You could wither and die here, without ever finding a soil-laden footing to help you. You rage at the sky, and weep over your fate, and all around you a tickling sensation grows, like you HAVE to burst out of your skin or .... i don't know what the 'or' is... there's not an 'or'... you just HAVE to burst. And i don't know where or how the magic happens, but you being to sprout out of that pod, and suddenly you find the smallest bit of dirt in this crack, just enough to feed you and anchor you. YOu sink one root, cause that's all that fits, into that tiny bit of dirt and you suck it up like a straw, and pop, like Popeye after a can of spinach, and you stretch, and you ache and you writhe and you fuss, and then suddenly, the tiniest bit of your green self breaks the surface of the concrete, just as the sun is rising in the sky... and there's this crazy sense of relief, like you made it. Only you haven't made it completely.. you still have so much growing to do. But the sun's there, and you arent' trapped in the crack anymore, and you settle back down for a moment, take a rest, admist all your angst and activity. You can wait... a little bit. The hardest part is over... the courage to break free. What once was inhospitable is now home, and you sigh contented. It's not where you would have 'chosen' to grow... but it's where you are, and you get that growing there will make all the difference.
that's the way i sometimes feel after a night of conversation with him. I'm not saying he's the sun that feeds that little sprout, or the concrete or the tiny bit of dirt... i don't really know that this can work as any sort of "analogy'.... i'm just saying, in the morning, after a night of talking to him.... i'm both exhausted and exhilerated.... a stranger in a strange land, and perfectly ok with that.
huh... thinking now... i wonder...
am i his muse? or is he mine?
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