> tapioca world tour

It’s playing at Coolidge Corner in Brookline, Harvard Sq. Cinema, and the Embassy in Boston. Watch the trailer or go to the film’s website.

Is it ridiculous to say that I hope Gore runs again for presidency? Wouldn’t it make people ask themselves, what would have happened had W. not bribed his way in last time? I mean, maybe people will give the guy another chance. He is a movie star now. Bitterness has fueled his rage and, possibly, his motivation, making him a little more edgy and entertaining in the process. Who knows, right?

if “evil is an illusion of material sense”, it makes none; tonight,
i want to run over the train tracks near what’s-his-name’s old house,
just to feel the asphalt and the metal on my shoe, & to breathe the familiar
uncertainty: that frequent possibility of a train coming out of nowhere
save the slate sky, the pivoting moon.

perhaps all of us die too soon.

rather, perhaps we lose our sense of life like an unecessary habit
or a sweater, or an error, and, like a great train in a desert
we board onto something new. i’d like to keep this sight in view,

and run by the paper factory at eleven to remember how it smells –
the stillness — and watch it gently go about its business, trembling
with each impending speeding locomotive in the night.

So it seems we were on TV on Tuesday for 48HFP. I missed it, but the piece is also available to watch online if you’re interested (click ‘launch CNN video player’).

Press coverage is always tremendously exciting. And a big up to the production team for making a cool movie without killing eachother (or me). I love you all, people!

Seriously, HOW do I email a complaint to Apple?

My new (replacement) MacBook Pro has the whine — the CPU whine, which disappears when you run PhotoBooth in the background. Obviously, there must be a fix for it, but according to Apple messageboards, no fix exists yet. People are hoping the next firmware update will address the problem, meanwhile I want to send an email to Apple Support — not call, because then they’ll just tell me to send it in or some crap — but I can’t find a support email address anywhere.

Anyone? Leads?

*Meanwhile*
Smaller, funky, laundryless first-floor apt. = for rent a mere 3 blocks from my office. Did I mention it’s C-H-E-A-P? I’ve decided the theme of FY07 should be CHEAP. I can’t waste money forever. It’s Savings Time or Bust.

So J. & J. hitched up the way any self-respecting Gen X’ers would: fast. Classy, on the fly. I had the good fortune to have the day off anyway, so I met them at City Hall to visually document the big event.

Nikolai Cappucino, if you’re reading this, another one of your ladies has retired her number. Her jersey is hanging on the wall by the door — salute it on your way out. And salute mine, too.

AMEN!

Thank God for church or I’d be lost. I totally rocked the hymns last night and left bouncing. This is such a weird era; consistency has to linger somewhere.

I have to stop thinking about The Rest of My Life and concentrate more on each day. I know that sounds fluffy and zen, but it’s true. A few weeks ago, I had Most Humbling Moment of 2006: 7-yr-old E. was zipping through the MIT athletic building on his razor scooter; I was chasing behind him.

“Scuse me,” came a voice at the desk. White girl, early twenties, angry. “Is that your son?”

Is that my son? Ha! Haaaaaa!

But before I could answer, she went off — “he CAN’T be riding that in the building” — right, whatever. I can’t believe she thinks he’s my son.

“E.” I shoot him a look and use my mother’s Your Behaviour Is Unacceptable voice to order him off the razor scooter.

Small incident, but it got me thinking about the rest of my life. Again. What I’m doing with it, what I plan on doing, who I’m doing it with, where I’m doing it, why. Also the fact that I’m pushing 30 and still babysitting. [Stop. Breathe. Think. No, don’t think. Get some ice cream.]

The world is spinning…

So there was totally an article about Tapioca Productions in the Cambridge Chronicle, but I didn’t see it til now, and I can’t access the archived article. Poo!

Meanwhile, I need to find a new apartment. Anyone? Thoughts? Yes? Call me!

Yesterday, in a stunning show of consistent, unprecedented spontaneity, DD wrote this letter to Gene Hackman:

Dear Gene Hackman,

It is 8:30 in the morning and raining. For some reason the spirit has moved me to write you a letter. I wanted to let you know that I’ve always liked your acting and the roles you play. You’re always consistent. I’m 28 years old, so ever since I was a kid I have seen you in the movies. (good job in ‘Superman’)

I would be ever grateful if you could send mean autographed photo. If this is possible could you please send me a picture that is not one of those standard 8×10 glossy’s, but rather more of a candid, maybe you mowing the lawn or something.

Thank You Gene Hackman,
Keep up the good work
Sincerely,

DD

Se fue la misery! Round 19 went pretty well, all things considered. I got the same now-lame rap from my doc: I enjoy torturing you, bla bla bla, but really there was very little pain involved in my monthly adjustments today.

Of course, the second he looked at my teeth, he said, “Why isn’t your impacted canine down yet?”

“I dunno,” I said. “You tell me. You’re the doctor.”

Granted, it’s only been a mere 10 months since they began yanking on the dang thing, but every half-millimeter it descends brings me closer to perfect teeth. Today they attached a cut-off wire from it to my top right molars, then replaced the regular wire on the rest of the top teeth, cutting it at the point where it should reach up to grab the impacted tooth (this is to prevent “stressing” my FST, formerly sideways tooth, so that its nerve won’t die).

Anyway, by my 28th birthday, the tooth should (should? should!) be all the way down, which would be marvelous because then I’d be not only pushing 30 but very nearly completely “fixed”, orthodontally-speaking.

“How much longer, seriously, will this take?”

“Soon,” he said, his fingers twisted in my mouth.

“No, I mean in a macro sense, how long?”

“Oh,” he sighed. “You want a hard number? It’s hard to tell, based on your canine, but I’d say we’re looking at some point in the next six months.”

Did you HEAR THAT? Reconstruction will be DONE in the next six months. You heard it here first, people: I WILL be able to chew steak, gum and roast beef sandwiches in six months. That also means I will no longer waltz into the ortho office and get treated like a rockstar: “Hey, I like your hair.” (Office manager, sweet person.) “Very cute.” But whatever, things are much better orally than they were a year ago. Yeah, I’ll post photos soon. That’s my update.

So, The Man eliminated Nikki from our office today, and we revolted in myriad ways. Armbands might be instituted later. It’s a sad day when you can’t trust your employer, or management in general, or your job security, or anything at all, especially when you work in human rights. So we’re fighting back, all wearing our UNITE-HERE union t-shirts, sending letters of shame to the board of directors, eating cake in the hallways, etc.

The world is spinning. Really, it could all be ending…

I have no idea where Eric Klingelhofer is or what he’s doing right now, but his name alone reminds me of running circles around the pond at midnight in the rain, listening to an old mix tape of Seal and R. Kelly and TLC. I was seventeen, a straight-edged art geek from poor Philly suburbs and I hated Newburyport and I hated high school.

He was sixteen and hated high school. So much, in fact, that he left to go to a different one. I’m convinced I knew him at the wrong time — we should have met as adults instead. Maybe the time hasn’t even come yet: someday he’ll be an ambassador and I’ll be a prize-winning filmmaker and we’ll attend the same UN event in Geneva and it won’t be until I sit across from him for the panel discussion that I’ll realize, holy shit, that’s Eric Klingelhofer, whom I was totally in love with junior year. But I’ll be too busy answering questions from the enraptured audience to give it too much thought, and he’ll never recognize me because I’ll have perfect teeth and wider hips and be wearing high-heeled boots under a suede skirt, and, as we all know, the girl he knew from high school would never in a million years end up looking like that.

Ah, fond retribution!
Thank God for the passage of time. In that vein: happy birthday, Eric.

Despite my misfortune of not being sent to the Save Darfur Rally in DC as the office photographer/videographer, lovely Claire did a fine job instead, saving the day with this shot of everyone’s favorite activist and filmmaker, Mr. George Clooney, to whom I’d love to write a letter, expressing my…admiration? Admiration. I’d love to work for the man, in any professional capacity.

Mr. Clooney, sir, your personal and political ethics inspire me. Let’s start a multimedia production company! We can co-direct! It’ll be AWESOME!