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Monday, Jan. 13, 2003 / 7:08 p.m. ~I Would NOT Kick Buster Keaton Out Of Bed~ Last night I fell asleep to a Buster Keaton movie on TCM, "The Cameraman", from 1928, a silent movie. Normally I don't care for silent movies, the music is grating and the stories are too simple, the acting exaggerated, but Buster Keaton was amazing. And� he was HOT! I know it's hard to tell by looking at him in his suits, his hats, hanging from this or that, falling down, getting up, but in "The Cameraman" he is out to woo a woman and he takes her for a Sunday stroll, ending up at a public indoor swimming pool. Maybe in 1928 that's what people did on Sunday afternoons, maybe they all went swimming together. Anyway, there is this lengthy scene in which Buster is changing clothes in a dressing room, and some big man has gone in there with him to change, but clearly there is barely enough room for one person, much less two, so the comedy ensues. Much putting on and taking off of clothes, each wearing each other's in the process, Buster pushed up against the wall, then on the floor, etc., and in all of this we see him in his undershirt finally. His arms were really muscular, not overly built, not like he lifted weights, just like he used them a lot. And clearly, with his brand of physical comedy, he did use every muscle in his body. He takes off the undershirt (what we now call a 'wife beater', a rather horrible euphemism) eventually, and the guy has these abs, like a six pack, and this beautiful broad back with defined lats and really smooth looking skin, and I was watching thinking, Wow, so THAT'S what was under those suits all the time. This guy was really attractive, like REALLY attractive, or at least his body was. I wonder what his personal life was like. Was he married? Did he cheat? He must've been able to have anyone he wanted� Aside from the music, it was a very funny film, and I would've stayed up to watch it, but I felt obligated to give in to my tiredness, to close my eyes and give up. I woke later to what sounded like Scorcese discussing different filmmaking techniques, and again I wanted to watch, but no. I'm writing this from work, in MS Word, on my break. I'd rather be online printing out pages of text on MS-DOS help to get my PC back up and running, but the same person who was sitting there on my first break is sitting there now. A fellow Interweb addict. Fuck. I think all the help I need is available online, but I'd have to write it all out or print it out and I have no printer at home, and I don't want to write it all out, so there you go. I'm torn between feeling really anxious about the PC and feeling really anxious about the bus trip to D.C. on Friday. They're both potentially very stressful, but I'd prefer to be relaxed. So I'm thinking about "Joe Millionaire" and what I should eat for dinner instead. **I wrote the above from work, and now it's hours later, I'm home, and I must say I'm really glad I still have this computer, the original one, the one I used for about four years before I bought the one from Brent's office. At least I can get online. No, it's not the same at all, it's horribly awfully different, but it's like putting on a really old worn out pair of shoes, a pair with holes in them, worn soles, torn laces. They cover your feet, you know? But they're not what you want. I can't fix my computer, the other one, until I can really take the time to research the process. Or.... find someone willing to come here and help me. The IT people at work are not exactly my friends. I would NEVER ask them for personal help, so that rules that out. "Felicity" is on so I'm going to sit and watch, try to relax. I'm doing laundry, and I've decided that my water is contaminated with phenol. I researched on the epa.gov site Saturday, pre-crash. It smells so bad I can't stand over it while it runs from the tap, or loads into the washer. Horrible. Like some kind of benzene, some gas or something. I can't believe I bathe in it, brush my teeth using it (never swallowing!), etc. So many problems. The car. The water. The computer. It goes on and on. Life is hard, you know that? Cost of the War in Iraq
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