Now Playing: David Bowie--"Width of a Circle"
Labor Day Weekend: Much less eventful than last, but not much less enjoyable.
After taking a break from writing for the past week (I wrote three whole stories in August--a personal record--so I was ready for one), I'm ready to go at it again. On what I'm not sure, other than my library school statement of purpose, in which I'm trying to fit career goals, social conscience, and previous experience. There's that and then there'll be a story concerning the undead. Shawn, the filmmaker contracted to capture Madisonfest on video last weekend, took leave of me by suggesting we work on a zombie flick at some point in the future. I'm going to assume, however cavalierly, that he wasn't joking and write some sort of necrophagous barnburner if at all possible. It's a good excuse, anyway, and it'll keep me going until a more serious topic crops up.
My house is now chock-full of people, every room occupied, and a more pleasant little Spanish-Peruvian-indeterminate Slavic-American place you can't imagine. Gloria's from Murcia, Virginia's from Cuzco, Ted's from... somewhere in Michigan, and I'm guessing Gary's the same. He used to live on State Street, anyway. As for Roman, the guy who lives next door to me, we see very, very little of him. Does he walk the streets at night like a lame bat, I wonder? My guess is that he's Polish, but I have very little to go on. Gloria speaks rudimentary English, and Virginia even less, so it'll be fun (for me, anyway) to navigate the linguistic minefields for a while. It's even more pleasant when I think of the yahoos who used to live with me (they thankfully lasted about four months of my moving in; the Mormon kid left for undisclosed reasons, Sed got sick of Tim, Tim was evicted, and the crackhead who worked at Gratzi--Gratzi! Maybe I should apply there!--foolishly got himself caught "feeding the beast" in the basement bathroom, an event I sadly wasn't present to witness).
Sunday, we actually had an impromptu movie night! I'd just finished watching Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1974) as Gloria came in to eat. Ted showed up and wanted to watch What About Bob? (1991). We had no problem with that (I hadn't seen it) and watched for about an hour until Virginia walked in. So all four of us watched What About Bob?, I reading Philip K. Dick's Our Friends From Frolix 8 (1970) in the meantime. It was a really nice, homey gathering, with some lively Spanglish conversation. I've been known to enjoy my solitude, but it's always nice to have friendly people to watch movies with you. Alice? Scorsese successfully pulls off a gentle, slice-of-life comedy-drama and inspires a beloved 70s sitcom along the way. I wasn't old enough to know if Ellen Burstyn was a genuine star back in those days, but she should have been (and I'm too big a man to care that she's playing the Christopher Lee role in that Wicker Man remake). Bob? Personally, I'm a little skeptical of the whole Bill Murray career-reinvention hype, but he's undeniably delightful as the panaphobic Bob. Dreyfuss is perfect as his tightassed psychiatrist nemesis. Frolix 8? Bemused by the Dick cult, I read his late 1950s novel The Cosmic Puppets a few months ago, and wasn't impressed; it seemed like a middling Outer Limits episode. Frolix 8 is an absolute stunner, the story of an oppressed, drug- and television-sedated America in the mid-22nd century in which apparently intelligent people are relegated to menial occupations by the more genetically advanced via standardized testing and educational placement. A resistance force builds up, but is powerless until the return of its exiled leader from space, accompanied by his new, super-advanced pal, a glop of protoplasm weighing ninety tons. Quirky, action-packed, and thought-provoking, Frolix was an instant favorite (the humor was right up my alley), and encouraged me to pursue more of Dick's work.
Monday morning, I rose bright and early and ventured into the "wilderness" (um, the parks bordering the Huron River), something I really haven't been doing very much lately. Intending to trek through Argo and Bandemer Parks, along the western Ann Arbor stretches of the river, I wound up exploring Barton Nature Area, accessible from Bandemer by walking northwest along the train tracks of the Michigan Central. It's always a treat to find part of Ann Arbor that I haven't seen yet (I've been here over four years now and there are still major blind spots). Barton's gorgeous: a mix of dark undergrowth admitting little or no sun, pleasantly wooded riverbanks, and light-drenched meadow. The weather was splendid, a perfect and paradoxical mix of spring and autumn, best enjoyed by the various path openings onto the river itself, where you can observe the steep rise of the south bank to Huron River Drive. There were a couple of transcendent moments, two of which punctuated by great music: working my way up a hill in Argo, woods all around me, the rising sun poking its way through the canopy, to Starling Electric's "She Goes Through Phases," and then amid a prairie patch of tall grass (along a twisting series of paths that reversed themselves about five times) to the Super Furry Animals' "Gathering Moss." At one point I nearly stepped on a tree frog (which didn't seem to realize how close it had approached extinction) and I believe I actually saw a cardinal (something else I haven't done in a long time), although it may have just been an unnaturally red other bird.
The best part was finding Barton Dam, possibly the most picturesque spot I've yet seen on the Huron. The Barton trail eventually brought me to the Huron's effluence from a higher elevation, managed by the dam, which I reached through a path that led past the stately old Barton Powerhouse (c. 1912). To my right lay the still-rising sun (it was only about ten-thirty) through the trees, and a green expanse of rolling pasture and farmland, with little houses along a dirt road lined with dusty mailboxes that turned into Barton Shore Drive. To my left was Barton Pond, the dam's child, its surface rippling with a faint breeze and a path continuing to lead northwest, following the river. A more compelling evocation of Americana I haven't seen in years (outside of Madison House season finales); it was almost intoxicatingly bucolic and agrarian. The path northwest along the pond, according to the phonebook map, goes much further than I had, almost to the end of Maple Road, and fairly close to the Huron River Drive bridge, which continues on into the mysteriously named village of "Delhi Mills," midway between Ann Arbor and Dexter. If I can make it to Gallup, I can make it there, without the aid of a bicycle, too. Next weekend, or the next...
Posted by Charles J. Microphone
at 5:06 PM EDT
Updated: 6 September 2006 5:10 PM EDT
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Updated: 6 September 2006 5:10 PM EDT
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