|Girl With a Movie Camera
||[Nov. 2nd, 2004|01:53 pm]
The Insensitive MC
I am Dziga Vertov.
I am A Girl With a Movie Camera. In German. In black and white. And on exhilarating flash forward. I blink and I see pieces of the last couple of weeks flicker by like a lite sneeze-ah. And I can’t comprehend any of it.
Click click - I wake up papoosed in a huge white down comforter. “Buy me a present,” I sing-song in a sleepy voice. I slump right the fuck back into slumber almost immediately. The beau returned an hour later with a pink toothbrush, a silver cigarette case, and The Providence Journal. The front page screamed CHAMPIONS OF THE WORLD and I woke up and chortled because, holy shitcakes, I can’t believe the Sox won the Series. My teeth were still stained gray from late evening Yellowtail merlot, and he told me that I cried, flailed, giggled, and belted Etta’s At Last far too boisterously. Can you blame a nigga?
“I got you pink because you’re a girl,” he chirped while gripping the toothbrush, and I stood in the bathroom in my Battle Royale t-shirt, gawking at the side by side pink and blue toothbrushes next to the sink, utterly incredulous at how fast this courtship is traveling. “Phank you for pha phigarette caphe, phat waph phoughtful,” I grumble-mumbled with half a pound of Colgate in my mouth. And, yeah. I am a girl. With a movie camera. And click click – it’s the night before Halloween, and I’m at my favorite bar dressed like Elle Driver.
I looked pretty hot [Right Dandalf? I mean, despite the drunken stumbling and yelling and arm-over-the-shouldering. Right?], but god help me, I’ll never wear an eyepatch to a bar ever again. Ever. It’s bad enough that my depth perception is humiliating, it’s bad enough that I drink far too much Captain in a small amount of time. It’s worse when I slightly adjust my rubber snake and it cracks my girlfriend’s glass of Amaretto. And, yeah. I was wearing a rubber snake. Black mamba in the briefcase? You remember. But it’s hard for me to piece this all together, because it’s all whizzing by like that movie. With the guy and the movie camera. Filming everything. All fast-like. And maybe there’s more, but there’s too much to do. All day, all week. Far too motherfucking much. I’ll be here working overtime. Click clicking along. The shutter speed is making me nauseous. But, whatever. I’m sure I’ll find the pause button soon enough.