A Bird on My Plate

I went to Café Allegro and read Conrad’s Victory. While I was reading, a bird flew in and started eating away at my breadcrumbs, off of a plate no less than a foot away from my face. This doesn’t happen often. It was strange to me, to see the bird jerk so out of time. Left, right, so obviously mechanical. It felt like we shared a Green Moment.

 

Then, unsolicited, I went to see Paul Collins, a writer for McSweeney’s, promote his new book, which is about the existence(s) of Shakespeare’s first folio(s). Collins reminded me of George Lucas, as a speaker: very clear, effective, capable of making you feel like he is never someone else – always the person on paper, always the person in front of you -- in command of his ideas, and very much a part of our world.

 

I left without getting anything signed (I don’t own any of Collins’s books) and decided to see the new Woody Allen flick – the one with Larry David in it -- but had some time to kill, so I went on a quest for some chocolate. I never found any, but I did encounter an Indian man who said his name meant Victory (which is what I was reading), who also said that there was a secondary main character in the Bourne series, and that he really missed that said character Carlos wasn’t in the movies. Then he asked me if I wished to join him for a drink, but I was feeling invaded upon already, feeling no urge to socialize on this, what felt like a Day of Atonement. I declined and moved forward a few blocks, to the theater, where I sat on the sidewalk and read my book, quietly.

 

Time went by. Periodically, a bag lady (the same one) came by and told me to wake up, acknowledging, after picking my head up, that I was never asleep. I am uncertain as to how she acquired this habit. One can only imagine.

 

Eventually I'm allowed into the theater. (Yes, allowed.) Whatever Works -- the Woody Allen movie -- started out awkwardly: the main character, played by Larry David, ends up getting together with a teenager (or some girl in her early twenties). This might be acceptable from someone else, but it’s tough to have Woody Allen put us through this sort of arrangement again. The movie is all about odd relationships and people becoming who they really are (sexually, mostly), which ultimately feels like Allen’s excuse for everything that’s ever happened in his life. Maybe people who are being born now will view this film differently, down the road, but anyone who knows his story and lived through the 90’s media mania is unlikely to suddenly pardon Allen for his actions. Ok movie, but petition for parole – rejected.