Once again, the goats are back at the Vanderbilt Mansion.
And once again, I did absolutely nothing of any substance all weekend long.
Oh, to live in a world inhabited solely by sentient goats, cats, dogs, bunnies and elephants!
(My father was an alcoholic child molester, which kinda puts a damper on Father’s Day celebrations, no?)
BB, stumbling across Internet access from somewhere along the Appalachian Trail, posted that he had hiked 15.5 miles that day in 95-degree heat, which fuckin’ shamed me (‘cause I have a hard time stumbling out of the house when the temp is much above 82.)
The last man I was kinda, sorta, maybe attracted to (at least on alternate Thursdays) apparently quoted me at length somewhere and then sent me a long flattering email apologizing. A quote from his email: It's a completely unrelated sentiment by you that just happens to support everything I am doing professionally. I am too lazy to track down the actual quote.
Jeanna called to say that she was getting married and that she was buying another house so that I could come live with her. I gathered all this from her phone message. I haven’t yet called her back. I don't actually want to call her back. Although, naturally, I must.
If she gives me a month lead-in time, of course I’ll come to her wedding. Even though it sounds like a hideous ordeal.
Max is second chairing his first trial.
“Wait!” I said. “You’re only a second year law student.”
“And they let you…?”
“In Alaska and Colorado, yes.”
“Oh, is that why you wanted to do an internship in Alaska?””
Max likes trials.
Max is very good at trials.
Max has always been a very compelling speaker and a relentless arguer.
I’m inclined to think this is a rare talent even among those who are attracted to practicing law. He is winning awards at UCB Law School for his oracular proficiency, too, which makes me think he doesn’t need to be in the top 10% of his class to snag a career that will be fulfilling for him.
We spent half an hour or so on the phone batting around the particulars of the Michelle Carter case.
“Is it likely to set precedent?” I asked.
“In a juvenile court? Do you mean a precedent that could apply to principals who are over the age of 21?”
“Doubtful that it could be an authoritative precedent. Maybe if it goes to appeal.”
We talked for a while about the case’s implications for assisted suicide.
I doubt very much that the authors of any of the assisted suicide measures currently working their ways through state legislatures ever envisioned the facts of a case like Carter/Roy when they were formulating their statutes, but in a very literal sense, this is an assisted suicide case.
And one of the reasons why I personally have never been a fan of assisted suicide legislation.
Assisted suicide is a very slippery slope to my way of thinking.
Else? I watched a very strange film called Personal Shopper from the same director who made Clouds of Sils Maria.
I regretted I did not have the opportunity to watch it in a theater – Personal Shopper is filled with caesuras, prolonged intervals during which absolutely nothing happens except that Kristen Stewart progressively grows more freaked. These types of scenes often work in theaters where audiences understand that their job is to channel the protagonist, but they seldom if ever work on a home screen where the tendency – when nothing is happening on the screen – is to check your phone and think, Huh! Maybe I should fast-forward to the scene where Kristen Steward masturbates –
Stewart is an intriguing screen presence. Absolutely beautiful and, at the same time, a complete and total physical mess. The film, which is ostensibly about her character’s search for the ghost of a dead twin brother, seems more to me to be about the character’s obsession with social media. The character is completely oblivious to the physical world she inhabits.
It’s one of those films that would benefit from being seen twice.
But I have no intention of watching it again.