The credits to The Wrestler are just wrapping up as I begin to write this. Wow, what a sad fucking movie. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed watching it immensely and will no doubt give it a second viewing in the very near future, but I just can't shake this empty feeling I got from watching it. When Mickey Rourke tells Marisa Tomei at the end of the movie, "Out there is the only place I can get hurt" ( in reference to the real world vs. being on stage and wrestling), I just felt my heart slowly sink.
That, combined with the weather this morning, an unpleasant week of work (halfway over), and the burdens of house hunting have left me in an odd and dark mood. Maybe I should just take a nap...
Here are some old photos I tooled around on while I was watching The Wrestler.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
In May, I went on vacation to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina with some old friends from High School. Organised and hosted by one Chelsea Sally Place, the trip was a roaring success. I got to spend plenty of time catching up with some of my favorite people, a lot of whom, I hadn't seen in two or more years.
Silly drunk (2 kegs a day), silly high (4 lbs. of weed butter), and silly burnt (2 tubes of sunscreen for 17 people), the whole goddam trip was one big, wonderful, mess. The house we were staying in was a dream- 30 yards or so from the beach with an unobstructed view, a roof deck larger than my bedroom, a 2nd story deck that wrapped around the entire beachside face, a volleyball net, sea kayaks, california king-sized beds, a hammock, and most important of all, a fully-equipped ninja blaster (an indispensable device created by the Japanese to help drunk Americans float safely in open seas).
I meant to take more pictures while I was down there, but I ended up focusing my energies elsewhere...
"How did those footprints get on the ceiling?"
-Chelsea's mom, Bev, after visiting the house following our departure.