bound

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i recently watched that 43-hour long scorsese documentary on bob dylan. it didn't affect me that much - not as much as my boyfriend. he ran around for three days, in existential purgatory, pulling out his hair. "i have to DO something with my life!"

"i never knew dylan was so... skinny." i remarked.

i ran into a friend of mine - let's call him tibor - the other day. i seized an opportunity. "i still have your dylan biography - i gotta get it back to you."

"you have time.” he placed his hand on my shoulder. “i want you to read it."

“okay.”

tibor gave me this book easily four years ago. i read 13 pages of it, found dylan to be an asshole, and continued with the harry potter series.

about two years ago, i was having coffee with tibor and made my first attempt to return the dylan book. "keep it," he said. "i'm reading neil young's biography - it's great. i'll lend it to you when i'm done."

"oh."

when tibor left, i turned to another friend - let's call him velásquez - "i brought that dylan book to the beach. a wave washed up on shore. the book's totally wrinkled. the spine's curly."

"i never borrow books," velásquez said. "i don’t want someone to have that kind of control over me. he wanted a wave to wash up on shore. do you not see the hold he has on you?"

i've got to get that book back to him. the section with all the photos just fell out.

fyi

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

just in case anyone's interested, i was, once again, hit by a cab last night on my way to yoga.

yup. uh-huh.

nothing serious, just a tap on the leg.

i bet fiona apple gets hit by cars all the time too.

here's my deal...

grouse
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

if i work 36 hours on the last warm weekend of summer, and submit the "documents" at 4 am for your monday morning necessity, you call me up and say, "thanks. i saw that you were up until 4 am."

and i say, "thanks. i appreciate that." and then i invoice you.

if i come in and interview for you and totally f- it up, you call me back and you say, "yeah, well thanks for coming in, but you're really, really spazzy."

and i say, "i know, i know. some people call it 'charm', but 'spazziness' works too. i really enjoyed meeting you. bye now."

and if you like my resume and call me up on a friday morning and leave a message saying, "can you come in to meet us in 3 hours? we were just about to offer the job to someone else, but you're what we're looking for." and i call you back and leave you a message saying, "no, i cannot, but would monday morning work for you?"

you do not simply not call back.

i'm losing my patience. i'm going to costa rica. don't bother calling.

*yawn*

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

she said: you know, in a really weird and sweaty way, michael moore is kinda hot.

she said: Mmmmmm....bowling for concubines.

freak magnet

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i had a job interview on friday. it was the second one. i was going in to make a presentation in front of four people.

it's been raining for days. as i was walking to the subway, i notice someone speeding up the street towards me. i glance into the street: puddle. he splashes me. my entire right side is soaked to the bone. i yell. "fuuuuuuuuck!!!".

what do i do? do i go home? do i cancel the interview? reschedule? no - i go to my little presentation. wet. looking like a rat. a muddy, straggly rat. i make my lame-ass presentation. the “interview committee” look at me like i'm dumb, thank me for my time, and leave.

i don't think i got the job.

i suppose the responsible thing would have been to go back home and reschedule.

i realized that every time i step outside, something happens. it's getting to the point where i found myself saying, "what is it about 'close call' that's not getting you concerned?" to my boyfriend. i was describing how an suv making a left-hand turn decided that it was okay to run me over.

who has a fight with their masseuse? who bathes in her vacant neighbor's apartment? who emails a filmmaker to compliment him only to have him reply by asking if he can touch her boob? who gets woken up every morning by her russian neighbor pounding on her door asking, "krista, can i have just ONE beer?!"

i don't think i wanted that job anyway.

small talk

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i recently rented born into brothels and i cried from beginning to end.

now, i wasn't crying because of the kids, as frigging awesome as they were. i was crying because i used to be like this woman. i used to travel the world and fraternize with the locals. i made amazing friends, set up schools for young girls, shared dinner tables with goats and chickens, and contracted dysentery. it was the best time, ever. it was hot, i was dirty, i had my camera, it was heaven. and now... it's a different story. i've exchanged my walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage.

a few days before i rented this movie, i attended a pre-dinner cocktail party. film people. talking about, despite the dearth of film productions in the city, how they've managed to work every single day for the past three years. yes, you're good. yes, you're fabulous. bla, bla, boring, bla.

i scoped out the yard for another conversation. ”who could be more interesting...?"

i simply took another swig of beer.

then i saw her. another lost, bored soul. my savior: a seven year-old girl.

i approached her. we conversed about past lives and how they affect our current life. she made me laugh, she made me think. she was the most intelligent person i'd met all year. i looked back up (i was crouching down to speak to her) to the other people at the party. my heart sank.

don't make me go... the voice in my head pleaded with her. please don't make me go back and talk with those people...

see ya...

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i just had a week of hell - dealing with more contractors who do 62% of their job, ruining rooms they purport to fix. all the while kicking me out of my home, making the mess of a lifetime, and limiting my access to the internet and ability to meet my work deadlines.

i also learned that someone i had met while touring around for three months with a broadway show had died in a motorcycle accident. i remembered learning that he had a bike while we were somewhere in california.

"what are you doing today nicky?"

"i'm going for a ride along the coast."

"what do you mean "ride"?" my interest roused.

"my bike."

"a motorcycle...?" i purred.

"yup. see ya."

he never took me up on my "invitation".

on an unrelated night, i was hanging out in a friend's room. we were bored out of our trees.

"who should we call? nicky?"

"yeah, give him a call..."

turned out, nicky was watching an unfortunate halle berry movie.

"awesome! we're coming down!"

i know nicky had a lot of people around him who loved him. he was soft spoken, shy, and kind. i'm sorry they're hurting.