indigo schmindigo a high tolerance for repetition
I almost always prefer author interviews to movie star interviews. From the fabulous Annie Proulx comes this remark: "Excuse me, but it is NOT a story about 'two cowboys.' It is a story about two inarticulate, confused Wyoming ranch kids in 1963 who have left home and who find themselves in a personal sexual situation they did not expect, understand nor can manage."
I see your point, Annie. If you're actually a cowboy or actually know actual cowboys, then no, these guys are not cowboys. But for the rest of us... c'mon, close enough, they're cowboys, okay? Even Texan mineworkers in Wyoming looked like cowboys to my uncowboy eye.
I have not seen the movie yet. I'm almost afraid that I will be disappointed, although there is not even a whiff of evidence to support this fear. It's just so very made-to-order, like "Let's make a movie that Indigo will love!" I mean, it's too good to be true: Annie Proulx meets Ang Lee meets gay cowboys in Wyoming. Plus, you know I always love those tragic love stories. (Who doesn't?)
We shall see.
In other news: thumb progress! I have successfully cut my toenails (with nail scissors), chopped celery (not very finely, but still), carried various items heavier than a loaf of bread in my right hand, & even managed to slice some bread (although that may have been pushing things a bit).
I still can't really drive or use a fingernail clipper (I tried) or scrub pots or swim normally, but hey, optimism is my middle name.
So, you know, the silver lining in not being able to drive barely at all (because of the hand, of course) is that I get to feel all virtuous taking public transit all over the place. How liberating, too, to forget about gas prices, bridge tolls, parking tickets.... Not so fast! I have just discovered that there is, in fact, a public transit equivalent of the pesky parking ticket. It's when you (feeling smugly forethoughtful) add $20 to the $6 left on your BART ticket, & then promptly lose it. !!$&*#@!
Now the good news: the neurologist informed me, after a series of unpleasant shocks on various parts of my arm & hand, that I have no nerve damage. All nerves fine! She says I have "complex regional pain syndrome", which, if you google it, turns out to have unknown causes & unknown treatment (& also some very scary extreme examples). Fortunately, in this case, for once, the doctor is more helpful than a google search & has instructed me to gradually start using my thumb normally again. She illustrated this prescription with a sort of dramatic demonstration of how strong my thumb actually is when I take several deep relaxing breaths before trying to use it. Trippy! Hey, I have a thumb again (sometimes)! I've been playing (cautiously) with my new toy. It's very proud of its ability to cut easy things with scissors, help with some zippers, pitch in with the eating, &c. So if you hear me exhaling loudly, it's because I'm trying to get my thumb muscles to work right.
Yes. I am still here. Well, actually, I went away & came back. Barcelona!!! What an amazing city, bursting with jaw-dropping architectural wonders, swoon-inducing food (existing side-by-side, I mean actually on the same menu, with dull mayonnaisey or brown-sauce stuff), truly enviable public transit, awesome Roman relics, friendly people, & way too much dogshit. How can people live like that? My neck was a little freaked out, what with my looking constantly up (to admire the sights) & then back down again (to avoid the shit), repeat several times a minute, for hours at a time. I guess all that sitting around in restaurants helped. Lobster & sea urchin stew. Extra-thick, yummygooey pear tatin unlike any I'd ever had. Pile of fried sardines that made me feel like a cat. Screamingly good soup with trumpets of death, aka black chanterelles. Drinkable olive oil. Marrons glaces, candied fruit, endless permutations of goat & sheep cheeses, chocolate, good wine for cheap. Then giving the thighs a good workout getting to & from our 6th-floor walkup apt.
But the burning question: DID THE THUMB LIKE IT?
Yes! It did! The thumb feels quite a bit better. Still nowhere near normal, but a glimmer of light appears, way off there at the end of the tunnel. About fucking time. I'm sick to death of this trudging along in the pitch dark. The challenge: not to tear off at top speed hoopin & hollerin toward that speck of light, thus risking injury, setback, waking up the bats (or giants), you know what I'm talking about. Oh, impatience! I must take a deep breath & continue to proceed with caution, lest I trip & fall on my face again. Pray for me.