James Gandolfini, the actor who played the ever enigmatic, anomalous, proverbial Tony Soprano, passed today. Can’t believe it. His character, by far my favorite in cinema, or TV, or anything I think. I used to do character analysis exercises on him, I mean Mr. Soprano, in my classes. What I loved about the character was his strength, his complexity, his contradiction, his vision, commitment to projects, business percipience. And I want to be a parent to Jack as he was to his children. Yes, I know he’s fictitious, but it’s the model set, that readers/viewers like me appreciate.
Ready to taste that MB. ’09, interesting vintage I remember, with all that crazy weather. Some of my fondest memories from the SFW tasting Room, to be honest, working alongside all my comrades.
Had a couple sips, over an hour ago. Going to pour a full glass in a moment. Just thinking about moves for morrow, with wine. Do want to photograph more setting fruit, if I can. Should charge the good phone. Won’t lie, I’m a little burnt out on writing, from yesterday’s stretch. Got pretty close to 3,000 words. But I won’t let mySelf get too worn down. Staying stubbornly in this writing position, business position, like Mr. Soprano. Another reminder of Life’s curtness. But I’m writing on– ugh, hate how I’m sounding right now. Need than glass of Malbec. Need to freewrite. OR not write at all. Just relax, to wine, music, see mySelf on that distant hotel balcony, or at the desk in my Room, scribbling.
Or, maybe I’ll read my book for night’s rest. Not The Paris Wife, as I’d planned. But my 59-page piece. It needs release. Now. Instantly. This Malbec, best bottle yet. Thinking of his death, how Life, Time, can’t be measured, just embraced. Should include that in one of my Fall talks. Just had ideas, about both Capote and Plath, for the first day: What do they think about Life? Their Life, Life in general…
Just skimmed a couple pages in book. A short I wrote about the dynamic present in the tasting Room. Interesting. Not the sharpest segment I’ve ever scribed, but effective in its own right.
Just noticed, the Room, this Room, completely quiet. No air-conditioner, fridge hum– spoke soon.. AC blows its cure to the condo’s corners. Could use my night’s capping, with the MB. Tomorrow, on lunch, will try to hook up with Blair, see if there’s something I can pick up, learn, appreciate, gain. More than wanting to make wine, I want to understand it. All of it. No ego, no emotion. Just indifferently objective, removed logic.
Before I’m gone, I want everyone to know what I felt about Life, Time. I knew how short it was, that I needed to act fast– that I wasn’t big on editing, proofing, that I just wanted to toss my material to masses and get reaction. Any kind of response. That’s what writers like I do, did. Poured last Malbec glass, but I’m sipping slow. In fact, I haven’t even taken first sip. Just want to stare at that full glass, with its sexy oeno-vampirism.
10:16pm. Session close. What next.. like I said, slow scribbles in Comp, or nothing at all. Maybe finish the movie I was watching on this little monster laptop. Right knee, still hurting from 2-mile attempt–I mean THREE mile attempt–2day. The red helps. Tomorrow, all wine. Every minute of it. “Immersing” mySelf into all bends of the business, no matter how boring, inane.
The wine, lightened somehow. Interesting. Is it the oxygen? Seen that happen before.