echoes of Florence

Last Saturday night Sarah, Stacey and I went to several bars in Bethlehem. At Joe’s Tavern we learned how to play darts and drank two dollar beers with a Liberty High School drop out and his friend from New Jersey. The guy from New Jersey stuck with us for the whole night and at The Brew Works it somehow came out that he is an audio/videophile and we had a long interesting conversation about stereos. Then Stacey brought up Matt Popolardo (sp), who was a big asshole when I was in boy scouts with him and who later was my editor-in-chief when I edited the entertainment section of Liberty Life. His dad was also kind of an asshole, and went on a real power trip in his role as assistant scout chief (or whatever the hell they’re called) when he took away our gameboys and walkmans when we were at boy scout camp. I suppose earning merit badges was important if I wanted to advance beyond tenderfoot, but I just wanted to play Pokémon. Mr. Burgermister, the real chief, was a great guy, but my dad suggested to me that Mr. Popolardo and his wife were trying to get him out of there, and I think they succeeded sometime after I quit. Well, there is no justice.

I wish the people who follow this blog and have their own blogs would update more often so I have something else to do when I go on the internet other than look at fbook status updates of people I don’t really care about. I’ve been going through and hiding a lot of them. Pretty soon they’ll be hardly any left.

I watched That Obscure Object of Desire today, Buñuel’s last film. The object of desire, played by both Carole Bouquet and Angela Molina, had an accent and way of speaking that at many times (especially when moaning or complaining) was uncannily similar to the way Florence spoke. When she would say, c’est pas possible, it brought me back to Paris and the days when she walked in and started talking to herself.