Movies and Motels

Yesterday I got some of my final things from my old apartment. I ran in and out with a little white dress while my scrouge like roommates and their new flatmate sat at the table like the evil step sisters in Cinderella. Though the insecurity of living out of boxes and plastic bags can be wearing on the soul, I realize it’s better than living in situations such as the one I am leaving. 

But what is next for me? I am floating for the moment, though justifiably so. All the sudden the city that has seemed my home reminds me of a tourist destination, a place I’m only temporarily visiting. 

Kevin, who doesn’t live in the city quite yet, often comes to see me from San Jose. Usually he stays with me, but my precarious sleeping arrangements have made it so that this has become quite a complicated matter. Yesterday we headed to Ocean Beach later in the day. The sun was still up, and it was heavily populated despite that the evening was soon coming.

Just the day before we had hung out and caught a movie at a weird theater in the Stonestown Plaza. It was “Tell No One” a French thriller that came out in 2006, but only hit USA shores recently due to the fact that many thought it’s plot was too complicated for American audiences (I’m not joking about that btw). I say the theater is weird, because it didn’t feel like it was in San Francisco. It reminded me of a theater near my hometown in Pennsylvania. It was populated by old people and a practically ghost like entry way which required you to yell “Excuse me” if you wanted someone to ring you up for your pop corn. 

The movie was excellent, and I had no idea what was going on till the end. The color schemes especially attracted me. The movie opened with an Ottis Redding track making it seem somewhat vintage. Perhaps this caused me to see some old school connection to it. I did notice a brown-orange trend in the color scheme though. I imagine they used a film camera to make it, and I would be interested in finding out which one. 

Despite that we’d just seen a movie, Kevin and I decided to see Woody Allen’s Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona following our trip to the beach. We missed the earlier showing because we had to pick up stuff from my old place, so we went and had dinner in Japantown to pass the time. We ate lightly and drank heavily (three large crafts of sake one hot, two cold). We went to the Kabuki theater, and definitely didn’t have to compete for a seat (the show was at 10:10). 

Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona is definitely one of Allen’s best films in a long time. I particularly enjoyed the use of voice over in the film. The characters were highly developed. I was worried that Scarlette Johannson would be used as a sex pod, but her character’s confusion about what she wanted in life made her far too real to be a mere icon. Johansson also acted and looked very different from other films she has been in, especially in Matchpoint. Penelope Cruz did an especially good job. I never doubted her character was a crazed nut for one second. I liked the movie so much I’d see it again.

Following the movie we decided we wanted to be alone. We called around looking for hotels and finally settled on a motor lodge in the Castro. We picked a dark room so we could sleep in late. By the time we even found a place it was 2. When I was waiting to get our key I was reminded of my hotel searches in Mexico a month earlier, except there it made sense that I wouldn’t have a place to sleep at night. 

This morning I woke up thinking about my parents, and how I missed Philadelphia. I feel so far from where I am from and the things that have made me. I know this is just a symptom of my situation, but the feeling can be rather overwhelming at times. Something seems different is all I know. I don’t think it is a bad thing, but a change is about to take place. Or maybe nothing will happen at all.