Tilda Swindon is simply a startling streak of sex.
Yesterday I started to feel creepy continually saying, “Mommy’s not here, little girl”.
Today I went out with my mother after staying up the entire night with Andrew, Chris, and Dominique. It wasn’t likely the most clever thing I’ve ever done, but after I yanked her out of over-stressing over nothing we had a pleasant lunch at Wild Ginger and she sat and nodded a lot while I banged on about technology, education, and the future relating to the internet and the arts. Half-way through I caught the waiter eavesdropping and looking confused. It was a bit of a heads up that our conversation isn’t exactly the most commonplace. My mother used to be extremely cutting edge, she used to be very much the futurist, but somewhere along the line she had kids and they seemed to have drained her of everything that made her shine. Today that made me bang on the table.
“What have you been making lately?”
“I’ve been raising children.”
“Not good enough! Where’s your content? Why aren’t you on archive dot org? Websites won’t get hits unless they’re advertised.”
When I caught myself using words like paradigm, soliloquy, dichotomy, and interstitial in groups of three or four to build my sentences, I decided it was time to back off a bit.
“Do you mind that your daughter seems to have turned into an art-snob technocrati with a hard-on for science future?”
“Darling, you were born that way.”
After that was a daring foray into the mother-frightening world of shopping. (And the crowd gasps, I know). She hates it, but every year insists on trying to get something for me for my birthday. Apparently this year the quest is for shoes. This I don’t understand, as I’ve already found myself up with the most minimal shoes that money can buy and I’m happy in them. It’s like being barefoot without treading on glass directly. We, of course, returned to my home empty-handed after wandering blankly into and out of a few stores in a scuzzy area of town. Oddly, I found a black number I think I want to go back for in the hooker shop. My mother, she shook her head and said I looked like a go-go dancer from the 50’s. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything on so short in my entire life.