“I‘m a thumbprint in window a skyscraper. I’m a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage... I think it’s Bukowski." – Miles, the failed writer in “Sideways.”
Torn between an afternoon run and watching Sideways while drinking. For days now, I’ve been waiting for some good afternoon sunshine and some adrenaline to be pumped into my lungs. It’s a rush and it’s relaxation juxtaposed: a run in the late-afternoon- getting-really-Christmasey-October air. But how can the inconsistency of human decision fare compared to the irresistible cocktail of gin, concentrated calamansi juice, honey and lemon slices? I slip the perfect movie in the DVD tray, something I’ve longed to see again. Now I’m watching Sideways while having a drink, toasting and laughing with the characters.
Human inconsistency, my frailty, fared wonderfully.
But now I’m sideways. Oh well, we’ll get it straightened out later.
