That last three minutes of “Before Sunrise” (1995) are always a punch to my gut. The inevitability of the end of the shining relationship. The rising of the sun burning away the evening of dreams and possibilities. Collapsing infinite potentials into a concrete reality. Exposing the detritus of the night’s revelry. Exchanging uncertainty on the edge of the teeth with the clear declaration on the lips of rational adults making rational decisions. “We are back in real time,” we reluctantly groan.
And then the flip at the train. The manifest exchange of certainty with potentials. Feverish, breathless abandon pushing aside rationality with passion. We will meet again, will we?
Personally, I love the sunrise; I just hate waking up for it. I also hate what it does to the world if the night allowed the world to feel something. It shows us passion is folly, although hours before passion was as real as solar fire.
Babycakes and milkshakes. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know me by now?
Last night’s foggy drive made me worry that a cryptid would attack out of nowhere and snatch me from my car, and that Mulder and Scully would have to investigate which sequence of mundane events occurred to explain what really happened.
MULDER: His browser history shows he’s made 253 recent visits to Fortean Times, and the IRS confirms he owes back taxes.
SCULLY: He’s also the defendant in several paternity cases, and the blood in the driver seat is determined to be porcine in origin.
MULDER: So he made like D.B. Cooper and disappeared after ditching his car on this county road.
Driving around tonight in the fog makes me realize that I miss weather.
It’s always so hot and dry and boring here in Austin. Give me weather, dammit. Variable weather. Second-guessing weather. “Do I need a coat, an umbrella, or cargo shorts?” weather. It’s what I miss about living in my mid-latitude home state, where we’re reminded that there are four seasons in the year.
I certainly do miss that variability. It kept me present, observant, honest about reality; attentive to how to handle myself in the unknown environment. It gave me news to bemuse.
Some day, Austin may lose all its charm and I’ll pull up stakes and move up a few states, but until then, I’ll have to take what I can from these strange winter weeks and find novelty where I can find it.
Important information from the Office of My Kitchen:
Listen, these chicken strips won’t double-batter and fry themselves. I’m here to facilitate.
Breaded with flour, Herbs de Provence, Lowry’s Season Salt, onion powder, egg, milk. Homefries could’ve fried further, but I got impatient. Honey mustard made by pouring honey and brown mustard into a bowl and mixing them, like some chemist who’s too cheap for store-bought.