The D-Word's life is one of glamour and riches, as only a documentary filmmaker can live it

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Checking My Mind
December 22, 1996.

I leave in 6 hours
for a long-awaited family vacation in the sunny Caribe.

This is what I'm bringing:

 
• books - In The Cut by Susana Moore (a "ferociously uninhibited erotic thriller" I'm halfway thru -- heroine about to be carved but can't 'cause she's the narrator), Revolutonary Road by Richard Yates (a classic I can't wait to re-read), The Road Ahead by Bill Gates (to ponder dameaningofitall).
• snorkel gear
• lotsa sunscreen
• still camera
• Marj, Josh and Lucy

No checking phone messages. No computer. No camcorder. No thoughts about Home Page (ha!).

Used to have trouble taking vacations before I met Marjorie. She forced me to go to Cozumel with her 15 years ago when we first started going out seriously. I'd sit on a low beach chair all day, my toes buried in the fine sand, sipping cervezas and reading The Parade's Gone By, a fascinating 1,000 page tome on the silent movie era by Kevin Brownlow. Every few hours I'd get up and snorkel, awestruck by this whole colorful world just under the surface of the sea. Oh yeah, the sex wasn't half bad, either.

So I've permitted her to convince me to go ever since.

The geek world I'm chronicling don't know from vacations. Alien concept. They just need a forceful spousal unit with a good job, that's all.

Been a hectic few weeks hammering out agreements with Cinemax, Jane, Debbie. Met with a new accountant to straighten out my sad financial state. Re-arranged my entire office to accomodate Carol, an entertaining entertainment lawyer I know, who basically just needs a desk occasional nights. She was being booted out next door, I could use help with my rent.

Finished a segment for the show Edgewise on MSNBC, a kinda silly slice-of-life piece about a "Psychiatry Film Night" screening of the film Taxi Driver sponsored by the American Psychiatric Association.

They're badgering me to do more segments, and it's just the kind of show I'd love to work for (very documentary style short pieces without narration-- very director-friendly) if I weren't about to go full-blast into post-production on my own feature-length doc. Bad timing.

But that's life. Can't be two different people. Can't be in two places at once. Can only appreciate what's right in front of you and count yer blessings.

And so I look forward to little Lucy's first snorkeling experience. She's spent the last three nights snorkeling in the bathtub in anticipation. Josh is 21. This is probably the last extended time the four of us will have together.

Look forward to the books, the fine sand, the cervezas. Oh yeah, some not half-bad sex, too.

Just don't expect any accounts of it here. This isn't Justin, folks.

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