WHEN: 7:30pm EST, February 23, 2012
WHERE: Starbucks, the bus stop outside Starbucks, the 7:55 number 2 bus, the sidewalk between the bus station and my house, my house.
FORMAT: Downloaded from the iTunes store, on my iPhone 3.
COMPANY: None, unless you count the bum in Starbucks and the people on the bus.
PHYSICAL AND MENTAL STATE: Tired from a day of work, hungry-ish.
REACTIONS OF NOTE:
– Rob has to dig through an old box to get at the book that has Allison’s mom’s number in it. I still think that it is creepy that he has any idea where that number is.
– Rob equates his relationship with Laura to a person dying in a hospital. Meanwhile, Laura’s dad is really dying in a hospital. What an unintentional asshole Rob is. I honestly don’t blame him for that one.
– Is Rob’s wearing a shirt similar to the one that Sarah dumped him in a subconscious response? If so, what does it mean? If not, what does it mean?
I figured that I would try viewing High Fidelity on my phone while going about my normal going home from work routine to see if and how this would effect my viewing. This process began at Starbucks.
Typically, after I get out of work I have to sit around the local Starbucks for about 40 minutes before the bus arrives. I usually read a book. Today I started High Fidelity. As usual, the first half an hour of the movie moved quickly. I sipped on my tea, and was pleased that the bum who usually tries to start up a conversation with me chose not to do so, and in point of fact moved across the shop to be next to someone who was not wearing headphones. I do not recall having any real thoughts about the movie during this time. I stared at the screen as one might stare at an old formulaic sitcom. Watching, listening, but not absorbing, because the basic plot has already saturated my brain.
At the appropriate time, I got up, and without pausing or looking away from the screen, walked out onto the dark sidewalk to wait for the number 2 bus. The scene playing was the one where Marie DeSalle sings “Baby I Love your Way.” I felt a disconnect in my mind. I did not feel like I was watching a movie. I felt as though the music were just the soundtrack to my life as I awaited the arival of the bus. The image of Lisa Bonet on the screen seemed disjointed, and unrelated to the music I was hearing. I was also worried that someone would come up behind me and try to steal my iPhone. The noises of the crowd in the movie would startle me, and I would turn around suddenly to see if there was anyone behind me. There was not. It was very cold. The bus did not arrive on time. Marie DeSalle came to the shop, but once again, it was only the music that I heard. I found it hard to focus on any dialogue.
The bus arrived. In my haste to get in, I stepped on the first step while the bus was still moving. The bus driver didn’t mind. I paused the movie long enough to pay the fare. The bus ride was a blur. The lights on the bus flickered on and off. I do not recall having any thoughts about the movie while on the bus. Once again, it just played, as I stared. No more hatred for Rob, just a numbness to the movie.
I got off the bus without pausing the movie. Just after I stepped off the bus, Rob stepped onto a train. I thought it would have been cool if that had happened while I was still on the bus. I walked towards my house. It is less than a five-minute walk, but it is not a very pleasant neighborhood. I walked quickly with my phone kind of under the front of my jacket. (Still within my eye line of course.) I got my keys out and stuck them between my fingers so I could use them to punch anyone who tried to steal my iPhone. It was cold. The movie, though my attention was on it, made no real impression at this time. Rob rustled through a box, and for a minute I thought it was someone rustling though a box on the street. Little noises in the movie made me jumpy.
I got to my apartment. I went inside, and checked the mail, all without pausing. I had some vitamins. Every time someone would enter a room in the movie, I would think one of my roommates had come home. All the background sound effects seemed to jump out at me, but none seemed to connect to the movie. They seemed to be around me in my house. I made myself two hamburgers on my George Foreman grill. I ate them on my couch.
The movie continued. At this point I thought about going down to Trader Joe’s, but the fear that someone would steal my iPhone while I was walking was too great, so I continued to sit on the couch, digesting my burgers.
I slowly drifted into a semi-waking food coma. I lay there and stared with dead eyes into the screen as Rob stalked Laura. All emotion towards the movie was gone. It merely existed. The opening scene of Apocalypse Now came to mind. Shit. Saigon. Had I been a drunk Martin Sheen, I might have punched a mirror and still not felt a thing. Every minute I stare into this screen I grow softer. In a haze Dick drops an air conditioner onto Tim Robbins. Like the mumbling of a drunk Marlon Brando, the dialogue washes over me, not registering on any conscious level. I see the mud slide down the fence. I don’t care if it fits into any continuity.
Even the last 20 minutes of the movie seemed to fly by. All sense of time disappeared from the moment I lay down on that couch, clutching at my iPhone. There was no sense of temperature. I am not sure how long ago it was that I finished watching, or what, if anything, I have been doing since then. Time is still a blur. I can hear The Doors playing in my head. It is only February.
Surely we are all lost.