1999 february 22

hands, all full of glory

all weekend long, i have been obsessing about my hands.

it happens occasionally, i look down at them and become fascinated with their machinations, of the bones in my fingers and my fingers filled with bones. i think because i was so dehydrated from the viral infection, everything looked just a little leaner and a little more pronounced: my knuckles like little knolls waiting for their gunmen, the veins on the backs of my hands dancing underneath the skin as i curled and uncurled the fingers, nails strangely shiny.

i read a short story once, maybe ray bradbury, about someone who had an awareness of their skeleton and it has stayed with me ever since. if i stop to think about my body, about all the moving pieces that must move just so in order for me to live, i get a bit freaked out. try typing once you are aware of how many muscles and bones and tendons are shifting and expanding and contracting with each keystroke.

it's a wonder i can get this entry done at all.

i was feeling a little better this weekend, rather soggy and weak, but better, so we decided to finally see saving private ryan.

first, i hate the blatant emotional manipulation mr spielberg feels the need to indulge in whenever making one of his important message films. old creaky man walking past rows of white crosses, old creaky jews walking past schindler's grave, you know the moments i mean. other than that, i thought it was an okay film, not great, but good. i had heard so much about the opening sequence and its graphic violence i was a little afraid for my still nauseous stomach, but i needn't have been. don't get me wrong, it was plenty brutal, but my imagination is apparently much worse than real war so it wasn't nearly as bad as i thought it would be.

i was slightly irritated with the neat little ending. of course private ryan lives, of course the gutless mapmaker finds his guts and shoots the evil bad german soldier, of course all the great heroes of the film that we have come to know and love die just at the last minute, just before the reinforcements could save them. ho-hum, where have i seen that before. but again, that was just a slight irritation.

the big irritation?

our hero mr hanks, sitting in a pool of his own blood, obviously dying, tells young private ryan, "earn this." what a colossal guilt trip to lay on someone! what a giant fuck you! "hey, kid, i know you didn't ask us to come out here to find you and i know you were just doing your job when you insisted on staying and i know we had no obligation to stay and i know war is hell in general and neither one of us would have chosen it, but hey, i want you to remember every single second of your life that i died for you. i died right here for you and you better live a damn good life or i am going to haunt your every dream, your every waking moment. i am going to sit right there on your shoulder for every fucking decision you ever make and it better be one that i think is good"

if i were the old man at the end of the movie, i would have kicked that white cross.

nimbly, claire