othelladub's Diaryland Diary


on the heath

I went and saw John Singleton's "Baby Boy" the other night. It wasn't what I would consider a classic, in any sense of the word, but it was interesting, and the acting was actually better than I expected.

Man, the weather is really strange right now. I can hear thunder outside. Thunder and Lightning in the summer. Damn. Mother earth is about to bless us with a downpour. Ok, I just wrote that sentence, and as I was writing that sentence I heard rain crashing down outside.

I like the rain. And the coolness. I'm just more predisposed to rainy and cloudy weather. The sun just bugs. It drains me. When then, I like places like Chico and Las Vegas, where the heat is the norm, is beyond me.

Well, Chico has a grand span. It almost snows during the winter, and sometimes rains like fuck. One year, I had to walk from my apartment a few miles away to school every day. Most of those days in December and January were rainy. And the nights were cold, riding my bike back.

I don't totally miss it. One of my roommates was a realy sociopath. We got along once in a while, but more often than not, we clashed. I really think deep down he has a good heart, but he says such mean-ass shit, and he behaves like such a spoiled 12-year old, I can't believe the cat's in his 20s.

My other 2 roommates I really miss. Rance was my homie, my best friend for the past 3 years. Shane is my best friend since practically birth, but there are some things about college, and the life I was leading that I just don't think he could really relate to. Rance is with a pretty cool girl now, and I wish the best for him. He's getting laid on a regular basis, and she genuinely seems to care for him. And garrett is a ladies man, so I really don't worry too much about him. He's probably still upset the kings lost in the playoffs, but he'll probably have a business empire before its all said and done.

I remember relating to him because we're both basketball fanatics, as well as artists.

I haven't painted for a while. Painting's not really my primary thing anyway, but I was enjoying doing watercolors for a few years there. I had an art teacher that basically fucked with my head in college. I think she was on speed. Anyway, I ended up changing my major to English.

I remember watching a video for "Wuthering Heights" in High School, senior year, and tears were coming down my eyes. Now, I really doubt that I would have the same reaction. But I was really feeling it. Senior year, and we had this great, insightful class, and this wonderfully inspiring teacher - who once dated Jim Morrison - and she just blew us away - there was some real trauma that year for me, and as I sat, watching Laurence Olivier play Heathcliff, I felt his pain. The agony of not being refined enough, the torture of seeing his love Cathy ditch him for that Linton boy. And he comes back, later in the novel, educated and refined. But his heart has gone cold.

I would rather lack the refinement, and keep my heart soft. Let it hurt from time to time. It's ok, it's part of living. Sometimes a raw nerve needs to be exposed.

So that's part of why I'm uncouth and lacking in tact to this day. And smooth talkers, to me, simply lack heart. If something is pure, it is fucking hard to express in words. So that's what Emily Bronte taught me. Of course, she lived in her house without much contact with the world, and with limited real romantic encounters, so I don't know if Bronte is the first person to look to for advice.

But her fiction made an impact on me back then. And Heathcliff, along with Jim Morrison, gave me a sense that being uncultured was, if anything, a positive.

11:09 p.m. - 2001-07-03


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