The landlord and his flunky handyman have been in and out all day, working on the bathroom, which is a very good thing. I woke up today to find about an inch of water on the floor in there. Aie! I'm just glad it's not up to me to fix it. I'm shaping up to be the world's most negligent homeowner - YAY ME. I finally found a lawyer i'm comfortable with and just got off the phone after making an actual appointment for next week to deal with my mother's estate, and possibly probate, and all that icky sticky stuff.
Last night I watched another great documentary, Grey Gardens by Albert and David Maysles. It's about these two crazy women, Edith Bouvier Beale and her daughter Edie. They're related to Jackie Onassis, and they once had money and good looks, but by the time the film was made, they were shut-ins living with a bunch of semi-feral cats in an enormous, filthy, decaying mansion. The health department forced them to clean it up and it made the papers, which is how they attracted the filmakers' attention, I suppose. It was a really stunning film. Kind of tragic and hilarious, what we like to call "traumedy". Reminiscent of Raymond and Peter for sheer voyeuristic fury, but it's somewhat gentler, more proper, and moneyed.
My good friend Archie came by earlier to work on his resume, and we talked about photography and design and his upcoming gallery shows. As he was leaving, he casually mentioned dreaming about laughing and having sex with me. Uh. Weird! He's like my little brother. Jeez. He's had these weird sex dreams about me before, and he always tells me about them. What am I supposed to say in response to that? Pshaw.
Uhoh, I smell solvents and the landlord and the handyman are making some violent noises down the hall, I'd better investigate.