Bach, Anderson, and Murray
PICKING UP WHERE I LEFT OFF IN MY iOS NOTES APP—I was taking the train home when a Bach song came on shuffle. My fingers reached for the AirPod stems but I decided to let the song continue before pressing to skip. I very rarely listen to classical music but it was there in my library, so I must've intentionally added it to my library, and I only add things to my library for a good reason.
Of course, I ended up enjoying the song thoroughly. It made the ride feel like a Wes Anderson movie. Such movies have declined horribly in quality over recent years. A real shame. While Bach continued to play I thought about how this made for nice writing fodder.
A little over two years ago, on my birthday, some drinking buddies and I left a weeknight pub gathering to see a late Asteroid City showing. Everyone fell asleep except myself and admittedly, I was only pretending to like it. I don't try so hard anymore.
My head was flooding with ideas on the train. Not necessarily idea ideas, like schemes to get rich in 12 months, but pure, very welcomed thoughts that were much better than worrying about money, dying relationships that need attention, or the deep deep future. Instead, the thoughts were observations, analogies, appreciations, sympathies. I thought about how despite how they looked, everyone else's mind must not be so dull either. Theirs must be flooding just like mine. And I'm sure they thought I looked dull too, so I manually relaxed my face to lose any furrowed brow that may or may not be present until I forgot about it.
I exited the train at Belmont to transfer but opted to walk the longer 30 minute route home because it was pleasant outside and the next train wouldn't arrive for some time.
I've been big into afternoon light lately. After I saw some of it on the roofs of buildings down the street, I knew walking was the right choice. There's a line Bill Murray's character says in Groundhog Day while trying to impress his female co-star with his (literally) omniscient knowledge of her:
MURRAY: Can I buy you a drink?
WOMAN: Okay.
MURRAY: Sweet vermouth, rocks, with a twist, please.
BARTENDER: For you, miss?
WOMAN: The same... That's my favorite drink.
MURRAY: Mine too. It always makes me think of Rome. The way the sun hits the buildings in the afternoon.
(The bit is Murray's character knew her favorite drink, and presumably the very specific reason why she likes it, ahead of time.)
Believe it or not, my affection for afternoon light arose before I saw this scene, and I didn't just pick up a line from a cool movie personality. In fact, my pre-existing affection must be why the line stuck with me at all. The other day, maybe a week ago, or 2 months ago possibly, I'm not really sure, I laid in my bed upstairs around 4:30 PM when the light is perfect in the winter and watched all the dust in my room fly between the rays. It was a nice visual. I later thought about how I'm probably breathing all of that every night, but I sincerely do not care.
I think about Bill Murray an unusual amount. I think about him in Lost in Translation and Groundhog Day, as mentioned above, both movies I watched for the first time on flights, and sometimes I think about him in Caddyshack too. I think about his friendship with Hunter S. Thompson and his Chicagoland origins. And I laugh about how he wasn't able to recall the name of the Wes Anderson film he had just wrapped shooting for.
(It was The Phoenician Scheme, a nothing-burger.)