Everything is in Bloom

I thought you would like to know.

As Tough and Romantic as the City He Loved

Ah, the opening scene of Manhattan. As if you ever needed a reason to have a Woody Allen marathon. Wait. No, not you. Me. I am going to have a Woody Allen marathon. The problem is that Netflix only sends me one dvd at a time.

It will be the slowest marathon ever.

I’ve already seen Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters, Melinda and Melinda, Match Point and Small Time Crooks. The surface, I decided tonight, should be scratched much harder.

Here is how I came to this decision:

Unfortunately, Netflix, like I said, is slow going. And spring is here with its overflowing flowerbeds and open bars. I have barely found the time to bathe and dress myself before I am flung from one brilliant evening into the next. After my wildly delightful (and, yes, alcohol inclined) book club tonight, and after my wistful cigarette and my long hot shower, I tuck myself under my quilts and crack the window, the spring air cool on my skin. I watch endless Youtube videos of Eric Clapton. I consider changing my first name to Layla. I write a poem. I erase it. I write another. I erase it. I think about the scene in Hannah and Her Sisters when the architect tells Diane Wiest how he takes a bottle of wine with him to the opera and cries. I wish I had taken wine with me to the opera when I went a few week’s back (I had smelled like beer). I think about the old man I helped up on the subway today. I wish I had walked him all the way home.

Somewhere in there, disjointedly and haphazardly, I arrived at the conclusion that I should watch more Woody Allen films. So next week, I’m sure I will somehow relish how Deconstructing Harry might sum up some aspect of my coming-of-age as a writer

Or not. Time will tell.

Like I said, slowest marathon ever.