CASEY

I awoke and remembered it was fathers' day. I said a prayer for my dad. Then I said a prayer for my late husband, Fred Sonic Smith, the father of my children. Then I thought of the good men I know who are also good fathers. Then I thought of the men who died in the BP explosion and wondered if they were fathers. They were, to be sure, sons.

I fed the cats then went to my cafe. It was only 9 am but already hot and humid. I had black coffee, brown toast and olive oil-my usual- and sat for a long time finishing An Episode in the life of a Landscape Painter, Cesar Aira's somewhat imagined though masterful recounting of the momentous disfiguring of the German artist J. M. Rugendas. Roberto Bolaño, an admirer of the author, wrote the introduction and Chris Andrews, a Bolaño translator, radiantly translated it.

Afterwards I commenced packing for our upcoming tour. This will be a grueling somewhat military style =bare bones tour with ten on a tour bus. But I paid extra for small window in the bunks. In this way I can lay there watching the landscape as we make our through the mountains of Spain. I can lie there for hours listening to Glenn Gould playing The Goldberg Variations thinking and thinking.

I've packed for 44 days. Six sink-washed tee shirts all good for stage due to their weightlessness, White glass bead game, crown of thorns and Siddhartha (Ann Demeulemeester) White Alexander McQueen with skull butterfly. A homemade (by me) MBV and one worn grey one with a basketball insignia that is no longer identifiable. Two pairs of dungarees. Seven pairs of cotton lisle bee socks. Underwear. An extra black jacket. My traveler talismans. A pair of green and orange flip-flops. Four linen handkerchiefs. One sacred bandana. Paperback set of 2666 to reread and extra reading glasses. My land 250 Polaroid camera and fifteen boxes of expired film will travel with the guitars. Two new toothbrushes and four-travel size tubes of Weleda salt toothpaste. Pretty close to done.

I diluted a tablespoon of unpasteurized apple cider vinegar in a large glass of water and drank it. At 12 30 I walked over to the IFC movie house on Sixth Avenue to get my ticket for The Killer Inside of Me. Not quite the obvious father's day choice but I have been waiting to see it. It's a Jim Thompson classic but I didn't know anything about the director. But it's neither of them that attracted me. For me it was all about Casey Affleck.

I wasn't so aware of the younger Affleck until Sam Shepard spoke of him. He worked with him on The Assassination of Jesse James with Brad Pitt. Sam said you should see this kid act, see it if just for him. Well I would have gone anyway to see Sam play Frank James. But it was a great movie worth seeing again and again. Beautifully shot, meditative, well dressed and well cast. Casey as the coward Robert Ford penetrated the being. I got a feeling he would be worth seeing in whatever role he chose.

So I went and got my ticket and sat in the back in an aisle seat. First there was a short about a dad mourning the loss of his son. It was in Spanish. I missed the first half so I don't know the title but it fit my Spanish frame of mind. Then some previews that I forgot already except for a rare silent film by Ouzo. Then the movie came on abruptly. Casey Affleck as the seemingly affable small town sheriff with the conscience of a snake. You know he's going to do something bad. His eyes send one set of signals and his gestures another. Every act of violence equidistant to good. Or maybe it's the other way around.

I was immediately taken in, even when there were shots I didn't like or strange music choices. I just bypassed my problems with some of the direction and character development. I was there to watch Affleck work and in that I was rewarded. But about thirty-five minutes in I had to leave. It wasn't the direction or the violence it was the anxiety. Everything unraveled so fast and I couldn't take it and that's the truth.

I went to my new favorite Cuban place and ordered black bean soup, avocado and a big cup of steaming black coffee. This place has been open for a long time but I never went there. Now I go a lot. They have the second best coffee around. All the tablecloths have a different pattern, clusters of grapes, purple flowers and palm trees. They also have quite an array of Jarrito sodas- tamarind, lime, fruit punch and toronja to name a few. No one was there but the cook, the waitress and me. They were watching Paraguay play Slovakia on a mid size TV. I sat there for a while lulled by sports in Spanish. Then I walked home, put on some Art Pepper and finished my packing.

I read up a little on our actor. August 12th is his birthday. The same as TE Lawrence. He is married to Summer Phoenix. They have two kids. So father's day greetings are in order for him.

Before I exited the theater I bought a ticket to the late show. I was thinking of having a drink before I try it again. Maybe just a small shot of Silver Patron. And I can take my prescription wayfarers to shut out the light. But nothing can shut out Jim Thompson's anxiety producing plot twists. And nothing can shut out the unholy smile lurking behind Casey Affleck's eyes.

June 22, 2010