Month: January 2004

I treated myself to a second viewing of Les Triplettes de Belleville the other night. (I went with Jenny Lee, the comic-book editor and all around sass queen who I have such a nonsexual/friendy crush on its almost embarrassing, but that’s another entry altogether.) The movie is an even richer pleasure the second time around, when you already know the story and can just enjoy the details and the tone and the animation that much more.

Just like the first time, though, I left the movie feeling profoundly sad. Madame Souza and Champion’s pet Bruno is such perfectly observed distillation of a typical family dog that he provokes the most awful pangs for Andy, who shared (and somewhere, must still share) Bruno’s barks, wheezes, and simple devotion to the prospect of snacks.

Ah, my dear, excitable, beloved, irritating, comforting Andy, who I still miss a little every day (and who I tend to miss even more whenever I have to interact with the cats, who I just haven’t been able to warm up to), even though I know we found a much, much better home for him than the one we were able to offer. Andy was a handful, but I loved him like crazy, even when he was jumping up on my tender parts or whining to go outside when it was rainy and cold. He was funny, cuddly, sweet, and my pal. I had the time and opportunity to develop with Andy what I never got the chance to with Buster, the dog Mark got back in the Bushwick days, who I really love, but was never really mine to bond with.

Sadly, the same reasons it was hard for us to take care of Andy properly are the same reasons it would hard for us to get a dog again. With the prospect of me leaving town for most of two years, it would be an even worse idea. Still, I find myself thinking about it regularly. Not with any intention, but just a certain longing for that li’l doggy vibe that I loved about Andy, Buster, and Bear. I don’t want to rag on the cats too much (well, I do, but I won’t out of deference to the other member of the household who’s quite fond of them), but they just don’t provide the same warm, fuzzy happiness.

This 1950 ad for the Rosicrucians (who I do not endorse in any way) serves as a very convenient shorthand for all the content you do not see on UltraSparky these days.

I’ll confess once and for all, to all my friends, loved ones, and fans out there: I took last year off. What started as a post-meltdown instinct for self-preservation slowly became a conscious policy of getting my personal crap in better shape once and for all. I siezed the inertia that came along with cozy domesticity and began turning down invitations, paring down my possessions, avoiding freelance work, eating in, and staying at home. Basically, I chose tranquility (a certain go-go New York tranquility, mind you) over distraction and obligation, the two monkeys usually found on my back.

It was the right thing to do, despite the periodic guilt and hand-wringing about whether or not I was actually making people feel neglected. I shaped up my ship in a lot of ways: saved a ton of money and paid off a significant chunk of debt, sorted out my goals about work and school, learned a little more about finding the sensible middle ground between loving someone a whole lot and losing yourself in someone else, and shed a lot of neurotic habits. I wish I could get my HMO to pay me back for that kind of therapy.

You may not have seen much of the evidence, but I’ve really become more introspective and relaxed. (And in those many, many moments when relaxation doesn’t really come, I at least manage to substitute it with focus.) For the most part, though, the blog hasn’t been the place to work it out, like it was during the meltdown. Slow and steady progress, it seems, doesn’t quite need the same kind of feedback and hand-holding.

But enough touchy-feely nonsense. Basically, it’s two-thousand-goddamn-four and I’m calling off the moratorium on interacting with the world at large. I’ll warn you all now, though, I’m not going to try and convince myself that I have the time or the energy to be the man about town I once strived to be. I’ve got a husband to look after, work to do, and sleep to get. But I miss a lot of people a lot, and I hope no one took my prolonged hiatus too personally. I’m officially making an effort again.

You know, as long as I can do it before bedtime, and without spending too much. I still have to keep my nose to the grindstone, after all.