John Travolta is the guest tonight on Letterman. Self ponders the Travolta visage. It is not, she decides, too bad. That is, the face is still recognizable as John Travolta’s. He may have had plastic surgery, but it is discreet. He is charming, even relaxed. He and de Niro have made a summer movie which self has heard NOTHING — nada — about. They show a clip, and it’s very Bourne, that scene where Clive Owen as the assassin told to off Bourne is hiding in a field, and Matt Damon rouses a flock of birds and does an end run and shoots Clive Owen. In the scene self watches tonight on Letterman, Travolta plays a Serbian and perhaps because or perhaps in spite of the fact that he is Serbian, Travolta is equipped with a very swarthy beard, and tries to kill de Niro with an arrow. An arrow.
Self has reached, after much travail, p. 283 of Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser. Carrie is as per usual. Passive and accommodating. Hurstwood, the bigamous businessman/husband, is slowly losing his mind. He used to be rich before he fell in love with Carrie and ran away with her to New York City. He used to know people. He used to be a man of consequence. Now all he can manage is a four-room apartment on 13th Street, just off Sixth Avenue. He thought anonymity would save him, but it’s a curse.
Here is a picture of p. 283. Self provides it here because someone has written, in pencil, a number (37,348) at the bottom of the page. “Look!” self said, showing her book to The Man. “Someone wrote the word count here, at the bottom of the page.” The Man looked. Yawned. “How’d you know that’s the word count?” he opined. “What else would it be, on p. 283?” self responded.
The musical guest on Letterman is a duo called Japandroids. And they are playing rock. Like, really hard rock. Wow. Suddenly, everything old is new again. Has self really lived that long?
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.