back & forth between myself and (then) Heather Hamilton (dooce)
TO: DOOCE.COM (Heather B Hamilton)
Krebbling up Haight street sooperbowl sunday in what can only be described as dashing punk runaway rags, complete with mis-cut locks of perhaps coloured hair. “jared leto,” anna sneaks out as she feigns another bite of our shawerma. by this time, the boy-ish faced urchin has reached a point where he, our wee table, and a well-dressed/dog-walking/non-plussed man on a mobile behind us, all culminate in a blocked artery of a sidewalk. i’m still staring at this gorgeous little punker, with these fucking eyes that could sober the rich. “oy, it sure does look like him,” i says. i cannot look away. he’s pivoting back around after putting a “30 seconds to mars” sticky on a trashcan. he’s grinning something fierce, complete with long blinks of the aforementioned eyes. he’s coming down from on high. he must have gone big last night and is now in that golden-pleasant warm-sun day-light of a psychedelic hangover. “no sean, thats him,” anna garbles under the napkin, her expression duly noted. and then, he has fixated on me, and is staring. no less then 7 feet between us. these are those moments in time, felt mostly whilst driving in severe conditions, where motion slows and thought-processes expand. he’s still staring. i cannot, and dare not look away. for it is really him now. seconds earlier a vaporish throwback – now clearly Jordan fucking Catalano. he speaks: “lookit’choo!” oh shit. “just lookitchoo, man!” aw no. “big man with your little dog! i like it!” i’m not alone in doing the cautioned turn of the head “who me?” expression. but sure enough, our man in Gap behind me has a wee dog. Mr Leto was not talking to me. by the time i turn back around, he’s gone sauntering back up the sidewalk. anna is smiling. i spend the rest of the day wondring where & why i’ve heard of “30 seconds to mars.”
From: Dooce.com – Heather B Hamilton
love your middle name, if that is your real middle name.
have to say that this is perhaps the best celebrity sighting ever submitted to dooce.com. best written, definitely. you captured him SO DEAD ON. god, this is good shit.
do you mind if i put it on the site?
TO: DOOCE.COM (Heather B Hamilton)
i am only now fully distilling the events of this whirlwind week, and to a certain extent, month. you dont know me. nor i you. but somehow thats wholly irrellevant in the here & now. my story is not unique, you’ve heard this kind of thing thru & thru. if there’s but one thing i would seek to impart to you mizz hamilton is that, after years of batting it around like a fleshy wart, i have finally embarked upon a new course. anna would say this is a long time coming, and all digests down to sean finally doing something about it. you see, its too nebulous to offer the copious details you’re prolly expecting. but suffice to say, that upon the research expectant upon such a new blazed life-path, i have come across gems. not unlike the Stone of Romance, these shiny objects of design are beacons. they are north stars pointing me towards some far off shore. a fertile, yet welcomingly distant land to sail to, where i will revel in the burning of the boats.
the more you try to explain it, the less sense it’ll make anyway. so, at the risk of waxing even MORE obtuse, lets just say that i have throuroughly enjoyed the last 96 hours of continuous dooce.com & accompanying linkerage. again, as i mentioned upon blurbomat, i have stumbled upon something. the sight of which is alltogether fascinating & shy-inducing. as if, i’ve not right peering so jaw-gaped.
it all comes down to this: there are a lot of fucking talented people in the world when you realise how low you’ve considered the bar to have been. read that back to me. thank you. for 2 years ago, having finally accepted the web as a possible voice, ANY voice, let alone a hobby. i had a dream i had a dream about people actually being interested in a site that’d host all the 1000’s of images seanna had taken over the years. the stubborn scorpio didnt put too much a flame under’is arse, and has only come so far as www.seanna.com please be gentle…
a. hamilton is, indeed, my preferred name. the tartan i wore at me wedding to the loverly anna… she is my best friend and no less then the mirror upon which my love is bounced right back.
b. please post all & sunder with all the blessings the above text could ever provide. please see below.
c. i feel compelled to re-attend regular sessions of inspection upon dooce.com. most assuredly resulting in the obligitory submissions & long-winded missives. i hope thats ok.
d. my wordiness is a neurosis & at times, the only comfort to the brackish nature of the modern media mind. please, do not be afraid. i wish every good thing.
FOR THE ALBUM/BOOK LIST
(you’ve shown exceptional cruelty by limiting to twelve:one. the remainder 25:4 available upon request. and take note: this list’ll be massivly different had i chose merlot versus this tepid scotch. but thats another 29 paragraphs in & of itself)
sean hamilton alexander
flemenco sketches – miles davis
shawshank redemption – thomas newman/soundtrack
headphones – bjork
u-turn – solid doctor
got to get > tomorrow never – the beatles
the sherrif – fila brazillia
annanas – tosca
fallen arrow – ida
morningbell (any version) – radiohead
tracy i love you – luna
high fidelity – elvis costello
book – the proud highway – saga of a desperate southern gentleman 1955-1967 (by) Hunter s. Thompson
that is all…
love to Jon…