So, as I've said before, Wednesdays are my least favorite, as that is when the Farmer's Market happens about 50 feet from where I live. The streets are clogged with cars and the sidewalks with slow moving people (most of them pushing prams of yuppie spawn and eating something). As I was heading out of my house for Lulu's nightly drag, some old bat was getting out of her car and fell into step with me (or tried to: Lulu, seeing a HUMAN BEING, doubled back and made a beeline for her, and nearly tripped her and me). Are you Jackie and Serena's tenant, she asked. I said yes, and nearly added, yeah, me and Roman Polanski. She introduced herself as Cat and asked me my name. I told her. Sha, she said, considering the name. Ch - I said - Cha, like Cha Cha, not the Sha of Iran. She continued with small talk, which I mumbled answers to until I could shake her. When she said Cat, I should have said Dog? I have the easiest fucking name in the world, and you'd be amazed at how many variations people can pull out of their asses. See. This is how cranky I get on Wednesdays.
And speaking of The Tenant - when I lived in London, I saw it at a theatre that was a converted monkey house. There was even a pit, with big rocks, in front of the stage, where presumably the monkeys had cavorted. And it smelled a little - off. It was a double bill with The Tin Drum. Which made for one long ass evening of movies, but was a terrific pairing. I think it's Polanksi's funniest movie (one doesn't tend to think of Polanski = Comedy, and to be sure, the humor was very black). I see now that it's out of print, but available from a bunch of sellers on Amazon. I think I will pick up a copy, along with Chinatown and Rosemary's Baby. Some great films. And a great example of love the art, not the artist.