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Monday: Breathless
10.7.2003 by Dan Beirne, every Wednesday.


Nathan Lane comes over every Wednesday to the house to watch a movie, or just chat with Dan. Dan found these little chats so interesting, he decided to tape-record them and tell the world all the neat things Nathan had to say about movies and stuff.


This is Monday, the first day of seven. I have no idea what the sky looks like.

Breathless (1960): A young car thief kills a policeman and goes on the run with his American girlfriend. Starring Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg, written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard.

(Nathan is sitting on his high horse)

Nathan: Did you know the actual title of this film is A Bout de Soufle?

Me: This is unlike you.

Nathan: We're out of pogos.

Me: It ended five minutes ago, I don't remember a single thing that happened.

Nathan: ...Wow.

Me: Aw, stop.

Nathan: No, seriously, I'm surprised I didn't think of that.

(an h-bomb is tested somewhere in the world, it begins to rain cancer outside my window)

Me: You look at Godard, right?

Nathan: I don't look at him.

Me: Just...stay with me.

(somewhere, people go out to breakfast, just to be safe)

Me: Do you think all he had to say was hello before people were like, "He's a total genius."

Nathan: Do you think it's written on people's foreheads?

Me: Well, it must be. Every genius I've ever seen has had it written on their forehead.

Nathan: Yeah, like graffiti. Like a moustache on the newspaper.

Me: Oh, you don't think you're special.

(I live on a one-way street)

Nathan: Not in the way you think. You're trying to look at a song the same way you look at a painting.

Me: Don't tell me I'm stupid.

Nathan: Are you drunk?

Me: It's gonna be a good week.

Nathan: Just keep talking.

Me: About what? You want me to talk? What do you want me to say? This is me talking! Woo-hoo, helloo!

Nathan: About something intelligent. Not like you're actually speaking into a microphone.

Me: Why?

Nathan: I'm handing this conversation in for marks.

(I start laughing, I don't know why)

Nathan: I know, I know. Just shut your...mouth.

Me: Hey, I'm alive. I know that for sure.

Nathan: Talk about girls or something.

Me: The stars above used to shine on cue.

Nathan: Oh, don't start this crap. At least talk about the movie, then.

Me: Now they're acting a bit confused.

Nathan: Cynthia called me the other day.

Me: What'd she say?

Nathan: That got you. I don't know, I think her father died.

(not true, Cynthia called an hour after this conversation to say that now, not then, had her father died)

Me: That's too bad. I met him once.

Nathan: I met him once too. He stood so straight.

Me: He was a doctor, wasn't he?

Nathan: Made it so babies could be born.

Me: Hm.

Nathan: In his spare time, he built tractors. Helped everything that grows in the world to grow.

(my neighbour has a drum set, he hit the crash cymbal really hard)

Me: I wish she were here. She'd have something to say.

Nathan: You wish.

Me: You're my american girlfriend.

Nathan: Your life is not a fucking movie!

as always, you can e-mail Nathan, but like I said, he won't get it.

Notes:

Nathan and I were cleaning, and we found a sweater. If anyone owns a light blue sweater with rolled cuffs, that you might have left here, let me know.




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