a little late, i know, but i finally decided up update my iphone last night. i’ve been hearing all kinds of horror stories of things gone wrong and bricked phones and slow phones, so i was reluctant to commit to v2.0, hoping v2.1 might be lurking right around the corner. then i made the mistake of taking a look at the itunes app store and i found things there that i absolutely had to have.

so, i made the decision to update. here’s a timeline of how it went:

• 17:35 - update downloading and installing
• 17:42 - backing up
• 17:42 - extracting software
• 17:42 - preparing for restore
• 17:43 - preparing software for restore
• 17:49 - restoring iphone software
• 17:52 - verifying iphone software
• 17:53 - verifying iphone restore
• 17:53 - verifying iphone firmware
• 17:56 - restarting
• 17:57 - restoring from backup, waiting for activation
• 17:58 - restarting
• 17:59 - restored & activated

not a single problem. start to finish took 24 minutes and now i’m blogging from my iphone.

i saw the dark knight this weekend and i wasn’t disappointed; it really is *that* good.

i arrived at the theatre on saturday, along with my sister and brother-in-law, an hour and a half before showtime. surprisingly, we were the first three people in line — in front of the comic book carrying teenagers and the batman tee shirt wearing fans. by the time the theatre doors opened, i couldn’t even see the end of the line. we grabbed seats in the middle of the first row of the upper level and waited with anticipation until the lights went down.

i must say that i’ve loved the batman franchise for years. i can remember buying my first batman tee shirt in eighth grade, and quoting the movie with my friends (ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?). but it all changed in 2005 when chris nolan brought things back to life with batman begins. dark, mysterious and brooding, that movie raised the bar and set the tone for what was to come.

i tried not to have any grandiose expectations going in, but with all of the media hype, it was difficult not to expect something extraordinary. i was not disappointed. christian bale and michael caine were both excellent carrying on their roles as bruce wayne/batman and alfred pennyworth (i am convinced that i need an alfred in my life). lucius fox was one cool cat, and morgan freeman played him perfectly. but let’s be honest here, the joker stole the show, hands down. heath ledger’s performance was amazing. he became the joker. he embodied chaos, anarchy and terror. it was chilling, frightening and pure genius.

i walked away from the theatre wanting to see the movie again. that never happens. see this movie.

i’m not quite sure why, but i’ve been thinking about the final episode of hbo’s six feet under a lot lately. in fact, one scene in that episode stands out to me as the defining moment of the entire series.

bound for new york city, claire fisher says a tearful goodbye to her family and then pauses before leaving to take a photo of everyone. as she looks through the viewfinder, her dead brother, nate, appears and whispers in her ear,

you can’t take a picture of this. it’s already gone.

what really gets me is that, after nate has his say, claire takes the photo anyway.

taken out of context, the exchange might not seem like much of anything, trite and chichéd even, but within the framework of the series and the characters, it is such a powerful moment. in fact, that scene made such an impression on me that i’m still considering it’s implications three years later.

perhaps nate is right, the essence of the moment has passed and is gone forever — it’s futile to try to capture it in a photograph. then again, perhaps claire is right, the moment will live on forever in her photograph — it’s foolish not to preserve it on film. i don’t really know. i think, perhaps, it is this dichotomy that makes the scene so poignant.

we are all aware, on some level, that everything around us is ending. it seems to me that as we each move closer to our own ending, some of us hold on to things, people, memories, that give us comfort and a sense of identity and permanence in our otherwise ephemeral existence. after all, a lifetime is just one fleeting moment after the other until there are no more; the things we collect along the way tell our story, become our story.

claire’s story ends in a home filled with photographs. i think, perhaps, all things considered, mine will as well.

if only it was that simple.

the native american name for the july full moon is the buck moon since july is normally the month when the new antlers of buck deer first appear in coatings of velvety fur. the july moon is also called the thunder moon, for obvious reasons.

i found an anthology of women’s poetry last night from my college years. the following poems were marked in the japanese section; they seemed too appropriate not to share.

you told me it was
because of me
you gazed at the moon.
i’ve come to see
if this is true.
(izumi shikibu, 10th century)

don’t dress for it.
the moon will transfigure –
those darling rags.
(chiyo, 1703)

centuries later, the moon remains a source of inspiration & fascination.  at least for me.

my time at the beach has come and gone. i can’t even begin to put the whole experience into words, so here are some of the highlights:

played frisbee on the beach with my sister and parents
shared a shot of 100-year-old grand marnier
saw a pirate’s ship
watched the sun set over the bay
rode a carousel with my sister
took pictures, lots of pictures
read a book
celebrated my father’s birthday
ate a funnel cake, okay, two funnel cakes
walked through a graveyard
rode a bike to the fenwick lighthouse
played miniature golf
enjoyed every moment

it was a time i’ll never forget.

in 1939, frances kroll accepted a position as f. scott fitzgerald’s secretary. unbeknownst to either of them at the time, fitzgerald would only live 20 more months. against the current is kroll’s personal account of those final months. this book is an enlightening look at fitzgerald — a committed father and husband, a devoted friend and an unquestionably brilliant writer.

[fitzgerald] left a touch of magic, intriguing us continuously to try to fathom his cleverness.

my memory harbors a gentle man with a nearly collapsed dream whose prevailing gift gave him the strength to keep doing what he did best — to write.

the waves echo behind me. patience — faith — openness, is what the sea has to teach. simplicity — solitude — intermittency . . . but there are other beaches to explore. there are more shells to find. this is only a beginning.

the sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. one should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea.

the sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; i cannot quite make it out.