Sunday, 08 July 2001 | Memento

This morning I picked up my parents from the airport, at the end of their two-week rushed coverage of the Southwest. The last time I saw them they had lots of energy and looked eager and half-ready. Today they looked different, the way people look at the end of a trip—their excitement a little muted by wisdom and directed at the past rather than being channeled in anticipation. My dad had grown out some white stubble that made him look something like Clint Eastwood. Apparently the people at Wendy's thought it made him look like a senior citizen, offering him, on a few occasions, the official discount.

...

I just saw the film Memento, and I've got a nagging movie hangover, the kind where you can't piece together what you just saw, can't make any sense of it, and you adopt some of the neuroses presented to you during those two hours. Right now I'm having slight memory problems and I feel rather confused. I recommend the movie, if you don't mind the psychological aftermath.