Holidays

I'll be taking the tour of MT for the next week or so. With intermittent time spent off the grid. No phone service for our cells even. Kinda nice. Kinda scary. Always an adventure. So not much for posting during that time, if at all.

In the meantime, here are random thoughts- the kinds of things that I am thinking in the middle of the night, when I wake up. And yes, I have real problems sleeping when I'm drunk. So the other night was full of bleary ideas. They have to go somewhere, no?

When you sell something on Ebay, ship the fucking thing. Don't do something mysterious with it and then claim that it was lost in the mail, here's a refund. I don't want my fucking money back. I want the item. It was a Chrismas present you assmunch. Fuck you very much.

I had a friend in High School who this pertains to- her personal history still haunts me- I wish I had known about it at the time, and had the wherewithal to do something to protect her- Hey Mom of the friend- how about you protect your daughter from the monsters in your fucking house, rather than your stupid, scary porcelain dolls? What do you think your bloody job is, anyway? You're her MOM- you are supposed to keep her safe. And if she's not safe from your creepy sons and horrible husband, you are supposed to get her to someplace safe. Not take their side and call her a liar. You are just lucky I didn't hear about it when I was still in High School. I would've probably told my parents, and you would've lost all of your kids. You bitch.

Sound like I'm a little angry today? Well, maybe. It just seeps out around the edges in the middle of the night, and I felt like venting a bit. That's all. Otherwise, everything is just fine. FINE, I tell you!!! Seriously, all is well. I'll be getting back to the list of things to do before we leave town now. Give all of you I know and love a hug! Have a shiny, happy Christmas (if you believe in such things)!

Rudolph et al

Rudolph's little girlfriend was named Clarice. I looked it up on IMDB once I sobered up and remembered.

The whole thing was directed by a Japanese guy. This makes sense- that movie has some Godzilla-like elements- check out the Abominable Snowman some time. Silly Japanese. Making Snowmen all scary and such. Like making Komodo dragons into movie stars. Silly. Funny joke men.

Yeah- I'm feeling a tad peckish at the moment. My teeth hurt. My head doesn't hurt all that much, but my tummy is rebellious. Gotta go and try and become human. Probably shouldn't have had that last hard cider. Or two. Silly me. Trying to make myself all drunk and such. Funny joke lady.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

You got your celebs shutting down toy stores in NYC to play, you got your santas at the grocery store getting cash for the downtrodden, and you got your Tennessee Williams film fest on TCM. Yeah, nothing says family holiday quite like that dissipated old cynic. Astute student of human nature, sure. But quite a jaundiced view it is. And yes, I am watching them all. Identifying with elements, despite my Northwestern roots, and trying not to let him get me all down n such.

Seems that Kenga was a Williams fan from back in the day. Along with Capote. I don't know if he tried on Faulkner for size too, but I do know that he didn't get into the chicks (O'Connor, Carson, etc.). I can see him. Earnest young man, intent on intellectual folly, in his threadbare green courdoroy jacket, stone in pocket for striking matches, smokes in other pocket, drink in hand, belly up to the bar, Charlie B's on a Tuesday night...astute student of human nature himself. But didn't write it down. Bummer- I would love to read his thoughts back then.

Last night I had on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, while Kenga was working on the computer. It's the one he dislikes the most. The family dynamics really piss him off. Funny- here's where I can identify with the movie- we had that extended family going on- unlike him. And though I hope that we weren't as ill-bred and obnoxious as the no-neck children, I'm pretty sure that there were plenty of undercurrents between the adults. I think there always are in large families. Rivalry, thy name is siblings. I have no idea how to avoid that- unless you breed only solo children. Then there's another can o worms to deal with. Then there's the spouses brought into the mix, and expected to get along. This is the interesting part. How does the mix work? Will the ladies cut eachother to shreds? Or will they be nice? It probably has a lot to do with middle-class aspirations and little to do with their time if they pull the former out of their handbags. Give them a good calving season and some branding, or a cattle drive, or some kind of harvest, and they'll no doubt get along- at least for the duration of time spent in the kitchen preparing food for the menfolk.

Anachronism. I know it. Most of the ranch girls I knew in school were just as likely to be involved in the physical reality of ranch life as their brothers. These girls wouldn't be in the bloody kitchen working on muffins while Dad and company bucked the bales. These girls were in the thick of it. That's why I really do wonder about the more traditional communities- like the Hutterites and the Amish. How do the women stand it? Is it because they're ignorant of the outside, and their reality is the only one they know? What if you really suck at the women't arts, and are really good at welding and mechanics? Will your Hutterite daddy let you work on the truck? Or will he hang his head in shame, and make you go back to the kitchen and fail at pie crust again?

Mine eyes have seen the glory

Or not. Actually I feel the need to post because of popular demand. ok- I'll admit it, my sister wants me to post.

Friday of last week I scratched my cornea on a plant. Ah, sweet irony, why do you taunt me so? It was a lovely phalaenopsis spike, loaded with buds. About dropped me. Knocked a tiny chunck of my cornea out. Damn. Since Kenga was on the road, I whined around the house, not sleeping, moaning and bitching. Then he came home. Things hadn't improved. We had a full-on investigation of Seattle's emergency care system.

We filed into the U of W urgent care clinic, adroitly avoiding the homeless people, and waited. It wasn't as long as I thought it would be- about 90 minutes. Then the good Dr. saw me, put crap in my eye, looked at it under ultraviolet, said, "yup, there's a scratch there" and flushed it with saline. He gave me a perscription for antibiotic eye crap and sent me on my way. Said that asperin would take care of the pain. Bullshit I say. Oxycontin. Stat. But no.

So I got home, lubed up the eye and took one of my "only in emergencies" migraine pills. And slept for the next 17 hours straight. Woke up grumpy, and hungover. Felt like the bears must in the spring.

Went to bed early Sunday night. Slept in on Monday- still felt hungover. I had forgotten why the pills are for emergencies only. Because they not only take care of the pain, but knock me on my ass for a couple of days. I am so sensitive. Like a little flower. That hits you in the eye and scratches your bleeding cornea.

So now I'm fine. Eye feels better. Sleeping like a normal person again. But since my life was on hold for several days, not much happened to report on blog. Thus the silence. Which wasn't golden, just sleepy.

What's the buzz

Kenga returns at 1:00 AM tomorrow. He's been in Viva Las Vegas for the last several days. Business trip. Then he was supposed to go see a rally race. I don't care for the rally races. He met up with his racing buddy Gern. They were supposed to return on Sunday. Seems that the racing organization didn't post on their website that Sunday's stages were the only ones open to the public. So the boys said, "fuck it." and left. Now they're cooling their heels in Vegas. Scary thought that. I said that they should visit the Liberace museum. They nixed that idea right out.

In the meantime, the bloody cats have been driving me to distraction. I had to sleep in the spare room last night, because Buddy keeps running around and throwing things on the floor. He has been upset since Kenga left. It's hard not to kill him. So I slept in, and feel better for it. Right now he's in my lap, rooting around for his nipple. Go for the nipple, kiddo. Go for the nipple.

I watched a couple of noteworthy movies last night, Warlock, with Henry Fonda (I wish I could like him more, but like Bing Crosby, he was a jerk in real life to his family, so I can't.), and then Moonfleet, a quasi-pirate movie directed by Fritz Lang. That one was lovely. Then I settled down with Hemingway. I'm trying A Farewell to Arms for the second time. First time it didn't take. This time, it's much better. Gotta thank AMP for that recommendation. It helps immensely that I've watched about a half a dozen movies about WWI in the meantime, too.

Now I have to run. I have things to do before Kenga returns, and since I had originally planned them out to spread over 2 more days, I gotta get them done more quickly. No need to budget.

Roadtrips

When I was little (many of my stories start like this), I was taken on many roadtrips around the state of MT. It just happened like that. I think that my parents and grandparents used this as a diversion- not as boring as spending Saturday afternoon watching curling and drinking beer.

I really didn't enjoy them much. Time is so funny to kids- especially in the car where you can't move around and spend energy. I hated the process of getting there. And all small roads in MT in certain parts of the state look the same. Trees. Sunlight laughing through the trees. Rocks. I often wondered what was looking at our car pass by from the trees. I had read lots of books about fairies, Greek mythology, and the like, and wanted them to be true. But MT isn't really the place to transplant those stories. They fit locales with more gentleness of character.

The one destination that I hated above all others (most were fine once we arrived, and I could run around and make noise) was the Big Hole. We went there on some kind of annual pilgrimage with my grandparents. I really, really hated the place. It has bad hoodoo in my book. I swore after one interminable road trip in my pre-teen years never to return. It's where the Nez Pierce were ambushed and killed in their sleep. I was probably exposed to Little Big Man at too early an age to handle these kinds of stories with aplomb. I hated the thought of all that screaming, dying and blood. And then the silence. I hated that there was a visitor's center with a slide show about the history, and exhibits featuring bullets. I just plain hated the place period. I had wanted to be an Indian princess when I was 5. I insisted on wearing my hair in braids and jumping on the bed in some kind of approximation of what I thought an Indian princess would do. I always thought that the cowboys and army men were poor sports, and just plain mean. Guess I was a child of the 70's after all.

And no, I won't go to the Big Hole ever again. Some memories need to fade out.

The Russian

Class was in the history seminar room. Smallish size, so it wasn't going to be normal. When she walked in I was taken aback.

First, she was large. Not fat- huge. Like superhuman. Over 6 feet tall, wearing 3" heels. She had enormous, lively and remarkably, ludicrously messy blondish hair. She constantly was flipping it off of her face with manicured and shellacked hands. She always wore dresses, even when it was 30 below. And an enormous, somewhat ratty fur coat that resembled a bear, but was likely mink.

She spoke with exhuberance and grandeur. Her features were slavic and very exotic. I was terrified of her. She could've beat the hell out of me. Both in a fight, and drinking.

She told the story of what had happened to her that very day. She had had her purse snatched from her. The thief had jumped in a car down the street and drove off. She had chased him for a couple of blocks. In heels. Betcha it put the fear of God in him- I would've peed myself if she was chasing me. Scary, scary lady.

I didn't do as well that year in class- had a better year the last one with the old Irishman. He was easier to read, and I thought a more effective teacher. But she was dramatic, eclectic, and certainly something new for Missoula.

Yesterday's heroes

The name for yesterday was Gregory Peck. I gotta say, if he wasn't dead, I would marry him. Well, if he was younger. And alive.

Watched The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit, where he made adultery look honorable. Then The Yellow Sky, where he was an outlaw, but not a murderer.

Also on the play list, and highly recommended was The Red Shoes, and Out of the Past, with Robert Michum- who has the kind of craggy elegance of Peck, but not the decency.

That's the movie report for today.

Response to friends

Blogger is being a pain in my ass right now. The word verification seems to be broken. So I will respond here.

In regards to my posts from yesterday:

Not to worry, ladies, twas a relatively momentary detour into a kinda dark place. But I do have to venture into those places from time to time. Just trying to shine a little light in there, n all.

Good luck on finals, Andrea!

You're ON for Narnia, Allison!

Songs- continued

From a song- I wish these were my words, but they're where I'm at right now-

I know that we don’t talk
I'm sick of it all
Can you hear me when I sing
You’re the reason I sing
You’re the reason why the opera is in me
Well, hey now
Still got to let you know
A house doesn’t make a home
Don’t leave me here alone

Songs

I was watching the Freeview Direct TV U2 concert this morning. Yeah, I know- we went to it already. But it was good to take a refresher. It made me think about a lot of things. The power of words and music for one. It was funny- that was one of a very few concerts that I have attended where my attention didn't wander off somewhere during the proceedings. I never looked at my watch. The others include Tony Bennett, Sigur Ros and a couple of old Blues guys.

The meaning of all this- just that I was thinking about it, and felt like indulging myself and putting up a somewhat meaningless post. Now I gotta go do some stuff. I'm thinking too many deep thoughts for my own good and comfort.

Confidential

I thought that if I was like you, you would love me more. I tried my best. But it backfired, you see. I am guessing that when you look at me, you see yourself looking back. That can't be comfortable.

So I'm left with me and you inside my skin. I'm told that it's terminal. I'm never going to escape being some percentage you. It's too ingrained. So it's the balance I'm after. I've been working on it for years. Balance, balance, balance. Striking a compromise between black and white and red all over. Finding myself and my own voice inside the mirror that you see. Finding the courage to be part you and wholly me. To look at myself in the mirror, even when I'm mad at you, and know that it's ok. That I can love you and be angry and feel hurt, and carry you inside me and it'll all be ok. That I can be angry at myself, and get over it too.

In the time that we have left, and I hope ardently that it's lots and lots of time, mind you, I hope that we can grow to know eachother better. And that you'll see beyond the mirror image of yourself in me and see the original and unique me parts and it'll be good. And I'll try my best to be brave enough and strong enough to let you see those parts. No more hiding behind masks and mirrors. That's kid stuff.

Stickin it to the man

Friday I had another interview. It went well. Ramping up to it was, shall we say, interesting, though.

I drove. Didn't take the bus- I generally try not to when it's an interview- I want to control all aspects that I can. I gave myself 30 minutes to find parking. Thought this was good. And it was. I found a place, and was preparing to parallel park. Had my blinkers on, and was in reverse. Then a female she-devil tried to poach my spot. She pulled right in behind me, put her blinkers on, and proceeded to honk at me. I kept pulling backwards, threatening her front end. I figured, she has an expensive red car, looks like a rich doctor's wife, and I drive a piece of shit Grand Am that could survive some red paint and another dent or two. Cars were piling up behind her, getting impatient, but I wasn't gonna blink. I kept it in reverse. Then she started easing forward. Brinksmanship, indeed. I'm sure she had some very important shopping to do, and I was getting in her way.

Fuck this, I thought. I put the car in park and started to get out. She got an alarmed look on her face and drove off. Heh, heh, heh. Then I took the spot. I was triumphant. Blond bitch in the expensive car. Stickin it to you, sweetheart!!! Funny thing, I heard later from someone that this is kinda common. But usually people do blink. Pretty sad state of affairs, ifn you ask me.

No brainer of the day

I was just reading that Disney is selectively targeting Christian groups when promoting the new Narnia movie. Well. Shiver me timbers- that's alarming! Really, I'm surprised that this is news. No I'm not- the news industry is bankrupt of ideas, so my cat crapping on the living room floor rather than in the box would probably make CNN if I worded the press release properly.

But I hope that no one who has read the book and is over the age of 8 is surprised by the subtext. I figured that one out when I was in 3rd grade. And I'm no bloody protegy- just was a relatively smart kid. I still plan on seeing the movie- I really have no problem with old C.S.- he seemed like a good enough egg. I had a friend (had being the operating word) who was a bigot. She refused to buy shoes from Sierra Trading Post because it's a faith oriented organization. But, I protested, they have really, really good shoes! For cheap! But she was determined to punish them for having Bible quotes on their catalogs. This really pissed me off. I saw it as just as bad as refusing to do business with a store run by someone Jewish. Or by a Muslim. I tried to explain that I thought that they had a right to their beliefs, and just because they chose to include those quotes in their own literature, they weren't adverse to taking our money or selling really, really good shoes for cheap. She was a bitch. That's about where I'll leave it for now.

But let the headline for today be- news flash, English Christian theologian, C.S. Lewis wrote a series of books with Christian overtones. The movie developed from this series also includes Christian overtones. You are hereby warned. Funny though, the advertising I've seen on the tv has emphasized the fighting/war elements of the movie rather than the magic, religious ones. I'll ponder that one for a while.

Favorite quote

From one of the best film noir movies of all time- The Third Man-

"Don't be so gloomy. After all it's not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."

Time for me to get all High Fidelity n shit. (didn't really care for the book, was so-so on the movie- must be a guy thing)

Top 5 film noir movies of all time:

Sunset Boulevard (gotta love Billy Wilder- I would put The Apartment on the list if I didn't think someone out there would bitch n moan)
Double Indemnity
The Third Man
M
The Maltese Falcon

They would make an excellent boxed set. Or an equally excellent film festival. But the bestest, most earthshakingly bizarre film festival was one I undertook in Grad school- Kafka, followed by Naked Lunch, finished off with the ever so fine Barton Fink. Warped my mind forevermore. Who needs drugs, people?! This did nicely, thank you.

Another round

Today I have another job interview. This afternoon. I am hoping that it doesn't snow before that- it's supposed to- because this place gets scary when it snows. I can handle snow driving. It's the others who worry me. And we live on a very steep hill, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get up it if it gets very slick.

I was thinking about the whole snow thing. What I don't miss is the nasty cold. And shovelling. We had a long sidewalk in Bozeman, and it had lots of foot traffic, so we had to shovel often. The city would cite us if we didn't- the bastards. That wet, heavy snow was the worst of it.

But there is something magical about snow at night. In Missoula I lived near a park with lots of old Maple trees. The lights at night would create these orange-tinged halos around the trees. On snowy nights, it would get quiet. Muffled. I would walk to the park, and stand there under the trees and watch the snow fall. It would be so quiet I could hear the flakes hitting the ground beneath me. It was so hushed. I felt like I was alone in the world, and it was ok.

Then no doubt, I would get very wet and cold and have to go home and quit being silly in the snow. The best was walking home from school when I was little, though. What doesn't seem like lots of snow now that I'm a tall girl was pretty deep when I was 6. I would roll in it, and jump in it, and basically make a huge mess in people's very sculpted sidewalks along the way home. It usually took me twice to three times longer to walk home, because there was so much to divert my attention. Bright, shiny things have always distracted me. I also loved to eat the snow. Not the dry stuff- it's icky. But the wet melting snow that makes perfect iceballs was the best. I was a regular connoseur.

And I used to ski. It has been well over 15 years since I've done that- kind of a bummer really. But I'm sure my knees are thankful. They were really starting to suffer. I was never all that good, and the equipment back in the day was pretty unforgiving. I just liked to go really fast down the hill. Sort of out of control. But it was fun. I was too scared to really get good at it- never could take the proper chances, and never really learned to control the momentum. I was also too bloody lazy to approach it from the right level of fitness. This was before I was diagnosed with the exercise induced asthma- so running was really painful, and I avoided it.

I don't plan on getting back into the skiing thing at this late date, but it's fun to remember. And hope that the snow here waits until tomorrow. Then Kenga will take a snow day, and we can watch movies. I have a few more spaghetti westerns keyed up on the tivo, along with Yojimbo, and a couple of 30's gangster flics. He oughta enjoy at least one of those! Maybe. I think he's getting very sick of my western phase. Who can blame him. I plan on starting up with musicals next (see the earlier post to that effect), and he will then long for the days of westerns. Ah, sweet, sweet nostalgia.

Mea culpa.

I erred. It's human, I suppose. I said that my father gives good guilt, and has done it lately. Well, it has been quite a while since he's done so- and I'm the first to admit that when he did it last, I deserved it. So I retract any and all claims that he's been up to guilt trips- he has the power, but I haven't done anything to invoke said power. I'll be planning on keeping it that way!!! Sorry dad!

Black Friday

So named not because it's awful to work it in the retail biz, but named because it's the day retailers depend upon to go into the black for the year. Do we pity them? Maybe. But I pity the poor fools working for da retail man even more. Been there. Done that.

This year I did something entirely different on Black Friday. Yay! I got the call on Wednesday, at 4:45 from the agency. They were in dire need of people to work at the IMAX theater handing out some brochures or shit. I said sure. WTF. They said wear professional attire, a warm coat and they'll see you there.

Friday morning dawned. It was raining. Hard. And I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do it. I spent a good 30 minutes trying to talk myself into going. Finally I just got ready and went.

I got there and only one other person was there. She was wet too. Holding a bottle of foetid looking fluid. After about 10 minutes the supervisor showed up hefting a heavy box and some bags. We couldn't get into the IMAX until 10. Glad we all showed up at 8:30. We went to the food court and discussed what we were really doing. Seems that we were going to hand out exit polls for the showing of Polar Express. In 3D. Then we would collect the forms. And get 300 by the end of the day. Or else. I never did hear what the or else would be. Probably some kind of sinister Warner Brother's displeasure. I dunno.

We got to the theater and set up in time for the first showing. Most people had what appeared to be at least a dozen squirming, damp, impatient children in tow. Bet they had lots of time to fill out an exit form, right? Especially since the geniuses at Warner Bros had decided that despite only really needing info for 4 of the questions, made the fucking thing front and back of a full sized piece of paper. Right ON!!

OK- let's get this straight- the whole bloody thing was depressing. The smell of the popcorn curdled my stomach, and sucessfully kept me from having an appetite all day. And the people I was working with were FREAKS. Mostly benign, but in one case seriously creepy. And since I hadn't been told what I was really going to be doing, I lacked any kind of reading material for the interludes while the movie was playing. I just closed my eyes, sat on the floor and listened to the others talk.

Team spirit- 2 of them were young, pretty inoccous girls. Nice. But boring. Then there was one middle-aged woman who kept to herself, but seemed fine. Then there were the freak twins. #1 was a largish (think taller Nathan Lane) gay man wearing a scarf that looked like Elmo with glitter. He knitted it himself. Did a fine job. For Halloween he was Glenda the Good Witch. Made the pink tulle dress himself, he did. I watched him get bitchier and testier as the day went on. I am guessing that it was a blood sugar thing. Hope so, because he had another job later at the carousel, where he would be in full contact with more children. He was also the kind of guy who is permanently disgruntled. He told me his professional history, and it was full of persecution and bitterness. I'm a thinking that he is one of those people who is perpetually unhappy at work. Bummer too, because they tend to bring others along for the ride.

Then there was freak #2. Deep breath. She was trippy. Scary trippy. Dead ringer (only a little taller) for the Romanian- Anka. Dead fucking ringer. Even the odd 100 yard stare. And had the same strange way of dealing with conversation- basically not really understanding normal conversation so much as interrupting with non-sequiturs that kind of related to the original topic. She was very tall- over 6 foot, I am guessing. With that odd sausage casing build- somewhat slender, but no muscle mass to add distinction, and no bones showing. She was also happy to tell us all about being a Sister of something something something- they dress up as nuns and wear geisha makeup and pass out condoms at events. I heard all about the way to get into the order, the rules, etc. Ad nauseum, ad infinitum. She also told us a truncated version of her life story. Sounded pretty rough. And she was a witch. And she "cleansed" peoples' homes of bad hoodoo. And she had just broken up with her girlfriend. She followed me around a lot.

Friendly, but creepy. She approached people with the forms and said, "Hello, I have a gift for you." I suspect that they took the forms from her in order to get some space. I saw a few of them sneaking their forms back onto the mother table later on, when she wasn't around.

After a couple of movies, they interspersed it with the Harry Potter film, and I left for the day. Enough pleasure for me, I thought. I decided that I really do HAVE to get a job in some normal kind of place- dealing with broken people really isn't my forte. Interesting, yeah- but they make me sad and tired.

Excavations

Today my mom and step dad were in Helena- they had anthropology students doing some work determining boundary lines for the potter's cemetary on some of their land. The land is being developed, and no one wants to dig up bodies. Fun for the students, interesting for everyone else. So today's subject is digging things up. For fun and profit.

Digging up the truth. Over time I've found out that the truth is in most cases subjective. The winners determine what it is. Ask anyone who lost a war- define a war criminal- mostly someone who followed orders. The crime? Being on the losing side while following those orders. So whose truth is the best? Ask the religious. They will claim theirs. But with so many conflicting opinions in that regard, it's easy to get confused.

Digging up the past. Dicey proposition at best. Distant past is pretty safe. History in particular- that's why many document collections have dates in the distant future for revealing the contents. All the people involved will be dead, buried and untouchable. Good for them. Wouldn't want to actually live with the consequences of what the secrets were. Keep that under wraps. On the down low, as it were.

Personal past? Hmmmmm. There again, question of perspectives. Take any occurance. Run it past the various people who were there. Betcha you'll get any number of takes on what really happened. Add time and shake real hard, and it'll get murkier. Only the really passionate emotions stay pure. Hatred in particular. The reasons for the hatred might be lost, or dissapate over time, but the hatred can stick around very easily. Especially if it's cultivated properly. I think that some people live just to do this. They are the gardeners of a specific crop. It's easier than letting something go.

Digging up reality. Another set of perceptions that not only change with the amount of tequila consumed, but change with age. Kids see things that adults try to ignore. They learn to conceal and not pay attention to those things. They learn about loyalty- to whom over all others. They learn the costs for being loved. What they're meant to do in return. There are always strings attached. Always. Anyone who denies this is either a liar or a fool. Avoid them- they want something.

Digging for clams. Lots of work. Clams are gross. I wouldn't recommend it.

Digging for treasure. Define treasure. I don't have a metal detector, and am not bored enough to go get one and develop a new and slightly creepy hobby. Give me a few more months of unemployment, and it might just happen, however...

Digging for gold. Specific treasure. Makes people crazy-like. Watch The Treasure of Sierra Madre if you don't believe me. In AZ, there was a show on local access cable called Gold Fever. It had a theme song that went "gold gold gold gold fever fever fever fever..." in kind of a mind-numbing drone. It was about how to find gold. It seemed to be a big thing in the Phoenix area. Something about lost treasure in the mountains near Apache Junction. Whatever. I just liked the low production values, and singing the song. Especially after consuming some tequila. Gold gold gold gold fever fever fever fever....

Newly minted obsession

This week it's the classic Western. I've steadfastly avoided the genre in the past- lived in the west, didn't see much to celebrate about it- hated seeing the blasted Charlie Russell exhibit in place of real art every year- hated the faux cowboys I went to school with- they were such narrow-minded little bigots.

But then I guilted myself into seeing High Noon. And my world went all haywire. Now I saw that the really skillful filmmakers in the genre were making all kinds of statements via the Western. Ahhhhh.....

So last night we watched The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence. Still not as satisfying as any of the vengeance instilled Clint Eastwood ones, but pretty fun nonetheless. I love watching Jimmy Stewart act with people who could hold their own with him. John Wayne isn't my favorite actor by a long shot, but he's well used in this one. And I liked the civil rights subtext.

So. I have The Ox Bow Incedent cued up on the tivo, and will likely get through that one today. Henry Fonda said it was his favorite of his movies, as I recall. He was kind of a jerk, so whatever, Henry. But it also stars Frank Morgan, and I liked him while growing up on MASH.

I'm trying to figure out what genre to attach to next if this unemployment thingy goes on too long- maybe the musical? (fucking shoot me if that happens- I really hate musicals...with the exceptions of Sound of Music and My Fair Lady. Oh and Fiddler on the Roof...damn...maybe I don't really really hate them after all...)