Random Thoughts
from way in the back of my amazing brain |
2. It’s a Wonderful Life.
I am not sure how good this movie would’ve been without Jimmy Stewart.
Well, it certainly would’ve been good. It’s a good movie. Interesting idea for a plot. Entertaining. Great memorable lines.
But Jimmy Stewart makes the whole thing one thousand times better. That’s just the kind of actor he was. He didn’t seem at all like he was acting.
1. Miracle on 34th Street.
Important note: The 1947 version. No other version is acceptable.
There was a 1994 version with the Jurassic Park old man as a gap-toothed Santa with dingy yellowing hair, plus annoying oily-haired pretty-boy Dylan McDermott as a smarmy Fred, a.k.a Bryan with a Y—-if you’ve ever walked into a video store and immediately smelled some unidentifiable rancid odor, chances are it was the 1994 version of Miracle on 34th Street.
Here’s what I don’t get.
Back in the 70s, Vietnam veterans came home from war, at which point they were ostracized, ridiculed, beaten up by their fellow man for having served in the war.
DESPITE THE FACT THAT THEY WERE DRAFTED.
Soldiers today who fight in the war—-everyone in the media, on television, in Hollywood, wherever, bends over backwards to make sure everyone knows they’re only criticizing the war, not the soldiers fighting the war. “Oh no, no, no, no, the soldiers have our full support, it’s only the war we’re against.”
BUT THE SOLDIERS TODAY ARE ALL VOLUNTEER.
Part 10: Moonraker,
or James Bond in the 25th Century
The year was 1979. And the James Bond films were starting their first sharp jagged decline.
Roger Moore had taken over for Sean Connery, who had taken over for George Lazenby (George who?), who had taken over for…Sean Connery.
Now you can’t follow Sean Connery. You just can’t. But you can try. George Lazenby tried and failed. But let’s be fair to George; they decided to have James Bond get married, and wear a kilt, and talk for half the movie with a stupid dubbed ridiculous whiny high-pitched voice, and go up against Kojak, of all people. So it’s not like George could’ve done much with that.
Then Roger Moore tried, and while he of course couldn’t match Sean Connery’s coolness and style, he really didn’t do a half bad job.
At first…
Part 9: We slowly transition
from brick to pigeons
Okay, we’re almost to somewhere.
In fact, this particular place we pass on the way to St. Mark’s is probably somewhere.
I don’t know what it is or whether it has any signifcance, but it’s in Venice, Italy, so I’m guessing it does.
I just don’t know personally. But if you go to Venice sometime you can do some, I dunno, research or something.
So The Girlfriend went home to visit her family this weekend and told me that her aunt—-who is an artistic type, does oil paintings and drawings and such—-looked at our pictures from Italy and she thought the pictures were great and she loved them and as she looked at them she oohed and ahhed over each one and she said she wanted to see all 4300 (!) and that I had a ‘good eye for architecture and color’.
I really think I should have become a photographer. I mean, what I’m looking for in a career is…fulfillment? Pfft. No. Something that’s really easy and doesn’t take a lot of effort or thinking, or time, maybe eight or ten hours a week. Oh and it has to pay a lot.
If you’re ever on Wheel of Fortune, you should know that Pat Sajak is generally a nice guy and all, but you can’t ask Vanna for a vowel directly. Pat is the go-between between you and her. The way it works is this: you ask Pat if there’s a letter, and then he delivers the message to Vanna. There’s no interaction between contestants and Vanna.
The best you can hope for from Vanna is that if you get to the bonus round, and hit $100,000, they will cut to a super-special shot of her clapping for you.
Don’t try to bypass Pat. Trust me on this one. I found out the hard way. I’m just saying.
SAMSON
regina spektor
you are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go
I have to go
your hair was long
when we first met