The rest is just gravy
In the last two days, I’ve watched a good bit of b-film horror, including Silent Night, Bloody Night, Horror Hotel (aka The City of the Dead), and most of Carnival of Souls. And now, the fog lays low on our street. It’s quite creepy really, and I’ve just looked over our back balcony to the tree-canopied backyard that cannot grow grass, only moss.
I can’t help thinking we need to throw a Thriller party.
I know. That’s so unlike me.
Last night, the golden pony came to Springfield, MA and pooped out a lovely evening for Michael and I me. (Thanks, Max.) We’re here for the Massachusetts Library Association annual conference and Michael, being Michael, lined up a truly stupendous array of guests to speak. So, last night we spent the late night hours closing down the hotel bar with:
I am so lucky that my husband is so fearless and is such a big dreamer. He gave me the wonderful gift of the opportunity to chat with Lynda and Thrity about menopause and to smoke with Talia and Michael Cunningham in the rain. Does that rock or what?
I got a new haircut. Yeah, it’s a “fo-mo” or “faux-hawk” or whatever you want to call it. But despite its passé and perhaps cheesy status, it looks good on me.
My officemate/geek-crush Michael Klein follows an online comic strip called Laugh-Out-Loud Cats by Adam Koford. It’s pretty brilliant, looking like Pogo or The Katzenjammer Kids, but with hobo kitties speaking dialogue like a lolcat.
A day after he saw my new haircut, Michael K. send Michael C. and me the latest Koford comic with a note that read, “Look! It’s you guys!” Indeed, it is.
I’m just ecstatic hearing that Valerie Harper (yeah, Mary’s Rhoda) is playing Tallulah Bankhead in a new play entitled Looped. Apparently, the title comes from the idea that the whole play takes place during an ADR session for Tallu’s classing Hammer horror film, Die! Die! My Darling!
I lost some respect for Valerie after she walked off the set of a show named after her. Jeesh, during the first season, even. Pretty freaking sad if you can replace her with Sandy Duncan and still manage to keep the series running for five more seasons. And that union president race against Laura Ingalls got pretty nasty. But this just may make up for all of that.
What? You haven’t seen Die! Die! My Darling!? Holy frijoles, get over here quick. I’m itching to watch it again, especially since Tallu plays a bible-thumping vegetarian who — once upon a time — was a … well, a loose, jazz-loving woman. Okay, she was a whore. And Stephanie Powers plays the mod girl Tallu kidnaps. And a very young Donald Sutherland plays the retarded groundskeeper. What’s not to love?!
Quite by accident, I found myself watching a Canadian, computer-generated children’s cartoon called Turbo Dogs this afternoon. I’m a little concerned about the behavior of these professional race car-driving pooches.
In the segment I watched, one pup, appropriately named Stinkbert, is disturbed to realize that he may have put the damper on a fellow cur’s birthday celebration because of his foul smell. See, Stinkbert’s got a rather significant problem, not only with hygeine, but with behavior. His offensive odor is not caused by, you know, anything internal, but rather because of his compulsive need to roll in refuse. Yes. Stinkbert is a garbage addict.
Once he realizes the apparent effect his problem has on his dear friends, Stinbert — to his credit — decides to get clean. Literally. He learns to bathe, disinfect his home, and with much difficulty, even withstand violent compulsive urges to roll around in the trash. However, since no one helps him with behavior modification, he’s left with nothing to do but sit bored, contemplating the satisfaction he’s denying himself every second.
Eventually, Stinkbert overhears his friends’ plans to meet at the municipal dump. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he speeds off in his convertible, intent on a full hedonistic waste binge. Though one canine races alongside him pleading with him to come to his senses and reconsider, he blasts off in a dangerous burst of speed and reaches the junk pile where his remaining friends are urging him not to enter.
Obviously distraught by his conflicting desires, he implores them to stand aside, claiming “I am sorry. I tried to get clean for you, but I’ve just gotta be me!” His comrades eventually relent because they say that they never wanted him to change. In fact, they have been at the dump setting up a “stink party” for Stinkbert to celebrate his valiant attempts to get clean. Stinkbert immediately commences rolling in discarded fish parts vowing to get clean once again, but not for his or his friends’ well being. Rather, he wants to repeat the torturous exercise again because it makes the high of getting smelly all the more potent.
The vignette ends with the enabling pooches placing clothespins on their snouts so they may continue to ignore their loved one’s serious problem.
Sad. That’s all I can say. I wish Stinkbert well and hope that some day he finds within himself the courage and strength to overcome his addiction. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.