Earlier this week, at approximately the same time that Crankenstein had a speaking engagement in front of an absurdly large audience, I received a message from someone who’d just read one of my reviews. He told me a bit about himself and wondered if he might recommend other movies for me to cover. His note […]
Many times over the past few months, I’ve wondered “What if the doctor’s wrong? What if I’m perfectly fine?” Intellectually, I know the neurologist is almost certainly right. It’s more complicated emotionally, as I’ve been reminded lately by some irritating developments. Take this morning, for example. The witching hour seems to start around 4:30 am
Wednesdays are often my time to watch and then write about a TV movie, but much of today was lost to conversations with my sisters. I’d been on the phone with the middle one for 87 minutes — the running time of a typical Lifetime flick — when Crankenstein trudged in late. Earlier there’d been
Being an overly cautious sort, I’ve been reluctant to jump the gun in sharing some exciting news. Explaining just how meaningful this is will require a more introspective post in the future, because personal finance is a subject that — to the amusement of some and confusion of others — I’m quite passionate about. My
Crankenstein requested another old movie tonight and I selected Jacques Tourneur’s Out of the Past, a quintessential noir she hadn’t seen before. There’s not much need to get into its plot, which exemplifies the genre. The title gives you the gist of it: Robert Mitchum’s Jeff Markham, a former gumshoe who got mixed up with
Baby, I Don’t Care Read More »
All four installments are now complete. Sorry for doing it piecemeal. This month has been off to an inauspicious start, but I should have some good news to share soon, possibly within the next few days. And if anyone liked the Whirlpool post, I might try something similar with whatever I watch this weekend —
The Stacks: February [Updated – Complete] Read More »
You know those goofy quizzes where you get a point for each infraction you’ve committed? Things like playing hooky or joyriding, recreational indulgence in various substances, or killing a man in Reno just to watch him die? My score is probably equivalent to, or lower than, that of your average nun. I’ve never been drunk,
Night two of the return-to-melatonin experiment was slightly better than the first, for anyone keeping track at home. I wasn’t awake for hours at a time, staring into the darkness while imagining myself in a remake of Laura Branigan’s “Self Control” video, dancing unrhythmically while lip-syncing “I, I live among the creatures of the night.”*
It was 4 am when I heard the first beep. I’d already been staring at the ceiling of our darkened bedroom for what felt like an eternity, unable to sleep as Crankenstein performed her usual overnight routine beside me. Her movement and murmurs provided just enough distraction that I wasn’t entirely sure if the noise
Watching the Detectors* Read More »
Freda Payne’s “Band of Gold,” one of my favorite songs of the ’70s, is about a woman’s pain and disappointment after marrying a closeted homosexual. The true meaning of its lyrics escaped some listeners in 1970, and if you heard it on the radio without knowing the artist, you might momently confuse it for a