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, […]
This evening I introduced Crankenstein to Whirlpool, a 1950 film noir directed by Otto Preminger and starring Gene Tierney as a doctor’s wife who finds herself mixed up in kleptomania and hypnotism before catching a murder charge. Richard Conte, unfairly overlooked among leading men of that era (see: Thieves’ Highway and House of Strangers), plays
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.”*
The insults flew fast and furious yesterday morning, coming mostly from the universe and my own decrepit body, so it was hardly surprising when an elderly stranger joined in on the act. It wasn’t long past 8 am and though I pretended not to hear her question, there was a part of me that longed
“Why Are You Here Then?” Read More »
The first and only time I watched most of the Australian Open unfold in real time, rather than via replay, was in 2008, when my doctor prescribed something for a non-intestinal IBD-related issue. A few days later I developed serum sickness, a rare reaction in which your immune system goes berserk in response to animal proteins
Australian Open: Strutting and Sinning Edition Read More »
I’ve been remiss in not yet posting about this year’s Australian Open, but I’ve been remiss in all kinds of things lately — it’s been a long last few weeks when it comes to sleeplessness and annoying YOPD problems.* An AO post is hopefully coming on either Friday or Saturday, and a new telefilm review
Australian Open: Speedo Edition Read More »
It was early in the morning of what was, for me, a rare snow day, when our neighbor accidentally started a fire. I’d been lazing around at home with my ex in a cozy scene of such domestic idyll that its memory could still warm me today if I allowed it to. Oblivious to the
The Winter of Our Discontent Read More »
Have you ever stopped to listen — really listen — to the fervor with which Village People frontman Victor Willis extols the YMCA’s virtues in the band’s most famous song? That’s how I feel about libraries, to the extent that one of my chief house-hunting criteria was “must be located within walking distance of a
The Stacks: January [Updated] Read More »
It’s Saturday night — or “Saturrrdaaaaay night,” as one might croon in Frank Sinatra mode — and as Crankenstein showers post-workout and Muriel diligently bathes herself in the living room, pausing occasionally to stare at me, I’m on the couch trying to distract myself from bodily frustrations. For whatever reason, the levodopa hasn’t worked well
Same Old Saturday Night Read More »
The great birthday flap of 2024 was resolved in Crankenstein’s favor last night, following another of her Houdini-like marital escapes. She returned home at the end of a long and trying day bearing a self-deprecating card, a cake, and a sestina previously written for me. Even for a committed grouch such as myself, it’s hard