Nuts de la Nuit

I can't watch only parts of Silence of the Lambs, I have to see the part where Clarice shoots Jame Gumb dead. No matter what Ted Levine works in, that voice is one thin line away from telling you to put the lotion in the basket. I saw Flubber with Robin Williams one Saturday afternoon, where Levine plays a minor role but christ almighty, my lizard brain said to run up a tree and blend in with the foliage.

Don't like movies where people get hurt. Once they're dead I'm mostly okay and in fact wanted to be a medical illustrator when young but married and I let that dream just bump along the wall and finally get stuck under the couch. It is very gratifying to know that the actors are actually still alive mostly, with the final part of reassurance being to look them up on IMDB and see that they are fine and had been paid to behave that way.

There was a list in college of The Best Books Evah, according to the recent professor. Well, Blood Meridian was there, and in order to add to an already high level of literary sophistication, I got it in the bookstore. Made. Made myself read it to the end, where the poor bear is dancing, stumbling while turning because it is being shot by the jerks in the audience for fun.

It stayed on my bookshelf, for I wondered what on earth am I not seeing in this story, an allegory for some sort of shit or other, intending to reread, research, blah and blah. Every time the title hit my line of vision, a shudder gripped my innards because I know there are people out there just like Cormac wrote, as if the west were populated by borderlines out for a day with guns.

I don't remember if I left the book in the laundry room or if it got tossed, but I had Clarice Starling shoot it several times before disposal. I do enjoy anything that Stephen King writes except for his stories. Introductions, books on how to write books; I imagine he's a likeable cuss and wish him well but leave me alone with the images.

Part of my English minor involved "adopting" an author and dissecting the motives, career, underpinnings, bon mots. I chose Truman Capote and got snickered at as if I had said Rip Taylor. Henry James was suggested, The Portrait of a Lady was read, and I said that licking the sidewalk was preferable to reading anything further by himself. Torture. Slow. Ponderous, like a big lady with aching feet.

Really, fiction has little if any charm. Hand out facts, histories, recipes and science, now you're talking. What do you read? One of my little students had skipped breakfast and felt oogy. I keep cereal on hand for a sometimes lunch and gave her a pile on a kleenex to stave off pangs till lunchtime. I read the kids the cereal box, especially the snippet stating that this particular concoction helps lower blood pressure, a good thing for your teacher, kids. They laughed, but I wonder if a few won't read the boxes they have at home. A small hope.

The first person within my circle of adult friends unexpectedly lost her job today, the position was simply eliminated at the bank she worked at. Gone. One of the larger banks in the nation. Here we go.

See you in the funny papers. Good night.