Blogging: Duty Versus Relief. And Eat Your Oatmeal.

Hey there, BlatherBlahg. Feeling neglected? Well, our relationship has been a little rocky lately. Trust issues and all. Where will we go from here? Let's not talk about it now. This heat is not conducive to rational and calm discourse.

On a related subject, my brain is like a cross between the results of "the push" from Firestarter and The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet. Say what you will of Stephen King, he has a handle on being Not Quite Right. In The Head.

Which is to say that things get kicking around in there and I should probably be purging them more often than I have been. Because the longer they ping, the greater the velocity, and the crazier shit gets. And the longer I wait, the less relevant things seem, and the less likely I am to write/talk/whatever. But the backlog never quite goes away.

Which is the long form way of saying you may be seeing some extra random posting in the FUCHER, as I attempt the Herculean effort of mucking out the stalls of my mind.

As noted before, this happend:

Double shot of my baby's love.

The New Beverly Cinema is amazeballs awesome. It's $8 for a double feature, the most expensive concession is $2.50, and I just found out that it's owned by Quentin Tarantino. Say what you will about his film career, the man loves movies with an unabashed joy and enthusiasm. He says, "As long as I'm alive, and as long as I'm rich, the New Beverly will be there, showing double features in 35mm." God bless him for that.

Now the double feature last Sunday had the director from Khan, Nicholas Meyer, do a little spiel before the film began. It's always interesting to hear how movies actually get made, like how much of a business it is, and how crazily that business is handled.

Mr. Meyers contributed several pieces of set trivia, the most important being the confirmation that Ricardo Montalban's pecs were indeed FOR REALZ.

Damn.

I know, right? Even with proof, it's still kinda hard to grok.

I am now going to refrain from the various geek minutiae that occupied our discussions after the movie. For now.

I had never seen the other film, though of course I knew it by reputation. John Carpenter's The Thing was an awesome surprise. Very well done and amazingly funny. The guys presenting the movie pratically jizzed their pants talking about how influential it was, so I'm sure you can find lots of critical analyses on the Interwebz if you are so inclined. Here's my quick take:

• Kurt Russell is such an effortless badass. Can you be badass in a parka and a floppy sombrero in the middle of Antarctica? Kurt Russell can.
• Furthermore, Mr. Russell does not get enough credit for his acting chops. There's a scene where he's in full beard, huge parka collar, and face goggles, and he stills gives a wordless reaction shot that is completely expressive. That is some mad actorly shit, right there.

Emote through this, bitches.

• The blood test scene is tense and freaky, suprising, ends with two different comedic beats that had the whole theatre laughing. All just with masterful pacing and editing, really.
• Speaking of funny, there is a visual gag in one scene with Wilford Brimley in the shed that is Pure Genius. I did a genuine double take, and when I finally realized what I was seeing I lost it. I'm not usually surprised like that, and The Thing has secured a place in my affections for that moment alone.
• Now, there is intentional humor. And there's the kind you bring with you, in your own head, that the filmmakers could never anticipate or counter. EVERY DAMN TIME Wilford Brimley came on screen with a concerned face, I got the uncontrollable giggles. Because some version of this was running through my head:

Space Diabeetus! The Silent Killer.

In other news, it is now officially Hot Season here. Which is still complete bewlsheet pantywaist conditions compared to other places I've lived. However, I am without A/C and the inside of my tiny abode is far warmer than I would like. If I hold real still and don't breathe too hard, I can avoid breaking out in a flop sweat. Anything more than that leads to yuckiness.

I don't know about you guys, but I have SRS problems sleeping in the heat. I can't think of a reasonable explanation for it, but it really messes me up. Well, this entry took forever, and doesn't even scratch the surface of my wellspring of neuroses and disturbing behaviors. More for later!