"Ladies are unwell Gentlemen vomit."
- Alan Swann
My Favorite Year
I was going to begin this entry with "I have been unwell." Then I remembered the quote above. A great line from a movie for which I have an inordinate fondness. I think it is the only movie in which I think Mark Linn-Baker does both a sympathetic character and a creditable acting job. What can one say about Peter O'Toole? He is simply a giant among actors. </i>
Still, I did vomit. I don't know if I ate something I shouldn't have or if it is just "stomach flu". In any event, ick. I'm feeling somewhat better, but my misery caused me to miss my entry yesterday and the day before. Now I have a two diary entries and three poems (a total of 4 for today) to produce in order to catch up. I can forego the diary entry, but I just gotta have them pomes.
I have finished season 1 of Dexter which my Sis and I both think of as "Serial Killer 101". I am intemperately enamoured of this show. I am also devastated that I can't see season 2 until it comes out on DVD. If I could find a channel showing season 2 I would order it. I understand CBS will be showing an expurgated (hacked to pieces) version but I don't think I can bring myself to watch it even though irony of hacking the episodes to pieces is not lost on me. A friend of mine warned me off Dexter because it was so extremely violent. I haven't seen that. I see things just as bad on CSI or even Law & Order. I suppose the nudity is not common on non-premium channels. I wish America would get over its prudishness.
If only there was a way for viewers to vote while they watch. A button with 1-5, H-M-L, or some such to tap on when they saw something they liked or disliked. If only I could rate commercials. If only my television took note of when I turned a movie or an episode off in mid-viewing. Can you imagine what television would be like if shows reflected what people actually wanted to see instead of some arrogant shithead's assessment of what the "little people" like?
Back on the topic of poetry, someone requested a reprint of something I posted ages ago. What a compliment! My Father's Life is not much of a work, poetically speaking. The meter is irregular, and does not scan. No real rhyme scheme is discernible. Still, it is an homage to a man who was (to use a word very over-used of late) a hero. Not a hero in the sense of bravery on the battlefield or conspicuous achievement, but in that much more heroic and much more difficult sense of a man who continues in the face of hopelessness, insurmountable difficulty, ingratitude, and recrimination. No saint, the man, but a hero nonetheless. Somehow I cannot think of him without thinking of this sculpture.
After hours of typing I am beginning I am beginning to feel ucky again. I think I'm likely to owe 5 pomes tomorrow.