RealFake readers are encouraged to visit me and Terri at the Boston Bazaar Bizarre, where we will once again appear as the Rainy Planet Press. We’ll be making customized Moleskine debossed notebooks on the spot, and hocking our brand new cards, bookplates, recipe cards, as well as some unsold favorites from prior crafty fairs.
- A news anchor on the Pittsburgh CBS affiliate signed off with “It’s going to rain tomorrow, get out your babushkas”.
- As I started what ended up being an all-Saturday project to dig a drainage ditch, my dad started playing the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack in the garage, which starts off with chain gang music. He thinks this is cute.
- I got totally ganged up on when playing Risk with Terri, Lisa, Abby, and Dan, just because I showed no mercy to my little sister and came off as a bully. My real problem is that said little sister was a PR major and overplayed her helplessness, and I ended up owning just little Madagascar and South Africa by the time we decided to call it a game.
Is it annoying that I post dream write-ups? I’m going to do it anyway, because they entertain me.
Two days ago: I’m dreaming I’m watching the Today Show on a hotel TV (the only time I watch the Today Show or Letterman is when I’m in a hotel), and Bryant Gumbel is doing the weather from Florida, just like Willard Scott used to. It feels like some kind of role reversal, or like it symbolizes some kind of passing of torches from one generation to the next or just the passing of time.
Last week: Bo and Luke Duke, Cooter, and Boss Hog have all gone to some kind of lakeside resort house somewhere outside of Hazard County. But it’s a trap, and Darth Vader and a bunch of stormtroopers are there waiting for them. Luke Duke, who starts to seem more like Han Solo, has been separated from the rest of them and is being held in the main ballroom. Everyone else is being held downstairs, and Chewbacca is there. I’m with the people imprisoned in the basement. We realize that there is a big Chevy pick-up truck there, and we can just get in it and drive through the wooden garage door. There is a CB-radio hooked up to a PA system in the truck. As we’re driving away, we try to address Luke through the PA: “Just fight them! It’s easier to get away than you think! You just have to try!”. Luke doesn’t try. Boss Hog sneaks back and looks through the window. A group of people, the intelligentsia of the Empire, are gathered there with Darth Vader, and they are sort of trying to brainwash Luke, who is now decked out in Timothy Leary-style hippie gear and flower leis. Bob Dylan is one of the intelligentsia and he’s trying to get Luke to chant “I’m the son of God, I’m the son of God”.
Recently Tivo’d Raising Arizona, which was on CMT recently.
- Apparently, the word “menstrual” is considered dirty by Country Music Television. They clipped the line to just say “sometimes I get the cramps real hard”. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, check out a clip of the original line.
- I noticed that the factory where H.I. works immediately after he gets out of prison (the “salad days”) seems to be one “Hudsucker Industries”, or so H.I.’is uniform says. (A later Coen Bros. film, The Hudsucker Proxy, concerns the fictional company Hudsucker Industries). Also, Hudsucker Industries’ initials? H.I.
- I weep like a baby at the ending, during H.I.’s dream. Like clockwork. I’m not generally an emotional guy, but the emotions, they come out in weird ways, and one of those weird ways is that the last scene of Raising Arizona inevitably kills me.
After I got off the T in Davis, I decided I was tired enough that I could take the bus. Terri thinks taking the bus is cheating yourself out of a 15 minute walk. I think not taking the bus is cheating yourself out of a potential source of good stories.
Friday’s trip on the 87 bus was a case in point.
While we were waiting for the light to change to pull out of the Davis Square bus area, a rather inebriated guy with a grey crew cut and a fairly packed physique, kept putting his fist in the air and yelling “we’re the Marines!!!”. A couple of bratty kids outside the bus (let’s assume they were waiting for the 96 to Medford) started saluting him. He yells to the driver “hang on, I’m getting off!”. He proceeds to dangle out the front door and point threateningly and yell incoherently at the kids, who laugh and run into the station.
The guy swings back into the bus and lurches down the aisle to his seat as the bus starts moving. He’s talking to himself or yelling things at people on the bus, like “hey, cupcake, how do you know if you don’t give me a try?” or pointing sort of threateningly at this kid and saying “you, young man, need to show some respect”. The kid’s mom is sort of protectively standing over the kid with her hands on his shoulders. This went on for a minute or so and the guy didn’t seem about to give up, so I decided that I needed to take some kind of action. I didn’t want to do anything pick a fight with a drunk ex-Marine, especially since he looked like he could be a mad drunk, but I just kind of decided that I’d walk up into the aisle between him and the kid to distract the guy.
The guy looks at me. He starts studying my face. “You look very familar. Where do I know you from?” He keeps staring. “I KNOW! You’re the guy who got me out of jail today!” He holds out his hand. We shake. “Thank you, my friend. You got me out of jail today!” He calmed down a little and went back to just yelling “We’re the marines!”
And then it was my stop.