Monday, February 7, 2011

"What a rush!"

Hello folks again.  Bouncing around like a lunatic.  Too active for a man of my age.  Stuck in the re-Tardis with my companion.  Time tripping too much.  The day is not long enough.  My dance card is full.  Have been zipping back to early Space Pirate Radio days; snapping back to present time and current affairs; new artistic projects and the latest film fare.  Too many subjects catching my interest.  Trying to focus and narrow down to one.  Others I would like to do; can't find the photos.  Frustrated galore.  So I slip into 1976.  But the lovely wife mentions stack of current films on table.  Like old Mad Magazine satire, "this takes me off on a Tangent."  Better than "driving off in a Huff."  What started all this?  A comment regarding watching the new Tyler Perry film, For Colored Girls.  Wife wants to watch it.  That's fine with me.  I don't have time to see every film that comes my way.  Let's say, maybe, on average, there are 25 new dvd releases a week.  From all that, I will probably ignore most of the major releases and all the crappy, bottom drawer, straight-to-video, psycho killer films, in preference to the foreign titles and movies with story, an interesting subject matter, personal favourites in the character actor department, and anything that has a feel of modern day Eurotrash.  This means, at best, I will see 1 movie a night; 7 out of the 25 per week.  This leaves 18 lingering in the background.  Also, my personal fetisihes may deem that one of the films I have purchased for myself and is not a current release will take priority.  So it's possible to say that the 7 new movies drop down to 5 or 4.  Ultimately, I will have seen more films by Jesus Franco and yet can proudly claim that I have never seen a film by James Cameron.  Oh my god.  It's true. 

"Where are we going with this?" asks my wife.  Glad you asked, thank you.  It was your comment, dear wife, regarding the fact that the aforementioned For Colored Girls was getting bad reviews, mostly from male viewers.  This, of course, ties into my constant horror of watching couples fight over movie choices.  The poor female enters the establishment, hoping that her alpha-male companion will not protest too much over her desire to see Letters To Juliet.  As in most cases, this does not go unnoticed. "I don't wanna watch any CHICK flick!" tattooed grease monkey screams.  Being sensitive to the hidden pain of the poor lady, her eyes moistening, but mouth silent for fear of the belt...yours truly, the ever constant smart ass, interjects to the mini gorilla male, "Oh, then you want to see a DICK flick."  This results in a moment of stunned silence, a slight look of confusion or possible homicidal anger from aforementioned gorilla, and a faint flicker of eye contact from the silent female; a glimmer of hope that her father confessor has understood her inner turmoil.  "Can this elderly man understand my needs and not be an interior decorator?"  "Yes, my child," I say to her silently, letting her kiss my ring.  "Men, they are a useless bunch.  Except for one obvious appendage, what do women see in them?  I understand, my child.  I am a lesbian." 

So for those of you who worship at the small statue of Schwarzenegger and Stallone; those of you who suck at the vulva of Van Damme; nibble at the nob of Norris; and measure your manliness in the magnificence of your Magnum: I say in the ancient Chinese wisdom of Yoda and Pat Morita, "Fung Goo."  You are not worthy to be in the shadow of the lady you walk with. 

What is it with these men?  Why in the hell would any man, after a hard day rotating tires, laying linoleum or putting some unwanted person in cement, feel the urge to relax with a cacophony of greased up, hyper-steroided, badly tattooed, alpha-males, shoving sawed-off shotguns down the throats of various ethnic groups, while smashing their 4 wheeled trucks through plated glass windows?  Doesn't any man enjoy seeing a beautiful woman who is not wrapped around a strip pole or relating to another human being without a handgun punctuating the conversation?  Call me old-fashioned, but I can still enjoy a non-high octane moment with a glint of leg. 

Now where was I?

Oh yes.  In 1976 I had the opportunity to produce a play of mine called Casanova's Lips.  How did this come about?  Well, it's a kind of funny story and it begins this way...