An interesting array of movies to watch. The first about a psycho newlywed husband who tried to keep his new bride prisoner on an island. Ok. Then one set on an Hawaiian island with a lot of emotion, healing, bratty drama, and a handsome island man who didn’t get the girl because she decided to stay with her husband… yadda, yadda, eh. Then it was Wolf Town opening set in the 49ers era. Someone is attacked by a wolf, will s/he transform? It jumps to present day with 4 young people taking a road trip back to the now ghost town. The wimpy kid college student sees a wolf. They gaze into each other’s eyes but no attack. Maybe wimps make wimpy werewolves. What else is there to think? His friend stomps off after disagreeing about why they are there, no one believes he saw a wolf anyway, and gets attacked. They carry him to the car but wolves have eaten the ignition and took the purse with the cell. Smarty werewolves? There’s always hope. They drag him back and huddle for safety. Cut to a full moon, howling, and anticipation that the friend will join the pack, possibly eat his friends but nothing happens. Another guy’s chest gets torn to shreds leaving wimpy and the girl whose leg had gotten chewed but she’s ok otherwise. Will both mutilated guys just become wolves then? Will the first kid who died become a wolf but help the others to escape? Mystical music sounds but still no werewolf or wolf action. The angry wolves don’t want people in their town we learn – don’t ask. After all the high intelligence they’re dumb enough to follow the wimpy kid into the building with the dynamite and get themselves blown up, well; all but the one wolf who didn’t attack anyone. He’s a presence while the pack creates mayhem. Wimpy and the girl begin to limp into the sunset, cross paths with the wolf, then turn to go separate ways. “Why doesn’t he attack us” she asks. “He just wants his town back, he doesn’t want to hurt us” wimpy says.
Well, my hopes were dashed…
Some birds sing at 3am
Are they up to catch the worm
Or haven’t they been to sleep
Maybe flown in from Europe
Unaware of the time
Ahead or behind
Wondering where the sun could be
Are we in Scandinavia here or there
No should be much colder
Interesting creatures of the night as it is
Who knew it would be so
Like mermaids so beautiful to a sailors’ eye
But hissing like a snake
Take down the ship to debris
A cobra before it strikes then certain death
Innocent though they look
Gaze into their eyes
May be the last you see
It’s midnight madness movies at 3 a.m. Hercules this time and as I watch the all too familiar scene that for years I thought was a female stunt double driving the chariot it occurs to me it’s not a woman but a man, a man in a wig. In fact as I focus I’m certain the features, the face is much too strong, that it is definitely a man’s face in charge of those runaway horses who brings the chariot to the edge of the cliff struggling not to plunge into the sea beneath as Hercules grabs an entire tree, roots and all with that mystical-spooky music playing implying he’s not like everyone else, and throws it in front of the charging beasts saving the damsel, the female actress, in distress. Of course it’s been her the whole time the close up tells us as she collapses into a graceful faint. I get that same sensation, that excitement-warmth I felt as a young girl watching Steve Reeves, when WOR-TV had Sunday movie marathons and Hercules, Hercules Unchained, Jason and the Argonauts, Sons of Hercules, et al would play again, again, and again. I could shut the television, have Sunday dinner, put it back on and possibly watch from where I’d left off because the movie was playing one more time. TV was free, granted there were commercial interruptions but for these things they were limited, and there was always excellent programming, movie marathons being one of my favorites. Nowadays we pay a fortune and there’s never anything good on, or we’re paying big money to watch that one station not included with a basic cable package.
I feel an espresso coming on right after this fit of sneezing stops. I’m dusting today, no two ways about it.
“Dig if you will a picture, of you and I engaged in a kiss. The sweat of your body covers me…” Never’ve been a big fan of Prince, but that song will always bring a smile. Why? You’ll never be old enough to know. Can’t say I shouldn’t have because I did. I’d wondered if it could happen to me, if I could have a fling and something to smile about should we pass each other and say good morning. I needed it. What followed was disastrous but this was before all that. I was satisfied to let it go. He wouldn’t. Why do men have to possess, own, conquer? Fool! Not me, I actually had it together. That’s ok, though it’s not ok, but what I mean is when I hear that song I can still feel that morning, standing on the back porch thinking, feeling the sweat of my body covering him, watching the cold and mist rising off the ground that refreshed, the heightened sense of awareness, of sight, the clarity of sound each time I played it feeling it inside me. Did he tell me to stop? I don’t think I cared. He might have made a comment but it fell away. I was new and done with it.