Tuesday, still no snow, though it certainly is cold enough right now. A few flakes appear from time to time, but not enough to do much of anything except to melt. Last night I watched a documentary on Val Lewton, a producer who basically changed the way horror movies were made in the 1940’s. I got sucked into it hearing Martin Scorsese narrate, letting me know that this was no run of the mill documentary. It was pretty good and it was followed by Cat People, which certainly was haunting and atmospheric.

They mentioned a few times that so many things fly by the camera yet the images leave an impression, and watching Cat People I was in agreement. I never saw Cat People before, at least not the 1940’s version. Saw photographs in a few horror movie books that I had growing up and it was a thrill to see the still photographs come to life on screen. A similar effect happened on Saturday when I went to the Andy Warhol show. The shoe drawings were photos that I had previously seen in various Warhol books that I have, and to see them just a few inches from me was quite a thrill.

The same thing happens when I see newsreels of the Beatles, when I had only seen photographs of whatever event the Fabs were present at. Regarding Cat People I did see the remake by Paul Schrader in the 1980’s and it was ok. Saw it because Bowie sang the title track, and Natassia Kinski was in it. She was hot then and quite exotic even for a 20 year old gay boy from Lodi.

During the Val Lewton documentary, Bill called. Needed a comforting voice and that was me. He is once again overwhelmed, though the situation had changed now that his father was released from the VA hospital. Both his mom and dad are under one roof and both of them have problems which isn’t making the scene any better. A home care attendant is now there as well from the Visiting Nurse service courtesy of Medicare making for a cramped apartment.

I was glad to be able to listen and even though I had no magic words to say to make it all better, I think Bill appreciated the opportunity to vent and I appreciated the fact that I was able to pause the broadcast while Bill poured his heart out over the phone. I swear I sounded like a therapist talking to him on the phone, calm measured tones, asking the right questions and being supportive when Bill needed support. Perhaps in a previous life I was a therapist.

This morning I got out of bed after hitting the snooze button only once, and that was because I had a headache from being dehydrated. Once again I was out of the apartment and headed to 5th and Washington in about 45 minutes. I read the New Yorker about Scientology, which is always a favorite topic to read about. A totally crazy 20th century religion with just a hint of fascism. I have a thing called a death line with Harpy. Usually when someone famous, or a bold face name passes away, one of us calls the other. With other friends, it turns into, ‘Guess who’s a Scientologist?’ and that usually ends up with the other end of the phone line say, ‘Oh really? Damn, I liked him/her’ and we never look at that person we called about the same way again. Such is the disdain for the Scientologist.

This is a pretty cool link. The link is working. Do it! Click it! NOW!

http://www.wired.com/entertainment/music/magazine/16-01/ff_byrne?currentPage=all