Monthly: scrapbook: reborn each month
(Monthly Note follows below)
2017 05 29 I just surfed a bit on Peter Lorre. He was a Jew?! I once had a hard enough time absorbing that he’d make movies in Germany before making movies in Hollywood. Fortunately by the time I knew Peter Lorre by name and cultural association I no longer thought that Jews had cloven hooves and webbed feet. And it was just a couple of days ago that I learned that Bobby Fischer wasn’t just that kid from Brooklyn; he was that Jew from Brooklyn! Now by a different set of biases both “facts” make perfect sense: of course the chess wizard was a Jew! what else should he have been?
Anyway: wonderful Peter Lorre story: in his early twenties, he was on the stage in Berlin, expressing Expressionism: a nut case with those bugged outo eyes of his. And someone in the audience became terrified and called on the audience to help stop him. Help, help, stop him!
I just relived the original moment when I declared that Lorre was a genius, a great actor: a exercized a series of facial expressions like a high speed manual of arms. It would have been in The Maltese Falcon, one of those.
Ho boy, talk about impeaching Trump: for dong what he’s famous for: firing somebody. Talk about impeachment should allow him to rest easy: if we didn’t impeach Nixon then we’ll never impeach anybody. [Wait a minute: Clinton got impeached: a pussyfoot impeachment: what I say can be trusted, but not literally.]
Now I itch to tell a story that alas no one will get: Phil was my army buddy, early 1960s. We met when stationed at Whitehall Street, we became inseparable. Nothing was simple, nothing stayed still for very long, we do-si-do’d on a number of things influencing each other in ways even we didn’t perceive, but: in simple: Phil was the moral commie — goods should be shared; I was the moral Christian — EveryThing should be shared, evolution should be respected: existence should have an upward tilt: no, it was not alright to kill all the capitalists, no matter how evil we all are.
Well, we both thought we were moral, we both thought we were on the side of good, God … evolution … enlightenment … But the next thing I knew Phil was meditating, and eating no meat, and touting Jesus to beat the band: while chanting Rama, Rama, while Nixon was smudging fingerprints from bomb-bay-doors all over the world.
Check out my political satire letters here at K. to see what I did about it: I cite where what Phil said that still haunts me today: Phil said that Richard Nixon would forevermore be
That is, he, Phil, said “my”, that is, his, Phil’s, “president”: proprietary irony! Phil, the chairman of public shame.
Yes, very good, me too. Except now I don’t know: anything that Nixon was, power-mad hypocrite, war criminal, mass murderer, evil incarnate, Trump seems to be in spades.
It fits like an old shoe:, an old straw hat, a suit of overalls, to be talking about impeaching Trump.
(It was super comfy the other evening for Jan and me to see Shirley Temple, 1938, with Randolph Scott! The old straw hat is her song.)
2017 01 04 My in-season neighbor Elaine Sutphin snapped my wrinkly pic!
Continues as reverse chronology: Monthly Archive
Such archives date backwards: counter chronological: today, yesterday, the day before …