I was sitting in the kitchen, harmlessly drinking coffee, reading, and listening to the radio. Then I heard KEXP's challenge to listeners: come up with a limerick to introduce the next featured Irish band. So this year I made it through 64% of St. Patrick's Day before succumbing to the urge to write a limerick.
Here's mine for Flogging Molly:
Behold, lads, the unhelpful Paulie
He came without cane, cat, or brolly
And though he had no whip
He still puckered his lip
And said, "How 'bout just Snoggin' Molly?"
But I sent it in too late. Sigh.
And since I am confessing unfortunate limericks (forgive me, Father, for I have rhymed), here's one I wrote for K. She had just won a pair of foot-tall plastic nuns in a raffle. The dainty little things are holding open prayer books, but there's no writing on the page, so we thought they would be improved by the presence of a dirty limerick. And so:
There once was an abbess from Derry
Who preferred that her habit be airy
So she'd fluff and she'd flounce
And, if unobserved, bounce
And thus was the most Derry-airy.
Yeah. I'm embarassed for me, too.
Excerpts from my internal monologue while watching Alphaville:
That's a tail light, isn't it? That flashing thing. That's totally a tail light.
Heh -- "Lemmy".
Oh, man, that Mustang is gorgeous. It looks like my old Mustang. I miss that car.
That woman is going to be naked before this scene is over.
Yikes, she sure has a prominent backbone.
What's he reading, Le Grande what? [scan back] Sommeil. The Big Sleep. Of course.
[Natasha appears for the first time.] Those false eyelashes have got to be making her nuts.
Gosh, this sure is New Wave, alright. "And I raaaaaan, I ran so far awaaaaaaay -- " Dammit!! Not that New Wave. Begone, Flock of Seagulls! Shit, what were they saying? [scan back]
I like that coat, but it gives me the urge to sit on her lap and tell her what I want for Christmas.
[Soundtrack: Dun dun DUN!!!] That Scary Noir Music thing is getting old fast.
There are one two three, is that. . .yeah, four cigarettes burning in this scene.
Death by synchronized swimming.
Death by ping-pong. Oh, wait -- he's only stunned.
Wait a minute - Lemmy just said his car is a Ford Galaxy. He wasn't driving a Galaxy -- it was a Mustang! Is this surrealism, or a continuity issue?
I wish someone would program the Alpha 60 to clear its throat. Or speakers. Or whatever. Now the HAL 9000 -- there was a homicidal computer with a soothing voice.
Wow, every woman in this movie is young and fuckable. Every. Last. One. It's crawling with crusty and unappealing old men, but there's nary a mature female. It's like there's a Chicks-Only Logan's Run lurking in the backstory. Ugh.
[Natasha picks a bit of hair out of her fake eyelashes.] See, they are bugging her.
Love the scene with the coffee joke. Love it, love it, love it.
[Professor Von Braun dashes down hall followed by a pack of underlings.] Terry Gilliam was definitely paying homage to this movie in Brazil.
[The hero and the designer of the evil computer sit across from each other in a moment of philosophical confrontation.] The Wachowski brothers were definitely ripping off this movie in The Matrix.
Okay, now he is driving a Galaxy. So confused!
[NATASHA: Je. . .vous. . .] Oh, please. Here comes the "aime". Don't say "aime", Natasha! Say "aubergine!" Do it!! Tell him you eggplant him! Come on!! [NATASHA: . . .aime.] Dammit.
So, the best thing about Alphaville: the script is science fiction, but it was shot on location in Paris and the costumes are contemporary to 1965. The only futuristic visual touches are the ones already built into Sixties Space Age design. And somehow it works. At least it worked for me.
What didn't work for me was the creepy gender bullshit, and the unconvincing love story.
Oh, and the New Wave tropes were a mixed bag. Some of them were beautiful -- gotta love Paris in black and white. Others have morphed into parodies of themselves -- gotta laugh at stilted couple dialogue rendered as intercut close-ups delivered straight into the camera. Really, you gotta. The Alpha 60 says so.
Many days ago I was working hard on Very Important Documents, and immediately thereafter I went into a vegetative state. This afternoon, out on a walk, it suddenly occurred to me that in one of these VIDs I had misspelled "Jacobean" as "Jacobian"*. Then I thought, No no no -- I wouldn't make that mistake. And then I forgot about it.
But just now the bee returned to my bonnet, and I checked. Shit, shit, shit.
This is not so bad as the time I swore up and down that Stephen Sondheim had nothing to do with West Side Story** (my only defense: I was in a bar), but I do expect a pair of surly agents of higher learning to show up and revoke my MFA.
*Actually, a Jacobian revenge tragedy would be kinda cool:
**Which is true, except for that whole "writing the lyrics" thing