Happy T-Day

Originally Posted Thursday, November 27, 2014

Found photos, believed to be the well known actress Angie Dickenson. These photos were found in a vintage shop in Ventura California in 2009. Color photos, faded to harvest gold and brown, rounded edges; appear to be photos from a Kodak Instamatic. Sequence of photos appears to be during film or TV shooting and appear to be Ventura Boulevard in the early morning in the 1970s. These photos are posted for historical record as they are a chronical of TV shooting in the San Fernando Valley in the 1970s and of Ms. Dickenson, and as such are posted for historical and journalistic purposes, and plus because we think they are great, and reminiscent of a by-gone era. The photos are orphan works, and the creator is unknown.

Oh, those were terrible times, well to be a by-gone era.  Still, Angie rocks the look.  Imagine the life she had, the terrible things she had to endure to become who she was.  What do I know?  She was married to Burt Bacharach, the 1960s version of Cole Porter.  You can't get more southern California than that.  

I don't know why I posted this on Thanksgiving, but somehow in the twisted DNA of my being, it seemed apropos.  Somehow this picture just looks like Thanksgiving with one of the crazy drunken relatives that both attracts and repels you.  

I woke this morning wondering how I felt.  So far I am imagining that I am mending.  Good, I thought, coming from the bathroom.  But wait--what was that?  There was a dark stain peeking out from under an antique pine cabinet set against the wall on the other side of the room.  It seemed to be a weird looking shadow, but it didn't make sense.  I bent down to see better.  Fuck!  I put weight on my injured knee.  I know it is mending if I unthinkingly put weight on it, but the place that was scraped under the scapula must still be. . . I don't know. . . but it freaking hurt suddenly and violently.  

I changed knees and felt the sisal carpet.  Wet.  WTF?  I pulled the hamper away where it leaned against the cabinet and it was darkly stained as well.  I felt the wall, but there was no moisture.  There  is no plumbing, no pipes, under this part of the floor.  Besides, water doesn't travel up.  I looked and thought and wondered.  The other side of the wall is the fireplace.  I looked.  Dry as a bone.  I don't know.  But I am sure it will be expensive.  Nice way to start the day.  I've had enough worries, though, in the last three weeks with my knee and my intestines.  I decided to let it go.  Zen.  It can be fixed easier than I can be.  I need to concentrate on fixing me.  

I don't think I ever really appreciated Angie Dickinson enough.  

Season Five of "Californication" looks like a made for network show.  It is a cliche of the other seasons.  I can't watch it any more.  I wondered how it became so bad, actually thought about it.  It was "franchised" at that point, though.  The actors were just mugging their way through the characters.  Imagine a director coming in for an episode or two.  How in the hell do you change anything?  You don't have the authority to begin to develop characters in new ways.  All you can do is block out the scene and make sure there is enough light.  No shit, that's what it looks like.  

I don't think I can watch any more.  But the first two seasons were fun.  

I got hungry yesterday and ate.  And ate.  Seemed like I was trying to catch up.  Today my mother has some pieces of chicken and chicken soup and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie for me.  I will go to her house.  Mom and me and Thanksgiving.  Alright.