Got a call from my ed this morning that he needed next week’s stuff tomorrow (Tuesday, that is, today) in the morning. I finished the issue 25 picks this morning (i.e. Monday morning) at I think 3:30 am. Usual torture, delay, whatever. We had an open house event at the Ford Amphitheater earlier this evening—alas, no photo opp with gorgeous sambistas like last year—and I got home, screwed about a bit, and while watching Random Harvest on TCM—I really identify with Ronald Coleman’s memory loss and confusiom in a big way—dashed off the next column. It’s shorter this one ish per the editor’s request, special issue space limitations or something. This one was such a breeze. If only all writing wss like this.
Btw, Random Harvest hits me so hard everytime. It’s all about memory loss and confusion and the barely grasped past. For me it’s a devastating storyline. It’s surreal how much my life has been about memory, mine and now Fyl’s. I remember you called me a lifesaver once, well, you were to me too, really, when you told me that you too similar issues. I remember that moment vivdly. You’re the only person I ever met, actually, that shared a similar reality. I realized recently that I have lost probably 90-95% of my memories before my big seizures…my reality begins at 22 or 23. Doesn’t bother me any, it just is.
Btw, speaking of Random Harvest, I am utterly and madly in love with Greer Garson. I know this was made in 1942, I doesn’t matter. I am also stricken breathless by the stunning gams she displays in the Scottish dance number. Oh god.
Stop laughing. It’s true.