He let go of my hand and passed me an oar, the oracle of the Maritimes
I tried to give myself a quiet day after this very crowded week. I stayed mostly off the computer except for some comments and posting cat pictures. I curled up on the couch with the The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps (2007) while Autolycus alternately dozed on my lap or competed for my attention. I cleaned the refrigerator. I took down the recycling. I walked my DVDs back to the library—Richard Quine's Drive a Crooked Road (1954) and David Goodis and Paul Wendkos' The Burglar (1957), both part of a box set of Columbia Pictures noir of which I would probably have watched more if it hadn't been recalled—and braved the miserable Sunday bus schedule in order to meet ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch in time for dinner on his break, which we got in the form of khao na ped and drunken noodles from Kor Tor Mor. I watched Moran of the Lady Letty (1922), a silent adventure-romance starring Rudolph Valentino as a California playboy knocked into maturity after he gets shanghaied by pirates and Dorothy Dalton as the title character, a tough seafaring girl who if she has a first name the intertitles never bother to mention it. The film eventually fades out on them in a clinch, but before then they call one another "mate" like comrades, not like the Monster demands a. They have each other's backs in a fight; when they're separated in the melee, Valentino's Ramón snaps her out of her battle frenzy when they meet again (and she tries to deck him) with the heartfelt "Moran—Moran—it's your mate!" I have been reminded that this month is Noirvember to a lot of people, which I think with me is kind of like every month being Halloween; I am hoping it does not bore people. I worry. No matter what, I have to sleep. Autolycus is sitting beside my computer looking very sincere. This week will also be crowded.
spatch in time for dinner on his break, which we got in the form of khao na ped and drunken noodles from Kor Tor Mor. I watched Moran of the Lady Letty (1922), a silent adventure-romance starring Rudolph Valentino as a California playboy knocked into maturity after he gets shanghaied by pirates and Dorothy Dalton as the title character, a tough seafaring girl who if she has a first name the intertitles never bother to mention it. The film eventually fades out on them in a clinch, but before then they call one another "mate" like comrades, not like the Monster demands a. They have each other's backs in a fight; when they're separated in the melee, Valentino's Ramón snaps her out of her battle frenzy when they meet again (and she tries to deck him) with the heartfelt "Moran—Moran—it's your mate!" I have been reminded that this month is Noirvember to a lot of people, which I think with me is kind of like every month being Halloween; I am hoping it does not bore people. I worry. No matter what, I have to sleep. Autolycus is sitting beside my computer looking very sincere. This week will also be crowded.
no subject
You and what you love are never boring, I will second.
I'm sorry my meatsack has had a highly exasperating week and change; my commenting often depends on my personal worthlessness level. *hugs*
no subject
Oh, is it still the season of bobbing for apples?
You and what you love are never boring, I will second.
Thank you.
I'm sorry my meatsack has had a highly exasperating week and change; my commenting often depends on my personal worthlessness level.
I wish your meatsack had had a much better week, but you should still remind it that its functionality has nothing to do with your worth.
*hugs*