With a postmark of the seasons and handwriting that looked like mine
In the morning, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch and I were awoken by the mellifluous window-rattling of the construction which has now begun on our street, ominously chalking the asphalt like a crime scene and cordoning off all parking on our side through the rest of the month. In the afternoon, we joined in the Seder at my parents' house with my niece and brother—rushthatspeaks was down for the count with a bug—and opened the door for the stranger, the most important thing. And in the evening, we met skygiants and genarti at the Somerville Theatre for Johnny Eager (1942) on 35 mm, my first movie in theaters in four years. Rob in his capacity as bartender favored me with a G&T, although we did not try to match shots with Van Heflin because that way lies blackout by the fourth reel. I love this movie so much, chiefly because he steals it as absently as someone else's unfinished drink; I love knowing that at least as of 1947 in The Saturday Evening Post, Jeff Hartnett was his favorite role. "I was glad that Jeff, being indifferent to his appearance, had few costume changes, for, being a bad dresser myself, I hate to fuss around with decisions about what suit, shirt and tie to wear . . . A crowning pleasure was the enthusiastic audience letters showing that Jeff had come close to the people, been understood, and that they identified me with him." Eight decades on and counting. Chag sameach!
spatch and I were awoken by the mellifluous window-rattling of the construction which has now begun on our street, ominously chalking the asphalt like a crime scene and cordoning off all parking on our side through the rest of the month. In the afternoon, we joined in the Seder at my parents' house with my niece and brother—rushthatspeaks was down for the count with a bug—and opened the door for the stranger, the most important thing. And in the evening, we met skygiants and genarti at the Somerville Theatre for Johnny Eager (1942) on 35 mm, my first movie in theaters in four years. Rob in his capacity as bartender favored me with a G&T, although we did not try to match shots with Van Heflin because that way lies blackout by the fourth reel. I love this movie so much, chiefly because he steals it as absently as someone else's unfinished drink; I love knowing that at least as of 1947 in The Saturday Evening Post, Jeff Hartnett was his favorite role. "I was glad that Jeff, being indifferent to his appearance, had few costume changes, for, being a bad dresser myself, I hate to fuss around with decisions about what suit, shirt and tie to wear . . . A crowning pleasure was the enthusiastic audience letters showing that Jeff had come close to the people, been understood, and that they identified me with him." Eight decades on and counting. Chag sameach!
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Thank you!
And commiserations on the gasworks. It is amazing how they're digging up both sides of the Atlantic at once, that's quite a reach. I hope they calm down once they have done the digging, at any rate.
Likewise! It's terrible! And loud! Who needs an alarm clock! Or wants one?
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(I'm kind of amused/worried because suddenly today all their works are surrounded by no smoking notices that were not there yesterday.)
But they make up for it the rest of the time, although less so now if I were not a person who was ridiculous hypersensitive to sound. >:|
Good luck with surviving the digging orgy; may your gas-workers also be much quieter once that has been achieved. In the meantime, we can both feel we are living out that bit of Archer's Goon, which is, I suppose, something. Maybe one of us will get a moat.