The doctor listened to me cough explosively for a bit and I explained that it was much worse last night when I was trying to sleep and now I have a bottle of cough syrup with codeine, which I keep forgetting didn't go out with the rest of the patent medicines. I am supposed to take it at bedtime. So that should be exciting.
I got weirdly shouted at in Harvard Square. A man in a car kept addressing me as "sir," escalating in volume when I didn't respond—I thought he must have been trying to get someone else's attention, but there was no one else on the immediate stretch of sidewalk unless you count some swirls of violet-crystal road salt and the potted ornamentals outside Tatte Bakery and Café. I kept walking. Otherwise I did not find any of the used books I was looking for, but I enjoyed moving around outside and not freezing my face off. I may be paying for it in the amount of coughing I'm doing now. This is a stupid
cold. Have a couple of links.
1. TCM's Noir Alley
has announced its schedule starting next month and I am pleased to see it contains a number of movies I'd like to see, a number of movies I'd like to see again, and a number of movies I haven't even heard of. I meant to write about Border Incident
(1949) last spring and this will give me another chance. I'm in favor of Johnny Eager
(1942) and especially Jeff Hartnett getting all the love they can. I deeply approve of Cash on Demand
(1961) as their Christmas movie.
2. I am braced for the plot to have more to do with Iain Glen and marriages than with Fiona Shaw and MI6, but this gifset
has nonetheless sold me on seeing Ruth Wilson in Mrs Wilson
(2018) whenever it airs on PBS.
3. Why on earth has no one used Julo Levin
's portrait of Ernst Deutsch
as a punk album cover? Are we sure no one has?