I drove home from dropping ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch at work and collecting my next book from the local branch library to discover that the end of our street was being welded and I could not park on the correct side without a detour of several blocks and a slightly dubious three-point turn. Naturally by the time I got back from walking around in the gorgeously flooding light and only intermittently reading Maxwell Anderson's The Eve of St. Mark (1942), the traffic cones were gone and the street was normally open. I passed beneath a conjunction of sugar maple and ornamental cherry.
I have decided I don't need to feel bad about conflating Anderson and Robert E. Sherwood since Graham Greene classed them together, although he liked The Petrified Forest (1936) so little that I worry his approval of Winterset (1936) means I'll have to reassess my feelings about it. I have not seen that film in decades. My DVD of it was a present from my grandfather: in theaters it had been his introduction to Margo, his first and most enduring screen crush well beyond her blacklisting in the '50's. It can't have been my introduction to Burgess Meredith, but I can't remember noticing him sooner. I was reminded of it recently because of Paul Guilfoyle, who like a true character actor I didn't even realize I'd seen until years after the fact. I have so many movies to get out of my head. At least I can say for last night that I actually slept.
spatch at work and collecting my next book from the local branch library to discover that the end of our street was being welded and I could not park on the correct side without a detour of several blocks and a slightly dubious three-point turn. Naturally by the time I got back from walking around in the gorgeously flooding light and only intermittently reading Maxwell Anderson's The Eve of St. Mark (1942), the traffic cones were gone and the street was normally open. I passed beneath a conjunction of sugar maple and ornamental cherry.
I have decided I don't need to feel bad about conflating Anderson and Robert E. Sherwood since Graham Greene classed them together, although he liked The Petrified Forest (1936) so little that I worry his approval of Winterset (1936) means I'll have to reassess my feelings about it. I have not seen that film in decades. My DVD of it was a present from my grandfather: in theaters it had been his introduction to Margo, his first and most enduring screen crush well beyond her blacklisting in the '50's. It can't have been my introduction to Burgess Meredith, but I can't remember noticing him sooner. I was reminded of it recently because of Paul Guilfoyle, who like a true character actor I didn't even realize I'd seen until years after the fact. I have so many movies to get out of my head. At least I can say for last night that I actually slept.
