Wanted to fight this war without weapons
I appear to be constitutionally incapable of walking anywhere in the rain with an umbrella without starting to hum "Singin' in the Rain." At least I remembered to bring my camera when I left for the library, so I got some rather off-kilter photographs of the flowering cherry trees on my street and one of the weeping cherry I like:

spatch confirmed the clear-cutting of the slope behind the high school is part of the GLX. I don't like any of the pictures I took of it this afternoon, but at least they look the right kind of bleak. It's that flat off-white sky as well as the torn branches still lying in wet earth. You can't see from this vantage point that the scar goes all along the back of the buildings and right down to the tracks:

I have some movies to see in the first week of June: the Brattle Theatre is hosting the first-ever Noir City: Boston. I am trying not to let my customary bristle about "femme fatales, drunken private eyes, and enough depraved criminals to sink the Queen Mary" keep me from appreciating the fact that it is a genuinely unusual selection of films; I've read about all of them, but seen only Force of Evil (1948), which except for its voiceover I loved.
Now that there's a pristine restoration of Edgar G. Ulmer's Detour (1945), I seem to feel complicatedly about it. I watched a hugely beat-up print two summers ago and it honestly fit the story.
I have no noir-like photos to take up the theme. Instead, please enjoy this little cat. Ordinarily he curls up quietly for hours and then as soon as I attempt to photograph him, he moves and I just get a soft black blur.


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I have some movies to see in the first week of June: the Brattle Theatre is hosting the first-ever Noir City: Boston. I am trying not to let my customary bristle about "femme fatales, drunken private eyes, and enough depraved criminals to sink the Queen Mary" keep me from appreciating the fact that it is a genuinely unusual selection of films; I've read about all of them, but seen only Force of Evil (1948), which except for its voiceover I loved.
Now that there's a pristine restoration of Edgar G. Ulmer's Detour (1945), I seem to feel complicatedly about it. I watched a hugely beat-up print two summers ago and it honestly fit the story.
I have no noir-like photos to take up the theme. Instead, please enjoy this little cat. Ordinarily he curls up quietly for hours and then as soon as I attempt to photograph him, he moves and I just get a soft black blur.

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That is vastly more defensible than my brain's habit of breaking into "You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two" when walking by a bank. (I must have seen Oliver! on TV once or twice at a very impressionable age, and goodness knows it's a catchy tune. But still. OH BRAIN NO.)
My brain is also fond of playing "Feeling Groovy" on the first warm day of spring, which is a little embarrassing but not so bad.
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