It's the first of July and we're expecting snow. Not really, but you know. People who live in Florida wouldn't be surprised, and I shouldn't be either. The days are getting shorter, and I'm depressed. I haven't worn a short-sleeve shirt yet this summer. Sometimes I think Portland, Maine is just too far from the Equator to do anything but promise warmth once in awhile. People who can afford it move to Florida when they get old, and maybe I'm getting old—I can't afford to move to Florida, but I can't afford to live here, anyway. Yesterday was payday, always the most depressing day of the month (there's two of them, both depressing).
I sat down at the counter here at the Singing Lobster where I could see the TV screen (one of six) that has an old movie, probably AMC, black and white, I'm not sure what it is, but it looks like The Bad and the Beautiful (crossed out). Is that Lizabeth Scott? (Check this!) I think so. There's no women in the world, actually, who look like Lizabeth Scott. Well, one or two. But that's why she's there on the screen, the object of cinematography where any shot could be frozen and it'd be as spectacular as anything in this place—including the fabulous array of liquor. Why not just film movies like that now—they did it 40 years ago? Well, look at the buildings that are being built and the cars that are on the road.
The other TV, probably on CNN, is showing weather atrocities all over the East and Midwest—flooding, tornados. The weather has shown no sense of fairness this year, I don't mean fair weather, but fair play. The laws of averages don't apply. The laws of common sense, of compassion, whatever. The weather is not a person, mother nature isn't really a mother, there's no one even there to care what we think. All over the country—there's just no cooperation. It makes you think—if the weather decided it just wants to kill us all, it can. But there's not even a decision and whether it does or not is based on nothing.
Now there's a police artist's sketch on TV, what's that all about? Maybe an artist's rendition of God? Police artist sketches always look like space aliens—never like anyone I've ever seen. Email God! Make your voice heard!
To see the TV with the b+w movie I have to look over the top of a new addition at the end of the counter here, some kind of gambling or video game. Maybe it's not even gambling (implying you can get something back)—all I see is a place to insert dollar bills, or fives. The machine is called “MEGATOUCH XL—Extreme multi-game video!” I guess to play you touch the screen. Every so often a naked woman or two are on the screen—I guess you're supposed to touch them in some capacity. Also a lot of numbers, jokers, game stuff—I'm not going to look at it any more. The juxtaposition of this and the movie are too much for me. Or just enough. I was walking home from work yesterday thinking, if I had to buy a new car, and money wasn't that much of an object, what would I buy? I started imagining myself buying each car that passed. Not one—not one single car appealed to me. The only car I've seen in years that inspired me to the smallest extent are those new VW's—they at least are a little bold—you know you're not looking at a Chevy or a Toyota. It's its own design. Cars have taken over our aesthetic landscape and it's an absolute crisis. It's killing us, and we don't know it. Hey! An idea for a movie—but later.