Just last weekend I watched the 1946 Glenn Ford/Rita Hayworth smash Gilda at the delightful Suxkville Theatre. I always feel some melancholy seeing old movies on the big screen. It is the combination of the larger than life personas and the fact that I consider my own mortality. I always think about the fact that almost every person involved with a particular film must be dead. I then click around IMDB and read the biographies of the various actors and directors, and was pleasantly surprised that Glenn Ford (Superman’s dad to many people, from the Christopher Reeves film) was still alive at the age of 90. I think about movies I grew up with and how people are starting to die now that I never really thought of as “dead” material. Glenn Ford died yesterday.
I have sort of a soft spot for Glenn Ford. People don’t talk about the film Gilda as much as they could. It is remembered, and rightly so, for Rita Hayworth’s smouldering “Blame it on Mame” dance number, but the film is more like Vertigo in reverse (this film is not so bold as to destroy everything in the end). The hypocritical hard boiled crooked gambler played by Glenn Ford who’s twisted version of loyalty conflicts with his sexual obsession for Rita Hayworth’s Gilda- the desire of Ballin, the effete asexual, to possess Gilda as an object (for what purpose?)- the final realization of Glenn Ford’s character that surrendering to his feelings for Gilda would not be emasculinating or somehow against whatever rules (patriarchy?) he was trying to embrace or uphold. What seems a one note portrayal, may in fact be a one note portrayal, but that is what denial looks like.
Another seeming one note portrayal is Ford’s work in The Big Heat, a single-minded vengeance film that sets the template for Dirty Harry. A very good film, with incredibly cynical undercurrents. Also there is Fastest Gun Alive, a somewhat hokey Western about a man trying to live down his abilities and escape a cycle of revenge and killing, trying to lead a peaceful life.
In all these films, audiences are able to look past large character flaws simply because the characters are played by the “everyman” Glenn Ford, and I think that makes the films much more subversive than they otherwise might appear.
Also recommended by many, yet not seen by me yet- 3:10 to Yuma, Cimarron, The Blackboard Jungle, Experiment in Terror.
I’ve reached that crumudgeony point in my life where I rarely take the time to listen to new music. Of course I like to blame my lack of new musical libido on the quality of music that you kids listen to now-a-days. But I have to admit that I’m getting old, and the years of my musical hermitage in Bisbee have taken their toll. But here’s something new that I like!
As discussed recently in comments to this post, two chilli pepper/oil/seafood concoctions were discussed. Here we have them below. On the left is the Thai nam prik pow, a condiment featuring roasted chilli peppers, soybean oil, garlic, shallots, dried shrimp and palm sugar. On the right is XO sauce featuring chilli peppers in oil with dried shrimp and scallops, some sugar and some other stuff. The sauces are similar in their spicyness, body and shrimpy overtones. XO is saltier and much less sweet. With the prik pow, palm sugar is a major component so there is a slight crystalline crunch if you were to eat a glob. These two sauces share some affinity and could definitely be used in similar situations. I have had nam prik pow (hee, I almost typed man prik pow- HELLO!) as a dipping sauce for fresh shrimp chips at a Thai place in TUSTOSAN and I could see XO being yummy with pot stickers. I think both would be great on chinese or regular broccoli, but the gas would be ridiculous.
I post these pictures so Uncanny can get his ass to Super 88 and get some (also, Res- I know he is currently pounding the XO but he needs the new flavor of nam prik pow to go with the man prik pow in his life).
Not even the Poor Man just posting a million You Tube videos can half ass a post more than this bloggo. We were going to discuss triscuit hiccups. And now we’re not even going to do that! I do hate the moisture sapping dry mouth that is a symptom of various shredded wheat products and the inevitable cartoonish hiccups that subsequently arrive, but I feel perhaps it cannot be developed into a full post.
Should this be in delicious or disgusting? Probably, but there’s really no debate about the deliciousness of Sonoran hotdogs (bacon-wrapped grilled hotdogs, a roasted pepper on the side and your choice of condiments – salsa verde – pico de gallo – grilled onions – fresh sweet onions – fresh tomatoes – fresh cabbage -whole pinto beans – mustard – and yes the dreaded mayonnaise) . Yeah, I’ve read the hype about your New York Dogs, Boston Dogs, Chicago Dogs, Southern Dogs, German Dogs and Alsatian Dogs but truth be told they are all just inconsequential dust agleam in the starry sheen of Sonoran Hot Dogs. Ten years later I still remember the last one I ate just like I remember my first love. And even as a committed vegetarian, I relish the opportunity to watch someone eat one, vicariously savoring every last morsel, staring intently at the eater and the eaten, licking my lips, panting, wagging my tail, and howling occasionally.
The cool kids know that BK Carne Asada and Hot Dogs, make the best in town. But El Guero Canelo makes a mean hot dog too. Which brings us to the two points of this post: 1) to incite impassioned debate in defense of the various regional wieners (I expect Chuckles to bring it hard); and 2) to point out that the food photography on El Guero Canelo’s website (here, here and here ) is second only to that of the proprietor of this blog.
Image hosted by FLICKR. Photo by Chatois Chatboise.
PP UPDATE: These guys have in situ photos of the famous El Guero Canelo. I can hear Uncanny booking his flight now, also I can hear AG banning El Guero Canelo.
You remain a mystery to me my little rascally friend. Do you remember the day that we first met five years ago in the pound, and how it was love at first sight but I made a great show of looking at the other pups, all the while hoping and praying no one would ask about you before I did. So young we were, your belly still pink in the way of pups, the pads of your paws smelling like freshly baked fritos, those little puppy teeth so white so sharp, and the last vestiges of your belly button (!) who knew that dogs had them too?
And our first ‘test walk’ in the neighborhood around the pound:
A cat in the distance – ‘Greetings friend! I come in peace!’
On the leash – ‘Not a tug, not a pull, a perfect parabola of patience that’s my ideal’
Cheetos along the path – ‘My, my that’s an unsightly disgrace I can’t believe that other dogs would deign to eat such refuse.’
Pooping etiquette – ‘A discrete location chosen for privacy and ease of pick up. That’s my philosophy!’
Hunger – “Another treat? Oh my, no! One is certainly enough for me!’
How times have changed! The poetry of constant hunger. The full-throttle rocket dog launched at my groin as a means of welcome. The purposeful pooping for maximum embarrassment and degradation. Sniffing up girl’s skirts while they’re at the ATM. The constant cat criticisms. The sled dogging and shoulder dislocations. Sigh. Why do I love you even more Mr. Personality Plus?! Happy anniversary lil guy!!
No comment necessary… I love that band. counting back, seen ‘em three times: twice with Westerberg sober, once where he was so drunk he had to sit on a chair for the encores, and Chris Mars was wearing clown makeup. Closest they’re coming (so far) is MPLS.Filed under: Fridge Note, Music nobody listens to, Shovels