fine whine

First of all I finished Guy Burt's The hole. I'm leery of books that say things like "A novel of psychological suspense" on the cover, as did this one. I suspect publishers and authors do something like that precisely to build that sort of suspense, particularly when it is largely lacking from the narrative. Such was the case, in this case, in my estimation. Another strike against the book is that it alternates between the present and the past, not a favorite technique of mine. Admittedly in the epilogue most of my complaints are smoothed over, but twist endings are a delicate art and this one's didn't work so well. That said this book was written by an eighteen year old (at the time) and admirably so. Moreover it was made into a movie in 2001 starring Thora Birch, and I can only assume she acquitted herself adequately and maybe even competently with a passable accent. From what little I read on imdb the movie parallels the book with the alternating present and past, and I would bet that the epilogue from the book gets worked into the movie just as abruptly (but appropriately).

This, of course, was not that to which the title refers.

Also today I was attempting to make a dent in the giant mountain of VHS tapes that memorialize my year with illicit cable. I tackled The desperate hours and The flim-flam man.

"Tackled" probably isn't the right word to use as I thoroughly enjoyed both movies. Desperate starred Humphrey Bogart as one of a trio of dangerous, escaped convicts who hold a suburban family hostage. Though "old" it kept its relevance and suspense and wasn't hokey or old-fashioned. Speaking of old-time, though, brings us to George C. Scott as The flim-flam man in the movie of the same name. At times vaguely romantic and at others a rollicking farce, the movie worked as a whole due to its great leads (Scott and Michael Scarazzini) and jaunty pace. Since I had taped both of these off of AMC, I had an occasional commercial break to skip, and as I fast-forwarded I saw a quick clip of Bruce Lee's last film, showing him in a yellow bodysuit with black stripes. Remembering the motorcycle outfit I saw Uma Thurman wearing in the trailer to Kill Bill at the beginning of the Equilibrium disc, I realize that the rumblings about homages and nods in the Tarantino bloodfest may be deeper than at first I suspected.

As for my wife and me, our quarrel isn't re: Bruce Lee, Bogie or George C.

The argument that plagues this household is garbage, really. Jessica doesn't like to throw food matter away in the garbage disposal but instead chucks it into the trashbin. Which she then complains about the smell thereof within a few days. I say anything without bones goes down the sink; she says taking out the garbage every other day isn't that big of a deal. No headway has been made in this yet. I'd write more but really it's an utterly trivial issue to anybody but me.