I'm watching the 1981 movie Arthur as I write. When it first came out, I loved it. A couple fighting convention to follow their hearts, clever writing, a wonderful performance by Gielgud, and my crush on Cuddley Dudley Moore. Oh, and I was involved with an abusive alcoholic. I was ripe for a movie that completely romanticized being in love with a drunk. (He was, to be fair, better looking than Dudley Moore. But he was mean, selfish and, in some ways, dumb as a stump. The key to our powerful attraction is akin to the conventional wisdom about Fred and Ginger: he gave me sex appeal and I gave him intellectual validity. That's why back in 1981 our friends referred to us as "Sam and Diane.")
But back to Arthur. I can't believe a movie with so many scenes of drunk driving, so many scenes of excessive drinking, was mainstream entertainment. Alcoholism is not funny. There are health consequences to drinking from sun up to sunset. There are very, very serious consequences to driving drunk.
Ask Mel Gibson.
Too bad, because the dialog is still very, very funny. But I just can't enjoy it anymore.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Avoiding Mr. B.
Hiding in an alley for nearly 10 minutes. Yes, I'd say I've reached a new low.
My downstairs neighbor is a very nice old man. But he is sooooo annoying! All of our conversations are ultimately pointless, which is what makes them grate so.
This retired gentleman sells Avon. At first I found this charming. A little additional income, a way to stay active. Well, things are not quite as they seem.
Mr. B. not only owns his condo outright, and his unit has appreciated considerably over the last few years, he also owns the unit beside his and rents it out. The old boy is a land baron! And he always gets my Avon orders wrong. He forgets to place them, forgets what I ordered, forgets what to charge me, forgets to deliver my order to me. The only constant in dealing with Mr. B. is that you can count on him screwing up.
Yet every time I see him, he says, "Buy, buy, buy." He wants to know when I'm going to place my next order. He confesses to having my most recent order in his apartment and vows to bring it to me "tonight," even though "tonight" never arrives.
I want to be polite. I want to be pleasant. I just don't want to order anymore Avon. Nor do I want to spend long, looong minutes in inane chatter. So today, when I came around the corner after breakfast and a quick trip to the grocery store, I saw him waiting out front and ducked into the alley.
I put down my 12-pack of Coke and Woolite and checked my voice mail, even though I knew there wouldn't be any messages. Then I counted the cars that went by (only one light truck and no SUVs). As I listened for the sound of a car door closing and someone taking Mr. B. away, I sat there in terror, afraid someone I knew would walk by and ask me what I was doing there in the alley.
This is no way for a grown woman to behave, is it?
My downstairs neighbor is a very nice old man. But he is sooooo annoying! All of our conversations are ultimately pointless, which is what makes them grate so.
This retired gentleman sells Avon. At first I found this charming. A little additional income, a way to stay active. Well, things are not quite as they seem.
Mr. B. not only owns his condo outright, and his unit has appreciated considerably over the last few years, he also owns the unit beside his and rents it out. The old boy is a land baron! And he always gets my Avon orders wrong. He forgets to place them, forgets what I ordered, forgets what to charge me, forgets to deliver my order to me. The only constant in dealing with Mr. B. is that you can count on him screwing up.
Yet every time I see him, he says, "Buy, buy, buy." He wants to know when I'm going to place my next order. He confesses to having my most recent order in his apartment and vows to bring it to me "tonight," even though "tonight" never arrives.
I want to be polite. I want to be pleasant. I just don't want to order anymore Avon. Nor do I want to spend long, looong minutes in inane chatter. So today, when I came around the corner after breakfast and a quick trip to the grocery store, I saw him waiting out front and ducked into the alley.
I put down my 12-pack of Coke and Woolite and checked my voice mail, even though I knew there wouldn't be any messages. Then I counted the cars that went by (only one light truck and no SUVs). As I listened for the sound of a car door closing and someone taking Mr. B. away, I sat there in terror, afraid someone I knew would walk by and ask me what I was doing there in the alley.
This is no way for a grown woman to behave, is it?
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