Random Friday Thought Episodes

When I am doing something mindless and repetitive, like painting woodwork, I have the chance to ponder important things…like ways to punish Osama Bin Laden should he ever be captured.  I used to think that making him waitress at Chuck-E-Cheese for the rest of his life would be an adequate and just punishment, but after redoing the downstairs powder room, I’ve decided that having OBL remove wallpaper all day, every day, for the remainder of his days would also be an exceptionally fine sentence.  Give the man a “Paper Tiger,” some DIF and a scraper and let him get to work.  No new blades for the scraper, either.

Another one that occurred to me was holding his eyes open like Malcolm McDowell in “A Clockwork Orange” while showing him terrific art films like “The Day After Tomorrow” and “Black Hole.”  Max has a real talent for sniffing out fantastically bad movies, the kind that you almost can’t quit watching because they’re just so awful that it’s kind of mesmerizing.  Personally, I can’t watch a movie without popcorn and a Coke, so the additional torture of having to watch a movie without treats would be icing on the cake.

Speaking of terrific films, I did think “Public Enemies” was pretty darn good.  I heard some whinging about “character development” from some critics, but I think Depp summed Dillinger up pretty good when he gave his life summary to Bobbie Flechette:  “I was born in Mooresville, Indiana.  My momma died when I was three.  My daddy beat me because he didn’t know any other way to raise me.  I like movies, fast cars, good clothes, whiskey and you.”  (Warning—that was paraphrased from memory; I know it’s wrong.)  What else do you need to know?  John Dillinger was a force of nature.  They don’t have a lot of nuance.  And I think Christian Bale, who is laconic at his most talkative, did a fine job of portraying a man with a distaste for his work.  I think they made Hoover’s character a little too obviously foppish…but I don’t know much about Hoover—maybe he was really a bit camp like that.  And I could empathize with Dillinger, when he asked why they were taking him to Indiana, where there was nothing he wanted…it’s like a singularity; there are some of us who just can’t achieve escape velocity.  Dillinger is buried here in Crown Hill, and somewhere around here is where I’ll probably be buried.  Unless I can talk my kids into spreading my ashes in Saks Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

 Meanwhile, I just read a piece over at NRO that is so good it deserves its own blurb, so I’ll close up and move along, little doggy.