Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Heart of Lead

All day I’ve been dithering about whether to go to a free screening of the Neil Young documentary, Heart of Gold. I like ol’ Neil—a lot. For many years I had a homemade Neil Young magnet on my fridge (until I graciously gave it to my brother who had been coveting it since the day I created it). But in the last seven days I’ve seen five movies. That’s a bit much, isn’t it? Since it’s a freebie, I’d have to arrive at least 45 minutes before it starts and stand around in the damp chill waiting to get let in. I’m not up for that tonight.

B is going to go. He just asked me if I’m going and when I told him, no, he seemed kind of disappointed. This is going to sound weird, but B rarely leaves the house without me, which means I rarely have the house to myself. I, on the other hand, am always trotting off with my friends, leaving him to rattle around on his own. It’s usually not a problem, but today the idea of having the whole house to myself--not hearing the toilet flush, the refrigerator open and close, or footsteps plodding up and down stairs--sounds very appealing for some reason.

I’m planning on pouring myself a glass of wine and watching “Windsor Castle: A Royal Year” on public television (there aren’t any good Olympic events on). I think I’ve missed at least two episodes, but I caught a glimpse of one and learned that the queen personally selects the soap that gets placed in the rooms of particularly prominent people who stay at the castle. She has nothing better to do? I’ll be stockpiling more details like that to build my case that the royal family is entirely ornamental and serves no practical purpose. I hope to see Prince Charles wandering about—possibly in a kilt--looking like the twit he is. And after "Windsor Castle" I may well watch the Monty Python special that follows. I am such an anglophilic dork.

Fascinating. On to an even more fascinating topic.

Separated at birth?

Old Rocker

This is (of course) Keith Richards, aged crow-like rock star.

Ancient Mime

But who is this? Keith again? Nope. It’s Marcel Marceau, aged crow-like mime and Frenchman. Freaky! And get this: Marcel is 82-years-old--20 years older than Keith. I think they look about the same age. If anything, Marcel looks younger or, at least, less haggard and dissipated. Keith's face looks like it's made out of dirty Silly Putty.

How is it that Keith Richards is still alive, anyway?


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