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The pros and cons

Again as most days, I remain horizontal in the recliner, sometimes searching the internet for employment, but only for a short while before frustration and boredom pull me back to watching old movies.

I'd like a job, need a job, and if anyone's ever willing to hire me I'll do the job pretty well. Always have.

What I'm less and less willing to do, though, is put any serious effort into looking for a job. That's the conundrum that keeps me unemployed.

A friend was feeling depressed, so I'll give myself the advice I gave her: The best way to beat the blahs is to give up, because once you've given up, you're hardly ever disappointed. So yeah, I've mostly given up.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Night auditor at a hotel. Nope.

Driver for railroad workers. Nope.

Elections worker. Nope.

Data entry for the county courthouse. Nope.

Broom pusher. I ain't picky, but nope.

I file the applications and wait until the end of time. Once in a while there's a call and an interview, and then I wait until the end of time.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Having no car, I skip over any car-required job listings. Obviously.

But having a car is part of American life, and this is America, so HR drones typing up listings sometimes forget to mention that a job requires a car. They assume every applicant comes encased in steel and glass and windshield wipers.

Three times now, I've gotten as far as the job interview before it's revealed that a car is required. The first two no-car rejections at least made sense, since the work actually did require a car. Would've been nice to know before getting my hopes up, but I didn't want to shoot anyone.

It's the third no-car rejection that has me seriously honked off.

I'd chatted with a security guard at the bus station, and his job seemed like it wouldn't be a challenge. He was old like me, said he'd had the job for five years, and never been worse than yelled at. No violence, no courage, so I'm fully qualified, right? And the bus goes right to the bus station, so getting to work would be a breeze.

But the rent-a-cop company simply doesn't hire bus riders. "Too many times," said the lady in the interview, "bus riders are late and say they missed the bus." So, no job there.

No job here, no job there, no job frickin' anywhere. No job east, no job west, no job naked, no job dressed. No job north, no job south, not enough teeth in my mouth. No job sweaty, no job cold, no job for me because I'm old.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

It's only a mental stroll down a dark alley, where the streetlight flickers and there's a rustling in the shadows. A bad daydream is all, and nothing will come of it, I'm sure, but ... I've been playing with the idea of homelessness. Just weighing the pros and cons.

The pros are: No more worries about the rent, no alarm clock, and finally a farewell to my insufferable flatmate Dean. The cons are, of course, everything else.

4/18/2024   

itsdougholland.com
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Sondering

We were in our early 20s, me and a friend who'd become a flatmate, and one memorable night we stood on our apartment's balcony, and looked at the freeway traffic in the distance.

What we saw was nothing unusual. You've seen it many times — thousands of vehicles, a river of white headlights coming closer, and red taillights into the distance. You couldn't distinguish individual headlights and taillights, only blurs and colors.

On that particular night, though, we noticed it, thought about it, and we were awestruck. Every pair of those white or red dots was a car, maybe a truck or a bus ... and inside each of those vehicles was at least a driver, perhaps passengers ... and inside each of those humans were plans and disappointments, dreams and mourning, and a billion memories, happy and sad.

No marijuana was involved. Me and my buddy were just a couple of guys who enjoyed heavy thinking, and what we were thinking that night, what I'm thinking now, is this:

There are so many people, some near, but most so far away we'll never know anything about their lives. And each and all of them have their own history and worries and issues that are enormous to them — billions of people, with infinite daydreams and drama and problems you and I know nothing about, and never will.

It blew our minds, as the kids say these days, and I've recently learned that there's a word that comes close to capturing this: 'sonder'

"the feeling one has on realizing that every other individual one sees has a life as full and real as one's own, in which they are the central character and others, including oneself, have secondary or insignificant roles."

It still blows my mind. We share the world with billions of other people, and each of them (unless they're rich) has a life that's complicated and difficult. When they die, same as when you die, the chemistry of their bodies will return to the soil, the sky, the universe. Their problems will be finished, same as yours, and they'll begin to be forgotten, same as you, same as all of us.

We are of no consequence to those who follow into the future, same as individuals from a hundred or a thousand or a hundred thousand years ago are of no consequence to you and I. Our hopes and hassles and heartbreak are only for a moment, until they're swept away by death.

The last time I said some of this to someone, they told me it's a terribly sad perspective, and I need to drink less, or drink more, or see a counselor.

They didn't understand. None of this is sad — it's beautiful. It's brilliant. We live, we fuck things up, maybe we get a few things right, but it doesn't matter outside our own heads and very brief lives.

We have a few laughs, and then we die, we're gone, and everything starts again. And all of us, in the past, the present, the future, are dots on some highway, until the lights flicker out.

7/23/2020  
Republished 4/18/2024  

The French Connection, The Freshman, Friday Foster, and a few more films

Freewheelin' (1976)
Streaming free at Tubi

I wonder sometimes what I missed, beyond sprained ankles, from never learning to skateboard.

This is a mellow mostly-documentary about skateboarding, with several 'name' shredders from the pre-Tony Hawk era, and maybe from before they were 'names'. Stacy Peralta is the main focus, and he's apparently somebody

It's very laid back for what's basically a sports flick, gnarly but wholesome, and narrated by a young woman who might be Peralta's friend, girlfriend, or sister.

NEVERENDING
FILM FESTIVAL
#278  [archive]
APR. 17, 2024

There's sort of a story, as Stacy's fine skateboarding earns him an invitation to tour, but the acting scenes are clumsy. It's only the boarding that's real.

The terminology is so foreign to me it needs subtitles, but it's still fun to watch the action.

It kinda reminds me of the nature documentaries Disney cranked out in the '60s, only with long-hair teenagers instead of forests and animals. There are no hints of marijuana, sex, or anything but life on skateboards, with side trips to related sports like snow skiing, and water and wind surfing.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

The French Connection (1971)
Streaming free at Internet Archive

Prohibition is stupid, drugs should legalized, and police should respect people's rights, and be fired and prosecuted when they don't. The cops in this movie — Jimmy Doyle (Gene Hackman) and Buddy Russo (Roy Scheider) — are repeatedly caught on camera breaking the law, and should've been out of work before the inevitable sequel. 

"All right, Popeye's here! Get your hands on your heads, get off the bar, and get on the wall!"

And yet, if you yearn for an action drama about out-of-control narcotics cops futilely trying to shut down the heroin supply, well by golly, this is the best of that genre. It's a near-perfect mix of quieter set-up scenes, then tense or violent payoffs, with excellent camerawork and script, and excellent everything, really. When people talk about how good The French Connection is, nobody mentions the music (Don Ellis), but it's terrific, too.

Gene Hackman, Fernando Rey, Roy Scheider, Tony Lo Bianco. Directed by William Friedkin. 

It's all only sad if you stop and think about it, so try not to.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

French Roast (2008)
Streaming free at Internet Archive

Man drinks coffee in a Parisian cafe, and discovers he's forgotten or lost his wallet. From this comes a brief morality tale that's supposed to be heartwarming, and probably is, but my soul is frozen solid.

This is an 8-minute animated short, done with big-budget CGI, but I dislike the look of it, and of most CGI. It reeks of money over imagination.

Sweet story, though.

Verdict: MAYBE.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Frequency (2000)

Dennis Quaid plays Frank Sullivan, a ham radio buff and New York fireman killed in a big fire in 1969. Thirty years later, his now-grown son pulls the radio gear out of a box, plugs it in, and finds his dead dad on the radio. It's the kind of thing that only happens in the movies.

Quaid is an old shoe — he's been a familiar and friendly presence in movies since I was young, so he's like slipping into your favorite, most comfortable sneakers. I'd watch him in almost anything, even something sorta sucky, like this.

It's too faux nostalgic, has showy camerawork that's distracting, and after the whole Dad's-on-the-radio thing, the story gets even more far-fetched — there's a serial killer on the loose both now and in 1969, and butterfly effects up the yin-yang. 

Jesus Himself (Jim Caviezel) plays Sullivan's adult son. Does that make Quaid his heavenly father?

Verdict: NO, but it reaches right to the cusp of MAYBE.

♦ ♦ ♦  

Fresh Hare (1942)
Streaming free at Internet Archive

Porky Pig is a mountie, on the snow-covered and carrot-baited twail of that wascally wabbit, Bugs Bunny, who's wanted by the law for "conduct unbecoming a wabbit."

It's 6½ minutes of funny, then mildly racist at the end, but you've seen worse racism in old movies.

Directed by Friz Freleng.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

The Freshman (1925)
Streaming free at Internet Archive

By the best of my recollection, this is the first Harold Lloyd movie I've seen. It's feature-length, not a short, and it's not bad at all, but sometimes it's a while between chuckles.

More than just about anything, Harold wants to go to college, not for an education but to be part of the college social scene, make the football team, and be voted 'most popular'. Instead, absurdities follow other absurdities, and most of the students soon see him as "the college boob." When he tries out for the football squad, he's relegated to being the tackling dummy. Ouch!

There's a big party in formal wear, and lacking a tux Lloyd hires a cheap tailor. The suit isn't ready by the night of the dance, so the tailor follows him around on the dance floor with a needle and thread, making repairs as the fabric rips and buttons pop. Like a lot of this movie, it's amusing, but stretched too long for my 21st-century attention span.

The film's famous final act, some football shenanigans filmed at the Rose Bowl, is a rousing spectacle with laughs, and by the finish it all seems a winner.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Friday Foster (1975)
Streaming free at Internet Archive

Based on a newspaper comic strip I'd never heard of, Friday Foster (Pam Grier) is a photographer, which would put her on the wrong side of the camera, in my opinion.

Sent to the airport to cover the arrival of a black billionaire, she witnesses a murder and extended gunfight, and of course snaps pictures, so an assassin is after her.

Playing Foster, Ms Greer is smart and stubborn and headstrong, mostly in the traditional female movie star way — barbed remarks, more than gunfights and fisticuffs. She does, however, steal a hearse and a milk truck. When she goes into an LGBTQ bar, she talks to a trans woman and treats her with respect — fifty years ago! 

Two excellent and imaginative deaths, ample action, plus a stellar blaxploitation cast — Godfrey Cambridge, Scatman Crothers, Eartha Kitt, Yaphet Kotto, Ted Lange, Thalmus Rasulala, Carl Weathers, and of course, Jim Backus. Directed by Arthur Marks (Linda Lovelace for President), with a fine funky score by Luchi De Jesus (Black Belt Jones, Detroit 9000).

Verdict: YES.

4/17/2024   

• • • Coming attractions • • •     

The Frightening (2002)
The Fringe Dwellers
(1986)
Fritz the Cat
(1972)
Frogs for Snakes
(1998)
From the Earth to the Moon
(1958)
From Time to Time
(2009)
The Front
(1974)

... plus schlock, shorts, and surprises

— — —
Now accepting recommendations for movies,
especially
starting with the letter 'G'.
Just add a comment, below.
— — —

Illustration by Jeff Meyer. Click any image to enlarge. Arguments & recommendations are welcome, but no talking once the lights dim, and only real butter on the popcorn, not that fake yellow stuff. 
 
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News & music & dead people

CRANKY
OLD FART'S

BROWSER
HISTORY

#416  [archive]
APR. 16, 2024

20 years later, Abu Ghraib detainees get their day in US court
    When they're done prosecuting Donald Trump for malfeasance with petty cash after boinking the porn star, can we move on to something serious?  
    George H W Bush, Dick Cheney, Barack Obama, Trump again, and Joe Biden should all be prosecuted for the continuing crime of Guantanamo, and then locked away there.

Florida: DeSantis signs controversial bill banning civilian boards from investigating police misconduct
    This is fascism. Not the insult, but literally fascism. 

Judge awards $23.5 million to undercover St. Louis officer beaten by colleagues during protest
    The AP’s shitty coverage doesn’t even mention that the undercover cop who got severely beaten is black.
    Cops beat a black undercover cop at a protest, because he was (a) black and (b) at a protest. Cops routinely beat protesters, but everyone who's beaten doesn't get a fat payout like this. Only cops, and only if they sue.

Cops battered a man suffering a seizure, cooked up criminal charges to cover up their actions

Supreme Court allows cop, injured at BLM protest, to sue protest organizers  

Kansas Highway Patrol is ordered to pay plaintiffs $2.3 million for unconstitutional "Kansas two-step" traffic policy  

Seattle police knew officer who struck and killed pedestrian had "checkered history," but hired him anyway

How I built an AI-powered, self-running propaganda machine for $105
    For an old fart, i do pretty well with modern technology, but I've seen enough science fiction and know enough science fact that AI scares the bejeebers out of me. It needs to be sternly regulated, but won't be.

Schools were just supposed to block porn; instead they sabotaged homework and censored suicide prevention sites 

Anti-trans Missouri A.G. can now access trans people's medical records 

US Senator (guess which party) urges Americans to "take matters into their own hands" to stop anti-genocide protestors 

How rock'nroll history was made — and nearly forgotten — in Dallas 

"Hello, I'm John Waters, and I'm supposed to announce that there is no smoking in this theater."

Amusing, Interesting, Outrageous, or Profound
    AIOP is my Lemmy page, for anything that's (in my opinion) amusing, interesting, outrageous, or profound. It's mostly a rough draft of this page, but you're invited to stop by.

♫♬  MUSIC  ♫

Big Machine — Ryan Miller 

Fight the Power — Public Enemy 

The Internationale — Tony Babino 

Only Thing Governments Have Done — Ryan Harvey 

Til The Day After — Emitt Rhodes 

⚰️  OBITUARIES  ⚰️

🖕 Bennett Braun
mad psychiatrist 

Larry Brown
baseballer, Cleveland Indians 

Eleanor Coppola
moviemaking wife and mom 

Ben Eldridge
bluegrass banjo picker 

Carl Erskine
baseballer, Brooklyn and Los Angeles Dodgers 

Vincent Friell
actor, Trainspotting 

David Goodstein
condensed matter physics 

Whitey Hertzog
baseballer and manager, St Louis Cardinals 

Ken Holtzman
baseballer, Chicago Cubs 

🖕 Beverly LaHaye
17th century woman 

Fritz Peterson
baseballer, New York Yankees 

Faith Ringgold
narrative quilts 

Lori and George Schappell
twins with something extra 

Penny Simkin
doula organizer

Rae Tyler
forgotten woman


4/16/2024      

Cranky Old Fart is annoyed and complains and very occasionally offers a kindness, along with anything off the internet that's made me smile or snarl. All opinions fresh from my ass. Top illustration by Jeff Meyer. Click any image to enlarge. Comments & conversations invited. 

Tip 'o the hat to the AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf's, Chuff, Dirty Blonde Mind, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Lemmy.world, Looking for My Perfect Sandwich, Miss Miriam's Mirror, Voenix Rising, and anywhere else I've stolen links, illustrations, or inspiration.

Special thanks to Linden Arden, Becky Jo, Wynn Bruce, Joey Jo Jo emeritus, Jeff Meyer, John the Basket, Dave S, Name Withheld, and always extra special thanks to my lovely late Stephanie, who gave me 21 years and proved that the world isn't always shitty.

Cranky Old Fart
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itsdougholland.com
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Me and the man upstairs

The doorbell rang, which meant my delivery of groceries was here. Nobody rings my doorbell except professionally.

I slipped a mask over my face, and stepped out onto the porch, where the delivery woman was putting down a few sacks of my stuff. So far, so normal. What wasn't normal was the man on the sidewalk, twenty feet away from us. I'd never seen him before, and he was yelling at her, and when I stepped out he started yelling at me, too.

"Friend of yours?" I said to the delivery woman, someone else I'd never seen before. The screaming guy stopped screaming, and seemed to be listening to us.

"Nope," she said. "He started yelling at me as soon as I got out of my car, but I don't know why." The screaming guy continued screaming, and she said, "There's one more load," and walked toward her car to get the rest of my stuff.

Usually I'd just wait, due to the pandemic and my ordinary introversion, but this morning it seemed wiser to follow her at a safe social distance. The stranger was approaching her and I ended up between them, more out of luck than intent.

"You having a bad day?" I asked him, cordially, and of course he started screaming in my face. I was wearing a mask, and felt his spittle hitting my forehead. He wasn't masked, and was furious about cars, parking, and tow-trucks.

The delivery worker put my last sacks of groceries on the grass between the curb and the sidewalk, while the screamer was re-screaming about parking and tow-trucks. There was no tow-truck in sight, and the lady's car was properly parked at the curb.

I said "Thanks" to her, and she nodded but was understandably in a hurry. She climbed into her vehicle, started the engine, drove away, and the screaming guy took a swing at her car's hatchback as it passed. He missed, but his momentum made him stumble and fall.

Which was OK by me. I prefer having lunatics on the ground instead of on their feet. I probably chuckled, then picked up my groceries and walked toward the porch, but when I got there he'd hurried over and was blocking my way.

"You'll excuse me," I said, "but I'm going inside."

"What if I won't let you?"

I scoured my mind for a clever retort, but there was nothing, so I just looked at him. He was younger than me but not young, with unkempt hair, and eyes wider than you'd want to see in someone blocking your way.

"What if I won't let you?" he said again.

Was he really challenging me to a fight, like in second grade? Well, he was skinny and I'm fat, so he might land a few quick punches, but eventually I could sit on him and crack his ribs. I'd rather just put away my groceries, though.

I took a few steps off the walkway and onto the lawn, then back to the walkway. I'd gone around him, and maybe we were both relieved. Up the three stairs to the porch, I unlocked the door, and he started screaming at me again. I put the bags I was carrying inside the building, and reached for the plastic bags on the porch. The two big bags made it inside, but a small box fell out, and he snatched it.

I stood on the porch, and he stood at the foot of the three stairs. He was no longer screaming, but glared at me defiantly, holding my yellow and blue box. "Those are my suppositories," I said. "They're for hemorrhoids." I was about to tell him he could shove 'em up his ass, but he screamed, "Fuck you!" and threw the box into the bush.

I could barely see it through the leaves and branches. It cost $3.19, and it wasn't worth a fight or an injury over that, so I shrugged, and just looked at him. He stomped off, shouting again about tow-trucks.

As he screamed off down the street, I was thinking, there goes the looniest loon I've seen on this block since moving to Madison. But he's not much compared to the loons in San Francisco, when I lived there. He's a minor-league loon.

I carried my groceries in, put the frozen stuff in the freezer, and returned to the porch with my grabber, "as seen on TV." I reached over, snagged the box on my first attempt, and I was about to return to my apartment when I heard a voice from on high.

"Mike's having a bad day," said a voice from above. I looked skyward, and saw my upstairs neighbor, on the tiny balcony above the tiny porch. Another annoyance. That guy spends most of his spare time on a a plastic chair on the balcony, unless it's freezing, and it was a balmy 45° today, so there he was. We've been having very brief conversations for years, but I don't like saying hello to him every time I pass under.

He told me his name once, but I forgot it instantly, so I just said, "You know that guy?"

"That's Mike. He lives in the other building, drinks too much, and likes to make trouble." Our apartment complex consists of twin buildings, so 'the other building' means that Mike the Screamer pays rent to the same landlord we do, but he doesn't have a key to our building, which is a relief. "I already called 9-1-1," said my nameless neighbor above, "and I'm going to report him to the landlord."

I stepped out onto the grass, so I could make better eye contact with the man upstairs. "That's probably the right thing to do," I said.

And it was, and I might've called 9-1-1 myself, but it was a relief that I didn't have to. I hate calling the authorities, and never do it unless there's no other choice.

I thanked my neighbor, came inside, ate some eggs, inserted a suppository, and thought about things.

'Mike' hadn't hurt anyone, hadn't even tried to hurt anyone, but it was obvious that he'd wanted to. He'd taken a swing at a car and missed, which was comical when it happened, but he was plainly dangerous to the young, small woman driving that car. So yeah, 9-1-1 the schmuck.

An hour later, two policemen knocked at my door, and I hate it when that happens. I said "Let's not" when they asked if they could come inside my apartment, but with an open door between us, I described what had happened.

After they'd left, I watched from the porch, with my neighbor on the balcony above me, as the cops nudged Mike into the back seat of their squad car. I do not like dealing with cops, but it had to be done.

"Too much beer," said the man upstairs, "too early in the morning, causes nothing but trouble."

12/3/2020   
Republished 4/16/2024