kartooner

From where I’m sit­ting, there is a patch of snow droop­ing down from the roof. It looks as if the Stay-Puff Marsh­mal­low Man was blown to pieces and the rem­nents are leak­ing (or stick­ing) down the sides of the house. Now I’m hav­ing flash­backs to Ghost­busters — oh, how I miss the zany adven­tures of that dys­func­tional crew of ghost hunters. That, and Inspec­tor Gad­get. They revisit me in my dreams at night with their respec­tive theme songs as well.

It’s been cold, but noth­ing out of the ordi­nary. A few nights ago (after work) I was stuck out in the mid­dle of a hail storm. Believe me, you’ve never expe­ri­enced life until your stand­ing out in the mid­dle of what feels like a storm of descend­ing gum drops. I fig­ured out that if I ran to the phone booth and hud­dled inside there it shielded the cold wind and the gum drops from impound­ing me into the cement. Whew.

We went and saw Con­fes­sions of a Dan­ger­ous Mind, the slightly skewed auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Chuck Bar­ris. Over­all, it was an inter­est­ing movie that seemed to bor­der­line real­ity with exag­ger­a­tion. Typ­i­cally, movies that mess with your mind (like Don­nie Darko) freak me out. Not to the point where they are unwatch­able, but where I dwell on their images for a while.

With Con­fes­sions, it was a movie where you ques­tion every­thing on screen from the get go. I mean, how often do we hear of Pat Sajak or Alex Tre­bec enlist­ing them­selves in the CIA or FBI. Or, do we?