So at a few minutes before five this morning Mondoville time, I started another trip around the sun. Unfortunately, the weekend hasn’t gone as I might have hoped — I’ve been laid up with a kidney infection since Friday, and had to make a trip to the ER Friday night/Saturday morning for some IV fluids and antibiotics, and I was given an additional script for a different antibiotic, which I started around noon yesterday. I think I may have begun to feel a bit better early this morning, but I’m still pretty tired and pretty weak. But in the words of Richard Matheson’s The Shrinking Man, “I still exist!” And so do you, friends and readers, so let’s chat a bit, shall we?
Mrs. M has taken good care of me through this process, and made sure that I had gifts to open this afternoon. They include a memoir by Bruce McCulloch of the Kids in the Hall, and The Red Right Hand, Joel Townsley Rogers’s classic mystery novel, which I haven’t previously read. I also received the Criterion edition of David Lynch’s Mulholland Dr., and a CD collection of Irwin Chusid’s outsider music compendium, Songs in the Key of Z. As some of my collection of T-shirts have had to be retired, I’ve now been restocked, with shirts featuring the art of Wally Wood, a University of Kentucky logo, and the cover of Jim Thompson’s The Killer Inside Me, which I appreciate both as a fan of Thompson’s and as someone who shares a birthday with him. (I was born on Thompson’s 59th birthday, which I have to admit I appreciate more than the fact that I share that birthdate with Shaun Cassidy, Meat Loaf, and Mike Schmidt.)
Meanwhile, on the Book of Faces, I’m (as always) pleasantly touched by the birthday wishes I’ve received from the various people in my life. Roommates, classmates, teammates, and bandmates, and a panoply of others — I’m grateful to you all for having taken even a few seconds out of your day to drop by.
Facebook may have some unexpected benefit as well. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I faced my share of bullying and harassment when I was in school. And in the course of my sleeplessness and fever over the last couple of nights, a particularly malignant character from my middle and high school years popped into my mind.
Since I hadn’t much else to do other than lie around alternating chills and profuse sweating, I decided to find out what became of that guy.
And I couldn’t find him. I searched around, but no luck. Then I remembered he had a brother — also a schmuck, but less of one than my tormentor. So I found that guy, and thus discovered that I had misremembered his brother the asshole’s name.
And that made me happy, because I realized that despite the hassles he gave me, he didn’t even make enough of an impression on me to get his name right.
So screw you, bully — I won after all.
I think I’ll wrap things up for now, and so I’ll offer my traditional musical closer.
I wasn’t a big Stones fan as a kid, or even as a teenager — even then, I preferred the early stuff to the material that they were releasing contemporarily with me. But when I got to college, I took a film class, and one of the movies we watched was Shoot the Moon, by Alan Parker (who checked out not long ago). During a makeout scene, the soundtrack included a Stones song I hadn’t previously known, and it’s stuck with me over the years. So I’ll share it with you today.
See you soon!