What universe am I living in, where the President appoints a special person, a Grznd Guignol kind of guy, to investigate his doings? Why doesn't he just tough it out, as Bill Clinton did when his lying caught up with him. He said he was just going to do "Ma job." and by golly they left him to it. I don't believe any of this about Russia and furthermore I don't care. It's all over my head. Who cares about this stuff? You would have to be obsessed with getting the Donald as I believe they got Al Capone. Just keep looking through his life, his history, his associates and you will be sure to find something, as Patrick Fitzgerald did with Scooter Libby. You can dig up dirt on anyone, if you dig long enough.
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Friday, July 21, 2017
Going to see it tomorrow God Willing and the creek don't rise. I told a friend what it was about and she said, "How do you know this?"
I thought everyone knew about Dunkirk, like everyone knows about Gettysburg. Doesn't everyone?Anyway, I love anything about WWII. Or the Civil War. I got that way from typing Mr Charm's essays and term papers. He majored in British History, but the Civil War was his passion.
Posted by miriam sawyer at 10:33 PM
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
I went to see "Hero" with Sam Elliot at what passes for an experimental film venue in Wilmington. I strongly recommend that everyone make a point of skipping this movie. Sam Elliot is being promoted in this film as a serious actor. The filmmaker obviously thinks he is an attractive person, and trains the camera on him for hours--well, it seems like hours--as he pensively smokes a marijuana cigarette. Or stares gloomily at the incoming waves on a beach. He does have his virtues: slim and trim, with lovely wavy grey hair, an interesting voice. He also does not mug or overact. In fact, he hardly acts at al; he is all but comatose. It is creepy to see the camera lovingly focusing on him. I don't remember seeing this sort of thing in films about men, only those featuring beautiful young women like Liz Taylor or Audrey Hepburn. Sam Elliot is neither beautiful nor young. Nor interesting. Another annoying thing about the film is that everybody speaks very slowly, all the time. The whole thing could have been completed in 45 minutes, if it had gone at a normal pace. Miss it, you'll be glad you did.
During the past few months I have been plagued by insomnia. I tried to ride it out, but nothing solved the problem. Even sleeping pills just made me groggy. I truly cannot sleep four or five nights out of seven. It's making me crazy.
I decided to just ride it out, I figured eventually I will get tired enough to sleep naturally. Last night was a totally sleepless one, so I got up at 5 o'clock and tried to get something done. I resisted the desire to go back to bed, but went to the gym instead, doing my usual routine, but sluggishly. I was very tired when I got home, and my feet and legs were tired, so I lay down on the couch with a book. (Sometimes when I elevate my feet it relieves the tiredness. I'm a great believer in elevating the feet.)
I could feel myself drifting off, even though the air was hot and still. I woke up completely disoriented. I only knew I had been asleep a long time. My watch told me it was 5:30, but whether in the morning or the evening I could not tell. I looked at my phone and found it was still Tuesday. I was relieved. (I think.) Maybe not.
I could not help remembering a time, long ago, when I never knew what time it was. I was maybe 13. My family had just moved into a new house, my parents were separated, the house was horribly hot. I stayed up late, very late. I would be reading. Two o'clock would come, then three, and I would tell myself to go to sleep, but I wouldn't. I was reading P G Wodehouse at the time, I remember. I would wake up at 2 or three in the afternoon, feeling completely adrift from the society around me. It was unpleasant. More than that, it was frightening. I felt so separated from everyday life, unmoored from the ordinary life of ordinary people. Nowhere to be, nowhere to go. It was like being dead, but still alive.
Sunday, July 02, 2017
So I wanted to order my medication over the phone, using Humana's automated service. I put in the prescription number. then was asked for my birthdate. I gave them the only birthdate I have, but the computer did not recognize it. So what to do? I am stumped. I can't change my date of birth, much as I would like to.
Thursday, June 29, 2017
Yes, Blogger is cheap. In fact it is free, the very best kind of cheap. Otherwise, no-one would use it. It's a very clumsy tool.
For instance, since I haven't been blogging, I forgot that, even though I put page breaks in, Blogger does not recognize them. They print all my stuff in one block of text--the print equivalent of a speech by the late lamented (but not by me) Fidel Castro.
By the way, for those who want to impeach Donald Trump: Getting rid of Trump doesn't mean that Hillary would be president. That's not how it works. Mike Pence would become President. I hope you all like him. He probably would not employ his son-in-law, and it's a sure thing that Melania is prettier than Mrs Pence.
Monday, June 26, 2017
I was expecting my airbnb guest today, but he stood me up. Admittedly, I was of two minds about having a stranger in my house, but now that he does not want to come I am desolate. I cleaned the house as though expecting an inspection by my most censorious aunt, a woman who has been dead for 20 years. I know this attitude on my part is unreasonable. I am fully aware of the stupidity of it. The feeling is strong though.
I am trying to get back to my usually scintillating self, but it's hard to get back on track. Bear with me please.One pleasant development--I am glad to hear from my old blogfriends. Being surrounded here by incendiary Democrats, I am afraid to open my mouth lest I become a social leper. One Facebook friend expressed her annoyance with readers who commented only on personal matters but failed to respond to her political rants. Apparently it is not enough to live and let live, to agree to disagree, to withhold commenting on matters about which we disagree; she wanted full-throated agreement or nothing. Nothing is what she got, from me. Since I refused to join the Trump Assassination Club, I was persona non grata. Tough. I can live with that. But I like to know that out there in the Internet, there are people who agree with me!.
Posted by miriam sawyer at 8:43 PM