Having decided that Target has taken me for granted and will have to earn my sustained patronage, I decided to see what Wal-Mart had to offer.
I am now fully informed about what Wal-Mart has to offer.
The first thing was "near collision in the parking lot, because of a maniac. Let's say you want to go to parking spot X:
Inside it was cavernous and loud. I'd been to this one before, maybe ten years ago, and I remember it was chaotic and dumpy. Today: chaotic and dumpy. I found some interesting chicken dinner options, but there weren't any prices. Half the cooler, no prices. Most of the meat department was 25% stocked at most.
The big thing was really bad cart awareness. The place was huge, but every intersection of every aisle had abandoned carts, or someone just stopped dead, chatting or woolgathering. Big displays blocking paths compounded the problem. So, nah. I mean, no surprise, right? It's Wal-Mart. Sorry, I'm a snob, and prefer to get my dog food at a place that reinforces my self-identified class status.
That's what Target banks on, of course.
Good weekend. Cool. Rain! Not a lot, but it was nice. I made the best hamburger I've ever made, thanks to a tip from the Giant Swede: save your bacon fat and mix it in the beef. Also, it helps that I don't use lean meat. Lunds has meat-fat 80-20 and 90-10 options, but Kowalski's, I think it was, oh, 30-70. Ultra-juicy! Now add extra fat! Mix it in, drizzle with extra bacon fat, then cook it up in bacon fat and butter! Dip the buns in lard! Serve on a plate greased with sausage run-off!
Okay, not that bad. Also: add "Montreal Steak" seasoning. Some Wahr-chester fluid. How good was it? You take one bite and realize no, no, I cannot add ketchup. I dasn't. Mustard is out of the question. Anything other than the burger, cheese, and onion is an adulteration.
I had some meat left over for Birch, and added some cheese and a little bacon. I think he almost passed out from drooling-induced dehydration. Get out the mop.
The rest of the night was a festival of backing up in prep for the new Mac Mini. The diagnostic programs continue to insist that the drive on my iMac is mere moments from death, beyond repair. At the end of the night I sat down to watch TV and ding! message from Daughter. I had texted her earlier about a nap-dream I had concerning her new job, and how she was trying to convince a client - a convenience store chain called CONFEDERATES - to rebrand. She got back to me around midnight AM and we got off on a text conversation that went three times around the world and back. Lasted an hour and ten minutes.
BTW, in the dream she was suggesting that the company have a new mascot, Feddie, who would be a talking coffee cup with a Sam Elliot moustache, dispensing home-spun wisdom.
There’s really nothing to say about this one, aside from this: you can find it on YouTube, and watch it for free.
So . . . what does this mean, exactly?
An overturned glass would be something upset, the normal order of things undone. But aren’t all glasses, correctly used, upturned?
The name’s interesting, too. Jno?
All is explained here:
Mason and his then wife, Pamela Kellino, had originally planned to develop a film on the Brontë family entitled The Upturned Glass, written by Pamela and starring James as Branwell Brontë. They dropped the idea after learning of the Hollywood production Devotion, and instead developed a psychological thriller under the same title, in which both Masons would play leading roles.
The film was based on a story by American serviceman Jno. P. Monaghan, whom the Masons had befriended when touring the US for the American Red Cross. Kellino and Monaghan worked on the story together, and Monaghan appeared in a small role as an American military truck driver.
In the original draft of the script, Mason was to play a detective and the film was to focus around a school mistress. However after Mason was unable to secure the services of the actors they wanted, Celia Johnson and Phyllis Calvert, the script was rewritten. The new script had nothing to do with an upturned glass but they decided to keep the title because it had received considerable publicity.
Ah. Monaghan would also write Mason’s authorized biography, in 1947. Turns out his name was really John. He did a few movies and TV shows, but biographical info seems scant.
Here he is, in walk-on form.
Anyway, it’s a good movie when you’re in the mood for something that doesn’t particularly tax the mind. Did he do it? Is he guilty?
Could he possibly be haunted by guilt?
Gosh, he does seem troubled by something.
Will he jump, or double-down on evil? Or just stand there and look distant and confused in a way the ladies in the audience just love?
That's the problem with James Mason movies of this era: they just didn't want him to be all bad.
That'll do: off on another week of stuff, and I hope you enjoy it.