Today, I was, alas, that guy. (In addition to being the guy who posts an AI thing he did becaues he forgot to shoot a Bleat banner.) I left the house with a head full of buzzing bees in a sense of resentment against the entirety of human existence – mine in particular, you might not be surprised to learn – but resolved that I was not going to mope or brood.

The first stop was the post office, to mail a letter, and of course, there was a car parked in front of the mailbox. There was no one in the car. I had to get out and use my actual feet and hands to mail the letter, then decided to sit in the car for a while and wait for the occupant to come out so that I might confront them about what they had done. This is a minor violation of the social compact and I am tired of it after 25 years. It could be my final contribution to the neighborhood: a stern reminder that the no-parking sign exists for a specific reason. But then somebody pulled up behind me and from the gesticulation, I could tell that he thought that I was the person who was blocking the mailbox, so I left.

I went then to the gym, where I attempted to get in on a machine that was occupied by a guy who was apparently reading the entire entirety of War and Peace translating it into Russian one syllable at a time in his head, and refused to get off the machine. After about 30 minutes, I asked him a few might be done soon, where upon he got up and waved around his hands and left. He went to another machine, sat down, and re-engaged with Tolstoy. All right, fine all right fine all right fine. No harm, no problem, chill. But honestly: the PHONE exerts a solipsistic force-field for some and I do not understand it.

Then to Target which, for some reason, decided it was not going to stock the shelves with the usual amounts of goods; the tomato department was nearly empty, utterly, a selection of chilled confections that I had been looking for was also likewise unfulfilled. I stopped off to get some meatballs and saw a man, a rangy fellow who looked like Mr. Green Jeans, picking the last bag of the frozen meatballs from the bottom of the shelf. He did not move along, but stood in front of the freezer case, looking at it with a strange, patient regard. I asked if he minded if I looked, and he said I did not. I got done on my hands and knees to look at the empty spot where the meatballs have been, and found a bag waaaay at the back. I pulled it out. Then I realized that perhaps he had been considering whether he might do the same thin, g and I asked if he was actually there for a second bag as well, in which case I would give him the bag I had just pulled out, since he had been there first.

He said no, that’s OK.

This did not indicate that he indeed had been looking for the second bag, and was a bit passive aggressive, so I said again, no really if you wanted two bags you were here first. Where upon he smiled and said no, that’s OK. I said well I guess we each have one bag then ha ha, and smiled ha ha and then walked away. I went straight to the jalapeño department. There were no jalapeños. A clerk, noting what appeared to be evident distress on my face asked if he could help, and I said no it’s just everything. It’s the tomatoes, it’s the jalapeños (AND THE MOVING AND THE PACKING AND THE UNSCREWING OF FAN BLADES AND THE SIGHT OF THE SNOW THROUGH THE WINDOWS OF DAUGHTERS, fat lazy lovely flakes, the trees and street beyond, a sight soon to be lost forever) and it’s the Jell-O pudding cups, zero sugar, in caramel, there’s an empty space where things should be. Also, there’s an empty space where things should be, in general, There’s just nothing here that I want or came for – I guess I’ll go to Lunds.

He said that he could look in the back and I said no no no no no no I’m not mad at you. Don’t stop what you’re doing. You’re actually restocking shelves for people who are looking for the things you’re restocking. And then I left. I suppose I could’ve been a ray of sunshine today. I suppose I could’ve been worse.

What to do with this idle hour? Ah: let's look at 1959 movie adverts, which I clipped for some reason. It's the also-rans and never-remembered that interest me, and remind you how many movies you haven't seen. How many haven't you seen? Just about all of them.

The birth of a new movement in Indian Cinema, apparently. What sticks out to me? The fact that Ravi's was in general, albeit limited, circulation before the association with the Beatles.

Uh oh

“Witty and Biting” means one of those comedies full of bored sophisticated making catty remarks in tuxedos, I suspect. Googling . . . ah. It’s a Shaw play. Flopped hard at the box office.

Here’s something naughty, or at least it wants you to think it is. I’m pretty sure that’s a Hirshfield illustration. Can you tell what’s going on?

I think the odd stuff on the left is the husband’s face distorted in the mirror. The ad does a strange job of getting the movie’s name across,

I couldn’t find it, at first, until I did a search for both stars’ names, and learned it came out in 1952. I also found a larger poster, which confirms the artist and the mirror speculation. So we can all rest well tonight.

Look at that simpe line he uses for Fernandel, and compare it to a photo. He was peerless.

I also suspect that the “Monica” was an art house frequented by the college-prof types with Mitch Miller facial hair and wives who smoked too much.

Our last entry:

The National League of Decency slapped the “Condemned” label on this one, but you’ll probably be surprised to learn why. IMDB has an amateur recap:

Anthony Steel is married to American Julie London and due to his upbringing always becomes insanely jealous if another man approaches and talks to his wife.A racing car driver by profession, he is driving a Jaguar "D" type in a Spanish race when he starts kicking off with another jealous rage. Julie is driving them home when a Spanish peasant leads his donkey out into the road in front of them both. Inevitably a crash occurs and Anthony Steel's character becomes impotent.

I guess that’ll happen. So, they go to Switzerland to get . . . (GASP) artificial insemination. Is that considered adultery, and eventual grounds for divorce? You'll have to see it to learn! (Note: reviews say the movie "sidesteps" the issue at the end.)