Somebody ripped off my lunch entree from the freezer at work on Friday. I'm thinking he or she must have been hungry and/or desperate. Or lazy and morally unconcerned.
We went shopping at the local Whole Foods store; I always feel like the only Republican on the premises. Anyway, they feature scary food: Packaging designed to give kids nightmares, bread that might bite back.
Over the weekend I watched a couple of the 1950's British comedy "Doctor" series: Doctor in the House (1954) and Doctor at Sea (1955). These are amusing and fun rather than ha ha funny; I like them. There are more - I plan to see them. The two I saw star a bluff, loud roarer named James Robertson Justice. I always thought Brian Blessed was the first of the English cinematic roarers, not so. This fellow came first. Bridgette Bardot played a generic French tart.
Anyway, I learned about these Doctor movies by watching a documentary about Pinewood Studios entitled The Golden Gong (1985), about Rank Organisation films. You know how Rank films always begin with a muscular fellow (the "gongman") striking a gong? Hence the gong. Whenever we encountered one of these late at night watching TV with my Dad, he'd say, "It's a Rank film!" (In another voice) "Oh, I didn't think it was that bad..."
I have read - and believe - that classic film buffs claim that what's about to follow that famous gong stroke is going to be special - the best the British can do. I have always always felt that way. I see that logo and think, "Post-war British. I'm probably going to like this."
It's worth noting that that famous gong is made of papier-mache, not bronze or brass. In the documentary Michael Caine taps it and it goes "thunk."
I also watched a lot of The Wonder Years episodes over the weekend. I am halfway through season four. I am happy to report that I haven't noticed it jumping the shark yet.
On Saturday Cari and I went to IKEA to purchase items for the Home Guest Bed Upgrade Program (we're replacing a twin with a full). We at first supposed that inflatable mattresses would be a good solution for visiting family members and friends. Wrong! I haven't met one of those wretched things that didn't develop leaks or simply mysteriously lose air through the night, leaving guests to wake up about an inch from the floor. I shall never buy one again. Those things are no replacement for a bed.
I am now reading an encyclopedia of past and present Disneyland attractions and main creative personnel. I don't recall Don DeFore's Silver Banjo Barbecue, however, but I do recall the Aunt Jemima Pancake House. I hated... wait. I already blogged on that topic. Never mind!
Over the weekend I also read a book about when Washington D.C. comes to Utah, or, in other words, when visiting presidents of the United States made visits to Utah. Utah being the reddest of Red States you might think that the closest and most cordial relationship between the Mormon church president and the United States President was between Ronald Reagan and somebody, but you would be wrong. It was between David O. McKay and Lyndon B. Johnson. Johnson really appreciated counseling with McKay, and saw him as something of a father figure.
"I've met Billy Graham and the others," Johnson wrote in his journal, "...but there is something I like about President McKay." He even once had the pilot of Air Force One touch down on an unannounced call to Salt Lake City to chat with President McKay. Interesting. I suppose if I had people chanting my name and demanding to know a daily deathcount ("Hey, hey, LBJ/How many kids did you kill today?") I'd be in need of some heavy duty spiritual counsel as well.
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