It’s funny how the mind works, and what it chooses to focus on. If you ask me what I want to do with my life, I can’t give you an answer. But I can tell you what my favorite color is:
Leaving the house one day, I noticed something lying on the sidewalk. Drawing closer I found the torn, discarded wrapping of a Christmas gift. A little further along the walkway lay the shipping envelope.
After getting my WordPress site up and running, I wondered what kind of answers I’d receive. Imagine my delight upon entering the website the following day and finding scores of email messages. But as I started opening them, I noticed that they were all spam.
I’ve always wondered what determines where and how far one’s mind strays during the night hours. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern. Some dreams are too short, cut off just when they’re getting interesting.
Some time back I watched a Val Lewton film “The Seventh Victim.”
Since Mother’s Day is officially over, it’s safe to broach the subject of moms in Hitchcock movies. Why, you ask? What could be more boring? Well, Norman Bates would beg to differ.
POLICE IN HITCHCOCK’S MOVIES Building suspense in movies is an art.
One day in an automotive galaxy far, far, away . . . okay, so it was in the 70s . . . The father of a guy I knew sold me a Chevy Impala for $75.
One year ago . . . 7:22 am Here I sit at my desk, facing a full day of nothing to do.
Decided to do some remodeling work in the bathroom. A little trim added on to the new bathroom shelf I added, after removing the uglier-than-sin medicine cabinet-
Watching DVD episodes of the old Leave It To Beaver TV show. That place must have been hell to live in,
I was traveling in a vehicle- a convertible- with the top down. There were one or two others in the car. We were driving at night, the air warm or at least comfortable. The sky was clear, a full moon out.