Since this blog has become somewhat of "The Misery Tour," I'll post Robert Carradine's Hollywood Death Mask here--and tell a story. I'll also post his Life Mask, too.
Forgive me for repeating myself, but a eulogy is in order. When my conservative friend still lived here, long ago, I would go to his house and drink up his wine and whiskey and eat his food, especially on a Friday night. It was his house, but I had rented it for years, first from his brother, then from his mother. It was a groovy old Florida bungalow built the same year as the one I live in now, but this was right next door to Country Club College and had a big screened in front porch that was half of the undercover porch that sat on the front of the house. Out back there was a huge deck where untoward things used to happen when his brother lived there, but that is another story best told in low voices in the flicker of candlelight. My friend owned it now, though. I bought my very own house, but I still went to the old house often.
One Friday afternoon when I stopped by, a new guy was there. The hors d'oeuvres were out and the red wine uncorked. So was the new fellow. He was a smart alec which was typical of my friend's friends at the time. '80s. Wolf of Wall Street wannabes, etc. I had learned to hold my own with this pack of coyotes, so I spent a while trading barbs and jabs with the two of them--until something clicked.
"Hey. . . wait a minute. . . you're. . . ."
Realize, I'd only seen him in two movies, "The Long Riders" and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," movies in which his parts were smaller. But both of his brothers were in "The Long Riders," too, so I knew he was a Carradine.
"Man, I love Keith's films. I just flipped out over "The Moderns."
Robert was snide about his brother.
"I made more money doing "Revenge of the Nerds" than he has made in all his films."
I, of course, had not seen "Revenge of the Nerds." But now that I recognized him, I was a bit more deferential. My conservative friend was a pilot (had won the National Aerobatic Championship competition recently) and was flying Carradine down the next day to compete in the Twelve Hours of Sebring race. It was to be Carradine's first race.
Not much of a story, I know, but. . . he told me his brother had painted the pictures in "The Moderns."
"I'll get you one," he said.
He never did. I guess I'll never get one now.
Scary, though. . . a man my own age.
But at least my gut is better now. And yet, the misery continues. I can't use my right pointing finger. The nail is black and blue halfway to the tip and the finger is still swollen.
Last night, not yet trusting meat in my tender gut, I cooked a frozen pizza and did the thing I've done so many times. I couldn't wait, and the first bite scalded the roof of my mouth. A big blister formed and then popped. I had a one inch piece of skin flopping around for the rest of the night. It "disappeared" while I slept, so now I simply have a raw tender spot that my tongue won't leave alone.
Freud?
I have a meeting with the staff at the rehab place today at two for an evaluation of my mother's condition. Realizing that the hospital was adamant about not sending her there because it was short term "rehab," they kept insisting on sending her to a nursing home where we know what happens. Today my concern will be how I get the help I'm going to need for my mother's deteriorating health using Medicare and not paying out of pocket. My mother has bad osteoporosis, stenosis, sclerosis, etc., but her organs are pretty healthy, so I think she will live (in pain) to be a hundred. I'll go broke quick enough if I have to pay for her care. So, today will be tricky, indeed, with my mother sitting in the room. I have to be careful with how I phrase my concerns.
Is there an upside to this post? It is 34 degrees this morning here in the Sunny South. Crisp and crystal clear. I should get out with a camera somewhere. . . but I won't. Actually, I have a ton of labor I had planned to do around the house that I am putting off for a few days until it is warmer. But work there is and plenty of it. It will be good for me. That is what they say. I've got my circular saw batteries charged and am ready to do some damage.
I really shouldn't be using power tools. I've had enough trouble with simple kitchen tools and door jambs lately.
That's it. That's what I got. And a song. None of the ones I have cued really go thematically with this post, but that is probably a good thing. I'll just pick one and let it live on it's own.
Maybe something to get you out shakin' it on the dance floor. Go ahead. Nobody's watching. Whatever way you like.
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