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The d.j. hero of “Play Misty for Me,” Dave Garver, whispers so intimately into the microphone that an impressionable fan (Jessica Walter) imagines that she has a special bond with him. He sleeps with her a few times, only to discover that she’s a knife-wielding psychopath who won’t let go. This casually made picture featured plentiful views of Eastwood’s bare chest, which appeared in many movies, including “The Beguiled,” which he had made with Don Siegel just before “Dirty Harry.” In “The Beguiled,” Eastwood is a wounded Union soldier who is taken in by the itchy women of a girls’ school at the end of the Civil War. The two portraits of lusted-after men border on narcissism, though, in a surprising turn (which should have alerted us to where Eastwood was going), the hero in each case is a careless opportunist who refuses to take responsibility for the havoc he creates….“Play Misty for Me” ends with Dave Garver knocking his lover through a window and down Big Sur’s rocky cliffs. Eastwood was clearly telling both the studios and the public that they could admire but not possess him. –“Out of the West: Clint Eastwood’s shifting landscape,” David Denby, The New Yorker
A convincing rationale for why the Washington Post insists on “shoving [its] gay business” in your face;
drink up, ladies (unless you like being fat);
flying panty party!
The trickle of forgetfulness that seems to be slipping down through the electrical impulses of my brain is a swollen spring runoff in my mother. The people in her life are like pieces on a chessboard, and every time she goes to make a move she cannot remember which shape is the Bishop, or Queen, and how it is exactly the Knight is played. Even worse, every time she looks away, someone switches all the pieces around and when she looks back she immediately recognizes that none of the players are where she left them. That recognition, to see it, carries a certain poignancy. The unquestioned certainty of my mother’s life has been stalled and in the confusion she senses a checkmate….Our whole family went to my son’s graduation in Middlebury, Vermont, and over the course of the long weekend my mother asked if we were in Andover, Massachusetts, confusing this graduation for that of another grandchild she was slated to attend later in the month. Or she simply asked where we were. The morning of the graduation it rained hard but then stopped suddenly just in time for the ceremonies. As we drove the rented minivan towards Middlebury the sun cleared the sky and Vermont displayed its soft, green valleys and hills. “It’s so beautiful,” my mother said in awe. “I will remember this forever.” Or until 12:15, I thought, whichever comes first. –“Remembering Ray Borque, Eddie Lewis, Ploughshares
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Percentage of British citizens who say that Northern Ireland should remain part of the United Kingdom:
In the United Kingdom, a penis-shaped Kentish strawberry was not made by snails.
The Playboy mansion in California was bought by the heir to the Twinkie fortune, and a New Mexico man set fire to his apartment to protest his neighbors’ loud lovemaking.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”