At first I thought I was channeling Marlon Brando, but now I’m pretty sure I’m channeling Tequila Sunrises
I have been reading A Streetcar Named Desire again, Stella, and there’s never been a truer Stanley than Marlon Brando, gulp
It’s raining, it’s pouring, and Daisy is snoring on the couch behind me.
Nice to be able to stay home and do your thing when it’s raining – everything seems to glide better – the soft kick of the keys all gusty and rhythmic, the lighting is perfect – and yes, the lightening is pretty good, too, spellcheck – and you don’t care much about anything, especially run-on sentences, too many dashes, the mess under the stairs, Kit Harrington in rehab, or what’s to eat.
And then the sun comes out and ruins everything
Which isn’t exactly what you’d expect to hear from someone on holidays. Know what else you wouldn’t expect to hear? You wouldn’t expect to hear Why are there monster trucks next door?
We have extraordinarily large back yards around here because they zoned our street to be a true boulevard, you know, with an island and two roads, but kiboshed the idea and tucked football fields into each of our backyards instead. And there’s a stream that runs through the back part, over the bluffs, and into the lake. Sounds lovely but before you get all babbling brook on me, it’s just a slick wet brown stripe that’s always there. This year it’s wider, slicker and browner than ever. The opposite shoreline is pretty much inaccessible except by boat and it’s gone all wild and buttercuppy and lacy with other naturalness that actually is lovely, including cartwheeling butterflies and bumbling bees.
Now I’m just waiting for the crocodiles
Which is only a matter of time because when they filled in the pool next door last month, they went too high on the dirt, and the stream no longer runs from our back yard into theirs, etc. Instead it ends in our backyard, and the stream is more of a lake.
I don’t know why, but somebody drove a small pickup truck into the neighbour’s backyard yesterday and it started to sink, the truck I mean, so they roared and rumbled around a while, sank it even further, and then they got a bigger pickup to coax the little one out I guess, but it sank, too, which led to more roaring and rumbling. Also flying mud and cusses the likes of which I’d never heard before – and since I’m always keen on upping my vocab/street cred – I’ll be trying some of them out on Daisy and the cat today which they seem to enjoy and encourage. Then they called a tow truck and I guess the guy had some sense because he pretty much ran back to his truck and screeched away almost immediately. When I went to bed I could hear the beeps from what sounded like a much bigger tow truck or maybe Grave Digger, and pretty soon I’ll go out and see what’s going on and if the crocs have hatched.
I’ve been reading plays all week, as in studying them so I’ll understand how to do it, because all I really know is that Snagglepuss line – Exit, stage left – which came in handy at dawn sometimes when I was in my twenties
And the plays are how I got so hung up on Marlon Brando and Tequila Sunrises. Streetcar was the first one I read (and watched) and now I cast Marlon Brando in every starring role I come across. He’s a very solid Glass Menagerie’s brother, it’s his Death in Salesman, he’s the crazy guy in Zoo Story, and he’s the cat in Tin Roof.