Put Flowers on My Face, too !

Repeat of an older post, since my mind is full of movie funder-wonder these days, having all these movie trailers nearby.

I am increasingly forgetting my past as the consciousness of days melt away into each other, and the other, and the other. I don't do it on purpose. It drives me crazy when my google search in my brain doesn't work. I especially recognize these failed searches when I can't remember quotes from movies, or who starred in what, and their names, and all the titillating scandals.

But even more worrisome is how my gray matter has become defragmented and distorted and impulsively tries to provide a quick response to my queries, which usually are more memory blocks with just a hint of recognition. Then these little hints evolve into digression, and I digress, and digress, and digress, until finally I can't remember what it was I was thinking about. My brain is such a slutty tease.

You know, sort of like Algernon, and "don't forget to put flowers on Algernon's grave". See....I wasn't going to talk about rats today. I was going to talk about the X-Files and The Warriors, although I'm fairly certain there was a movie made about Algernon, I'm positive it didn't star David Duchovny or that bitch wife of his, Tia. I remember her name because it's my daughter's middle name. She's the one who forced the X-Files to relocate to California after many successful years filming in Vancouver. She got wiped out by a big tidal wave in some movie, can't remember, but I do recall David's whine "I want to be with my wife", o-boo-hoo, then the producers just up and left. Then he starts shitting about Vancouver being an ice-aged forest. Don't get me started.

So, what I really was thinking about was how the kid next door comes over and asks if Brandon can come out to play. Abracadabra, I'm transported to movieland, and The Warriors and favorite line "Warriors, come out to play-ya".

And there's the girl, Debra Van-van-van-van,
who was the daughter of Ted Baxter from Mary Tyler Moore, but on a different show.


I wonder how she's doing? She had that big steamy kiss with that hunky guy in The Warriors. I think he's dead now, no wait, it's his career that died after starring in that crapola movie, Glitter, no...wait for it, it was Xanadu-something. Oh who cares, at least we got one good cult film out of him.

I loved Valerie Bertinelli.
I hope she's not dead. She reminds me of Debra Van-van-van-van, except she started to piss me off when she referred to her husband, the king of guitar, as "Edward". Come on now, bitch...it's Eddie, Eddie van Halen, okay, no one calls a rockstar Edward.




So Valerie was in a T.V. series
a successful one because I watched it all the time, and the mom had red hair, just like


Lois

in Family Guy. I love Stewie.

Anyways, I went to watch the X-Files being filmed once.

It was amazingly boring. The guy I worked with, who came up from the California office because, apparently, we Canadian counterparts are too damned stupid to write Ada,
had a rented home on some prime land in Richmond, an isolated back country scene, with a verandaed house and a sign on the front door, "He has Risen". Talk about poor language skills. So the scene involves a car chase and a big truck full of chicken cages, and they topple over and, oh what a mess. I think it turned out to be the most boring X-Files episode of all time, and I was there.

And this all began because I couldn't remember the name of the woman who was the partner to David, you know, the brainy redhead skeptic doctor. Gilligan.