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Takin' a leaf from the Troll, I'se postin' this poll:
Aunty lives in the town of the infamous Casey Anthony Murder Trial whar' every slavering reporter/blogger wannabe is camped out to provide crumbs to the masses who seem dialed into this drama of odoriferous putrefaction. The tents set up outside the courthouse and the news trucks block a main artery in town. Into the wee hours the camera lights shine a dome of white into the sky above the makeshift outdoor sets fer TV personalities. The sandwich shops is draped wif' weary court personnel, restaurants is sardined wif'' TV crews and local "anchors," high end restaurants is puffed wif' network "analysts" and star-status seeking attorney commentators, fangs adrool.
Local news entertains wif' interviews of voyeurs --the couple from Michigan on honeymoon who came to Orlando to git tickets to the courtroom "We were too young fer the OJ Simpson trial, we ain't gonna miss this one!" The shoving an' pinching -to stand in line fer admittance to the courtroom--lands sisters in hospital, an' three others in jail.
Aunty attends soiree a few nights ago. Eight couples assembled fer a lovely evening of conviviality with candlelight, wine an' true home cooked Northern Italian cuisine. By dessert one highly esteemed atty clears his throat, "If I may, how many of you are of the opinion that Casey will walk? The judge will declare a mistrial?" A professor teases, "Well, now, remember what they say about Judge Perry?" A woman engineer notes that both legal teams is jes' tryin' to make a name fer theyselves. Another atty, equally esteemed, "How many think Casey will swing?"
Aunty picks up her glass an' wanders, alone, out to the terrace. The heat lies softer on yore skin at dark-thirty. An honest, earthy fragrance rises from the lake's edge. Tree frogs croak love songs, an' stars is a winkin' against the young night. The vista over the lake resembles a toy light-bright skyline, the courthouse soaring above the other skyscrapers. Aunty fights despair. Is thar' any hope of justice or truth to come from this display all that ails humanity?
POLL QUESTION:
Should Aunty post pictures an' local commentary about the Casey Anthony trial on the Porch?
# 1 Heck yeah! Ya' need to ask? Ya' has a bird's eye view, an insider loop, why
withhold it? Folks wanna know, ya' know?
#2 Spare us, please! It's overkill already (oops, bad choice of words).
#3 Fergit the trial. Tell us what wuz on the Northern Italian menu.
Movie Clip Wednesday is here(click)
Well into summer-- 97 today.
I tended monster pumpkin vine an' tomatoes early in the day.
Intelligent folks behave opposite mad dawgs an' Englishmen.
They stand at the sink drinkin' iced tea an lookin' out at the shimmery heat.
They read. They see movies. Rock on the porch an discuss movies an' books. (well pollyticks too, but is thar' anything new to say on that ? Sure--see BACKporch tomorrow.)
At the Nighttime Bookclub last night we feasted on homemade guacamole, homemade vichyssoise, smoked salmon an' caviar, an' strawberry panna cotta. A step up from our usual olives and nuts. I'se real real sorry y'all could not be thar'. It was sublime (hearin' this La DivaC?) We doan do it this grand every month--we's celebratin' our longevity despite havin' a diversity of political/ philosophical positions that we cling to like barnacles on a ship.
The movie to see next is the Herzog documentary on Cave Art--a 3 D movie too--an' the word is this cavern in France is the oldest known cave art--30,000 BC. but the BIG deal is that it depicts lions and hyenas an' rhinos--thangs that doan live in France no more, thas' fer sure.
Of course we got into a big yak over the pollyticks of closing the cave off--nobody can go in. French say it will degrade the paintings to let in people. They plan to seal it and prohibit entry so seein' this documentary is the last look humans is gonna git---well, regular humans. The select 10-12 people on earth whose archeology creds is god-like will be allowed in to study the cave art. The human mung (you an' me) have "breath that destroys" the paintings due to our CO2 exhales. So we ain't never gonna see inside, but, Frenchmen, do not despair! Y'all git pay fer keepin' it locked away cause yore tax euros will see to that. See? now youse part of the Cave Preservation Society. The Cave. Preserved. So preserved no one will ever see it. But it will be there. Not seen, but, you know, "there." For what? Why to be "there" unharmed and preserved.
This book club doan read no trash.
The DayTime Bookclub reads some "current" books. Some good, some trash. (what do yore bookclubs read??)
Any of y'all read The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake?
Not spoilin' thangs none by tellin' that the story line is girl who cain't eat much food cause she can taste the emotions (anger, despair) of whoever made the food. An exploration of the hidden emotional life of the people in our orbit. Aimee Bender's book is "magic realism". Oh.
They also discussed The Help author bein' sued by the help. I doan know the whys an' wherefores of the lawsuit, but the discussion moved on to how Andrew Wyeth "owed" some of his moola to Christina, too--like the help is demandin' of The Help author--Why?
because she was the one who "made" him (Christina's World above) by providin' inspiration for one of his famous paintings.
Well mah gracious. If an artist/ writer/ musician/ comedian makes money when they produce a book/ song/ painting/ routine from some event or person, they now owe a kickback to the subject? Not by mah accountin' --the subject din't do nothin' to turn the everyday self or event into a zillion seller artistic expression. Christina din't paint, she jes' went about her day, Wyeth memorialized it. Is she "due" some of his success?
What say ye?
Mah new read is Doc. A "faction" account of Doc Holliday's life:
"... dusty myths back to life in a deeply sympathetic, aggressively researched and wonderfully entertaining story. (More here)
I'se stealin' a few hours in the worst of the heat to sit an' read--lookin' out on the cool hued hydrangea bed. How does y'all beat the heat?
