The title here is the title of the movie I've been watching for a couple hours. I'll play a movie over and over as I do artwork. I think it keeps me company, but now I'm not sure about that. For one thing, when the music gets all oh my god! we're all gonna die, I actually wonder what it does to the cells in my body. Do I viscerally respond to scary music? Am I causing stress even as I think I'm just having fun spreading paint around?
And what about the critters? Is Sunny now having cocker-spaniel nightmares because of the music during The Day After Tomorrow? We know Mittens is having night and daymares because she's forced to stay inside because of a mosquito-bite hyper-sensitivity. She has sentenced herself to The Hole -- under the couch -- until such time as she's able to figure out the door knob or develop opposable thumbs. Benji just wants to please everybody but refuses to go to Al-Anon.
Anyway, I don't think animals pay much attention to fake sounds. Sirens outside don't even get a glance.
Maybe later tonight I'll try music instead of a movie and see if it's the same.
The Day After Tomorrow is about global warming, about catastrophic storms everywhere, about the end of the world. It's quite satisfying, really -- like the story of Noah. It's a clean-sweep sort of movie and that feels good. I truly don't know what to do about racism or homophobia, let alone good old-fashioned sexism. I don't know how to fix pollution or correct my bad habits, of which there are many. I can't even control my temper.
But look at this -- if there's a big fat weather problem that wipes out half the population, why, then, we can start over, only this time will be different. This time we won't make the mistakes our forefathers and possibly -mothers did. I say only "possibly" for the mothers because, as far as I know, only one woman helped to make America, and she just sewed a flag.
Speaking of flags, here's a bunch of East African flags (okay, and south, too). I prefer West Africa, but you've got to admit that the East Coast has cooler flags. Well, you only have to admit it if you know what the other flags look like so, fine: I'll include them, too. I don't know how the East African flags got turned on their heads, but there they are.
But back to the apocalypse ...
When I was younger and watched such movies, I'd always wonder if I have what it takes to survive that weather or that plague or that outer-space invasion. Now that I'm middle-aged, I know I don't have it and probably never did. Now I think I'll let the young men and women start the fire while I sit in the corner, bundled up, looking wise and grey-headed. Or maybe I'll tell them, with a shaky but noble voice, to go on without me.
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And now a correction from the last posting. My friend Lee, who can be shown a square inch of any vehicle ever made and tell you its make, model, year, and often, but not always, its first owner's mother's middle name, has informed me that that beautiful Honda Accord art car is actually a Honda Civic.