The Last Picture Show

If nothing else, this blog will help me remember movies I’ve watched. I have this problem where I pretty much instantly forget the plots, characters, etc., of most movies I see (I think a good name for it would be cinamnesia). My friend Greg is pretty much the exact opposite. He’s also my opposite because he watches so many damn movies, while I had to cancel my Netflix subscription after figuring out that the one movie I’d hung on to was about to cost me $30. A while back we were talking about movies we hadn’t seen, and discovered neither of us had seen many classic films (or at least I couldn’t remember any I’d seen, though there was one epic about oil and Texas that my boyfriend-at-the-time and I rented because we thought maybe something older wouldn’t offend his family and make them think even less of me).

Anyway, thus Classic Cinema Night (CCN) was born. We planned to get together on a regular basis and watch classic films. Since then (early 2005, I think), we’ve seen about three films. Well, two and a half: Me and You and Everyone We Know (not a classic), half of a really long movie about the Bolshevik revolution in which capitalism is clearly the better system, and The Last Picture Show, a movie made in 1971 about sex in a small Texas town in 1951. I have no recollection of the early 1970s, but I would guess that this movie was a bit scandalous. I liked it. Cybill Shepherd was manipulative. Timothy Bottoms was adorable.

TheLastPictureShow

In other news, I think I would feel better about going to the dentist if the hygienists didn’t all wear so many damn diamonds in their ears and on their fingers. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. It was kind of gross that she didn’t wear some kind of eye covering. And that she seemed to have some mascara-like substance coating her eyebrows. These are the things you think about when someone’s fingers are in your mouth and you can’t do anything to participate in the conversation besides make eye contact and blink appropriately. Eventually you realize that they’re looking at your mouth, not your eyes, so eye contact doesn’t even happen. In some ways, I prefer it to getting my hair cut (depending on who you get, those can be the worst conversations of all).

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